Harry Potter: MageX

The air around the X-Mansion was buzzing with that sort of weird energy you only get when something major is about to happen, but no one's quite sure what it is. Harry's birthday was right around the corner, but let's be real—this wasn't about age. Not for him. No, it was about new beginnings. It was about being alive, about all the things he'd learned in the past week. About Sirius—the man who had just gone from being a myth, a shadow, a lost cause, to here, standing in front of him like some sort of magical, manic whirlwind.

And, trust me, if you've ever seen Sirius Black in action, you'll know that "whirlwind" doesn't even begin to cover it.

Sirius, clearly thrilled to be free from Azkaban's clutches, stormed into Harry's room like a rock star entering a stadium, his wild, long hair flying around him like he was about to take flight. And then, with all the dramatic flair of someone who'd spent way too long in isolation, he launched into a raucous rendition of "Happy Birthday." And when I say raucous, I mean ear-splittingly off-key. The walls themselves seemed to wince.

"Happy BIRTHDAY to you! Happy BIRTHDAY, dear HARRY!" Sirius sang, grinning wildly, clearly overjoyed to be alive, even if his musical abilities suggested otherwise.

Harry, who was trying desperately not to laugh (it was his birthday, after all, and he didn't want to hurt his godfather's feelings), gave in and chuckled. "You know, Sirius, I've never been so glad to hear a terrible rendition of that song," Harry joked, watching his godfather's eyes light up with sheer joy.

Sirius shot him a grin that could have blinded a lesser mortal. "I knew you'd appreciate my artistic genius!" He paused dramatically. "It's all about the entrance, kid. The serious entrance."

Harry couldn't help it; he laughed, throwing his head back as Sirius took an exaggerated bow, holding out his arms like he'd just completed a major performance at the Royal Opera House. And honestly? It was kind of perfect.

Meanwhile, the room was a chaotic, delightful mess. Kurt Wagner—who had this whole German-accented, lovable-nerdy thing going on—was busy holding forth in his usual exuberant way to Rogue, who stood nearby rolling her eyes, though not without the slightest hint of a smile.

"Ja, you see, Harry, in Bavaria, we—" Kurt was saying, his hands flailing as he explained the intricacies of Bavarian culture. It probably had something to do with cheese, or maybe trains. Honestly, Harry lost track.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks' voice cut through the chatter like a jackhammer, but in a good way. The Metamorphmagus was currently in a state of perpetual transformation, her pink hair shifting to something brighter every five seconds. She was also clumsy, as always, and had already tripped over a chair leg while attempting to give Harry a cupcake.

"Er—oops! Sorry!" Tonks grinned sheepishly, somehow managing to make an awkward fall look like part of the plan. "No big deal! Just a little... birthday trip-up. Happens to everyone!"

Rogue, leaning against the wall with the calmness of someone who could start a fight and end it in about three seconds, raised an eyebrow. "Well, sugar, you're lookin' mighty fine for a birthday boy. Don't go gettin' too full of yourself now. We've still got cake to shove in your face."

"Not to mention presents," Kitty Pryde piped up, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her usual excitement. "I got you some cool stuff, Harry! You'll love it—trust me. It's totally awesome for sci-fi nerds!"

Kitty, for all her nerdy charm, had this uncanny ability to make even comic books sound like the most exciting thing on the planet. She practically glowed with pride as she passed Harry a pile of new graphic novels.

Harry's gaze drifted to Scott Summers, who, let's be honest, had the kind of confidence that only a guy who'd been the leader of a mutant squad for years could have. And it wasn't the "good kind" of confidence, either. No, this was the "I'm destined for greatness" kind, which, when paired with his overzealous manner, was... well, let's say it could be annoying.

"So, Jean and I were thinking…" Scott started, as if he were about to drop some earth-shattering revelation. "We were thinking it'd be amazing if—"

Harry tuned him out halfway through, more focused on Jean, who was blushing a shade that nearly matched her red hair. She wouldn't meet Harry's gaze, and Harry—being totally self-aware and painfully awkward—felt like he was about to die of secondhand embarrassment. It was the awkward, giddy, not-actually-sure-what's-happening phase of "having a crush on someone." Ugh. Teenagers.

Finally, there was Sirius, who had now moved on to the presents with the same level of enthusiasm as a kid in a candy shop. Each gift he opened, he commented on with dramatic flair, as if Harry had handed him the crown jewels rather than a pack of wizarding socks.

"A toaster?" Sirius exclaimed, staring at a muggle appliance like it was the Holy Grail. "This is genius! A toaster, Harry! I'm going to toast all the bread in the world!"

Harry could see it: the glint in Sirius's eyes, the joy, the way his godfather was trying to make the best of things despite everything that had happened. The dark circles under his eyes were there—clear signs of someone who had spent years in hell—but the spark of life, the rebellious joy, was alive and kicking in Sirius Black.

Professor Xavier, sitting quietly by the window with that wise, almost knowing expression, watched the chaos unfold with the practiced calm of someone who had seen it all before. Despite the quiet wisdom that radiated from him, Harry still found himself unsure. He'd learned the hard way that not every wise old guy had his best interests at heart. And while Xavier didn't exactly fit the "Dumbledore" mold, Harry was keeping an eye on him—just in case.

As the laughter and chatter around him continued to build, Harry paused for a second to take it all in. For once, he wasn't worried about Dark Lords or prophecy or family curses. For once, he was just a kid, celebrating a birthday surrounded by people who cared about him. It felt, in that brief moment, like everything was right.

And just as the last of the cake was about to be eaten, Sirius leaned over, grinning from ear to ear, his mischievous eyes sparkling. "So, kid, what's next? Are we going roller skating next or—?"

"Please," Harry muttered, shaking his head, but he couldn't stop the grin from forming. "One disaster at a time, Sirius."

And for the first time in a long while, Harry knew it was going to be okay.

—

As Harry sat down to open his birthday letters, Hedwig performed her usual magic, dropping a handful of envelopes with a perfectly timed swoop. Each one landed with a satisfying thud, and Harry eagerly tore into the first letter.

It was Hermione's. The minute he unfolded it, he could practically hear her voice in his head, all measured tones and overzealous punctuation. Dear Harry, it began, as if she was speaking directly to him across the distance.

---

Dear Harry,

Happy 13th Birthday! I hope you're having a marvelous time at Xavier's. I've been imagining what it must be like—what with the whole "mutant" thing—and I can hardly wait to hear all about your adventures. Although, knowing you, it's probably a bit more chaotic than I'd like to imagine. But you're Harry Potter, after all. You somehow make chaos seem normal. But I digress.

As for me, well, it's been an utterly uneventful summer, if you can believe that. I've been working at my parents' clinic, getting some of my assignments out of the way, and trying not to lose my mind without a decent challenge. I've kept up my reading (of course), but other than that, it's been about as exciting as watching paint dry in a library.

Now, the good news! The absolute best news! Sirius Black is out of Azkaban! Yes, your godfather. Can you believe it? He's been cleared! I nearly screamed when I saw the announcement. I can only imagine what that must feel like, having him in your life after all this time. Honestly, Harry, I'm so glad for you both. You deserve some happiness for a change. I just hope he doesn't drag you into some ridiculous scheme... but I suppose you've already learned to handle him by now.

It's funny, isn't it? The more we learn about the past, the more it feels like there are threads connecting everything. It's like we're in one of those mystery novels I've been reading, only it's our own lives. Maybe that's just me being dramatic—though, I do seem to have a flair for it.

Anyway, take care of yourself, Harry. I know you're strong, but I also know that everyone needs someone to lean on. Don't hesitate to write me if you need anything, whether it's a chat about obscure magical theories or just someone to tell you that you're amazing (which, by the way, you are).

With love,

Hermione

—

Harry smiled, his heart a little lighter. It was just like Hermione to mix in some advice about obscure magical theories with a reminder that he was "amazing." She was probably the only person who could make a letter feel like both a warm hug and a lecture at the same time.

Next up was Ron's letter, and Harry was already grinning, knowing full well that it would be a bit more… chaotic.

—

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday, mate! I hope you're having a brilliant time over there. I bet it's not as cool as Hogwarts (and let's be honest, what could be?), but I bet you're having more adventures than any of us could dream up. Mum says she misses you, and so do I. You're pretty much family now, y'know? Even if you don't want to admit it.

I have to apologize, though. About Scabbers. Turns out the little rat was actually Peter Pettigrew this whole time. I still can't believe it. How did we miss that? We've been living with a traitor for years! Mum was in tears when she found out, and Dad's been walking around like he lost his best friend. We never saw it coming, and it's honestly still a bit of a shock. But I know you didn't know either, so don't feel too bad about it.

On a happier note—Dad won a thousand galleons in a lottery, can you believe that? So, of course, we had to go on a family trip to Magical Egypt. Bill's been studying the pyramids, so he got us all tickets to see some of the ancient ones. It was mental. Mum was on edge the whole time, worrying about mummies and curses, but she ended up loving it. Who knew that she'd turn out to be such a daredevil?

Also, heard about Sirius getting out. Finally! Mum's already planning a massive feast when you get back, so don't go anywhere for too long. She says you're her son now, and I agree—so don't think you can get out of it.

Right, better wrap this up before Mum catches me nicking the ink.

Take care, mate. Don't forget about us when you become a big shot over there!

Ron

—

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he finished reading. It was classic Ron: casual, funny, and always able to turn a serious moment into a joke. He could practically hear Ron's voice in his head, probably chuckling himself over the whole "rat drama" and the lottery win. Magical Egypt had to be a blast, and Harry was already envisioning the chaos of the Weasley family trying to avoid mummies and curses while navigating ancient ruins.

As Harry folded up Ron's letter and tucked it next to Hermione's, he felt a pang of longing. It was hard to be so far away from his friends, but their letters were a reminder that they were always with him, no matter the distance.

With a grin, Harry settled back into his seat and looked out the window. Another birthday, another year older. And yet, this year felt different. He had his godfather back, a new family of mutants, and two of the best friends a guy could ask for.

Not too bad for a birthday, huh?

Now, if only he could get through the next round of birthday shenanigans without causing an international incident…

—

Harry's birthday had officially taken a turn from "fun and exciting" to "oh-no-what-now?" thanks to a certain oversized, jaw-snapping book and a batch of rock cakes that could be classified as actual weaponry. Seriously, if the Ministry ever got their hands on one of those, they'd declare them a "dangerous magical artifact" and put them in the Department of Mysteries for study.

Hagrid had outdone himself, as always. He had sent over a tin of rock cakes—tougher than a Manticore's hide. The thing about rock cakes is that they don't exactly break when you bite them. No, no, no. You shatter your teeth on them. Harry could feel his jaw screaming in protest as he chewed through one, hoping to be polite. After all, it was Hagrid. But honestly, Harry was half-convinced he'd need a bit of magic to get this thing out of his teeth.

But then came the Monster Book of Monsters. And let me tell you, that book was an absolute disaster waiting to happen. No one was safe. The second Harry flipped open the cover, the pages began flapping like an angry banshee in a wind tunnel, and the thing's jaws started snapping as if it had just spotted a buffet.

"Bloody hell!" Harry yelped, diving under the table as the book leaped off the desk, aiming for his face like it had a personal vendetta against him.

"Get down!" Scott Summers shouted from across the room. He was already shielding Rogue behind him, who, let's be real, was too busy eating one of Mrs. Weasley's brownies to care.

"Do I look like I'm not already down?!" Harry shot back, keeping a wary eye on the book as it darted around the room like a rabid Chizpurfle.

Jean Grey, looking ever the level-headed strategist in a situation like this, used her telekinetic powers to shove the book across the room, sending it crashing into a wall with a force that made everyone flinch. "Okay, who gave him this?!" she demanded, her eyes blazing red with irritation and a little bit of that telekinetic flair.

"I don't know, Jean," Harry said, hands up in surrender. "But it sure wasn't on the wishlist!"

"Typical." Rogue's southern drawl rang out as she casually flicked a chocolate chip off her finger. "That's what I get for thinking y'all could have a normal birthday party."

"Not exactly the normal birthday," Kitty Pryde chimed in, from where she was half-Phasing through a wall, clearly unsure whether to jump into the action or just hide. "I mean, we've got talking books, flying books, eating books… you name it."

And then there was Ororo Munroe—Storm—who, in her infinite wisdom, had seen this sort of chaos before. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she called up a gust of wind that sent the book flying across the room. It made a small, angry screeching noise, as if to say, "I was just getting started!" before it flopped to the ground, finally defeated.

"Now that's more like it," Logan muttered from his spot in the corner, popping the cap off a bottle of beer with one hand like it was no big deal. He had barely even looked up, but then again, the chaos around him probably felt like an ordinary Tuesday. "Maybe next time we go with a normal gift. You know, like a nice tie or something." He grinned, looking dangerously pleased with himself. Typical Logan. Always gruff, but he had that dry humor that never quite left you.

"Don't worry, Harry," Sirius Black said, walking up with a grin plastered on his face that could only be described as "dangerously charming." "I'll make sure to keep my gifts safe. At least, this time, I won't send anything alive."

Harry blinked, looking at his godfather like he'd just been hit with a rogue spell. "Wait, alive?" He shot Sirius a knowing look. "You're not telling me you tried to send me a dragon, are you?"

"Well," Sirius said, trying to keep a straight face, "not a dragon per se. But I may or may not have thought about it."

"Right, yeah," Harry said, laughing a little. "Couldn't quite handle the dragon, but hey, at least the book didn't try to roast anyone alive."

"Well, give it time," Sirius quipped with a mischievous grin. "I'm sure one of your birthday presents will do that before long."

Before Harry could respond, Professor Xavier—who'd somehow managed to remain calm through the entire debacle—rolled up in his wheelchair, an amused smile on his face. "A fine display of teamwork, everyone," he said, looking at the roomful of mutants and wizards like it was just another Tuesday for him. "I think we can safely say this birthday will be unforgettable. Harry, my boy, you are the reason we had to revise our security protocols."

Harry, ever the one to crack a joke even in the weirdest of situations, just shrugged. "Well, with friends like these, I figure I'll never have a dull day."

"Your life is never dull, Harry," Jean said, giving him a wry smile. "If you don't have an adventure, you'll create one."

At this, Harry just grinned. This birthday wasn't exactly what he'd envisioned—no quiet moments with cake, no casual gifts from family. But honestly? It was still the best kind of chaos. He was surrounded by people who cared about him, who could make even a disaster like this feel like a party. And really, who could ask for anything more?

"Well, the book's done," Ororo said, sighing in relief as she closed her eyes, and the wind slowly died down. "We're safe for now."

"For now?" Logan grunted, turning towards the door with a smirk. "With Harry? Who knows what's coming next?"

And Harry, grinning ear to ear, had to admit—he didn't have the faintest idea what was coming next either. But whatever it was, he was pretty sure it would be one heck of an adventure.

"Alright, let's get back to this party," Harry said, gesturing toward the food table where Hagrid's rock cakes were now being eyed suspiciously by everyone. "Who's brave enough to take another crack at the rock cakes?"

—

The "Monster Book of Monsters" was safely contained. Thank Merlin. It had tried to eat not one but multiple students, and let's just say the book had more bite than a werewolf on a full moon. But now it was sitting quietly in the corner of the room like a well-behaved, albeit terrifying, pet. Harry half-expected it to start growling again, but thankfully, the chaos had simmered down. It was almost like nothing had happened—almost.

"Thanks, Hedwig," Harry muttered as he stroked his owl's snowy feathers. She hooted softly in acknowledgment, puffing up with pride. She'd flown all the way from the UK to deliver Harry's birthday letters, each of them addressed with care. And though the feathers in her wings weren't as pristine as they once were, she was still the best owl a guy could ask for.

As Harry flipped through the letters, a surge of nostalgia hit him like a full-speed Bludger. Hogwarts. His friends. The old, crazy adventures. They weren't here, but their presence was everywhere. It was like a warm Patronus was wrapped around him, driving away the occasional pang of homesickness. He missed them, sure, but at least he knew they were out there, somewhere, believing in him.

"Don't think I've forgotten you," Harry whispered with a grin. He took a moment to look at each card and letter, appreciating the effort, the care. These gifts—simple, but heartfelt—made him feel loved in a way nothing else did. But just as he was about to sink into that comforting feeling, a voice broke through the quiet.

"Hey, Harry! You ready for the greatest Donkey Kong match ever?" It was Scott Summers, strutting toward him with a grin that was far too confident for someone who couldn't win if his life depended on it.

"Not yet," Harry called back. "I'm reading my birthday cards, Scott."

Jean Grey, who had been sitting on the couch near Harry, rolled her eyes at Scott's timing. "Honestly, Scott," she said, a playful yet exasperated smile tugging at her lips, "you've been waiting for this match all day."

"You bet I have!" Scott said, his voice puffing up with the kind of cocky swagger only a guy like him could pull off. He paused, then smirked, giving Jean a look that screamed, I'm totally gonna win this time, you know it.

Jean shot him a deadpan stare. "Sure, Scott. Sure. We'll see about that."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the way the two of them interacted. It's like watching a sitcom but with actual mutants and less predictable plotlines, he thought. The tension between them was so palpable, you could cut it with a butter knife—except the knife would probably get vaporized by Scott's optic blasts. Yeah, Scott was a bit... oblivious to things like nuance. But then again, it was Scott. What do you expect?

Still, that left Harry in an awkward spot between two people who both seemed to be vying for his attention. Or maybe that was just him reading too much into it. Jean, who was clearly trying to ignore the awkwardness by focusing on a book—at least, Harry hoped it was a book—and Scott, who clearly thought he was some kind of romantic hero despite being completely unaware of the fact that he was standing in a room full of people who were rooting for him to fail.

Rogue, who'd been watching from the sidelines, couldn't resist chiming in with her signature sass. "Sugar," she drawled, her Southern accent thick with amusement, "y'all two are more tangled up than a cat in a ball of yarn." Her grin was as wide as a gator's mouth, full of mischief.

Jean groaned and leaned back into the couch. "Don't you start, Rogue. I'm already dealing with enough embarrassment today."

"You know," Rogue continued with a wink, "you should probably just kiss him and get it over with."

"Shut up, Rogue," Jean muttered, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Kitty Pryde, who'd been deep in conversation with Hank McCoy about the most recent episode of Quantum Heist—some sci-fi show she'd been bingeing—didn't even glance up from her tablet as she chimed in. "I mean, yeah, Jean. Have you seen how much chemistry you two have? It's like you're in a lab experiment for 'awkward teenage drama.'"

Kurt Wagner, who was busy teleporting around the room in his usual blur of blue fur and enthusiasm, popped into the conversation with his typical German accent. "Ja, we could make it a mutant experiment! We just need a little bit of science and a dash of romance!"

Harry let out a laugh, almost choking on his drink. He didn't have the heart to correct Kurt's entire misunderstanding of science, but it was kind of cute in a way. "Yeah, well, maybe next time we'll all just be in Star Trek—no mutant drama, just spaceships."

"Oh, please," Kitty scoffed. "I can't handle any more drama. You know what my limit is?"

"What?" asked Kurt, who'd teleported behind her and nearly made her drop her tablet.

"My limit is this." Kitty pointed to the awkward triangle forming between Jean, Scott, and Harry. "I'm officially out. My Netflix queue's getting a workout today."

"That's right, sugar," Rogue added, her arms crossed. "This is the best drama ever. If y'all don't sort it out, I swear I'll grab some popcorn."

In the middle of the banter, the soccer match started, and Harry's competitive streak kicked in. "Alright, enough talking. Let's do this."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "You're on, Harry. But just so you know, I'm the one who's winning this time."

Harry grinned. "We'll see about that."

Minutes later, the two of them were in the backyard, going at it like there was no tomorrow. Scott was fast, but Harry, well... Harry had superhuman speed. Suffice to say, it was a bit of an unfair match-up.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting golden rays over the mansion grounds, Harry felt the weight of the day settle on him. It had been a perfect birthday. Despite everything—the chaos, the awkwardness, the teasing—he was surrounded by people who cared for him. That was enough.

Jean shot him a grin from across the field. "You really think you can keep winning like this?"

Harry looked back at her, feeling that little flutter of something in his chest that he didn't know how to define yet. "You never know," he said with a smile that wasn't entirely about soccer.

And for once, Harry was happy to be exactly where he was, with his friends, surrounded by laughter and lighthearted moments. Maybe it was the start of something new. Maybe it wasn't. But either way, he was in for one heck of a ride.

—

The day had somehow turned into an all-you-can-eat buffet of awesomeness, and Harry Potter was the kid at the table, grinning like he'd just swallowed a golden Snitch whole. Seriously, if someone had told him a few years ago that he'd be surrounded by friends, cake, and presents, he'd have laughed in their face. But now? Now, he was living the dream.

Andromeda's homemade cake was the highlight. It wasn't just any cake—this was the kind of cake that made you want to throw a parade for the person who baked it. As soon as the first slice was cut, it was like a group of ravenous dementors had descended, except they were a lot less terrifying and a lot more delighted. Scott Summers was more interested in Jean, though, which wasn't unusual. If he wasn't staring at her, he was probably plotting how to win her over. Harry didn't blame him. Jean, with her long red hair and piercing green eyes, had a way of making everything look effortless—like she was the sun, and the rest of them were just planets orbiting her. (Yeah, Harry had a bit of a crush. So what?)

After the cake was demolished—seriously, it was gone faster than a Thunderclap Quidditch match—everyone started handing out gifts like it was Christmas. And yes, Harry did feel like he was on the receiving end of a magical Christmas morning.

First up was Xavier, looking more like a wise mentor than an actual guy who could probably control everyone's mind with a thought. "This should help with your... unique circumstances," he said, handing Harry a rare book on advanced genetic mutation theory. Harry raised an eyebrow. Was this the Professor's way of hinting that maybe Harry's DNA was about as messed up as his mutant friends'? "Thanks," Harry said, trying to sound like he definitely knew what was in the book. But he didn't. He was more interested in learning to fly without a broom, thank you very much.

Ororo Munroe was next, with that calm aura she had that could make a hurricane feel like a gentle breeze. She handed him a beautifully crafted wand holster, so sleek and elegant that Harry almost didn't want to touch it in case it shattered into a million pieces like his last attempt at making a perfect potion. "I thought you might need this during our training sessions," she said, her voice as smooth as melted chocolate. Harry nodded, trying not to look too terrified at the thought of getting on Ororo's bad side—he had no idea if she could whip up a storm with a thought, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to find out.

Then there was Susan Bones. Susan was so awkward around him that Harry was almost positive she was about to pass out from sheer embarrassment. She handed him a hand-knitted scarf in Gryffindor colors, which she had definitely made herself because it looked like something that might take a whole lot of time and love. "I... I hope you like it," she stammered, her cheeks flushing. Harry looked at the scarf, then at her, and grinned. "I love it," he said, holding it up like it was the greatest thing he'd ever received. Which, honestly, in that moment, it kind of was. It was warm, cozy, and filled with thoughtfulness. What else could a kid ask for?

Kurt Wagner, the blue, teleporting, optimistic German, practically bounced over with a stack of comic books. "Harry, these are my favorites! You will love them, I swear!" he said, his heavy German accent making it sound way more enthusiastic than it probably was. Harry smiled, knowing full well that this gift was going to be a rollercoaster of superhero antics and a lot of teleporting into his room at 3 a.m. for random discussions. "Thanks, Kurt. I'll give them a read," Harry said, taking the comics with a grin.

Next was Rogue, in all her Southern sassiness, holding a sleek, leather-bound journal that screamed "I'm here to help you document your most epic moments." "Here ya go, sugar," she said, her thick accent making the words sound like they were wrapped in a warm blanket. "Thought you might wanna write down all them big adventures you're havin'. Or, y'know, just doodle if things get boring." Harry chuckled, imagining himself doodling in a journal when he should be saving the world. Typical. "Thanks, Rogue," he said, feeling a fondness for the girl who could make him laugh no matter how grim things got.

Kitty Pryde was next, holding a shiny new iPod Nano. She was the ultimate geek, but in a way that made you envy her cool factor. "I loaded it with everything from classic rock to the latest hits," she said, practically bouncing. "You can use it when you're off flying around or just, y'know, trying to avoid doing homework." Harry laughed, because yeah, she wasn't wrong about the homework. "You rock, Kitty. Thanks," he said, already imagining himself rocking out to her playlist during some ridiculously dramatic moment.

Tonks, of course, had a gift wrapped in bubblegum-pink paper. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, grinning like she'd just done something incredibly mischievous. "These are enchanted quills," she said with a grin. "They'll make your handwriting look like it was done by a scribe from the ancient wizarding world. Just don't go cheating on your homework, alright?" Harry laughed. "Sure, Tonks. No cheating. Maybe I'll use them to write my memoirs," he teased, getting a wink from her in return.

And finally, Jean Grey—serene, beautiful, and surprisingly nerdy—stepped forward, holding a neat package wrapped in lavender paper. She'd noticed Harry's interest in potion-making with Andromeda, so she had consulted with her and Sirius to get him the perfect gift: a potion-making kit. Harry was stunned. "I thought it would be fun for you," Jean said with a soft smile, her cheeks flushing just slightly. "You've been getting into the brewing process, and... I wanted to make it easier for you." Harry was genuinely touched. "Thank you, Jean. This is amazing," he said, almost wishing he could somehow return the favor. But then again, the chance to learn how to brew perfect potions was a gift in itself.

As Harry looked around at his friends, he realized something that made his heart feel a little too big for his chest: He was surrounded by people who cared about him. People who saw past the prophecy and the fame and the endless danger to the kid he was beneath all of that. And, yeah, that was a feeling he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to.

But for once, he wasn't trying to escape it. He was ready to live it.

---

As the day wound down, and Harry found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, reflecting on the absolute chaos that had been his 13th birthday. It had been a blur of cake, gifts, laughter, and way too many awkward moments (like Scott staring at Jean like he'd never seen a girl before). But mostly, it had been good. Like, really good. A far cry from the miserable birthdays he'd spent locked in a cupboard under the stairs, wishing for something—anything—remotely close to this kind of warmth.

But, just as Harry was about to collapse into bed, bam. A knock at the door. Of course.

"Come in," Harry called, half-expecting it to be Rogue trying to drag him into some new scheme involving practical jokes and pie in the face.

But instead, it was Sirius. He stepped into the room, grinning like a Cheshire cat, his eyes dancing with that all-too-familiar mischief that ran in the Black family. Harry couldn't help but grin back, like maybe a part of him always knew his godfather would show up with something ridiculously cool when least expected.

"Got a minute, Harry?" Sirius asked, leaning in the doorway with a box tucked under his arm. The kind of box that screamed "I'm about to give you something that'll either be totally awesome or dangerously unpredictable."

"Sure, come on in, Sirius," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow. "What's in the box? And please tell me it's not a pranking spell or something."

Sirius chuckled. "Oh, no. No pranks. Not this time. I thought you might like something a bit more... practical." He handed over the box, practically bouncing on his toes as if he couldn't wait to see Harry's reaction.

Harry opened the box, and his jaw nearly hit the floor. Inside was the most epic armor he had ever seen. Seriously. Forget wizard robes. Forget Quidditch uniforms. This was next-level stuff. The suit gleamed in the dim light, a mix of deep red and shiny gold that practically screamed "I'm a hero." But not the cheesy kind, like the ones you see in comic books. No, this was the cool kind. The sophisticated kind.

Sirius, watching Harry with a grin that could only be described as "someone who knew they were about to make your day," said, "It's Ukrainian Ironbelly dragonhide and Acromantula silk. Yeah, that's right. Dragon and spider silk. Light, flexible, and tough as nails. It'll protect you without slowing you down. And trust me, it's tough enough to handle anything... even Logan's claws. And believe me, I've had a few run-ins with him these past few days. That guy has a serious problem with his claws, but this thing will hold its own."

Harry ran his fingers over the suit, his mind whirling. The chest piece was decorated with a golden "M", like it was meant to symbolize something bigger than just a cool piece of armor. There were gold-accented gauntlets, black underarmor, and a red hood that looked like it was designed for both drama and practicality. The belt, of course, was loaded with compartments for who-knows-what, but Harry had a feeling he'd find out soon enough.

"This is... insane, Sirius," Harry muttered, still in awe. "This is way cooler than any birthday gift I've ever gotten."

Sirius gave him a sideways grin, clearly proud of himself. "Hey, I aim to please. And don't worry, no exploding surprises this time. Thought you might actually like something that works with your skills, not against them. It'll make you look the part, but more importantly, it'll help you do the job. And let's face it, kid, you've got a bit of a knack for being in the middle of things that explode, so... better to be prepared, right?"

"Definitely," Harry said, grinning as he imagined himself in full action mode, taking on anything the world threw at him. He was ready to be that hero, the one who looked like he belonged in a comic book (minus the cheesy costume). And with this armor, it didn't seem like such a stretch.

"I'll make sure it fits," Sirius added with a wink. "Trust me, I've been around long enough to know how to get this stuff just right. You'll be unstoppable in that thing. I mean, if anyone gives you trouble, just tell 'em your godfather's got your back. That's usually enough to get 'em to back off."

Harry laughed, knowing full well Sirius wouldn't hesitate to throw down for him. And while the idea of his godfather jumping in with both fists swinging was comforting, it also made Harry feel like he was ready to take on the world himself. He wasn't alone in this fight.

"I'm seriously gonna need to try this on," Harry said, slipping into the armor like it had been made just for him (which, okay, it kinda had). The suit molded to his frame, feeling both snug and surprisingly comfortable, as if it had always been meant for him.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Harry grinned. The golden emblem on his chest practically buzzed with energy, and the gauntlets felt like they were calling him to action. He looked like someone who was about to step into the next big battle, and honestly? He was all for it.

"You're looking good, kid," Sirius said from the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "You know, you might just have a future with the X-Men if this whole 'wizarding world' thing doesn't work out. That suit's almost as cool as me."

Harry shot him a sidelong glance. "Yeah, almost," he said with a grin.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Hey, if anyone can make 'almost' work, it's me."

With a chuckle, Harry finally let himself relax. For once, he didn't feel like the kid who was just barely hanging on, trying to survive another day. He was ready for whatever came next—armor, friends, and a godfather who would throw down for him at a moment's notice. What more could a 13-year-old ask for?

As he climbed into bed that night, the weight of the armor's protection still fresh in his mind, Harry felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope. Hope for the future, for what was to come, and for all the people who had his back. With friends like these, he could face anything.

And as he closed his eyes, the last thought he had before drifting off was this: the best was yet to come.

---

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