Chapter 4
Harry sat under the old oak at the edge of the lake with his back pressed to the rough bark and his knees drawn up. The sun hammered down from the pale blue sky, making the lake's surface glitter. He'd skipped lunch, but his stomach barely noticed. He was too busy trying to figure out exactly what he could do.
He stared at the far shore, where the line of birches cast a long, continuous shadow. He exhaled loudly and thought about the incident at the truck stop. The last time he'd teleported, it had been in pure panic. There was a gunshot, a rush of pain and terror, and then nothing but flame and weightlessness. Harry tried to replay it in his mind, but the memory wasn't exactly crisp and clear. All he remembered for sure was the urge to get away … and then, he had.
He reached into his pocket and turned over one of the gold coins in his hand. Storm had given them back to him. Luckily, she went through the pockets before throwing away his torn and bloody clothes. The gold coin was smooth, heavy, and cool against his fingers. He stared at it, then closed his eyes and thought about teleporting. He didn't want to just move a few feet, but all the way across the lake.
He opened his eyes, and the birch trees looked no closer than they were before. He sucked in a lungful of air and exhaled slowly, concentrating on his goal. Nothing happened except that he got mildly annoyed and frustrated. "Come on," he whispered, trying to encourage himself. "Do it."
He pictured himself on the far shore, underneath the birch trees' shade. He squeezed his fists so hard his knuckles ached. Again, nothing happened. A bee buzzed near his ear, and he slapped at it, missing completely. Harry wiped his brow and tried again. This time, he stood up and locked his knees. He set his jaw, stared at the opposite bank, and imagined himself there with every fiber of his being. Harry groaned when nothing happened.
He remembered the feeling in the truck stop parking lot, and the way the fire had tickled his skin instead of burning it. It almost felt like he had been floating in space without any control. Maybe he'd been thinking about it wrong, Harry thought. Maybe it wasn't about willpower. Perhaps he just needed to stop trying to control it and let his powers do the work.
He sat back down. He closed his eyes, let his arms rest at his sides, and tried to remember the feeling of weightlessness. He pictured the night sky, the cold wind, and the scream of sirens fading into the background. He inhaled, and then, without warning, his skin flushed with heat, and his bones tingled like they were being tickled from the inside. The next instant, his vision filled with flicking orange light, and he had the distinct sense that gravity had lost its hold on him.
There was a loud whoosh, and then he was standing on the far shore. His foot instantly got tangled in a root, and he was thrown off balance. Harry's momentum carried him into the undergrowth, and he face-planted in a tangle of ferns. The impact sent a jolt of pain up his nose and filled his mouth with vegetation. For a second, he lay there, stunned.
Then the adrenaline caught up, and he started laughing. He got up and spat out a leaf. The grass around him was scorched in a perfect ring where he'd landed, and his body tingled with residual heat. "I did it," he said, and he couldn't stop grinning. He punched the air, and his fist left a faint trail of smoke.
He wiped the sweat from his face, walked to the water's edge, and looked back across the lake. He spotted the oak he had been sitting under on the opposite side of the lake. Harry shook out his tingling hands and tried to teleport again. This time, he focused on the oak tree. He pictured the exact patch of shadow where he'd been sitting. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and let his mind go blank.
The air flashed yellow, the world vanished, and Harry fell right on his ass at the base of the tree. The grass beneath him was warm and slightly smoking. He let out a whoop loud enough to startle a flock of birds into flight.
For the next hour, Harry practiced. He jumped from tree to tree, from one side of the lake to the other. Sometimes he overshot and slammed into a branch. Once, he ended up appearing in the middle of a thorn bush. His arms and hands got pretty scratched up as he climbed out. Thankfully, those small scratches disappeared almost as quickly as they were made. Every time he teleported, he got a little better at landing.
By the time late afternoon had arrived, Harry was sweaty, and his borrowed clothes were covered in grass stains, but he had the trick down. The feeling was addictive. The rush and power of being anywhere, anytime he wanted, was better than any drug. He sat at the base of the tree, smiling like a complete idiot. Now that he had it down, he needed to find the limitations of what he could do.
Magical Mutations
The hallway outside Harry's bedroom was empty, and the only sound was the soft click of Storm's boots on the hardwood floor. She balanced a mug of coffee in one hand and rapped on the door with her knuckles. There was no answer. She waited a few seconds and tried again, knocking a little harder this time. There was still no answer. Storm wondered where he was. The Professor wanted a word with Harry, and he had sent Storm to find him.
Storm tried the handle and found the door unlocked. She leaned in and called out, "Harry?" Her voice was pleasant and melodic, but there was a sharp undertone that made most people snap to attention.
The room was empty, and the bed was unmade. Storm huffed and scanned the space. The window was open, and the curtains were flapping in the breeze. She stuck her head outside and looked around, but didn't see him. Maybe he'd gone for a walk, she thought.
She was about to close the window when a flash of fire erupted in the middle of the room. She was startled so much that the coffee in her hand jumped out of the mug, arched through the air, and splashed onto the floor. Storm yelped and whirled, dropping into a defensive crouch.
Harry stood there with a smile while a faint wisp of smoke curled off his collar. He looked sheepish and slightly exhilarated. Storm took a moment to recover. She put the mug down on his dresser, regarded him with a raised eyebrow, and asked, "Is this going to be a regular thing?"
Harry grinned sheepishly, but he was clearly still proud of his actions. "Sorry. My entrances are still a work in progress."
Storm shook her head. "You scared me half to death."
He gave her a lopsided, boyish grin. "If it helps, you startled me as well."
"It doesn't," Storm replied, but her lips twitched at the corners. "Where have you been?"
"I've been outside, practicing," Harry said. "I've been teleporting … or whatever this is called. I think I've got the hang of it," he said as he bounced on his toes, eager to show off.
Storm smiled, a little proud despite herself. "That's impressive … but next time, maybe warn me before you …" She made an exploding hand motion. "... pop in like that. I'd prefer to keep my eyebrows."
Harry ducked his head, fighting a grin. "Noted."
She picked up the mug and beckoned. "Come on. The Professor would like to talk to you, and he doesn't like to be kept waiting."
The walk to Xavier's office was spent answering Storm's questions about his teleportation. He didn't have many answers, considering he had just learned how to do it. Storm walked gracefully at his side, her eyes shining and her lips pulled into a smile as she listened to him talk. She was quite pleased with how quickly he was adapting to his new surroundings.
They entered Xavier's office, and Harry spotted him behind the desk, his hands folded on the desktop. His expensive, tailored suit was immaculate. He quietly studied Harry as he walked in with Storm by his side. Storm ushered Harry to a seat and took up position behind him, her arms folded over her impressive chest.
"Thank you, Ororo," Xavier said. "You can stay." Storm nodded. Xavier fixed Harry with a kind gaze. "I hear you made progress today." He, of course, hadn't heard it. Instead, he was reading Harry's mind as he did his best to think through the problem and come up with a solution. Xavier was quite impressed.
Harry shrugged. "I figured out how to get from one place to another using my powers, but I'm not exactly an expert yet. Staying on my feet when reappearing is a bit tricky."
"Teleportation is a rare ability," Xavier said. "Yours seems … unique."
Harry didn't have much to say to that. He sat with his hands in his lap, fidgeting with a coin. Xavier caught the action and smiled. "I have some questions," Xavier said. "Do you remember ever going to school?"
Harry considered the question and then shook his head. "I get flashes of things like books and desks. I sometimes get a vague memory of a teacher yelling at me, but nothing sticks. I know how to read, write, and do math, so I must have gone to school."
Xavier nodded, as if this confirmed something. "How old are you?"
Harry hesitated. "I … don't know."
"From my examination, I believe he is around eighteen or nineteen … twenty, tops," Storm interjected.
Xavier's smile was gentle. "Then you are the perfect age to finish high school." He steepled his fingers. "I'd like you to join Jean and Scott at Bayville High, starting next week."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "A regular school?"
"Nothing here is regular," Xavier chuckled. "But you need to learn to blend in and socialize. You need to observe people and learn how to interact with them. We can't always be what we are, Harry. Sometimes we have to pretend."
Harry looked at Storm, who gave him a small nod. "What if I lose control?" he asked. "What if I … flash out in front of people?"
Xavier smiled. "That's why you'll have Jean and Scott to help you, and in turn, you will help them. And if all else fails, I have a few tricks of my own that I can use," he said with a knowing smile.
Harry didn't know what to say. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"
Xavier leaned forward. "For now. Unless you have questions."
Harry thought about it. "What if someone from my past finds me? What if I'm not supposed to be here?"
Xavier said, "If they come, we'll handle it together. You're safe here, Harry. You have my word."
He didn't know if that was true, but Xavier's voice made it seem real. Harry nodded. "Okay. I'll do it."
Xavier's smile was serene, as if he'd expected nothing less. "Excellent. Ororo will help you prepare. Classes begin Monday."
Storm clapped him on the shoulder and led him out. In the hallway, she stopped. "Are you nervous?"
Harry shrugged. "It can't be worse than getting shot."
She laughed. "That's the spirit." Harry couldn't help but chuckle along with her.
Magical Mutations
Harry lay on his bed with one leg propped on the windowsill and the other dangling off the mattress. The afternoon sun beat through the window and warmed his skin. He was rolling a stubby yellow pencil between his thumb and middle finger, lost in the quick flashes of memories that kept zapping his mind at random intervals. This time, the memory was of a classroom and a stern, older woman lecturing him about wasting time on nonsense. The woman's face wouldn't come into focus, but her tone was something he could never forget. He vaguely remembered making objects turn into completely different things. He gripped the pencil and held it upright.
Harry tried to remember how he'd done it before. To be fair, he wasn't even sure he had done it before. He took a breath, held the pencil up, and imagined it being something else … like maybe a key, or a fork.
He felt a prickle start in his right shoulder and zip down his arm, and the pencil vibrated in his hand. He kept his eyes on the graphite tip. The wood trembled and shimmered, and suddenly, the pencil morphed into a stainless steel fork. Harry was shocked that it had been so easy. He tested the fork by flicking it with his finger, and he heard a metallic ping. Harry grinned happily and twirled it between his fingers. He barely had time to admire his handiwork before the door was kicked open with a loud bang.
"Harry!" Jean sang out, careening into the room like it was her own. She was in a pink tank top and cutoff shorts, and her red hair was in a messy ponytail. He thought she looked very attractive. She closed the distance in two steps, vaulted onto his bed, and wrapped herself around him like a python. Her body was very warm and soft, and her hair smelled really good.
She squished her face into his chest and hugged him tight, giggling as she did. "I heard you're starting school with us next week!" Jean was pressed so close that he could feel the rapid thump of her heart. Harry chuckled and rubbed her back.
"Yeah," Harry managed to say, though his words were muffled by her hair. "The Professor talked me into it."
She pulled back just enough to look at him. Her smile was very beautiful, and her cute dimples made it even better. "You're going to love Bayville. Sure, the people are a bit crazy, but at least you'll never get bored." Her gaze flicked to his hand, and she spotted the fork. "Were you planning to eat or something?"
"Nope," he told her. "I was just practicing with my powers," he said before concentrating. He felt the tingle again, let it build, and focused hard. The fork vibrated and reassembled itself as a perfectly new yellow pencil. Harry handed it to her, and Jean squealed in delight.
"Wow, that's amazing," she whispered, ruffling his hair before tossing herself onto her back and sprawling her legs across his lap. "I wish I could do that. Imagine the possibilities."
Harry smiled and tickled her legs with his fingertips. "At least you can read minds. That would definitely be handy for tests."
Jean propped herself up on her elbows and tossed him a smirk. "That's not all I can do." She grinned and concentrated. The pencil in his hand started shaking, and suddenly, it flew from his grip. It floated toward her, and she caught it out of the air. Harry whistled in appreciation.
He was about to compliment her work when Storm appeared in the doorway. She wore a clingy blue dress that hugged every curve, and her white hair was drawn back in a regal braid. She gave the scene a quick once-over and smirked. "I see you're getting comfortable, Jean."
Jean smiled and put her hands behind her head. "I'm just making sure our Harry's ready for Bayville's rigorous social environment."
Storm ignored Jean's flirty sprawl and turned her attention to Harry. "We're going to need to get you some new clothes." She pointed at his outfit, which was a shirt borrowed from Scott, jeans two sizes too small, and black socks with blue athletic stripes. "If you show up at Bayville in that, the entire football team will try to murder you on principle."
Jean rolled off Harry and shot upright, her eyes gleaming. "Shopping trip?!" She bounced in place, clapping her hands like a child on Christmas. "Storm, you're the best."
Storm tilted her chin and smirked. "The car leaves in ten. Jean, get your purse. Harry, brush your hair. Scott's meeting us downstairs."
Jean squeaked in excitement, tackled Harry in a hug again, and practically teleported out of the room. Harry lay back and stared at the ceiling, his body buzzing from the feel of Jean's thighs squeezing his ribs. When the echo of her laughter faded down the hall, he pushed himself up, ran a hand through his hair, and checked his look in the mirror. He was starting to see the person everyone else saw. He was a guy with a body built for contact sports and a face that would make girls swoon. However, his hair was a different story. He tried his best to flatten it, and even the hairbrush could only do so much to tame its messiness. After doing all he could, he gave himself a final once-over, then jogged downstairs to meet up with them.
Downstairs was a bit chaotic. Jean was doing high kicks at the base of the stairs, showing off the long, pale expanse of her legs. Scott was already there, wearing khakis, a blue pullover, and, as always, those weird ruby shades. Storm was by the front door, tapping away at her phone and pretending not to notice Jean's shenanigans.
Scott looked up and nodded. "Are you ready for the worst day of your life, Harry?"
Harry shrugged. "I've had worse. I got shot by a redneck and sliced up by Sabertooth, remember?"
"This is worse," Scott smirked. "These two are nuts when it comes to clothes," he said, indicating to Jean and Storm.
Storm clapped her hands. "Let's go." She herded them into the car, and Jean immediately called out shotgun. Harry and Scott were forced into the backseat, and Jean immediately dropped the window, stuck her head out, and whooped as Storm gunned the engine and peeled out of the mansion's circular drive.
The mall was already packed by the time they got there. Inside, the noise was relentless. Music pounded from every store, kids ran around laughing and yelling, and the smell of pizza and hot pretzel dough wafted from the food court. Harry had never seen anything like it. The glass atrium above them threw sunlight in all directions, and the effect was dizzying.
Storm led the charge, her heels clicking against the floor as she cut through the crowd. "First stop, casuals," she said, beelining for a store packed with mannequins in pastel polos and ripped jeans.
Scott hung back, looking in the opposite direction. "If you need me, I'll be at the electronics shop," he said, and then he was gone, almost running away from the impending doom of two fashion-loving women in a clothing store.
Jean stuck close to Harry, her hand never far from his wrist or elbow. In the store, she circled him like a predator, pulling shirts off racks, holding them up to his chest, and discarding them with ruthless speed. "No. No. Oh, definitely no. Ooh, this one!" She shoved a white V-neck and some black chinos at him. "Go try them on," she commanded, leaving no room to argue.
Harry barely got the dressing room door closed before Jean was outside it, peppering him with questions. "Do you like V-necks? Is it too tight? Can I see?"
He stepped out, and Jean wolf-whistled. "Damn, Harry! If you want to destroy the academic curve, show up in that. Every teacher will be too flustered to give you less than an A."
Harry rolled his eyes, but even Storm was smirking as she assessed the outfit. "That works," she said, and then handed him three more shirts to try on.
It quickly became a competition of who could get him to try on more clothes. Jean picked things that she secretly wanted to see him wear, and Storm picked out things she knew would actually fit his body. Jean kept sneaking into the dressing area with an armload of increasingly weird clothes, which she would force him to try on. Of course, she cackled in amusement when he actually tried them on.
When Jean convinced him to try on a pair of running shorts that barely cleared mid-thigh, she burst into a giggle fit. Harry huffed and began poking her in the ribs, making her jump around and squeal. Storm rolled her eyes and joined them. "I think that's enough for this store. We don't want to wear him out too fast, now do we?"
Jean saluted. "Yes, ma'am."
They raided two more stores, and by the end of it, Harry had a full new wardrobe. He had jeans that actually fit, button-downs, t-shirts, a variety of hoodies, and the aforementioned running shorts that Jean insisted they buy, even though Harry bluntly said he would never wear them again. Storm paid for everything with a credit card that Harry assumed belonged to Xavier.
The last stop was the shoe store. Storm sat on one of the benches to rest her feet. Her legs were crossed, which showed off a whole lot of silky-smooth skin. As Harry and Jean goofed off while picking shoes, Storm was forced to fend off multiple admirers who wanted nothing more than to have a chance with the sexy woman. After forty-five minutes, Harry finally came stumbling out of the store with four loaded bags in his hands. Jean was latched onto his back with her arms around his neck, and Harry groaned from the weight of the piggyback ride.
Storm cleared her throat. "If you two are finished, I'd like to get out of here before the security guards call the Professor again."
Jean stuck out her tongue, but hopped off his back nonetheless. She slung an arm around his waist and stuck close as they made their way back through the mall. Scott rejoined them outside the electronics store with two bags in hand.
"Did you get what you needed?" Storm asked as they walked up to him.
Scott shrugged with a smirk. "The only thing I needed was to be as far away from Jean's craziness as possible."
Jean grinned at him. "Look what I got him. Aren't they great?" she asked, holding up the ridiculously short shorts.
Scott ignored her and focused on Harry. "You ready for high school?"
Harry nodded. "As ready as I'm going to be."
Scott looked at him and shook his head. "If you say so. Just don't wear those shorts and you'll be fine."
Storm led the way out with the others joking and laughing behind her. They wove through the parking lot, past a couple making out against a car, and then into the relative quiet of the vehicle. On the drive back, Storm put on the radio, letting the soft music fill the silence. Jean curled up next to Harry and rested her head on his shoulder. Scott was in the front seat, dozing off.
Spending several hours shopping must have been quite taxing, Harry discovered, because he also found himself dozing off. Jean wiggled closer, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders and closed his eyes. Before he knew it, he drifted off with Jean's warm breath tickling his neck.
Chapter 5
Jean lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. She had been doing this for at least two hours straight. The digital clock read 2:14 a.m. Every five minutes, she checked it again. Her pillow was causing her a great deal of annoyance. It was too hot on one side and too cold on the other. She just couldn't catch a break. The rest of her body fared no better. She'd tried curling up with her knees under her chin, flopping on her stomach, rolling over to the right, and then to the left. Nothing seemed to work. Each time she shifted, the sheet bunched and twisted around her legs until it felt like she was being strangled. Outside her bedroom, she could hear the fountain trickling in a never-ending waterfall that only made Jean need to pee.
She threw the covers off and rolled onto her back. She folded her hands over her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. Her thoughts rebelled for the thousandth time since she'd crawled into bed. The scene in her head played on a continuous loop. She saw Harry's green eyes, the lopsided smile that she found particularly attractive, and the way his hair wildly stuck up in the morning. She remembered wanting to jump into the changing room with him while they were shopping for clothes. That wasn't exactly normal behavior … at least for her.
Jean ran her tongue over her lips and felt a flush creep up her neck. This was not her first crush. She knew the symptoms, and she was experiencing them all. The obsessive thoughts, fluttering stomach, and the deep ache behind her thighs all pointed to one thing. Unfortunately, she already had a boyfriend. Duncan was a nice enough guy, but he'd never once made her this crazy. With Duncan, everything was a straight line. She said yes or no and got exactly what she expected in return. With Harry, she just couldn't seem to control herself.
She tried to rationalize it all. Maybe it was because he was the new guy, or maybe it was the fact that Harry was a complete mystery. One day, he was lost and unsure of himself, and the next day, he was doing magic tricks with pencils and teleporting across the lake like it was nothing. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on her body when he thought she wasn't looking. It made her feel both exposed and excited. It made her want to do something stupid.
Jean squeezed her thighs together. The heat was back, and it was worse than ever. It started as a subtle tingling in her belly, then radiated lower until it pooled between her legs. Every time she thought about Harry's hands, his smile, or his voice, it got worse. The first time she'd noticed it, she thought maybe she was getting sick. Now that she knew the truth of it, she just felt perverted. Funnily enough, the thought of her being perverted didn't really bother her. The only problem was the physical discomfort that came with it all. She'd started wearing her oldest, rattiest pajama shorts to bed because the good ones kept getting ruined. Every morning, she would wake up with large wet spots.
She shifted again, sliding her hand down to her thigh. There was no relief. Her panties were already damp, and Jean groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. "Good god, get a grip, woman," she whispered to herself. She didn't dare say it louder, in case someone overheard.
She knew if she let herself, she could think about Harry's mouth for five minutes and cum so hard she'd wake up everyone on her floor. She'd already tried that earlier in the week. It had been embarrassingly easy. It barely took three strokes, and she was seeing stars. It helped in the moment, but the relief never lasted more than an hour. After that, it came back worse. The cycle was annoyingly relentless.
Tonight, Jean tried to resist. She tried to do the responsible thing. She pictured the periodic table, and when that didn't work, she went over the numbers of pi. When that failed, she pictured the molecular diagram of table salt. 'Sodium chloride,' she thought. 'NaCl.' She pictured herself taking a big spoonful and shoving it in her mouth, and the image was so stupid she almost laughed out loud.
Unfortunately, her mind slipped. 'Sodium chloride … Salt … Sweat.' Jean immediately imagined Harry's sweat running down the curve of his bicep and down his chiseled abs. Jean thought about dragging her tongue up and down his sweaty body. She wondered if he tasted sweet or bitter. She wanted to find out.
Jean pressed her thighs together harder. She could feel every tingle and throb of her body. Her nipples strained beneath the thin tank top. They were rock hard and very sensitive. She wanted to rip the tank off, squeeze her own tits, and let her other hand do what she'd been denying all night. The need was so strong it almost made her angry. She was going insane. She was certain of it. She had no idea why she was suddenly acting this way. It was like a switch had been flipped on the moment Harry walked into her life.
She let her hand wander up her leg, over her stomach, and it paused at the waistband of her shorts. She hesitated, fighting herself. She'd promised she wouldn't do this again, but she already knew it was hopeless. She slid her hand under the elastic, and her fingers grazed the soft, damp cotton of her panties. The throbbing need was almost painful now.
She waited and held her breath, letting the feeling wash over her. She pictured Harry in the darkness of her room, crouched at the edge of her bed while watching her with those hungry green eyes. In her mind, he reached out and pulled her hand away, replacing it with his own. His fingers would be rough and perhaps a little clumsy. He'd tease her until she was shaking, and he'd make her say his name. Jean bit down on her lip. She could almost hear him whisper it in her ear.
She rocked her hips a little, and the first touch made her gasp loudly. She pressed her hand over her mouth and froze, waiting to see if anyone had heard her. Thankfully, the only sound she heard was the annoying trickling of water coming from the stone fountain.
She pressed her palm flat against her wet folds and gently stroked herself. She pictured Harry manhandling her body into any position he desired. She imagined the feeling of his hot, wet tongue exploring her folds. She moved her fingers faster, and she was mortified to hear how wet she was. Her breathing went ragged, and the orgasm built faster than she could ever imagine. She arched her back, and her knees knocked together. When it hit, she had to smother the scream with her other hand. She bit the heel of her palm and shuddered through the amazing pleasure.
When she was done, she lay perfectly still, waiting for her heart to calm down. The relief was brief, replaced almost immediately by a strange, gnawing emptiness. The pleasure had been great, but somehow she knew that it would be even better with Harry. She suddenly felt stupid and slightly humiliated.
She rolled over, yanked the pillow over her head, and groaned. "I really need to figure this out," she muttered. "Or I'll never get a good night's sleep again."
The alarm clock said 2:33 a.m. She shut her eyes and tried not to dream of Harry at all. She utterly failed.
Magical Mutations
Harry woke to the sound of a beeping alarm. He groaned, rolled over, and blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. Then he saw the pile of empty shopping bags and remembered. He was in the mansion, and he had a full day of school waiting to swallow him whole.
Down in the kitchen, Scott poured a mountain of cereal, added a lake of milk, and proceeded to devour it. Harry joined him at the counter and reached for a banana. He found himself missing a classic English breakfast, even though he wasn't sure if he'd ever eaten one.
"The first day's always rough," Scott said, not looking up from his cereal. His sunglasses glinted in the overhead lights.
"I'll survive," Harry said. His voice sounded more awake than his brain felt.
Jean arrived a minute later, wearing a pair of cargo jeans and a light purple shirt. Her hair was braided, and her eyelids drooped like she'd been up until dawn. She flopped onto a stool and rested her forehead against her arms.
Harry poked her in the ribs. "Are you alright?" he asked.
She grunted, then rolled her head to the side and peered up at him with a sleepy smile. "I'm just tired. I didn't get much sleep." Her voice was low and a little bit rough.
Scott passed her a mug of coffee, which she cradled with both hands and inhaled as if it were the cure for death. "You want breakfast?" he asked.
Jean shook her head. "Too tired," she simply stated.
Scott finished his cereal and stood up, stretching his arms overhead. "We should probably get going. Do you want to ride up front, or do you want to take a nap in the back?"
"The back is fine," Jean said, then yawned. "But if either of you sings along to the radio, I'll scramble both of your brains."
Scott chuckled. "Enough said." He tossed his bowl into the sink and shouldered his backpack. Harry followed suit, only to realize he had no backpack, pens, or notebooks. Jean solved the problem by tossing him a new Jansport that was sitting by the door.
"Take this," she yawned. "Storm went out and got everything you'll need." Harry inspected the contents and found notebooks, pens, pencils, folders, and a calculator. He shrugged and slung it over his shoulder. He made a mental note to thank Storm later.
They piled into Scott's red convertible, which Harry thought was pretty cool. The morning air was already warm. Harry easily slid into the front seat, while Jean curled up in the back and pulled her knees to her chest. Scott cranked the engine, and they roared out of the garage, tearing down the driveway.
Harry braced himself as Scott took the curves of the private driveway like a lunatic. Every bump in the road rattled his teeth. Harry had never been in a car like this, and he was pretty sure he might become addicted to it. The wind caught Jean's hair and whipped it across her face, but she just closed her eyes and tried to catch a few winks before they arrived.
They hit the main road and joined the parade of cars streaming toward Bayville High. The building looked more like an old mansion than a school. The parking lot was full of jocks, skaters, preppies, and nerds, all vying for attention. Most of them sported backpacks slung over one shoulder, as if they were too cool to carry them properly. Harry saw that a fight had broken out before they even parked.
Scott wedged the convertible into a spot and turned off the engine. Jean rolled out of the backseat and smoothed her shirt. "First, you need to go to the main office. They'll give you your schedule."
Scott added, "After that, try to find me or Jean, and try not to make eye contact with the principal."
"Why not?" Harry asked.
"You'll find out," Jean said with a sly grin.
Harry nodded, swung his bag over his shoulder, and walked toward the entrance. Jean caught up and tugged at his sleeve. "Hold on a second." She reached up and smoothed his hair, then straightened the collar of his shirt. Her fingers brushed the side of his neck, and they lingered just a second too long.
She pulled away, her cheeks a little pink. "There. Now you look like you didn't get dressed in the dark." She grinned and nudged him toward the doors.
Inside, the school was filled with a cacophony of sounds. There were lockers slamming, bells ringing, and a surge of students all laughing and shouting. Jean pointed at the main office and then vanished into the crowd. Harry walked in, smiled politely at the woman behind the desk, and explained he was new.
"Potter," she read from the computer, her fingers clacking at the keys. "Welcome to Bayville High. See Principal Darkholme first, please." She handed him a piece of paper and waved him toward an office door with a smoked-glass window.
Harry knocked, and a sharp voice inside said, "Enter."
He entered and found Principal Darkholme sitting stiffly behind her desk. She wore a gray skirt suit and thick-rimmed glasses. Her brown hair barely reached past her chin, and it was slightly slicked back. Her skin was pale, and her smile, if it could be called that, was thin and humorless.
She stared at Harry for a long time. "Mr. Potter," she said finally. "You have transferred from …" She checked the paper. "England. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Harry answered.
She raised a brow. "We do things differently here, I assume. I expect you to adapt quickly. We do not tolerate disruptions at Bayville High."
Harry smiled, matching her icy stare. "Of course, ma'am."
Darkholme slid a copy of the school code across the desk. "Read it and learn it. If you have questions, refer to your student mentor. You have been assigned to Jean Grey."
Harry's smile was genuine when he heard that. "I'll do that."
Darkholme regarded him with the predatory gaze of a snake getting ready to strike. "Dismissed, Mr. Potter. Try not to get lost."
Harry took the schedule and code, thanked her, and closed the door behind him. In the hall, he scanned the sheet. He saw that he had English first, then history. Those were followed by math, gym, and various others in the afternoon. Harry knew it was going to be a long day.
He made his way through the school, dodging the moving obstacles of Bayville's student body. At the corner, he saw Jean again, standing with a guy who looked a bit like a meathead. He wore a letterman jacket and had the glassy, slow-witted gaze of someone who probably cheated on all of his tests. His eyes locked onto Harry.
Jean smiled and waved him over. "Harry, this is Duncan Matthews."
Duncan extended a massive hand. "Jean's boyfriend," he clarified.
Harry shook his hand, and Duncan squeezed tighter than Harry thought necessary. "So, you're the lucky man?" Harry obviously already knew that Jean had a boyfriend, and Scott had warned him that Duncan was a bit of an idiot. Now that he had seen him, Harry tended to agree.
Duncan smirked. "Damn right … So hands off."
"And if I don't?" Harry asked with a smirk of his own.
Duncan's eyes narrowed. "Then you and I are going to have problems."
Jean stepped between them, worried that a fight was about to break out. "I can take care of myself, Duncan," she told him in no uncertain terms.
Duncan grunted. "Don't get too cocky, Brit, or I'll make your life here a living hell," he warned. He put an arm around Jean's waist, pulling her close. Jean rolled her eyes and gently pushed him away.
Harry noticed the little things, like how Jean stiffened when Duncan touched her, and how she looked at him when Duncan wasn't watching. He let the moment pass. As Jean had stated, she was more than capable of taking care of herself. The moment she couldn't, only then would he step in.
"Did you get your schedule?" Jean asked.
Harry handed it over. She looked at it and brightened. "We have first, second, third, and last period together! And lunch, too. Yes!" She flashed a triumphant grin at Duncan, who just frowned harder.
Jean patted Duncan on the shoulder and turned to Harry. "We gotta get to class," she said, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him down the hall.
Duncan watched them go, his glare burning holes in the back of Harry's head. Harry looked over his shoulder, caught Duncan's scowl, and gave him a lazy little salute. Jean noticed and laughed. "You're going to get punched before the day is over."
Harry smiled cheekily. "If I do, will you back me up?"
Jean pressed against his side, close enough that her hip bumped his every step. "Maybe … If you're nice."
He slipped an arm around her waist, squeezing her hip. "I can be very nice," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. She giggled, smacked his chest, and said, "Pervert." But she didn't move away. They walked like that the rest of the way to class.
Duncan was still watching as they moved all the way down the hall. Harry made sure to keep his hand firmly on Jean's hip the whole time. Duncan's hands clenched into trembling fists.
Magical Mutations
As soon as the final bell rang, he felt all tension leave his shoulders. The day had been a mixed bag. English was tolerable, math was dreadful, and every other period was somewhere in the middle. Jean had been attached to his hip whenever Duncan wasn't around, but the instant her boyfriend appeared, she would keep a little bit of distance between them. He wasn't stupid. He knew how it looked, and he was pretty sure Duncan knew exactly what it was, too.
At the last bell, the halls swelled with a sea of students. Harry made his way to his locker. He was three steps away when someone slammed a heavy shoulder into his back. Harry staggered, caught the edge of the locker, and turned, ready to return the favor. Duncan and two of his football goons grinned at him. Duncan had a smirk stretched across his face. "Excuse you, Potter," Duncan said with a shit-eating grin.
The jocks burst out laughing. The sound was loud and annoying. Harry wasn't laughing. He just stood there and looked at Duncan, the way a predator watches its prey. Duncan's smirk faltered, but he recovered. He did the finger gun at Harry and walked off. The goons trailed after him, making comments that annoyed Harry even more.
Harry was about to follow, but Scott intercepted him. "Don't," he said in a quiet voice. "It's not worth it. He'll get bored eventually."
Harry thought about it for a second. He wanted to flatten Duncan and his stupid friends. Instead, he exhaled and nodded. "Fine. Let's just get out of here before I do something stupid."
Scott clapped him on the back. "That's the spirit. Come on, we can get out before the parking lot turns into a zoo."
They made it outside into the hot afternoon sun. The student lot was crammed with cars, weaving around pedestrians as they tried to be the first out of the lot. As they walked, Harry kept an eye out for Jean. "Should we wait for Jean?" he asked. "I thought she was going to ride with us."
Scott shook his head. "Duncan usually drops her off after soccer practice. That's his car over there," Scott said, pointing to a white convertible.
They reached Scott's car, and Harry dropped his bag on the hood, thinking about Duncan and his endless parade of insults. He let the anger build for a moment, then let it go with a deep exhale. He knew what he had to do. "Hey, Scott, do me a favor?"
Scott was fishing for his keys. "What's up?"
"Watch my back," Harry said, already turning away.
Scott barely had time to say, "Wait, what are you …" before Harry was moving.
Harry wove through the traffic with purpose, ignoring a honking Jeep and a shout from a passing cheerleader. He spotted Duncan's car easily. It was a gleaming white Mustang convertible. The top was down, and the black leather seats glinted in the sunlight. Duncan and his minions were still standing by the gym, oblivious to everything not involving themselves.
Harry walked up to the car and, without hesitation, unzipped his fly. The first second of relief was divine. The next few were a blur of satisfaction and utter pettiness. He kept going until the seat was soaked, the shifter and steering wheel gleamed with runoff, and the dashboard dripped. It was so beautiful that Harry's cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. He zipped up, jogged back to Scott, and couldn't wipe the grin from his face.
Scott stared at him while his jaw nearly touched the ground. "Did you just …?"
Harry nodded. "Filled it to the brim, mate."
Scott started laughing. "You're insane. Do you know how much trouble you'll be in if he finds out?"
Harry shrugged. "He started it."
Scott looked over his shoulder, then back at Harry. "I kind of wish I'd thought of that," he admitted.
They got into Scott's car and waited. Harry could barely contain himself. A few minutes later, Duncan swaggered over with Jean trailing just behind him. Duncan threw his gym bag in the back seat, then slid into the driver's seat. He froze. His hands came away wet, and he looked down at the spreading stain with growing confusion. He sniffed once, then recoiled so hard he nearly punched himself in the nose.
"What the fuck!" Duncan exploded, leaping out of the car. He stared at his hands, and then he angled his body so he could look at his wet ass. Duncan then looked down at the seat.
Jean blinked in confusion. "Did a cat get in there or something?"
"Someone pissed in my car!" Duncan bellowed.
His goons doubled over in laughter. Jean looked at the wet seat before looking up at Duncan's face. She pressed her lips together, fighting to keep from laughing. "Maybe you left the top down too long? I might have rained," she said, looking up at the sky.
"IT'S PISS!" Duncan screamed. He spun in a circle, his arms flailing. His face was turning purple.
Scott and Harry watched from a distance, silent for the first few seconds before they both lost it. They howled with laughter. The tears were streaming down Scott's face.
Duncan stormed around, looking for the culprit. Harry had to give him credit. Duncan was very thorough. He sniffed the air like a bloodhound, bellowed at his goons, and then marched back to the car. "I'll kill whoever did this!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
Harry sat up straight and proud, half hoping that Duncan would see him and come over. After another long tantrum, Duncan stormed into the gym. Jean shrugged and made her way over to Scott's car. She rapped on the window, and Scott rolled it down. "Are you two heading out?" she asked, giving Harry a quick once-over.
"Yep," Scott said. "Are you riding with us?"
She shook her head. "I still have soccer practice, but can you come back and pick me up at five? I don't think Duncan's in the mood to drive anyone home right now."
Scott nodded. "Sure thing," he said with a smile. Jean smiled back and said her goodbyes before walking away.
"Ugg! I can smell Duncan's car from here!" they heard her say before she was out of earshot.
Scott started the car, pulled out of the lot, and they didn't stop laughing until they were halfway down the road.
Chapter 6
A few days later, everything was still pretty much the same. Harry was never suspected, and the legend of the Pissing Bandit continued to grow with each passing day. Duncan's car still smelled faintly of piss, but the social hierarchy of Bayville High remained unchanged. Harry was starting to get into a good rhythm with everything, and Jean hadn't so much as mentioned the incident. She greeted him every morning with the same sly grin and an extra-long hug, sometimes even going so far as to peck him on the cheek. It was unclear if this was to annoy Duncan or reward Harry for his efforts, but he wasn't complaining.
Harry found himself in the sprawling mansion grounds, practicing with his powers. He raised his hand, palm out, and stared at the empty space above it. He focused hard, and at first, there was nothing. Then a sharp, stinging heat appeared in his palm. He closed his eyes and let the sensation spread. A spark popped in his palm. It was blue in the center and orange at the edges. It swelled, folded back on itself, and merged into a perfectly round sphere of fire, about the size of a golf ball. The heat licked at his skin, but didn't burn.
Harry watched the fireball undulate. It reminded him of breathing, or perhaps a beating heart. He turned his hand over, and the fire rotated slowly in the gravity of his palm. He tilted his wrist, and the fireball slid off, floating for a half-second before dissolving into air.
He exhaled loudly. The next time, he tried with his hand at a forty-five-degree angle. He clenched his fist and forced the heat out, focusing on projection instead of containment. The spark flared again, but this time it formed a thin, flickering blade. The flame didn't leave his hand at first. He shook his hand, and the blade sputtered. Harry then concentrated harder and pointed with all five fingers.
A gout of flame erupted and hissed white-hot, cutting a line through the clear blue sky. It burned twenty feet out before fading to nothing. Harry could feel the intense heat hanging in the air. He snorted in surprise and grinned at the scorched patch of grass. The precision was not perfect, but at least it was an improvement.
He shook out his hand and let the heat drain away. For a moment, his hand stung with pins and needles. Harry flexed his fingers and, this time, focused on cold rather than heat. A piercing cold pooled on his palm and then spiked down his wrist. His breath fogged the air as the temperature around his palm plummeted.
A plume of icy mist erupted from his fingers. At first, it was just a cloud, but then tiny flecks of snow began spinning in the vortex. The mist curled out and froze the grass at his feet. Harry grunted in satisfaction and pointed again, shaping the flow with a curved hand. This time, the ice blast was sharper and more focused. The frost bit a chunk out of a tree trunk ten yards away, and the bark split with an audible crack.
He wiped his hand on his shirt, and the cold faded, replaced by a mild ache that felt like bruising from the inside. He rotated his shoulder and felt the discomfort vanish.
Harry eyed the tree with the missing bark. He remembered something he had heard Storm talking about. She said something about "guiding growth." She wanted to learn how to do it so she could use it on some of the small trees and bushes in her greenhouse. He closed his eyes and imagined the tree limbs not as fixed, but as something malleable. He reached out, not with his hand, but with his powers. At first, the only thing that happened was the leaves shaking a bit. Then a tingling sensation slid down his arm, and the branches of the tree began to twitch.
One at a time, the limbs moved. Harry concentrated, and the branches curled in on themselves, twisting and wrapping. After a minute, the tree's upper limbs had tangled into a tight, basket-weave lattice. Pleased with his work, Harry snapped his fingers to make the branches lock in place. They did, though the tree shivered all the way down to its roots.
He stepped back and wiped the sweat off his brow. His forehead was damp. The trick, he realized, was not to force it. It was to direct the movement, as if he were moving his own arm or leg. The tree would follow, so long as he gave it a path.
Harry wondered what else he could do. He faced the open lawn, scanned for any witnesses, and then aimed both palms at the far fence. Harry focused only on the urge to push outward. He planted his feet, braced his core, and imagined shoving an invisible wall. He drew in breath, held it, then pushed hard with both hands.
A concussive force rippled out from his palms, distorting the air like a heat shimmer. The blast wave hit the fence and tore a hole straight through, twisting steel bars in every direction. The sound rattled the windows of the mansion, and the recoil sent Harry flying backwards. He landed flat on his ass, a good fifteen feet from where he started.
He groaned and rolled to his knees. His arms stung, and his shirt was shredded from the chest down. The force had ripped away both sleeves, leaving the lower half hanging in tatters. He shrugged out of the remains and dropped the scraps on the ground.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, dusting himself off. Harry concentrated, and the shredded shirt vanished, dissolved into a puff of black vapor. He looked at the damage and grimaced. He waved his hand over the divot in the grass, smoothing the impact. It wasn't perfect, but it looked better than before. Harry held his hand out and put all his will into fixing the fence. Slowly, the steel bars screeched as they straightened and reattached. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, then wiped the dirt off his shorts and started toward the lake.
There was a small, man-made beach at the water's edge. It was a semicircle of sand no more than thirty feet wide. Harry stepped to the shore and peeled off his shoes. The lake was still, with only the smallest ripples from the wind. The air above the surface was warm, and the water was much colder. The sun was out and beating down on his bare shoulders. He stared out at the rippling water, debating whether to dive in or just sit in the sand and soak up some sun. He didn't notice Jean until she cannonballed into the water with a whoop that echoed through the trees.
She surfaced, shook the hair from her face, and looked up at him. Her red hair was slicked back, and her skin gleamed in the sunlight. The green bikini she wore hugged every delicious curve. Harry tried not to stare, but he failed miserably.
"Hey, Harry!" she called, waving him in.
He walked to the end of the pier, stretched theatrically like he was a seasoned pro, and leapt into the water. The shock of cold hit him so hard that he came up gasping. "Bloody hell!" he spluttered.
Jean was already on him. She splashed him in the face, then retreated with a fast breaststroke. Harry followed, and soon they were racing across the surface, trading insults and flinging water at each other. The lake was just deep enough in the middle that Jean's head poked out of the water when she stood. She suddenly tackled him, and they both went under.
They resurfaced, and Jean laughed so hard she choked on a mouthful of water. She clung to his neck, and he tried to dunk her, but she was stronger than she looked. The play fighting escalated, and Harry found himself pinned by Jean's legs around his waist. She locked her ankles behind him, and her hands dug into his wet hair.
"Yield," she commanded, grinning happily.
Harry considered his options. On one hand, her perky boobs were pressed to his chest, and her sexy thighs were squeezing his hips. On the other hand, she was smirking and daring him to fight back, and he couldn't just let her win. He grabbed her by the waist, spun her in the water, and held her just above the surface. "Never," he said, then dropped her in. She came up, sputtering and spitting water.
"You bastard!" she shrieked, splashing him again.
Harry tried to fend her off, but her hands found his sides, and she dug her fingers in. He yelped and twisted away, but she followed, laughing. "Oh, so you're ticklish," she said. "That's good to know."
He tried to swim away, but she latched on. Her arms were around his shoulders, and her legs were locked around his waist again. Jean's bikini top barely contained her tits when she pulled herself up to straddle his back.
"Carry me to shore," she ordered.
"Oh, so I'm your personal valet now?" Harry humorously asked.
Jean gently bit down on his broad shoulder. "I'd consider you more of a personal cabana boy."
Harry sighed, hooked his arms under her knees, and trudged through the shallows. Jean wasn't very heavy, but carrying her through the waist-deep water was a bit of a struggle. He felt every jiggle and bounce of her gorgeous body as he walked. At the water's edge, he started to lower her onto her feet, but she held on tight, squeezing him with her thighs.
He looked over his shoulder, meaning to say something, but Jean was looking down at him, her face inches from his. Her beauty caused him to freeze for a second. She smiled sexily, slid off his back, and landed behind him. She made sure to smack his bottom as she did. "Nice ass, Potter," she said.
He felt his cheeks heat up. "You're incorrigible. You know that?"
"I am not," she said, stepping around him to face the water. "I just feel free. I've never felt like this before … it's jarring but also exciting." Jean stretched, which did wonderful things to her bikini-clad breasts.
Harry looked her over. Jean was dripping wet, and little rivulets of water ran over her body. Her bikini bottoms were wedged tightly between her pillowy cheeks, showing off every inch of her hips and ass. He tried to avert his eyes, but Jean caught him in the act.
She smiled cutely, and her eyes shone with mischief. "You can look, you know. I don't mind. I wouldn't have worn this if I didn't want you to see me."
He opened his mouth to reply, but she bent over to pick up her towel, and her bikini bottom all but vanished into the deep crease of her ass. Harry's brain short-circuited. He stood silently as Jean casually pulled the fabric free and adjusted it. The maneuver was so blatant that it had to be intentional. Jean stood up straight and turned to face him, her lips twitching. "What?" she asked, feigning innocence.
He gave her an amused and exasperated look. "You're doing that on purpose," he accused her.
She smirked and flicked water at him. "Maybe. Maybe not," she coyly stated. Jean wrapped the towel around her waist and started for the path up to the mansion. Harry grabbed his shoes and followed, his eyes glued to her hips as they moved. She exaggerated the sway, making sure he noticed.
Jean reached the steps, and she started going up before pausing and looking over her shoulder. "Are you coming, or what?" Her green eyes sparkled. She didn't wait for an answer. She began climbing the steps again as the towel rode low on her hips.
Harry jogged to catch up. When he reached her, Jean looped her arm through his and leaned in. "Maybe next time we should go skinny dipping," she whispered. Harry's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. She giggled loudly when she saw his expression.
He looked at her, unsure if she was serious. "You're crazy, you know that?"
She nodded, satisfied. "And you like it … I can tell," she stated, tapping the side of her head. Since he knew she was probably peeking into his mind, he didn't bother trying to deny it.
As they reached the top of the path, Harry felt a strange tingle at the base of his skull. He heard a voice. It was soft but clear. "Harry. Jean. Please come to my office at once." It was Xavier, speaking directly into his mind.
Harry blinked in confusion. "Did you hear that?"
Jean nodded, her face suddenly serious. "The Professor wants us."
"Should we go like this?" Harry asked, gesturing at his drenched shorts and bare chest.
Jean shrugged. "I suspect he's seen worse … but if you're shy, I can lend you my towel." She grinned naughtily.
Harry glared at her. "You're relentless."
Jean's expression softened. "You'll get used to it." She squeezed his hand, then tugged him toward the house. They walked in step, silent except for the squelch of wet feet on the flagstones.
Inside, Jean led the way down the hall, pausing once to shake out her hair and spray water in every direction. She glanced at Harry's chest, then at her own, and snorted. "We're going to drip all over the carpet."
He tried not to look, but the effect of the wet bikini on her body was impossible to ignore. Her nipples strained against the fabric, and the cold had tightened her skin into goosebumps. Jean caught his glance, smiled mischievously, and squeezed his hand again. "You really are easy to fluster."
Harry tried to think of a retort, but his brain was still rebooting from the bikini incident. Instead, he just squeezed her hand back. They reached Xavier's office, still dripping, and Jean knocked twice. "Come in," Xavier's voice said from behind the door.
Inside, Xavier sat behind his desk, flanked by Storm and Logan. Storm raised an eyebrow at their appearance but said nothing. Logan grinned and chuckled. "Nice outfit, Red. Potter, you look like a drowned rat."
"Thank you, Logan," Harry said in a deadpan voice.
Xavier cut in, his tone gentle but urgent. "We have a situation." He gestured for them to sit, and they did, instantly dampening the leather chairs.
"There is a new mutant who just manifested in Illinois. She is terrified and unable to control her powers," Xavier said. "I want the two of you to accompany me. Your job will be to reach her before anyone else does." He looked directly at Harry. "I believe you are uniquely suited for this."
Harry stared at him, then nodded. "What's her name?"
"Kitty Pryde," Xavier said. "She's young and very confused. It is important that she feels safe."
Jean's demeanor shifted instantly, and the flirtatiousness was quickly replaced by laser-like focus. "We'll do our best, Professor."
Xavier smiled. "I know you will." He looked at Harry. "Go change, and meet me at the Blackbird in ten minutes."
Jean squeezed Harry's knee under the desk. "See you in five," she said, then sprinted out of the office. Harry followed, but not before catching Logan's muttered, "Kids these days."
In the hallway, Jean was already halfway to her room. She glanced back at Harry, tossed him a wink, and disappeared around the corner. He grinned and hurried to his own room to get dressed.
Harry's bedroom looked like a tornado had passed through. There were piles of t-shirts, jeans, and shorts on the bed, half borrowed from Scott and the rest from the haul Jean had forced him to buy. He pulled on a fitted black tee and cargo pants, and then he spent the next two minutes flattening his hair in the mirror, which accomplished exactly nothing.
He heard someone calling for him in the hallway, and Harry instantly recognized Jean's voice. Harry smiled, shook his head, and opened the door. Her arms were crossed, and she was tapping her foot.
"You took forever," she said. "Did you get lost in all that mess?" she asked, tilting her head to peek into his messy room.
Harry snorted. "I was just deciding which 'look' to go with. There's the 'confused foreign exchange student,' or the classic 'escaped mental patient.' Which do you think is more me?"
Jean eyed him up and down. "Definitely the second. Are you ready?"
"Let's go."
They started down the long corridor toward the elevator. On the way, a blue blur zipped across their path, nearly colliding with them. It was Kurt Wagner, or Nightcrawler, as he liked to be called. Kurt was the new mutant who had joined the team only a couple of days ago. He could teleport in a burst of black smoke, and when he learned that Harry could also teleport, Kurt decided that they were kindred spirits.
Kurt was clutching an armful of candy bars, chips, and several cans of soda against his chest. He was doing his best to walk upright, but his prehensile tail kept flicking out behind him for balance. "Hey, Kurt!" Harry shouted, grinning.
Kurt froze mid-step, his eyes wide. Half the snacks slipped out of his arms and clattered across the floor.
"Oh, rats!" Kurt exclaimed, bending to pick them up. His tail helped by snaking out to snag a wayward Snickers before tossing it back in the pile. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Jean knelt and helped retrieve the fallen snacks. "Was this some kind of midnight raid?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.
"Nein. An afternoon raid," Kurt corrected, stuffing two cans under his armpit. "But Storm, she says no snacks until after dinner. It is most unfair." He cast a mournful look at Harry, as if hoping for sympathy.
Harry shrugged. "A man's gotta eat."
"Exactly!" said Kurt, beaming. "But you must not tell her. If she finds out, she will make me do laps around the lake again."
Jean stood, holding out a bag of chips. Kurt accepted it reverently, bowing at the waist. "Your secret's safe with us," said Harry with a smile.
Kurt flashed his fangs in a broad smile. "Excellent. Now, I must return to my quarters. Snacks taste better when you are not supposed to have them." He bowed again, then darted down the hall, leaving a faint whiff of sulfur in his wake.
Jean giggled. "He's like a little blue gremlin."
"Don't let him hear you say that," said Harry, following her. "He might teleport you to North Korea and leave you there."
They walked the rest of the way to the elevator and took it down to the lower level. They made their way through a long tunnel and eventually reached a massive hangar, where Storm was already running preflight checks on the Blackbird. The black jet was sleek and futuristic, glimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Harry stared at it, his jaw slack. "That's ours?"
Jean smirked. "Welcome to the X-Men, rookie." He couldn't help but smile back.
Professor Xavier was in his wheelchair, waiting patiently for them. Harry and Jean walked over and met him. "So, Professor, what can Kitty do?" Jean asked.
"She can phase through solid matter," said Xavier. "Walls, floors, doors … she is able to pass through them as if they were air. It is an ability that, if left unchecked, can be dangerous not only to herself, but to those around her. There are also those who would wish to use her powers for personal gain."
"Has anyone else found her?" asked Harry, catching on quickly.
Xavier nodded gravely. "The Brotherhood already knows about her. I have no doubt they will try to get her to join their side. Time is of the essence, which is why we are taking the X-Jet."
Harry glanced at Jean. "So what exactly do you want us to do?"
"I want the two of you to reach out to her. Show her she's not alone. If possible, convince her to visit the school, or at least to trust us with her safety."
Jean nodded. "When do we leave?"
"Immediately," said Xavier. "We'll take the Blackbird to O'Hare, then drive to Deerfield. Ororo and I will speak with the parents while you work on the girl."
Storm's voice came over the hangar's loudspeaker. "The jet is prepped and ready to go," she told them.
Jean turned to walk toward the jet, but Xavier stopped her and added, "Jean, Harry … I'm trusting you to be careful. This is a delicate situation. You will be representing not just our school, but mutants everywhere."
Jean squared her shoulders. "Understood, Professor." Harry just nodded, a sudden rush of excitement and anxiety knotting his stomach.
Xavier smiled, and there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "One last thing. Try not to get into trouble."
Jean smiled cheekily. "We'll try, but no guarantees." Xavier chuckled and began rolling toward the jet's lift. Harry and Jean quickly followed.
Inside the jet, the seats were plush, and the control panel looked like the cockpit of a spaceship. Storm finished her checklist and turned to them. "Buckle up. We'll be wheels up in two minutes." She flipped a few switches, and the powerful engine roared to life. They were so powerful that Harry could feel the vibration through the seat.
Harry strapped in, making sure the belts were extra tight. As far as he knew, this was his first time on a plane, let alone a powerful jet. Jean was beside him, strapping in. Her long, thick red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her green eyes were shining with excitement. Harry knew how she felt. He was excited, too.
He glanced at her, and she smiled at him. This was their first mission as part of the same team. A loud groan caught his attention, and in the distance, Harry saw a thick hangar door being lowered. The Blackbird lifted from the hangar floor, shot down the runway, and exited through the face of a cliff. They were on their way.