Harry Potter: MageX

Harry felt like he was walking on air as they trudged back to Xavier's Institute, arms loaded with bags that were definitely heavier than they looked. His cheeks still hurt from laughing so much, and his mind was replaying the day's greatest hits on a loop: Kitty dragging him into every store that caught her eye, Kurt nearly hyperventilating in the arcade, and Rogue sassily convincing a sales clerk to give them a discount "because it's practically highway robbery, sugar."

"Okay," Kitty said, adjusting her oversized sunglasses like she was some kind of celebrity dodging paparazzi. "We definitely need a post-shopping montage. Like, full-on music, dramatic spins, the whole nine yards. I mean, look at us. We're icons."

"Icons, ja?" Kurt chimed in, his thick German accent making even sarcasm sound charming. "You mean you dragged us through that mall to find outfits for a music video we're not even filming?"

Kitty grinned, punching him lightly on the arm. "Oh, come on, Nightcrawler. You had fun, and you know it. Don't pretend you weren't into that glow-in-the-dark hoodie."

"I was not into it," Kurt shot back, trying to look indignant but failing spectacularly. "I was... admiring the craftsmanship."

"Sure, honey," Rogue drawled, her Southern twang practically dripping with amusement. She tossed her newly acquired jacket over one shoulder, her green-and-black streaked hair glinting in the sunlight. "And I only bought this because it was a tax write-off."

"Wait, we can write off shopping?" Harry asked, genuinely intrigued.

"No," Rogue replied with a smirk. "But wouldn't that be somethin'? 'Dear IRS, please deduct my new leather jacket under 'necessary expenses for looking fabulous.''"

Jean, walking slightly ahead, glanced back at the group, her red hair catching the light like she was straight out of a shampoo commercial. "You're all impossible," she said, though her voice carried the kind of soft amusement that made Harry's chest do weird somersaults. "We're supposed to be training to protect the world, and instead, you spent twenty minutes debating the merits of neon socks."

"That was important," Kitty countered. "What if we're on a mission in a rave? You're gonna be glad I made us all fashion-forward."

Jean rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. "Whatever you say, Kitty."

Harry tried not to stare at her too long, but, well, it was Jean. She wasn't just cool; she was kind, smart, and had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room when she talked to you. It was like a superpower in itself, one that Harry was powerless against. Of course, Scott just had to ruin the moment.

"Jean and I were talking earlier," Scott said, sidling up to her like he was starring in some rom-com where he was the painfully obvious leading man. "We think we should coordinate our training sessions more. You know, since we work so well together."

Harry bit back a groan. Scott Summers, king of confidence, had a knack for making Harry want to hurl a Quaffle at his head. "Yeah," Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because nothing screams teamwork like your subtle declarations of undying devotion."

"Jealous, Potter?" Scott shot back, flashing a grin that could've been on a toothpaste commercial. "Not everyone can handle being second best."

Before Harry could respond (or hex him, honestly), Rogue stepped in, her Southern sass on full display. "Boys, boys, boys," she said, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Y'all need to calm down before you give Jean a headache. 'Sides, Harry here's got better hair. No offense, Slim."

Scott opened his mouth to argue, but Kurt cut him off with a dramatic sigh. "Ach, please. Can we talk about something else? Like how I destroyed all of you at air hockey?"

"You cheated!" Kitty accused, pointing a finger at him. "Bamfing across the table doesn't count as strategy!"

"It is not in the rulebook," Kurt said, looking far too pleased with himself. "So it is fair game."

The group dissolved into laughter, even Scott cracking a smile, though Harry noticed Jean looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Was that a hint of a blush on her cheeks? Probably wishful thinking, but still, he'd take it.

As they reached the gates of the Institute, Harry felt a warmth settle in his chest. This was his life now—this wild, chaotic, wonderful mess of friends who felt more like family. And with his birthday just days away, for the first time in forever, he was actually looking forward to it. Not just for the cake (though, let's be real, cake was a big part of it), but because he knew he'd spend it with people who made every day feel like an adventure.

"Hey, Harry," Jean said suddenly, falling into step beside him. Her voice was soft, but there was something in her tone that made his heart skip a beat. "You've got big plans for your birthday?"

Harry shrugged, trying to act casual even though his brain was screaming, SHE'S TALKING TO YOU! "Not really. I mean, I figured I'd hang out with you guys. Maybe play a prank on Scott."

She laughed—a light, musical sound that made him feel like he'd just won the lottery. "Sounds like a perfect day."

Yeah, Harry thought, glancing around at his friends as they teased and bickered their way up the driveway. It really did.

—

Harry was practically glowing as he strolled into the common room, still riding the high of their epic mall adventure. Bags of clothes and arcade prizes dangled from his arms like trophies from some modern-day quest. He didn't even care that his wallet was significantly lighter—he'd had fun, and that was worth every cent.

"Hey, Harry!" Ororo greeted, her voice warm and smooth, like the first sip of hot chocolate on a cold day. She was perched elegantly on the arm of the couch, her posture regal and her presence commanding without even trying. Honestly, how she managed to look like a queen while hanging out in a living room full of teenagers was beyond him. It was probably one of her mutant powers. "How was the mall? I take it Kitty didn't let you escape unscathed?"

Harry grinned as he dropped his bags onto the floor with a dramatic groan. "Unscathed? I'm lucky I survived! Kitty's enthusiasm for shopping is next level. We tried on everything—like, everything. I'm talking hats, sunglasses, even a pair of neon-green shoes that Kurt swore made me look like a 'stylish leprechaun.' And then we hit the arcade, where I may or may not have crushed Kurt at air hockey."

"Did you now?" Ororo said, arching a perfectly shaped brow. Her smile widened, and there was a glimmer of amusement in her stormy blue eyes. "Poor Kurt. I hope he's recovering from the trauma."

"Oh, he's fine," Harry said, waving a hand. "He's probably in his room plotting his revenge. If I find my bed covered in glitter tomorrow, I'll know it was him."

Ororo chuckled, the sound soft and melodic. "Sounds like you had quite the adventure. But," she added, her tone shifting to something a bit more serious, "before you get too comfortable, there's something you should know. Professor Xavier was looking for you. He said he needed to talk to you about something important."

And just like that, Harry's mood did a nosedive into Uh-oh, what now? territory. Whenever the professor wanted to talk about something important, it was never just, "Hey, Harry, how's it going?" It was more like, "Hey, Harry, there's a new world-ending disaster we need to deal with. No pressure."

"Did he say what it was about?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Ororo shook her head, her expression unreadable. "He didn't go into detail. Just said to find him when you got back."

Great. That wasn't ominous at all. Harry nodded, trying to ignore the knot forming in his stomach. "Got it. Thanks, Ororo."

She reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, her touch as comforting as her presence. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you'll handle it just fine," she said with a smile that somehow made him feel like maybe the universe wasn't about to implode. "Now, go on. Don't keep the professor waiting."

As Harry walked through the maze-like corridors of Xavier's Institute, his mind was racing faster than a Firebolt. What could the professor want to talk about? A new mission? Another one of those cryptic "Let's talk about your potential" chats? Or—worst-case scenario—was Scott involved? Because if it had anything to do with Scott, Harry was going to scream.

He turned a corner and nearly collided with Logan, who was carrying a six-pack of root beer and looked about as grumpy as usual. "Watch it, bub," Logan growled, but there was no real heat behind it. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Professor wants to see me," Harry said, as if that explained everything.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Good luck with that. You're gonna need it."

Yeah, thanks for the pep talk, Logan, Harry thought as he continued down the hall. Finally, he reached the professor's office, took a deep breath, and knocked. Whatever was waiting for him on the other side of that door, he was ready for it. Probably. Hopefully. Okay, maybe not, but there was no turning back now.

—

Harry made his way down the hallways of the Xavier Institute, his mind buzzing like someone had just flicked on the Hogwarts rumor mill. Psychic senses weren't exactly his specialty, but even he could feel the hum of power radiating from the office up ahead. That particular brand of magical and intellectual energy could only mean one thing: Professor Dumbledore was here.

And because his life was never boring, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't going to be a "How's school?" kind of visit.

As he reached the heavy oak door, Harry paused. His imagination, in true overachiever fashion, started sprinting toward worst-case scenarios. Maybe Voldemort had joined TikTok and was massing followers for an army. Or maybe Hogwarts had been invaded by Blast-Ended Skrewts. Again. The possibilities were endless—and, knowing his luck, weirdly plausible.

After a steadying breath, he knocked.

"Come in," came the deep, calm voice of Professor Charles Xavier, smooth as buttered velvet. It was the kind of voice that could make you feel both welcome and like you were about to get an existential lecture.

Harry pushed open the door, stepping into the office. Sure enough, Dumbledore was there, sitting in one of the leather chairs across from Xavier. Between the two of them, they looked like the final bosses of wisdom and authority. Dumbledore, with his half-moon glasses and a beard that probably required its own postal code, gave Harry a familiar twinkling gaze. Xavier, seated behind his desk with his hands steepled, looked every bit the philosopher king.

"Ah, Harry," Xavier greeted with a small smile that somehow radiated infinite patience. "Perfect timing. Please, take a seat. We were just discussing matters that concern you."

Which, of course, was code for: Your life is about to get even more complicated, kid.

"Good to see you, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, taking a seat across from the two towering figures of intellect. "What brings you to this neck of the woods? Don't tell me Hogwarts is overrun with Cornish Pixies again."

Dumbledore chuckled, the sound like the Hogwarts bells tolling for dinner—warm and oddly comforting. "No pixies this time, Harry. Though I must admit, your imagination is as vivid as ever."

Xavier leaned forward slightly, his expression a blend of seriousness and compassion. "Harry, we've brought you here because a situation has arisen—one that touches upon both your past and your future."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, already bracing himself. "Is this the kind of situation where I'm going to need a wand, a cape, or both?"

Dumbledore smiled faintly, but his tone grew more solemn. "Harry, Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."

For a moment, the words didn't quite register. Then Harry's brain did a double take, like it had just tripped over a rogue step. "Wait—what?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Sirius Black was imprisoned for betraying your parents to Voldemort and for the murder of Peter Pettigrew, along with a dozen Muggles. However..."

"However," Xavier interjected, his calm voice laced with precision, "there are elements of his imprisonment that raise questions about the fairness of the process. He was never given a trial."

Harry blinked. "Wait, hold on. So this Sirius Black is the guy who, allegedly, got my parents killed and went full murder spree?"

"Allegedly is the key word," Xavier said, his gaze steady. "The evidence against him has always been circumstantial. And now that he has escaped, his intentions remain unclear. Which is why we believe you should be informed—and prepared."

Harry leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "So, what are we saying here? Sirius Black might not actually be guilty? He might have been framed?"

"That is one possibility," Dumbledore said, his voice soft yet weighty. "But as of now, we cannot be certain. The truth remains elusive."

"Fantastic," Harry muttered. "Because my life wasn't complicated enough already."

Dumbledore's expression softened, that familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. "Harry, I understand that this is a great deal to process. But I have always believed that you possess the courage and resourcefulness to navigate even the most challenging of circumstances."

"Right. Courage and resourcefulness," Harry said dryly. "Do those come with a guidebook, or do I just wing it as usual?"

Xavier allowed himself a small smile. "You'll find, Harry, that the answers often come when you least expect them. And when they do, you'll be ready."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "So, what do I do now? Wait for him to show up with a dramatic speech about how he's innocent?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, his tone deceptively light. "Or perhaps the answers will come in a less... theatrical manner. In the meantime, remain vigilant. Events have a way of unfolding when we least expect them."

"Great," Harry said, standing. "So, business as usual, then? Keep my head down, stay out of trouble—oh wait, trouble finds me."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Indeed, it does. But you've always risen to the occasion, Harry. I have no doubt you'll continue to do so."

With that, Harry nodded, trying to ignore the feeling of a storm brewing on the horizon. As he left the office, one thought kept circling his mind: Why does my life feel like the world's longest soap opera?

—

Harry felt like his brain had just been hit with a Confundo charm. Scratch that—it was like a herd of Hippogriffs had just stampede-tackled his mental processes. Sirius Black. His godfather. This was next-level plot-twist material. Somewhere, in the cosmic writers' room that was apparently his life, someone was cackling maniacally.

"Wait, hold on a second," Harry said, raising both hands like he needed to physically stop the flood of information threatening to drown him. "Sirius Black—the guy who, according to, well, everybody, betrayed my parents, got twelve Muggles blown to bits, and escaped from the wizarding version of Alcatraz—is my godfather?"

Professor Xavier, seated serenely behind his desk like a wise Shakespearean actor about to deliver a monologue, nodded once. His expression was a masterclass in calm reassurance, as if this revelation was just another Tuesday for him. "Yes, Harry. Sirius Black was named your godfather by your parents. They trusted him implicitly."

"Well, that makes one of us," Harry muttered under his breath before catching Xavier's raised eyebrow and realizing that, oh right, the man could literally hear his thoughts.

"Apologies," Xavier said smoothly, with the tiniest twitch of a smile. "Old habits."

Harry sighed, rubbing his temples like that would somehow massage the chaos out of his life. "Okay, so let me get this straight. My parents thought Sirius Black was trustworthy enough to take care of me if something happened to them. Then he...what? Had a sudden career change and decided to betray them to Voldemort instead?"

"An oversimplification," Xavier replied in his calm, British lilt. "But I understand your confusion. The truth is far more complex, and the evidence against Sirius has never been as concrete as some would like to believe."

"Concrete enough to throw him in Azkaban without a trial," Harry shot back, crossing his arms. His sarcasm levels were reaching critical mass. "Really stellar work by the Ministry there. I'll be sure to send Fudge a fruit basket."

Dumbledore chose this moment to step in, his voice as smooth and deliberate as a phoenix song. "Harry, you are not wrong to question the Ministry's actions." He adjusted his half-moon spectacles, his piercing blue gaze twinkling with that familiar mix of wisdom and mystery that always made Harry feel like he was the punchline to a joke he hadn't heard yet. "That is why Madam Bones, as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has reopened Sirius's case. She is a woman of integrity and justice."

Harry blinked. "Amelia Bones? Isn't she the one who's basically the wizarding version of Judge Judy?"

Dumbledore's lips twitched in amusement. "An apt comparison, though Madam Bones would undoubtedly find the analogy...unorthodox."

"Unorthodox is my middle name," Harry muttered. He leaned back in his chair, trying to process. "So, Madam Bones is giving Sirius a shot at proving he's innocent. That's...good, I guess. But how do we even know he didn't actually do it?"

"An excellent question," Xavier said, steepling his fingers in that classic "wise mentor" pose. "There are many unanswered questions surrounding that fateful night. For example, Peter Pettigrew's body was never found."

Harry frowned. "Wait. Pettigrew's dead, right? That's the story?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, his voice growing heavier, like he was gearing up for one of his dramatic revelations. "However, the evidence supporting his death is...circumstantial. He vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a finger."

"A finger," Harry repeated flatly. "Not a body. Not even, like, half a corpse. Just a finger. And this was enough to convict Sirius?"

"Welcome to the wizarding justice system," Xavier said, his tone laced with just enough dry wit to make Harry blink in surprise. "I admit, even I find the lack of due process rather alarming."

Dumbledore gave a grave nod. "It is a failing of our system, one that I hope we can rectify. Sirius deserves a chance to tell his side of the story."

Harry drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, his brain racing. "Okay. So, let's say Sirius didn't betray my parents. Who did? Pettigrew?"

"That is one possibility," Xavier said. "We cannot rule it out until we uncover more evidence."

"Fantastic," Harry said, throwing his hands in the air. "So, not only is my godfather a fugitive, but the guy everyone thought he killed might actually be alive and kicking somewhere. Brilliant. This keeps getting better."

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "I understand that this is a great deal to process. But I assure you, we are doing everything in our power to uncover the truth."

"And in the meantime?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "What am I supposed to do? Sit tight and wait for another bombshell to drop on my head?"

Xavier leaned forward, his expression calm but earnest. "For now, you should focus on your training—both magical and mutant. The more prepared you are, the better equipped you'll be to face whatever challenges lie ahead."

Harry sighed. "Right. Training. Because nothing screams 'normal teenage life' like practicing how to stop a runaway freight train with my brain."

"Few teenagers have the potential to shape the future as profoundly as you do," Xavier said, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand pep talks. "But I have faith in you, Harry. You have already overcome so much."

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling again. "Indeed, Harry. Your resilience and courage are remarkable. I have no doubt that you will rise to meet whatever challenges await."

Harry glanced between the two men, feeling a mix of gratitude, exasperation, and the overwhelming urge to raid the kitchen for chocolate.

—

Harry was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Dumbledore cleared his throat. That was always the moment you knew something weird was coming—like when the magical equivalent of a cliffhanger dropped on your lap. He had a sinking feeling this wasn't going to be a simple "you're off the hook" situation.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, his eyes glinting like a man about to drop some earth-shattering knowledge, "there is, however, something we need your help with."

Harry immediately sat up straighter, instantly on alert. "What is it, Professor?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual, though his stomach had started doing a backflip routine. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into another one of Dumbledore's cryptic "save the world" quests. He had enough on his plate already, between being a magical mutant, juggling mutant powers, and oh, the whole "Sirius might be innocent after all" thing.

Dumbledore's gaze was steady, and Harry could practically see the twinkle in his eye—like he had a big secret he was dying to share. "It concerns a young witch named Susan Bones."

At the mention of Susan Bones, Harry's attention immediately sharpened. He knew her from Hogwarts. The nice, serious girl who'd given him weird looks when rumors about him being the Heir of Slytherin had circulated. The fact that people were turning on him? Yeah, not something Harry would ever forget. Susan was a bit of a mystery to him, too—quiet, intense, but kind of intimidating when she wasn't sure where she stood.

"What about Susan?" Harry asked, now leaning in slightly. He knew that tone in Dumbledore's voice—it was the "this is important" tone. The one you couldn't ignore.

Dumbledore paused, allowing the weight of the words to settle in the room before he spoke again. "Susan has been experiencing some… unusual magical occurrences."

That didn't sound good. Harry furrowed his brow, suddenly feeling a little concerned. Unusual magical occurrences could mean anything, from accidentally turning your brother into a hamster to something seriously wrong with your magic.

"Unusual magical occurrences?" Harry echoed, not sure whether he was worried or just confused. "Like... what?"

Dumbledore seemed to take a moment before answering, as if weighing the right words. "Manifestations of her magical abilities that appear unexpectedly—without her intending them."

So, accidental magic. But Susan was well past the age where you accidentally turn teacups into frogs. "Is she in danger?" Harry asked, his stomach tying into a knot. He didn't know why, but he felt a weird responsibility here. Maybe it was because of how everyone had been treating him after his magic went haywire.

"Not at the moment," Dumbledore reassured him, though Harry wasn't convinced. "But the unpredictability of her magic is a concern."

Just when Harry was about to ask more, Xavier spoke up in his usual calm, thoughtful voice, his British accent a perfect match for Dumbledore's. "Dumbledore suspects that Susan may be another Magical Mutant," he said, casually, as though announcing someone's lunch order.

Harry's brain did a triple take. Magical Mutant? As in, like him? He straightened, eyes narrowing. "Wait, you mean Susan's going through what I went through? That's not good."

Xavier's expression was serious, but there was a flicker of understanding in his gaze. "Exactly," he said, nodding. "If Susan is developing mutant abilities along with her magical ones, she's going to need guidance—someone who understands the balance between the two."

Harry couldn't help but let out a breath. This wasn't exactly the news he was hoping for. "Great," he muttered under his breath. "Just what I need—another person to save. First Sirius, now Susan. What's next, saving the entire Wizarding world from... whatever the hell Voldemort is up to this time?"

Xavier's expression softened into a small, reassuring smile. "Harry, you're not alone in this. We're here to help, and you've already proven you have the strength to guide others."

Harry looked at Xavier, noticing how calm he was, as if he had an infinite well of patience—something Harry desperately needed when it came to this whole mutant/magical hybrid thing. "Thanks, Professor," he said, his voice steady. He could feel the weight of what was coming next, but he wasn't about to back down. "I'll do what I can for Susan. She's gonna need someone who's been through it."

Dumbledore, who'd been quiet for a moment, finally spoke up again, his voice warm and wise. "I trust you, Harry. You've already overcome your own challenges. I believe you will be just as effective in helping Susan find her path."

It was hard not to feel a bit proud at Dumbledore's faith in him, even though Harry still couldn't quite figure out the old man's plans half the time. "I'll do my best," he said, trying to sound confident, even though the weight of the situation was starting to settle on his shoulders like a ton of bricks.

Xavier gave him an encouraging nod. "We're all in this together, Harry. You won't be alone."

Harry stood up, feeling a strange mixture of determination and unease swirling inside him. The situation with Sirius Black had felt like enough of a wild ride, but now he was being asked to help Susan navigate a minefield of mutant magic? It was like the universe had decided to throw in an extra challenge just to keep things interesting.

"I'll help her," Harry said, though it wasn't so much a promise as it was an acceptance of the chaos that was his life these days. "But if anything goes wrong, I'm blaming you two."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, a sign that he was enjoying Harry's sarcasm more than he probably should have. "Of course, Harry. We wouldn't dream of sending you into this without our full support."

Xavier offered him a rare grin. "We've got your back, Harry. Let's make sure Susan knows that she's not facing this alone."

With that, Harry left the office, his mind racing. Susan Bones, a magical mutant? He couldn't help but wonder if the rest of his life would be just as insane as this moment—or if it was about to get even crazier.

As he stepped into the hallway, he caught a glimpse of the Institute grounds through the window. Maybe a bit of fresh air would clear his head, but who was he kidding? With everything that was coming, he knew the only thing he was getting was more weirdness in the near future.

But he was ready. Or at least, he hoped he was.

—

Harry's brain was running at full speed, like someone had dumped a whole bunch of tangled wires into his head and told him to make sense of it. Sirius. Susan. Magical mutants. The info dump from Dumbledore and Xavier had felt like a magical explosion. He was supposed to guide someone else through the chaos? Yeah, good luck with that. Harry needed to stop thinking about it all for just a second.

You ever get that feeling where your brain is just too full? Like a washing machine on the spin cycle? That was Harry's current mental state. He wasn't sure if he wanted to scream, punch something, or throw a party and pretend everything was fine. The one thing he did know, though, was that he needed a breather.

So, he stalked down the hallways of the Institute, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Not that it helped much. The silence just made his brain scream louder. What was he even supposed to do with all this information? Who even was he anymore?

When he pushed open the door and stepped outside, the cool breeze hit his face like a slap from the universe. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the sprawling campus of the Institute, which, in any other moment, would've been beautiful. But right now? It was just background noise.

His thoughts were a swirling vortex of panic, and even the sunset couldn't stop him from thinking about Susan and her magic. What's going to happen to her? What if she's like me—someone who can't control their power?

In the middle of his mini existential crisis, he spotted her.

Ororo Munroe. Standing by the edge of the courtyard, her silver hair practically glowing in the dying light. She looked like she belonged in the sky itself, like she was a storm personified. Harry had never been one to believe in cosmic signs, but right now, it felt like the universe had just dropped her there to save his sanity.

She caught sight of him almost instantly, like she had some sort of radar that pinged when people needed help. Maybe she did. Or maybe she just had that "I know exactly what you're thinking" vibe that made you feel like you were in a superhero movie.

"Harry," she called, her voice smooth, like it had been made from clouds and lightning. "You look like you've been through a tornado. What's going on?"

Oh, you know, just the usual teenager angst mixed with a dash of magical chaos. But Harry, ever the master of totally not answering questions, gave her a half-hearted shrug. "Just a lot on my mind. Nothing I can't handle. I just… need a little fresh air, y'know?"

Ororo didn't push him. She was patient, like the calm before a storm. Her eyes—those eyes—bore into him like she could see the mess inside his head, but she was smart enough not to ask any more. She tilted her head, the way someone does when they're about to offer a solution, but not one that sounds like an obligation.

"You know," she said, her voice calm as the eye of the storm, "sometimes the best way to clear your head is with a little flight. Would you like to join me?"

For a second, Harry just stared at her, blinking. That wasn't exactly what he had expected. But then again, Ororo had always been one for solutions that didn't involve talking about your feelings. And if anyone could offer him a moment of peace, it was her. She had a way of making everything feel... lighter.

"Yeah," Harry said, his voice finally cracking a grin. "Yeah, that sounds perfect."

And before he could think too hard about it, he felt the familiar warmth spread through him—the power from the Phoenix, the magic of Fawkes, and whatever weird combination of mutant magic he had that made him so weirdly powerful. It was like a breeze inside him, propelling him upward.

He lifted off the ground, the air around him flickering with the magic he'd absorbed, almost like he was wearing an invisible cloak of fire. Ororo was already up, of course, soaring through the sky like she owned it. Her white cloak billowed out behind her like storm clouds chasing the setting sun. Harry sped up, matching her pace, the wind whipping through his hair.

Now, this was what he needed. The view from up here was unreal—the sprawling grounds of the Institute, the distant mountains, and the shimmering lakes. All of it seemed so far away. For a few seconds, Harry didn't have to think about anything. There was just the wind, and the flight, and the thrill of cutting through the sky with someone who clearly got it.

He glanced over at Ororo, who was gliding effortlessly beside him, her expression serene as ever. But Harry wasn't fooled. He could feel the storm behind those calm eyes. She could sense his unease, and that made her worry. Even in the middle of this, she was always the one who noticed when something wasn't right.

"I know something's bothering you, Harry," Ororo said, her voice just above the rush of wind around them. It wasn't a question, just a statement. "You don't have to tell me now, but when you're ready, I'm here."

There it was again. That understanding. That calm. She made him feel like he wasn't alone. Like maybe he could handle everything, even if he wasn't sure how.

"I will," Harry replied, his voice quieter than usual. "I think I just need some time to process it all. There's a lot going on, and I need to… I need to figure it out. But, uh, thanks for giving me space."

Ororo nodded, her lips curving up just slightly. "Take all the time you need. But remember, Harry," she said, her tone serious now, "you're not alone in this. We're a team, and I'll be here when you're ready."

They soared in silence for a while, both of them riding the wind like it was their element. Harry felt the weight on his shoulders start to lift, just a little. His chest didn't feel quite as tight as before. For a moment, he let himself just exist.

He thought about the chaos ahead, the responsibilities, the challenges, and realized something important. As long as he had people like Ororo around him—people who got it—he wasn't alone. He didn't have to figure it all out on his own. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as messed up as he thought.

The sky was painted in streaks of purple and gold as they flew on, and Harry felt a sense of calm that hadn't settled in his bones for hours. Whatever came next, he could face it. He didn't have to do it alone.

---

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