Magical Mutations » by dasteiza
After the Phoenix Force merges with Harry Potter, he wakes up in a strange world filled with action, mutants, and plenty of danger. How will he find the time to be a hero when so many beautiful women are vying for his attention? SMUT Lemons Harry/Multi
Harry Potter & X-Men, M, English, Adventure, chapters: 7, words: 28k+, favs: 593, follows: 751, updated: Apr 17 published: Feb 1, Harry P., Jean G., Ororo M., Emma F.
Chapter 1
AN - The story is a mixture of X-Men Evolution, the original animated series, and possibly some stuff from the movies and comics. Basically, anything I want to put in, I will.
Eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing a pair of brilliant emerald-green eyes. A ragged cough exited his mouth and was quickly followed by a pained groan. The young man pushed himself into a sitting position. His head was pounding, and his mouth was completely dry. The night air was crisp, and he could vaguely hear the sounds of vehicles in the distance. For a second, he thought that maybe he had drunk too much and had passed out. He was experiencing hangover-like symptoms after all. However, he couldn't remember drinking anything. In fact, he could barely remember anything at all. He concentrated with all his might.
"Harry Potter," he whispered. That was his name. Why was he sitting here in some random, empty field? He had no clue. What was the last thing he remembered? Flames … Being surrounded by fire …
But that didn't feel exactly right. He didn't remember burning or feeling any kind of pain from the fire. He remembered some type of bird. It was crimson in color and had a golden tail as long as a peacock's. It was large as well. Much larger than any bird that he had ever seen. Harry didn't get the feeling that the bird was a menace of any sort. Just the opposite. He felt like a friend. He remembered the bird bursting into flames and diving right into his chest. Harry remembered being covered by the brightest light imaginable as cool flames licked his skin. Then he felt weightless. After that … nothing.
His past felt like a blur. He must have had family and friends, but each one was like a shadow at dusk, barely there and unrecognizable. There were people in his life that he loved. He could feel it. Their names were at the tip of his tongue.
Harry shook his head. His continuous failures at recalling his past were anger-inducing. It felt impossible to remember with such a headache. Harry blinked his eyes. His headache was gone. That was strange, he thought. All things considered, it certainly wasn't the strangest thing to happen that night, not to mention that it was more than welcome.
Harry pushed himself to his feet and got a sense of his surroundings. There was a street or highway not far from where he was standing. There were only a few cars and trucks that sporadically drove by. Further in the distance, he saw the bright lights of a gas station. Harry looked down at himself. Though it was hard to see, he didn't seem too dirty from lying in the grassy field. He brushed the dried grass and dirt from his jeans and shirt. As he did, he felt something in his pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out three coins. Wishing that he could see, he was suddenly startled when a ball of light appeared in his free palm.
"AHH!" he cried out as his body jolted. The coins fell from his hand, but the light remained. Harry rapidly shook his hand, hoping to get rid of the light. When it finally extinguished, he leaned over and put his hands on his knees. Breathing heavily while his heart beat a mile a minute, Harry's mind tried to make sense of what had just happened. After a minute or so, he began to calm down.
"Stop being a pussy," he told himself. For some strange reason, when he thought about it, what he had just done was familiar. It had just been startling in his current state. Exhaling loudly, he focused again and held his hand out. There were a few sputters of light before the ball returned.
Shining brightly, Harry gazed at it in wonder. The light itself wasn't anything spectacular. It was a bright, white light that could be produced by any number of electric bulbs. What was spectacular was that it was hovering right above his empty palm. When he began to see spots, he blinked his eyes and tore his vision away from it. Looking down at the ground, he searched until he found all three coins. Examining them, he found they were made of gold. Again, they were familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. With nothing else to do, he stuffed them back in his pocket and started walking.
Since he didn't have anywhere else to go, Harry made his way to the nearest establishment that was showing any sort of signs of life. The gas station turned out to be a truck stop. Checking the time inside the store told him that it was very late, or perhaps very early, depending on who you asked. Several dozen big rigs were tightly packed in for the night. Harry didn't have money for food, but thankfully, he wasn't hungry. He was just hoping to find out where in the hell he was. As it turned out, he was in Avon, New York, and the highway was Route 20.
Most, if not all, the trucks were heading to or returning from New York City. As one could imagine, the drivers of those trucks weren't the most pleasant sort of fellows. As proof of this, a fight broke out in the parking lot. The few people in the store, including Harry, made their way out to see what was going on. Apparently, they were arguing over something called a "lot lizard", not that he knew what that was. There was a lot of yelling, which quickly turned into shoving.
A burly man in a red flannel shirt pulled a knife and started menacingly walking toward the other. The other man was smart enough to back away, at least until he reached into the cab of his truck and pulled out a handgun. Without a moment of hesitation, he began firing, not caring that the small crowd was directly behind his target. Harry heard a feminine scream beside him. He turned and saw the clerk holding her stomach. A red patch on her shirt was quickly growing in size. The crowd began panicking and yelling. Then several more pops cracked loudly through the quiet night, and Harry felt as though he had been punched in the chest.
His breath was knocked from his lungs, and then the burning started. Rubbing his searing skin, he was confused when he pulled his hand away and found it soaking wet. Looking down, his palm was completely red and covered with blood. Confusion quickly turned to panic, and Harry got that horrible feeling in his lower belly. Now he could feel the pain radiating from the wound. He noticed that everyone was surrounding the woman who was now lying on the asphalt parking lot floor. No one seemed to notice him. Harry clutched at his wound and stumbled away. He then felt a tingle near the wound. It wasn't a bad tingle. Just the opposite, in fact. It tingled in a pleasant sort of way. Then, in less than a second, the pain began to disappear. It felt like something was moving under his skin. That sensation definitely wasn't a pleasant one.
CLINK!
He heard the sound of something metallic hitting the ground. Harry, however, was too busy touching his wound … except … there was no wound. Not anymore. He stuffed his fingers in the bullet hole in his shirt and expanded it with a rip. He felt around. Nothing. Harry blinked a few times.
"What the fuck?" he quietly cursed.
He knelt down and found whatever it was that had just dropped. It was the mushroomed tip of a bullet that had hit him. The metal was still hot and was slightly uncomfortable to hold. More gunshots cracked through the night sky, and they were quickly followed by more screams. Then the police sirens started. In the distance but growing closer were the blue and red flashing lights of the police. Harry did not want to be there when they arrived. He yelped loudly as his body burst into flames. Just as he vaguely remembered, the flames didn't hurt. His vision was tinted in a smattering of yellows and oranges as he suddenly felt weightless. As the flames around him exploded, Harry abruptly vanished from sight, leaving several witnesses shocked and frightened even more than they already were.
Magical Mutations
The mutant called Storm felt a shiver go through her body, though it wasn't cold in her lab. She always kept the thermostat at an even sixty-eight degrees, neither hot nor cold. The rest of the school was usually kept a few degrees cooler. Putting the strange sensation out of her mind, she went back to analyzing a sample of blood. Helping the Professor study mutant genetics always made her feel peaceful for some strange reason. While she wasn't a doctor, she had been trained to operate the various genetic analyzers scattered throughout the lab. After turning the machine on, she was forced to wait. That was the hardest part about studying blood … having to wait hours or even days for the test results to come back. 'Ororo…' she suddenly heard in her head. There was no doubt who that was. She had heard his voice in her head a thousand times before. 'Please meet me in my office.'
'Of course, Professor,' she thought, knowing Professor Xavier would hear it. She gave the blood analyzer one last glare as if to threaten it to work faster before she huffed and stood up.
Ororo Munroe was a gorgeous woman who looked more like a model than a stuffy teacher. Even wearing her long, white lab coat, she gave off a sensual vibe that came naturally to her. She left her office and walked to the elevator with only the soft clicking of her heels on the hard ground to keep her company. Though no one could see it, her hips were swaying in a way that accentuated her slim waist and wide hips. Once inside, she pressed the button for the top floor. The ride was only a few seconds before the doors slid open, revealing the hallway of an elegantly decorated mansion. From there, it was a short walk to the Professor's office. She softly knocked on the door and was instructed to come in … verbally this time. As she did, she found Professor Xavier sitting behind his desk with his fingers steepled.
"Thank you for coming, Storm. I apologize for calling you in so late," Professor X said as he rolled around the desk in his motorized wheelchair.
"It's not a problem, Professor. I was just running those samples, and I guess I lost track of time," she said, sitting in the chair opposite the Professor's desk. This was usual behavior for her. She sometimes got caught up in her work and completely forgot about everything else.
"Nevertheless, I'm glad that I didn't wake you," he smiled, and Storm returned it.
Storm sat with perfect posture in front of the desk. Her eyes were icy blue, and her white hair glimmered against the light brown skin of her neck. She patiently looked right at him, waiting to hear what he had to say.
Xavier didn't bother with small talk. "You felt it too, didn't you?"
Ororo raised an eyebrow. "The tremor? Yes, Professor. It was subtle, but very powerful." She hesitated, then admitted, "It made me … nervous."
He nodded, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. "I can't remember the last time I felt such a psychic disturbance. Not even when Jean first emerged."
Storm's lips parted. She said, "It was that powerful?"
"It's beyond classification." Xavier leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with focus. "It is as though a consciousness folded in on itself, then exploded outward. I need to know more, Ororo. I need to find it."
He waited for her response, and she didn't disappoint. "Cerebro?"
"Yes. I'll need your help to reach full resonance."
Storm stood immediately, and a long white curtain of thick, luxurious hair fell across her shoulder as she did. "I will prepare the chamber, Professor," she told him. She didn't ask for details, and he appreciated her discipline. She gracefully pivoted on her heels and led the way out, holding the door for him as he navigated his wheelchair.
The elevator was empty and gleamed with polished steel. The ride was silent except for the click of the Professor's chair as it rolled forward when the doors opened on the lower level. They went past the War Room and past the Danger Room, where the floor was scored from the day's training.
At the far end of the hall stood a massive door that looked out of place, as if it belonged in a spaceship or at a missile silo. Ororo pressed her palm to the reader. The door hissed and slid aside.
Inside, the dome-shaped Cerebro chamber glowed soft blue. At its center was one of the most powerful and sophisticated machines in the world. The hum was gentle but constant, and the air smelled ionized. Storm busied herself at the control panels, her elegant fingers moving with calm efficiency. "All systems are nominal, Professor. The power is set at seventy percent. Did you want full amplification?"
"Please," Xavier confirmed.
She flicked a switch, and the air practically vibrated. A faint static charge prickled Xavier's scalp. He rolled to the center of the room and lifted the helmet from its cradle. The inside was lined with soft gray padding, and the outside was covered in cables and fiber-optic nodes. Storm gently placed the helmet onto his head before checking the connections.
"It's ready," she announced.
Xavier's voice was distant now, already halfway inside his own mind. "Begin the sequence."
The hum climbed an octave. The rings of Cerebro flickered with blue light, and the room seemed to shrink to a point before expanding into infinity. Xavier closed his eyes, exhaled, and let his mind drop into the network.
Millions of thoughts pressed against him instantly. He could hear the whispering thoughts of his students, the groundskeepers, the neighbors, and then the whole sprawl of human life in Westchester and beyond. Each mind was like a candle flame in a dark room. He tuned them out, searching for the nova.
It wasn't difficult to find it. It blazed brightly and then vanished, and Xavier pursued it. The mind was slippery, not like a mutant but not quite human either. He sensed fear and confusion. Then, for a single moment, he saw it. There were a pair of green eyes floating in fire, a scream that never left the throat, and a memory that fractured into a thousand shards. He almost recoiled, but instead, he pressed harder.
The eyes looked at him, and Xavier tried to speak. However, the mind recoiled and fell away. Then there was blackness. Back in the chamber, Xavier opened his eyes, his face drenched with sweat. Storm's hand was instantly on his arm. "Professor! Are you alright?"
He coughed and then nodded. "Yes. I found it. I saw him."
Storm's gaze sharpened. "Him?"
Xavier licked his dry lips. "A young man … or at least, he was once. He has been through something catastrophic, Ororo. I don't even know if he knows what he is."
Storm worriedly studied the Professor. "Was it a mutant event, or something else?"
Xavier hesitated before saying, "If I had to guess, it was triggered by a powerful cosmic force." He didn't add that he'd seen flashes of Jean in the mind. The echo of that raw cosmic violence was chilling to behold.
Storm's nostrils flared. "Is he dangerous?"
"I do not believe so, but he has the potential to be the most dangerous being on Earth." Xavier's voice was steady, but the gravity of it sank into her. "We must reach him before he hurts someone."
She nodded, but her lips pressed into a hard line. "Where is he?"
Xavier gestured at the monitor. "Not far. He is in the town of Avon, near a truck stop on Route 20. He's frightened and unstable."
Storm didn't need to be told what to do. "I'll go," she said. "If you wish, I'll take Logan as backup."
"Yes, take Logan. He has a way of talking people down, or at least, not making things worse." Xavier smiled, but Storm only looked grimly resolved.
She helped him remove the helmet, careful not to tangle the silver cords. He was pale, but he gestured for her to leave the Cerebro chamber and join him in the corridor. "Ororo, this is important," he said in a low voice. "If he has any memory of what happened … if the Phoenix Force left any trace … treat him with compassion. He is not our enemy. At least, not yet."
Storm straightened and squared her shoulders. "I understand, Professor."
He caught her wrist before she could leave. "And Ororo? Please, be careful. You've never met anyone like this before." She nodded once and then swept down the corridor, her coat billowing behind her.
Xavier sat in his wheelchair for a long minute, feeling the residual throb of Cerebro in his temples, and he wondered if this was how gods felt as they looked down on a planet full of mortals, knowing the next disaster was just one heartbeat away. He hoped, for everyone's sake, that Ororo would reach the boy before anyone else did.
Magical Mutations
Storm found Logan outside the gym, a rolled cigar in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other. His hair stuck up like claws, and he wore a pair of ratty jeans and an old army t-shirt that barely fit around his biceps.
He saw her coming and said, "I take it we got a job?"
Storm nodded. "We're heading to Avon. The Professor sensed a new emergence."
Logan barked a laugh. "Let me guess. He wants it brought in gentle-like?"
Storm's voice was clipped. "He's scared, and maybe unstable. You are not to antagonize him, Logan."
Logan took a pull from the cigar, then crushed it out on the wall. "If he pops claws, I'll pop mine. Otherwise, I'll be a model citizen."
Storm rolled her eyes, but she trusted him to do as he was told. "Car or jet?" Logan asked, tossing the empty mug in a perfect arc to the trash.
"Car," Storm replied. "He might freak out if we come in hot."
"Got it." Logan cracked his neck and started toward the garage with Storm at his side. "You want to tell me what he is, or do I get to find out the fun way?"
Storm shook her head and said, "The Professor was vague, though I think he knows what it is. That tells me that it's probably not good."
Logan froze for a second. "Shit."
"Yes," Storm agreed. "So let's make sure this pick-up ends better than the last."
They reached the elevator, and Storm was already calculating strategies. Logan just grunted and pressed the down button. As the doors slid shut, neither of them said another word.
Chapter 2
Harry landed in the middle of a field. One second, he was in the parking lot, surrounded by sirens, screams, and blood, and the next, there was nothing but cold, damp earth and silence.
For a heartbeat, Harry stood absolutely still, unsure if the world around him was real or not. The night air was thick and clammy, and dew soaked the hem of his jeans. Everything felt very raw, as if all his nerves had been scrubbed clean. He blinked several times, trying to steady himself.
He took a slow, careful step forward, and his foot squelched in the grass. The sudden quiet was almost worse than the chaos he had left behind. Far in the distance, he saw a faint glow and flashes of blue and red. It was the truck stop, Harry realized. It was still there, less than a mile away.
"Bloody hell," he whispered, his voice raspy and dry.
There was no one around, and the field stretched out in all directions. There was a thin, dark line of trees, maybe a football field away. He twisted around, half-expecting someone to be right behind him, but there was nothing.
Harry shivered as he remembered the fire and the burst of yellow and orange. Then there was the complete absence of pain and the weird, soothing floatiness. Now he was here, wherever "here" was. His thoughts were all over the place, unable to settle. Had he really just … disappeared? Harry shook his head to try to clear it. He needed a plan.
First, he needed to get the hell away from the truck stop. If those cops or anyone else had seen what happened, they'd be looking for him. Maybe he had been caught on camera, or maybe he was already on the news. He didn't want to be anywhere near the scene when the search started.
He set off at a jog, using the cover of the waist-high grass. His shoes sucked up cold water with every step. He could hear his own heartbeat thumping loudly in his chest. It wasn't fear exactly, more like his survival instinct kicking in. He kept his head low as a car passed through the nearby highway. Every hundred feet or so, he looked over his shoulder.
As he ran, his mind sorted through a litany of questions. What was that thing in the parking lot? Why had it happened to him? Was he hallucinating? Was this a dream? If so, why did everything feel so real? And why, above all else, couldn't he remember anything about his past?
He slowed as he reached the tree line. A narrow, muddy ditch separated the field from the woods. He leapt over it and landed hard, his hands sinking into the soft earth to keep his balance. He wiped his hands on his jeans and slipped through the first row of saplings.
The woods were thicker than they looked from a distance. The canopy filtered out most of the moonlight, and the sudden darkness hit Harry like a wall. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, and the musky smell of rotting vegetation filled his nose. Branches reached down and raked his face as he walked. He tried to pick his way through quietly, but every twig and dry leaf underfoot sounded ten times louder in the silence.
After a few minutes, the trees thinned out, and Harry emerged onto a lumpy patch of overgrown yard. At the far edge stood a house … or what was left of one. The roof sagged badly in the middle, and the porch looked ready to collapse. The siding was faded and weather-damaged, and all but one window was either broken or missing entirely. A "For Sale" sign lay face down in the weeds.
Harry hesitated, staring at the house. It wasn't a place that normal people would willingly enter, especially not at night … and definitely not alone. However, he didn't have a lot of options, and right now, hiding out sounded better than being in the open. Besides, it was probably only a few hours until sunrise.
He crossed the yard at a steady pace. The house didn't look like it had seen a living soul in years. The porch groaned under his weight, but held firmly. He climbed the three crooked steps and tried the door. It stuck, so he pushed harder, and the wood splintered near the knob. The hinges squealed as it swung inward.
The inside of the abandoned house was even darker. Harry stepped over the threshold, and for a moment, he listened carefully. There was no sound and no signs of movement. There was just the unpleasant scent of rot and dust. He moved slowly through the front hall, feeling his way. His eyes adjusted, and he could make out the outlines of some old furniture. There was a sofa with springs poking through, a coffee table with one broken leg, and an old, boxy TV with a smashed screen in the corner. It was better than nothing. At least it was dry, Harry told himself.
He dropped onto the sofa, which creaked in protest but held. Harry leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He sat like that for a few seconds, letting his mind wander. He needed answers, and he needed them soon. But for now, he was alive, and he was safe … at least for the moment.
Harry didn't have anything to do other than think. His mind replayed the flash of fire, the panicked gunfight, and the utter absurdity of a bullet wound healing in seconds. He had no clue how long he'd been sitting on the sofa. His eyes were closed, but he was still alert. The house creaked around him, sometimes in the walls and sometimes overhead. It could have been an animal or possibly the wind.
It was completely dark inside the house, and he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, which, in a weird way, made him feel safer … at least until he heard the sound.
There was a shuffle and the scratch of something heavy moving across wood. Harry's skin prickled, and he held his breath. The sound stopped, but now he was certain he wasn't alone. He kept perfectly still, his hands clenched between his knees. There was a sudden flare of light in the next room. A match had been struck against a surface with a loud hiss, and the flare was bright enough to cut through the gloom. It was held up to the end of a thick cigar, which glowingly pulsated with every puff.
The light illuminated a face. It was square-jawed and big, with a yellow mane of hair and long, thick mutton chops. The eyes were narrow and glinting, with an unmistakable animalistic quality. The man exhaled smoke and grinned, showing off rows of large, uneven teeth that were punctuated with two long canines.
"Kid," the man rumbled. "You picked the wrong house."
Harry tried to respond, but he didn't get the chance. The man … the thing … moved faster than anything that size should be able to. He closed the ten-foot gap in a heartbeat, his heavy boots slamming against the floor. Harry managed to get to his feet, but the man's fist was already at his chest.
There was a brutal impact and a sudden, loud crash. For a half-second, Harry thought he'd been shot again, but it was worse. The punch lifted him off the ground, sent him through the air, through a plaster wall, and into what might have once been a kitchen. He hit the far side hard, knocking the breath from his lungs.
He didn't stay down. Instinct more than anything else made him roll to his knees, gasping for air. His ribs felt like broken glass. Each inhale was like a hot knife in his side. He hunched over, expecting the pain to get worse, but almost instantly, the raw agony faded. Harry ran his hand across his ribs. They were fine.
He heard a grunt, followed by footsteps crunching through the debris. The man's boots broke through what was left of the wall. He stepped over the shattered frame, still smoking his cigar. "Not bad," he growled. "You got some meat on you."
Harry pushed himself upright, every muscle tense. "What do you want?"
The man flicked ash on the floor. "Nothing personal. You just got unlucky." He smiled wider. "I can't have you runnin' to the law."
Harry looked for a weapon … or anything useful. His hands closed around a piece of broken wood. He hefted it, not sure if it would do any good, but it felt right. The man watched with amusement.
"Go on, then," he said, spreading his arms. "Show me what you got."
Harry lunged, swinging the board at the man's head. The man let it hit him. The board splintered and bounced off, like hitting a concrete pillar. The man barely flinched. He backhanded Harry with enough force to send him spinning. Harry crashed into a rotted counter, sending moldy linoleum flying.
"Not bad," the man said again, sounding honestly impressed. "Most people would've run by now."
Harry spat blood onto the floor and tried to think of anything that would help him. He remembered the ball of light and how natural it had felt. He forced his hand out, palm up, and tried to picture the light. It flared instantly into a blinding white ball that hovered above his palm. The man blinked and laughed. "Now that's more like it!" he roared, charging Harry with wild abandon.
Harry hurled the light at the man's face. The ball hit and exploded into a thousand sparks. The man roared, rubbing at his eyes, but didn't slow down. Harry barely dodged the next punch, ducking under. His body still hit Harry, sending him crashing through the rotting back door. The man's fist plowed into the wall, punching a hole straight through to the outside.
Harry landed on the porch, sucking in air while adrenaline flooded his system. The man followed, still grinning, his face flecked with sparks. He drew in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke. "You got tricks," he said. "I like that."
"What are you?" Harry asked.
The man shrugged. "Some people call me Sabertooth. I got other names, too, but that's the one they put on the wanted posters."
"Okay, Sabertooth …," Harry spat. "... why don't you fuck off?"
Sabertooth laughed so hard the porch rattled. "You got balls, kid, but they ain't gonna save you." He reached out with long, dirty claws.
Harry saw red. He didn't just want to run. He wanted to hurt this guy. There was a rage bubbling in him that Harry had never felt before. There was a flash of memory. Harry remembered a wand in his hand, a surge of energy, and strange things that almost appeared to be magic. His vision doubled for just a moment, and then everything snapped into crystal clarity.
Harry reached out with his mind. The broken board at his feet shot up into the air and elongated. The splinters drew together, reshaping and hardening into a javelin about six feet long. Without even thinking, it rocketed at Sabertooth.
The javelin struck dead center, punching straight through the man's stomach. The force of it carried him backward, pinning him to the doorframe. Sabertooth let out a roar of pain and rage that shook the whole house.
Harry staggered to his feet, feeling a surge of energy. He expected the man to go down or to die as any normal human would, but instead, Sabertooth looked at the shaft in his gut, laughed, and ripped it out, causing blood to spray across the porch in hot, red arcs. The wound was already closing, even as Harry watched.
Sabertooth spat a glob of blood at Harry's feet. "You're gonna pay for that, kid," he said, his voice gruff and giddy. "I haven't had this much fun in years."
Harry, already enraged, smiled wickedly, and his eyes began burning with fire. "I'm starting to have fun myself."
Magical Mutations
Storm and Wolverine didn't so much drive through Avon as burn rubber straight through the heart of it. Ororo insisted on driving, and Logan grumbled about it until she reminded him she didn't trust his lead foot and murderous instincts. She used both hands, kept her eyes forward, and politely ignored the fact that the needle on the dash hovered around ninety-five the entire way. The highway blurred past them under the car's headlights.
Wolverine cracked the window to let the wind whip his hair. The first thing he said in twenty miles was, "You heard anything from the Professor?"
Storm shook her head and then flinched when her phone buzzed loudly against the console. "Now I have." She answered without looking away from the road. "Go ahead, Professor."
Xavier's voice was thin and tinny through the phone's speaker. "You're very close. The boy's mind is flickering. I believe most of his memories are being suppressed. You'll want to approach carefully."
Storm side-eyed Wolverine. "We're almost at the truck stop. Police have it cordoned off."
"I see them," Xavier said. "But the boy is not with them. He's in the woods … one mile due east. You'll have to hurry."
Storm hung up and yanked the wheel. The car shot across two lanes and skidded onto a cracked shoulder. She brought it to a bone-rattling halt, and Wolverine had jumped out before she even killed the engine. "I can smell him," he said. "And I smell blood."
Storm opened the door and stood. The night was full of distant sirens and a growing tension that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. She turned back to Wolverine. "Do you want to scout ahead?"
He snorted. "I'll go through the trees. You take the sky."
She didn't argue. As Logan disappeared into the underbrush, Storm drew a deep breath. She shut her eyes and called the wind. It answered instantly, lifting her up and away from the car with an effortless vertical rush. As she rose above the treeline, she spotted the truck stop, the blue and red lights, and the police moving like ants. However, the real disturbance was off in the woods. There was a flickering pulse of white light that beat like a heart through the trees.
She angled toward it, following the line of light as it flashed again, and then died away. There was a smell of ozone in the air. It was a scent she knew well. She felt the storm rage inside herself as she dipped lower and circled above the battered house. The roof was half-caved in, and the yard was a tangle of weeds and torn-up earth … but that wasn't the interesting part.
The interesting part was the booming, animalistic scream that shook the ground below. Storm landed silently, her boots pressing the damp grass flat. She walked toward the house, and even before she reached the broken porch, she saw a shadow moving on all fours through the weeds. It was huge, heavy, and moved with the uncoiling grace of a predator.
"Sabertooth," Storm hissed, and she didn't bother to whisper.
He was circling a dark-haired boy who stood at the far side of the porch. The kid's clothes hung in tatters and were covered in blood, but he wasn't cowering. His eyes were burning with a strange fire that unnerved her, and the air shimmered around his fists.
Sabertooth feinted and then pounced. The boy moved a split second before impact, rolling to one side and letting the creature smash through the rotten boards. The impact sent the porch collapsing in a spray of splinters. Sabertooth landed hard but bounced right up, laughing. He wiped blood from his mouth and looked at Storm as if inviting her into the game.
"Hey, Stormy," Sabertooth called out. "Nice night for a hunt."
Wolverine burst out of the woods, his claws extended, and his teeth bared. "The only thing getting hunted tonight is your ugly mug."
Sabertooth growled and turned to face his old rival, but the boy did something neither expected. He raised his hand, palm out, and the ground trembled. A ripple tore through the dirt under Sabertooth's feet, and in an instant, a hundred stone spikes exploded upward, impaling the brute from thigh to ribcage. Sabertooth's shriek of agony cracked through the sky, and he thrashed and ripped himself free, spraying blood and shards everywhere. He looked at Harry with a wild, manic smile. "That's what I'm talkin' about."
Harry's second hand lit up, a ball of fire coalescing from nowhere. He launched it forward, and it hit Sabertooth square in the chest, detonating into a plume of searing flame. The smell of burning hair and flesh filled the air, and for a second, Sabertooth staggered, all his bravado gone. Then, incredibly, the wounds started knitting back together. The horrifically charred skin smoothed out and lightened into undamaged flesh, and he stood straight, still smoking but very much alive.
Wolverine jumped onto his back and immediately began sinking his claws into the flesh, digging for vital organs. Sabertooth spun and hurled him off, but Wolverine landed on his feet, crouched and ready. "You wanna go, runt?" Sabertooth growled. "Let's go."
Storm judged the situation in a split second. Sabertooth would kill the kid if he got the chance. Wolverine would keep Sabertooth busy, but he couldn't finish him alone. The boy's powers were wild and untrained, but he wasn't attacking her. She had to end this fast.
She called down a sliver of lightning. It forked in the sky, then hammered Sabertooth dead center. Sabertooth's skin began to sizzle, and he convulsed and howled before crumpling to the ground. Wolverine wasted no time. He pounced again, claws ready to end the fight for good. However, Sabertooth had other ideas. As soon as Wolverine's claws sank in, Sabertooth jammed the razor-sharp claw of his thumb right into his eye socket. Wolverine howled in pain as Sabertooth laughed joyously while twisting his thumb around.
But the boy intervened and shouted, "STOP!" and a shockwave blasted outward from him, shoving both mutants back. Wolverine hit the porch rail and snapped it in half. Sabertooth tumbled across the yard, rolled, and kept rolling until he slammed into a tree a hundred feet away. Only a few seconds later, Sabertooth was already getting up. He spat blood, glared at the three of them, and weighed his odds. He gave Wolverine the finger and melted into the woods. He didn't even bother with a threat. He was hurt, and he didn't want to play anymore.
Storm stepped forward, arms at her side. "It's alright," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "We're not here to hurt you."
Harry's whole body trembled with adrenaline. The blood on his arms, neck, and face was half-dried, and his clothes were almost falling off his body. His eyes darted from Storm to Wolverine and back again. "Who are you?"
Wolverine climbed to his feet with a grunt, brushing off splinters. "Call me Logan," he said, as if that explained anything. "The big blonde asshole is Sabertooth. He's always causing me trouble. You got a name, bub?"
The kid looked lost. "Harry," he managed. "Harry … Potter." He seemed confused by the words even as he said them.
Storm let out a breath, feeling the charge leave her muscles. She turned her attention to Harry. "Harry, you're safe now. We're not your enemies. We want to help."
Harry sagged, suddenly exhausted, and the fire in his eyes died out. Storm discovered that their normal color was a brilliant emerald-green. "What the hell is happening to me?" he muttered, and for a second, he looked like any normal young man.
Storm moved fast, ready to catch him incase he fell. He had obviously lost a lot of blood. She had to admire his resilience, though. He'd taken a beating, thrown it right back, and was still firmly on his feet. "Let's get you out of here. We'll explain everything once you're safe." She looked over at Wolverine, who was already dialing Xavier.
Harry stared at the ground, breathing hard. "I don't understand. I don't remember anything."
Storm tilted her head to get a better look at him, and her silvery white hair spilled backward. "We'll help you figure it out. You're with us now." She meant it, and Harry must have believed her, because he didn't fight when she wrapped an arm around his back.
The three of them walked out of the yard and away from the wrecked house behind them. Logan looked back once, just to make sure Sabertooth wasn't circling. He wasn't, but still, he sniffed the air just to make sure. Sabertooth's stink was already beginning to fade, which told him that he was probably miles away by then. At the edge of the woods, Storm paused and looked at Harry. "We're going to take you back to our home and get you cleaned up. Is that alright?"
He looked at her and Logan. He nodded once, feeling tired and stressed. "Okay," Harry agreed.
Logan led the way, muttering about all the things he was going to do to Sabertooth when he finally got his hands on him. Storm smiled softly and walked Harry toward the road. Behind them, the damaged house finally collapsed in on itself, and in the far-off woods, a wounded predator plotted revenge.
Chapter 3
The ride back to the mansion was awkwardly quiet. Harry sat in the backseat of the silver car, with Storm at the wheel and Logan riding shotgun. Storm's driving was controlled and precise, though she appeared to be doing twice the posted speed limit the entire way. Logan seemed perfectly at ease with his feet up on the dash, his arms crossed over his chest, and a cigar clenched between his teeth.
Harry drifted in and out of awareness as the minutes passed. He ran his finger along his orbital bone, which Sabertooth had shattered only minutes before, and felt nothing. Every injury he'd picked up during the fight was gone. There were no bruises, no broken bones, and not a single ache could be felt. He flexed his hand and concentrated. A pinprick of light blinked into existence before he quickly snuffed it out. He glanced up, met Storm's eyes in the rearview mirror, and got the sense she'd been watching him do it.
They left the highway and wound through a series of well-kept neighborhoods. The houses grew larger and more expensive as they went. Out of the window, Harry could see gated driveways, tennis courts, and swimming pools reflecting the moonlight. Harry lost track of how many turns they made, but at last Storm punched in a code at a stone gate. After traversing a half-mile of driveway lined with trees, they reached a mansion so massive and ornate that it could have been a five-star hotel. Storm pulled the car into a private garage the size of a small warehouse. They parked between a black Rolls-Royce and an Aston Martin.
Logan leaned over and clapped Harry on the shoulder before getting out. "Nice place, huh?" He grinned around the cigar.
Harry shrugged. "I've stayed in worse."
Logan barked out a laugh that echoed off the concrete walls. "Me too, kid."
Storm came around and opened Harry's door. Her hair looked even brighter under the garage lights, and her outfit was quite tight. Harry took a moment to appreciate her womanly curves.
"This way," she said, sounding even more concerned now that she got a good look at him in the light. Looking down at himself, Harry winced. With the state of his clothes and the amount of blood on them, it looked as though he had been run over by a semi-truck.
At this very early hour, the mansion was mostly quiet. Even so, Harry saw movement at the end of the corridor. If he wasn't mistaken, he saw a flash of red hair bouncing around the corner. Storm led him through the main hall, where a marble staircase divided the room. They passed under the stairs and into a side passage lined with wood paneling and glass display cases. At the end of the hall, Storm pushed open a door and flicked on the lights.
It was a medical lab, but not the kind Harry vaguely remembered. Everything was perfectly clean, and the surfaces were gleaming. Storm gestured at the exam bed. "Sit. I need to take a look at you."
Harry obeyed, his curiosity pushing aside his discomfort. He noticed how Storm's entire demeanor changed when she went into medical mode. She put on a white lab coat and gloved up before setting out instruments and prepping a blood pressure cuff. "Remove your shirt, please."
Harry peeled off his shredded t-shirt and felt a little self-conscious as he exposed his chest. Storm didn't react, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she saw the marks on his torso. There weren't many, and the ones there faded as she watched. She pressed her palm flat to his sternum. "You're not in any pain?" she asked.
"Not anymore," Harry said. "Is that normal?"
Storm smiled just enough to show a dimple at the edge of her mouth. "Normal is a relative term here."
She ran through a quick exam. She checked his reflexes and pupils, then pulled out a stethoscope to listen to his heart and lungs. Every step of the way, her touch was gentle but clinical. When she finished, she took a small blood sample and dropped it into a machine. It hummed quietly.
Harry picked up his shirt to put it back on, but decided it was pointless. There were more holes than material. "You're not going to ask me to bend over and cough, are you?"
That time, Storm let herself laugh. "Not at this time."
Logan stuck his head in, gave Harry a thumbs up, and then leaned against the wall. "He's still in one piece, I see."
"He's healing abnormally fast," Storm said. "I'd say his baseline is enhanced, though I can't be sure yet."
"Figured as much," Logan grunted.
Harry looked at them both. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
Storm looked at Logan before saying, "We'll explain, but first I need to talk to the Professor." She pressed a button on the wall and spoke clearly. "He's here. We're in MedLab."
There was a pause, and then a new voice filled the room. "Thank you, Ororo. Please see to his comfort. I will meet you in your office after you are done."
Storm inclined her head. "Understood, Professor."
Logan looked Harry over. "You hungry, kid?" Harry's stomach growled before he could answer. "I'll get food," Logan said, and with that, he left. Harry could hear his boots thudding off down the corridor.
Storm peeled off her gloves and tossed them into a disposal bin. She pointed at a door on the far side of the lab. "There's a safety shower in there, if you want to get cleaned up. There's a set of medical scrubs in there that you can wear."
Harry hesitated before nodding. He went into the bathroom. The room was big, and the floor tiles were very cold. The shower had four heads and a set of mysterious dials. Harry turned them until steam started billowing out. He stripped and stepped in. The heat was almost overwhelming at first, but it felt good, and he scrubbed away the grime and dried blood.
He stood under the spray for a long time, trying to empty his mind. The more he tried, the more the memories crowded in. All he could think about was the flash of fire, the thrill of power, and the memory of a wand in his hand. A part of him wanted to hide from it all, but another part relished the chaos. He wondered if this was what it felt like to go mad.
Harry turned off the water and reached for a towel. There was a set of clean scrubs folded on the counter. They were pale blue, soft, and far nicer than the thin, scratchy things he expected. He dressed and then looked in the mirror. He barely recognized the person staring back.
When he went back into the lab and found Storm sitting at the desk, scrolling through data on a computer. She didn't look up. "Feeling any better?" she asked.
"Yeah." He paused. "Is it always like this?"
She gave him a look. "Like what?"
Harry tried to put it into words. "Like you're a ticking time bomb, and you're just waiting to go off?"
Storm shot him a kind smile. "It gets easier … for some people, at least." She looked at him with pity, maybe, or possibly understanding. "You want to know the secret?" He nodded. "You find people who don't mind standing close when you do go off." She held his gaze for a moment before standing up and smoothing out her white lab coat. "Are you ready to meet the Professor?"
Harry shrugged. "Why not?"
She led him through the hallways, up a flight of stairs, and to a room filled with books and the scent of old, musty paper. A bald man sat in a wheelchair at the window with his hands folded neatly in his lap. He wore a dark suit and had a look of calm that was almost eerie.
"Mr. Potter," the man said. "I'm Charles Xavier. Welcome to my school." Harry stood in the doorway, unsure what to do with his hands. Xavier smiled. "Please, come in. Sit."
Harry took a seat across from the Professor. Storm hovered just behind his chair, silently supporting him. Xavier studied Harry like someone appraising a dangerous animal and wondering how best to approach. "Ororo tells me you had quite an eventful night."
Harry managed a half-laugh. "You could say that."
Xavier leaned forward. "I'm sure you have many questions. I will answer what I can."
Harry stared at the Professor. "What am I?"
Xavier considered his response. "You are a mutant, Harry, like many of the young people here, but I suspect there is more to it than that." He nodded at Storm. "Ororo says your healing factor is remarkable, and the display of power she witnessed … was it the first time?"
Harry nodded, but then changed his mind and shook his head. "No … but it's the first time I remember doing anything like it."
Xavier's eyes flickered with interest. "Do you remember anything else? Family, friends, your past?"
Harry shook his head. "Only bits and pieces, but it's like … like trying to hold onto smoke."
Xavier nodded in understanding. "Memory suppression can be a side effect of certain trauma, especially when amplified by external forces. We will help you recover what you can, Harry. You'll be safe here."
For some strange reason, Harry believed him, at least for now. Storm stepped forward. "He fought Sabertooth tonight, Professor, and survived it. Logan thinks he could have held his own even if we hadn't shown up."
Xavier's eyebrow raised, but instead of being surprised, he appeared thoughtful. "Sabertooth is not an easy foe. The fact that you survived speaks volumes."
Harry's mouth twitched. "So what now?"
Xavier smiled warmly. "Now, you rest and heal. Tomorrow, we'll introduce you to the others. I think you'll find you're not nearly as alone as you think."
Harry stood, not sure whether to thank him or just leave. Xavier watched him go, and as Harry reached the door, the Professor said, "If you have questions, ask them. There are no secrets in this house, except the ones you choose to keep."
Harry nodded and left the office with Storm at his side. In the hallway, she said, "We'll find you a room."
Harry thanked her and quietly walked beside her. He noticed how her hair caught the light and the way her hips bounced as she moved. She noticed his attention and gave him a half-smile. "Is something wrong?"
Harry's face flushed, and he looked away. "I'm just not used to any of this."
She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "You'll get used to it, Harry. I know it feels strange being somewhere new. Just give it some time." He didn't really know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut.
As Storm led him down the corridor, Harry saw a very attractive girl with vivid red hair. She shot him a kind smile and ducked into a room. Harry wondered what her story was. He followed Storm, letting her take the lead, but already his mind was racing. He wondered what he had just gotten himself into.
Magical Mutations
Harry woke around noon with a tongue that felt like sandpaper and a vague sense that his entire body had been used as a sparring dummy. Thankfully, he wasn't sore. He blinked at the pale blue ceiling. Sunlight broke through the gap in the heavy curtains and cut across the rumpled sheets. He lay there, eyes open, and tried to make sense of the last twelve hours.
He remembered the truck stop, the bullet, and the fire that had crackled through him. Then there was the monster in the house … Sabertooth was his name. He thought about the fight that left the entire house crumbled. Then he remembered the sexy white-haired woman, Storm, and the gruff, cigar-scented Logan. The last thing he remembered was Storm walking him to a room and telling him to sleep as long as he needed.
His stress headache evaporated almost as soon as it appeared. What remained was a gnawing hunger in his belly and a mild sense of curiosity. He rolled out of bed and padded barefoot across the carpet, the medical scrubs twisting awkwardly around his thighs. The room was larger than any bedroom he'd ever seen. It could have doubled as a hotel suite. There was a TV sitting on top of a small table. The closet was so big it had its own light. The dresser drawers were empty, but Harry checked all of them anyway.
He found a bathroom tucked off to the side and opened the door. The tiles were white and gleaming, and there was a huge glass shower. There was a stack of fresh towels, and more personal care products than he knew what to do with. There was shaving cream, razors, scented soaps, half a dozen toothbrushes in sealed wrappers, and three flavors of mouthwash. Even the toilet paper was folded in a neat triangle. Harry washed his face and stared at his reflection, which looked a bit less like a corpse than the night before.
He ran a hand through his hair and tried to imagine what the Professor had said. He said something about memory suppression and the whole "you're special, but not normal" routine. It was comforting, in a way. At least there was a reason he felt so off. There was an explanation, even if it didn't make sense.
He dried off his face, finished his business, and padded back into the bedroom, letting his gaze wander. The emptiness of the room made his chest feel hollow. He had nothing. He suddenly remembered the gold coins and rifled through the pockets of the scrubs. He then realized he'd left them in the medical lab the night before. They were still in the pocket of his torn and bloody jeans. He only hoped Storm hadn't accidentally thrown them away.
He swore softly and looked at the time. It was 12:19 PM. He decided that if he was going to be the "new guy" in a house full of mutants, he might as well shower first. Five minutes later, Harry emerged from the bathroom still wearing his scrubs. He ran a towel through his wet hair. Once it was as dry as he was going to get it, he tossed the towel back into the bathroom. With nothing left to do, Harry opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Someone immediately barreled into him at full speed.
He collided with a wall of soft, warm flesh. For a split second, he thought he was being attacked again, but the weight was all wrong. It was lighter and decidedly curvier. The girl bounced off his chest, spun in the air, and landed flat on her ass with a yelp and a spray of red hair. The girl glared up at him, rubbing her tailbone. She had a beautiful heart-shaped face, a few faint freckles across her nose, and a mane of red hair that spilled down her back in thick waves. Her eyes were a deep, vivid green. She wore tight black leggings and a green tank top that strained at the bust.
As she picked herself up, her breasts did a small jiggle that Harry could not help but notice. She cocked her head and smiled mischievously. "Well, hi. You must be the new guy. Storm told me they brought someone in."
Harry swallowed. "Uh … Yeah. I'm Harry. Sorry, I wasn't …"
"Watching where you were going?" she finished his sentence. She held out her hand. Harry took it, and she yanked herself to her feet, stumbled, and accidentally pressed her body against his. Harry reached out and steadied her. She smiled prettily and took a step back. She brushed the dust off her ass and looked him up and down. "Don't worry. You didn't break anything." She pointed at his scrubs. "Nice look, by the way."
He felt his ears turning red. "I didn't have a chance to do laundry," he muttered, which made her laugh out loud.
"Jean Grey," she said with a smile. She stepped back and leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed under her chest. "Welcome to Xavier's."
He managed a weak smile. "Thanks."
Jean's gaze flicked to his outfit. She bit her lower lip, not trying to hide the fact that she was staring. "So, are you trying to start a new fashion trend or what?"
Harry shrugged. "The closet's empty, and I don't really have anything else to wear."
She pushed off the door and sidled up to him, close enough that he could smell her shampoo. "Well, that's a shame. Come on, we'll fix that. I know just the place."
He opened his mouth to protest, but Jean didn't give him the chance. She grabbed his wrist and towed him down the hallway. The corridor was empty, but Harry was keenly aware of every camera and mirror they passed. Jean kept glancing at him with a sly, sideways smile.
"So, what's your deal?" she asked. "You know … Your mutation?"
Harry thought about it. "I have no idea. They said it was complicated."
Jean nodded as if this were the most normal thing in the world. "Trust me, around here, that's basically a requirement." She led him past a series of closed doors. "You'll like it here. The food is decent, the beds are soft, and nobody cares if you blow up the bathroom by accident." That made Harry chuckle.
They turned a corner and nearly ran into a tall, broad-shouldered guy with perfect posture. He wore a blue polo shirt tucked into khakis, with freshly shined loafers. The only weird part was the sunglasses. They were ruby red and completely out of place indoors.
Jean let go of Harry's wrist and skipped up to the guy. "Scott! This is Harry, the new mutant the Professor found. Harry, this is Scott Summers."
Scott gave Harry a firm, businesslike handshake and an appraising glance. His jawline could cut granite. "Welcome to the madhouse," Scott said. "If you need anything, let me know."
Harry smiled kindly and nodded. "It's nice to meet you … and I will."
Jean, still standing close to Scott, thumped him on the shoulder. "We're raiding your closet," she told him, already pushing past. "Harry needs some temporary duds."
Scott didn't object, but he turned to Harry. "Did they give you a room already?"
"Yeah. It's, uh … very clean."
Scott smiled tightly. "Make sure it stays that way, or Storm will chew you out." He looked at Jean. "You want help with the closet?"
Jean shot him a withering look. "No, I'll handle it. You'd just make him wear one of your ugly ties."
Scott looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he shrugged and leaned against the wall. "See you at dinner, Harry. Watch out for this one," he warned, jabbing his thumb at Jean.
Jean rolled her eyes and dragged Harry into the room. Scott's room was the polar opposite of Harry's. The shelves were lined with textbooks and trophies, and there was an assortment of protein shake powders on the dresser. The closet was overflowing with button-down shirts, jeans, and khakis, all sorted by color and sleeve length.
Jean ran her hands along the racks, humming to herself, and yanked out a pair of dark jeans and a gray t-shirt. "Here," she said, tossing them onto the bed. "Try these on. I'll look away if you're shy," she teased, expecting him to stutter out an objection. However, unbeknownst to her, the Phoenix was the embodiment of passion, and it burned inside of him.
He couldn't understand why he did it, but his shirt was tossed away in the blink of an eye. Jean's eyes widened, and as soon as he began tugging down his trousers, she let out a loud, "EEP!" and turned around. Harry could see her cheeks burning pink as she covered her eyes. He laughed heartily and grabbed the clothes from the bed.
The jeans were a bit tight in the thigh, and the shirt clung to his shoulders like a second skin. "You can turn around," he assured her. Jean lowered her hands and tentatively looked at him. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that his naked penis was securely packed away in those tight jeans.
"You clean up good," she said, raking her eyes over him.
He adjusted the neck hole of his shirt. "Do I have to wear the sunglasses, too?"
She laughed. "No. Scott only wears them because he has no other choice." She walked a slow circle around him, inspecting the fit. Her fingertips lingered on his shoulders as she brushed imaginary lint away. She ran her palm down his arm, then stepped back to get the full view. "Not bad. You almost look like you belong here."
Harry adjusted the jeans. "I really wish I had some underwear," he suddenly stated. Jean's eyes widened comically.
"I completely forgot about those," she said and then burst into a giggle fit. "Don't tell Scott you were freeballing in his favorite jeans. He'd be devastated," she said through the giggles.
"Trust me. That information is between you and me," Harry laughed out. Jean continued to giggle as she got him some socks and sneakers.
After he put them on, Jean walked closer until she was almost touching him. He could feel her body heat and smell her perfume. She straightened out his clothes and nodded in satisfaction. She then pulled away and winked. "Come on. I'll show you around."
They left Scott's room, and Harry half-expected to see Scott standing guard outside, but he was already gone. Jean took him on a whirlwind tour of the gym, the cafeteria, and the rec room. Harry asked many questions and did his best to keep up. The entire time, Jean never left his side. She guided him with a hand at his lower back, or she would hook her arm through his. Harry noticed the way her hips moved, the way her hair bounced when she laughed, and the way her eyes seemed to shine when she smiled.
At one point, Jean steered him into the library and found a quiet alcove behind a stack of encyclopedias. She sat him down, perched on the edge of a table, and crossed her legs with casual elegance. The pose did nothing to hide her curves.
She leaned forward and asked in a quiet voice, "So, are you really an amnesiac, or is that just your cover story?"
Harry smirked. "If it's a cover, it's working exceptionally well. Even I believe it."
She laughed. "Good answer. Around here, you need a sense of humor. Most of us would lose our minds otherwise."
He studied her, fascinated by how easy she took everything. "So what's your story?"
Jean gave a sly smile. "I'm just your average mutant. You know … mind reading and telekinesis … the usual party tricks."
They spent the next hour in the library, talking about every little thing they could think of. Jean asked him about his favorite food, his favorite color, and his favorite movie. He obviously didn't have an answer for most of her questions. Harry asked her about the school she went to, which was called Bayville High. She answered everything honestly, with a kind of bluntness that Harry appreciated.
It felt easy being around her. Maybe too easy, Harry thought. He tried not to let his mind wander to thoughts of her soft lips, her wide hips, or all the other impressive body parts she possessed. He failed miserably. Eventually, Jean stood and stretched, and her shirt rode up just enough to show a smooth sliver of skin. "We should get food before I get hungry. I tend to get cranky when I haven't eaten."
She led him out of the library and down a side corridor. The lunchroom was already filled with food, and the smell of melting cheese was strong enough to make Harry's stomach rumble. Jean loaded a tray with pizza, salad, a mountain of fries, and two cans of soda. She snagged a table in the corner, next to a window that overlooked the grounds.
They ate side by side, knees touching under the table, and Jean told him the real rules of the mansion. Number one was don't piss off Logan. Number two was not to try to pull a fast one on the Professor. Apparently, he could read minds as well. Harry tried to eat slowly, but the hunger was too much. Jean watched him with amusement, popping fries into his mouth when he wasn't paying attention.
After lunch, they wandered the grounds. The mansion's backyard was a full-blown park, with a lake, a running trail, and a massive garden. Jean skipped rocks on the lake and told him stories about all the crazy things that had happened to her at school.
By the time they looped back to the mansion, it was already well into the afternoon. Jean stopped at the back door and turned to face him. She was close again, and Harry could see the little flecks in her green irises.
"How was your first day here?" she asked with a smile.
Harry smiled back. "Better than I expected," he honestly told her.
She brushed a thin bundle of hair behind her ear and smirked. She could obviously tell that he was a bit smitten with her. "Well, I need to go finish up this weekend's homework," she said. "Come find me after dinner. I'll show you my favorite spot in the whole house."
Harry watched her walk away, and his eyes were glued to her swaying hips. She flipped her hair as though she knew he was looking. Harry smiled and shook his head when she disappeared into the mansion.
"I think I'm going to like it here," Harry said with a smirk.