Harry Potter: The Revenant

The lab was a mess of half-finished calculations, blinking monitors, and piles of research notes strewn across Hank Pym's desk. Hank stared at his screen, muttering under his breath as he adjusted the calibration on his Quantum Realm equipment. His mind was a tangled mess, the numbers not quite adding up. A slight frown tugged at his lips, but he didn't notice the door opening behind him.

Janet Van Dyne's entrance was as sharp as ever, a breath of cold air before she even spoke. She stepped inside with her arms crossed over her chest, the high heels clicking lightly on the floor. She wasn't in the mood for Hank's usual attitude today.

"Hank, we need to talk," Janet said, her voice firm, but her eyes betrayed the sharpness beneath her calm exterior.

Hank didn't even flinch. He continued fiddling with the microscope. "Not now, Janet. I'm trying to focus on something important." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then back at the screen. "I've got work to do. I don't have time for your... distractions."

Janet's lips pressed together in irritation. "Distractions? Really?" She uncrossed her arms and took a step closer, narrowing her eyes at him. "You were the one who told me to either get ready to leave the safehouse in ten minutes or you'll leave without me, remember? You were the one who insisted you could handle things alone."

Hank's shoulders stiffened, and his jaw clenched. "I didn't need you staying at some safehouse to play with Lily Potter and Gideon Adler. You think I don't know what that was about?" His voice was getting louder, and his temper was beginning to fray. "And wanting to look at Howard Stark's toys? You're still hanging around with him after all these years? What is it with you two?"

Janet's eyes flashed with an incredulous glare, her voice cutting through the tension. "You think Howard Stark was flirting with me? After all these years, Hank?" She took a few deliberate steps forward, her anger boiling over. "Howard wasn't even there! I was talking business with Lily and Adler. But you're too busy sulking and imagining things."

Hank whipped around to face her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I don't need to imagine anything, Janet. I've got a damn good reason to worry about you and Stark. You've got a lot of history together. I don't know what I was thinking leaving you two alone—"

"That's the problem, Hank!" Janet cut in sharply, taking another step closer. "You never think! You think you can do everything on your own. You isolate yourself, and then you blame everyone else when things go wrong!" She took a deep breath before her tone softened, though the frustration remained in her voice. "You've been drowning yourself in alcohol, Hank. Do you even realize that? Do you remember what happened at the safehouse last night? You got so drunk, you were slurring your words in front of the kids! Rose, Tonks, Ororo—they all saw you like that."

Hank's face turned a shade of red that had nothing to do with his temper. His fists clenched tighter, and he felt his heart start to race. "I'm trying to fix things, Janet," he growled, his voice low but laced with bitterness. "I'm doing everything I can to get the Quantum Realm figured out. For us. For our family."

"And that's your problem, Hank!" Janet shot back, her eyes narrowing as she stepped even closer. "You think this obsession with the Quantum Realm is going to fix everything? It's not. You're tearing yourself apart, and I'm the one who has to pick up the pieces." She swallowed, her voice softening slightly, but there was no mistaking the hurt in her words. "What happened to the man I married? The one who cared about more than just his work?"

Hank was silent for a moment, his breath heavy, as though he was struggling to hold back the frustration and guilt. His eyes shifted to the screen, but his thoughts were far from the data. Janet's words were sinking in, and they hurt more than he was willing to admit. But before he could respond, a soft knock at the door interrupted them.

"Everything okay in here?" Hope's voice echoed through the room, a note of concern in her tone. At just 13, Hope had a maturity about her that made her both wise beyond her years and often more perceptive than she let on. She stepped into the room, eyeing both of them carefully.

Hank froze, his anger evaporating in an instant. Janet's stiff posture softened. They both turned to face their daughter, who stood there, her brow furrowed in confusion, but her eyes were filled with concern. Hope had seen her parents argue before, but something about the tension in the room felt different.

Hope crossed her arms, looking between her parents. "Everything okay?" she repeated, her voice quieter now, though her concern was evident.

Janet let out a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, sweetie. Everything's fine. Your father and I just... had a little disagreement," she said, offering a small but strained smile.

Hank let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. "Yeah. Just a... disagreement," he muttered, avoiding Hope's gaze for a moment.

Hope raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. Her sharp eyes flicked from her mother to her father, but she didn't push further. Instead, she glanced at the Quantum Realm equipment Hank had been obsessively working on, her voice softening as she shifted the topic. "I can see you're busy with this," she said, gesturing toward the equipment on the desk. "But I thought maybe you could use a break. You haven't been yourself lately, Dad."

Hank rubbed his temple, feeling the weight of his daughter's words. "I know, Hope. I know."

Janet stepped closer to him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "We've all been under a lot of pressure," she said quietly, her voice full of understanding. "But we can't let it drive us apart."

Hope nodded slowly, her gaze steady as she met both of their eyes. "Just don't forget that we're a family," she said softly. "We're here for each other. Especially when things get tough."

For a moment, the tension in the room lingered, the weight of Hope's words settling in the air. Hank finally met Janet's gaze, the anger and frustration fading into something quieter, more vulnerable. He exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging. "You're right, Hope. I've been... off. I'll work on it. I promise."

Janet's lips curved into a small, tired smile. "We all will."

Hope's face brightened just slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Good. Now, can we all get back to work before you two tear each other apart?" she teased lightly, her voice a little more playful now.

Hank let out a small chuckle, despite the tension. Janet rolled her eyes but smiled softly, her shoulders relaxing.

For the first time in what felt like days, the storm in the lab had passed, at least for now.

—

Wong set the Marauder's Journal down with a deliberateness that screamed murderous patience. His expression was somewhere between are you serious right now? and I should've just stayed in the Sanctum today.

"Potter," he began, his tone a sharp blade wrapped in silk, "this journal reads like the fever dream of overconfident teenagers who had an unhealthy obsession with proving they were smarter than everyone else."

Harry leaned back in his chair, the picture of self-satisfaction, arms folded behind his head. "You say that like it's a bad thing. My dad and Sirius weren't just overconfident teenagers—they were visionaries."

Wong raised an eyebrow so high it practically touched his hairline. "Visionaries who thought keeping a Mandrake leaf under their tongues for a month was a good idea?" His tone was pure, distilled sarcasm. "Sure, Potter. Let's call it visionary. Most people would call it gross."

"Gross? No, Wong, bold." Harry grinned. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Isn't that how you learned to make tea without setting the kettle on fire?"

Wong's expression didn't so much as twitch. "Careful, Potter. That tongue of yours is getting dangerously close to being cursed into silence."

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get all sanctimonious on me. Let's get to work."

Wong pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "I don't get paid enough for this," before picking up the journal again. He flipped through the dog-eared pages with a mixture of disdain and begrudging respect.

"This Mandrake leaf nonsense," Wong said, his voice clipped, "is supposed to 'attune the wizard's magical core.' And the logic here is...?"

"It's not just symbolic," Harry explained, leaning forward. "Over the month, the leaf becomes a sort of... magical antenna, attuned to your core. It's a key part of the process."

Wong tapped his fingers against the table. "Primitive. Inefficient. Kamar-Taj has focus crystals that could achieve the same effect in days—without the risk of you swallowing a piece of vegetation in your sleep."

Harry blinked, momentarily stunned. "Wait, seriously? You can do that?"

Wong shot him a flat look. "Did you think all we do here is spin shiny orange portals?"

"Okay, fair point," Harry admitted. "So, we swap out the leaf for one of your fancy crystals. What about the thunderstorm? That's kind of non-negotiable."

Wong turned to the potion recipe, eyeing the scribbled notes in the margins like they personally offended him. "You're relying on a thunderstorm for what—raw energy?"

Harry nodded, tapping the page. "The storm provides a natural surge of magical power to bind the transformation to the wizard's core. Without it, the potion's useless."

Wong snorted. "Amateurs. At Kamar-Taj, we've been harnessing celestial events for centuries. A solar convergence could provide more controlled energy than a chaotic thunderstorm."

Harry's eyes lit up. "See, this is why I came to you. Wizards are all about tradition. You Mystic Arts folks know how to innovate."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter," Wong replied dryly, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Now, the real problem is the transformation itself. Your father and his friends relied on—what did they call it?—'raw willpower and instinct?'"

Harry shrugged. "Pretty much. Once the potion's taken, you're thrown into the deep end. You have to wrestle with your inner animal until you come out on top."

"Wrestle with it," Wong repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. "Like cavemen beating rocks together. No wonder so many wizards failed. At Kamar-Taj, we teach focus and harmony. Instead of fighting your animal form, you could merge with it through guided meditation."

Harry blinked again, his grin widening. "Wong, you're a genius."

Wong's smirk vanished instantly. "Don't push it, Potter. This isn't some schoolyard prank. If you mess up—"

"I turn into a half-stag, half-Phoenix monstrosity?" Harry quipped, grinning.

Wong fixed him with a steely glare. "Or worse. You could destabilize your magical core entirely. Or lose your humanity. Permanently."

That wiped the grin off Harry's face. He leaned back, suddenly serious. "Alright, message received. This isn't just some experiment. But if we can pull it off..."

Wong sighed, closing the journal with a snap. "If we pull it off, it'll be a miracle. Now, grab those books over there. If we're going to do this, we're doing it properly."

Harry practically bounded across the room, returning with a precariously stacked tower of dusty tomes. He plopped them on the table with a loud thud. "Ready when you are, Professor Wong."

Wong didn't dignify the title with a response. Instead, he opened the first book with a flick of his wrist, conjuring diagrams into the air. "We start," he said, his voice firm, "by making sure we don't blow up Kamar-Taj. And for that, you're going to do exactly as I say."

Harry saluted, grinning. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Wong sighed, already questioning his life choices, but as he began explaining the intricacies of focus crystals, a spark of excitement flickered in his eyes. For all his bluster, Potter had a way of making the impossible seem... almost doable. Almost.

—

New York City – Upper West Side

The bustling streets of New York pulsed with energy, honking taxis and chattering pedestrians creating a constant hum. Natasha Romanoff weaved through the crowd with the kind of casual ease that suggested she was fully aware of every movement around her. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a leather jacket, she looked as much a part of the city as any native.

Trailing behind her, Nymphadora Tonks was a bundle of restless energy. The 13-year-old morphed her nose into a pig snout, then back to normal, then into a duck bill, all while chattering about how weird Americans were compared to Brits. Her purple-tinted hair made her stand out like a beacon, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Oi, did you see that hot dog cart back there?" Tonks asked, her voice bouncing with enthusiasm. "The bloke selling them had a tattoo of a hot dog eating a hot dog. Isn't that mental? Cannibalistic snacks! Only in New York!"

"Focus, Tonks," Natasha said without looking back, her tone dry but not unkind. "We're not here to sightsee."

Tonks wrinkled her nose, which was now heart-shaped. "Yeah, yeah, Ms. Super-Spy. You're no fun, you know that?"

"I'm plenty of fun," Natasha deadpanned, finally glancing over her shoulder. "Just not when we're about to knock on someone's door and drop an emotional bombshell."

Ororo Munroe walked silently beside them, her usual composed demeanor giving way to nervous energy. Her silver-white hair, styled into soft braids, caught the afternoon sunlight, making her look ethereal. But her blue eyes darted nervously as they approached the charming brownstone.

"You okay?" Natasha asked, her voice softening. She wasn't one for grand emotional gestures, but she had a knack for sensing when people needed a nudge.

Ororo exhaled slowly, her hand brushing against the jacket her sister had given her years ago. "I don't know. It's been so long… What if she doesn't recognize me? Or worse, what if she does and she's angry?"

Natasha stopped in front of the stoop, turning to face Ororo fully. "Listen. Families are complicated. Trust me, I know. But you've survived things most people can't even imagine. This? It's going to be hard, but it's not impossible."

"Yeah!" Tonks chimed in, bounding up a step. "And if she's anything like you, she's probably super cool and rocking amazing hair genes. Besides, you've got us as backup. I'll charm the pants off her. Metaphorically, of course."

Ororo couldn't help but laugh, a soft, melodic sound. She nodded, her confidence returning. "Thank you… both of you."

Natasha smirked. "Don't mention it." She gestured to the door. "Now, go knock before Tonks decides to prank the mailbox."

"I would never!" Tonks said, gasping dramatically. "Okay, maybe once."

Ororo stepped forward, her hand trembling as she pressed the doorbell. The faint chime echoed inside.

Moments later, the door swung open to reveal Vivian Munroe, her older sister. Vivian was taller, her thick curls tied into a loose bun. She had a quiet, understated beauty, and her warm brown eyes immediately landed on Ororo.

For a moment, Vivian froze. Her mouth opened as though she wanted to speak, but no words came out. Finally, she whispered, "Ororo?"

Ororo nodded, her voice barely audible. "Hi, Vivian."

Vivian's hand flew to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. "I… I thought you were dead." She stepped forward, her voice breaking. "Oh my God, I thought I lost you forever."

Ororo found herself pulled into a tight hug, Vivian's arms strong and trembling. The younger Munroe broke into tears as well, her hands clutching her sister like she might disappear again.

"I'm so sorry," Ororo said through her tears. "I didn't know how to find you. I thought… I thought you might hate me."

"Hate you?" Vivian pulled back, cupping Ororo's face. "Never. I missed you every single day. You're my sister, Ororo. Nothing could ever change that."

A small voice piped up from behind Vivian. "Mommy? Who's that?"

Vivian turned, wiping her tears quickly. "Evan, sweetheart, come here."

A little boy peeked out, his wide eyes full of curiosity. He had his mother's curls and his father's sharp features.

"This," Vivian said, crouching to his level, "is your Aunt Ororo."

Evan tilted his head, his face lighting up with excitement. "Auntie? You have cool hair! Like a superhero!"

Ororo laughed, crouching down to meet him. "Thank you, Evan. And yes, I suppose I am your aunt."

Tonks, not one to miss a moment, crouched down next to them and morphed her nose into a lion's snout. "And I'm her friend Tonks. Cool, huh?"

Evan gasped. "Whoa! Are you magic?"

"Don't tell anyone," Tonks whispered conspiratorially, "but yes. Totally magic."

Natasha leaned casually against the doorframe, her arms crossed. "I'm just the boring friend," she said dryly, giving Evan a small smirk.

"You don't look boring," Evan replied earnestly. "You look like you could fight bad guys."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Smart kid."

Vivian laughed and ushered them inside. "Come in. We have so much to talk about."

Inside, the home was warm and inviting, filled with the smell of fresh cookies. Over tea and snacks, Ororo told Vivian everything—her journey, her struggles, and how she found her way back.

"You've been through so much," Vivian said softly, her eyes brimming with tears. "But you're here now, and that's all that matters."

As the sun set and the room filled with golden light, Ororo felt something she hadn't felt in years—peace. For the first time, she wasn't just surviving. She was home.

—

The cozy warmth of the reunion was shattered by a firm, measured knock at the door. The sound echoed through the room, drawing everyone's attention. Vivian tightened her grip on Ororo's hand, her protective instincts kicking in.

"Were you expecting anyone?" Vivian asked softly, her gaze flicking toward Natasha, who was already rising to her feet.

Natasha Romanoff's movements were fluid and deliberate, a predator sizing up the unknown. Her sharp green eyes darted to Tonks, who was halfway to drawing her wand.

"No," Natasha said, her voice cool, every syllable sharpened by suspicion. "Stay seated. I'll handle this."

Ororo frowned, a faint breeze brushing against her silver hair as her unease manifested. "Natasha, is something wrong?"

Natasha glanced back, her lips pressing into a tight line. "We'll find out soon enough."

She moved to the door with purpose, glancing through the peephole. Her body visibly tensed, though her expression remained unreadable. She opened the door just a crack, positioning herself like a shield between the unknown and those inside.

Outside stood a man in a wheelchair, his calm yet intense gaze meeting Natasha's without hesitation. Beside him stood a man tall and broad-shouldered, his posture awkward but non-threatening. The second man adjusted his glasses nervously, though his holographic image inducer made him appear unremarkable, hiding the blue fur beneath.

"Good evening," said the man in the wheelchair, his voice warm and deliberate. "I am Charles Xavier. May I speak with Ororo Munroe?"

Natasha's expression didn't waver, though her voice dropped to a blade's edge. "How do you know her?"

Xavier's gaze remained steady. "I sensed her presence through Cerebro, my telepathic device. Her abilities are remarkable. I've come to offer her a place at my institute—a safe haven where she can hone her powers and thrive among others like her."

Behind Natasha, Tonks leaned closer to Ororo, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Telepathic device? Sounds like he's got a magic crystal ball jammed in his skull."

Ororo's frown deepened. "But I've been in New York for weeks. Why now?"

Natasha answered without looking back, her tone clipped. "The wards at the safe house likely blocked him. They're designed to shield against all kinds of detection—magical, telepathic, or otherwise. Here? No such luck."

"Ms. Romanoff," Xavier said with calm persistence, "I assure you, I mean no harm. I simply wish to speak with Ororo. The choice is hers, of course."

Natasha stepped fully into the doorway, crossing her arms and effectively barring their entrance. "Help her with what, exactly? Because she seems to be doing fine without you."

Hank McCoy stepped forward, adjusting his hologram with an awkward flick of his wrist. "With all due respect, Ms. Romanoff, our offer isn't about implying she can't handle herself. It's about providing a supportive environment she might not find elsewhere."

"Supportive environment?" Natasha repeated, her tone dripping with skepticism. "Right. And you thought ambushing her at someone else's door was the best way to introduce yourselves?"

Vivian, now standing behind Ororo, folded her arms and looked between the strangers and her sister. "Do you know them?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

"No," Ororo said, stepping closer to the door. Her silver hair shimmered in the evening light, and the faintest crackle of static charged the air around her. "But I've heard of people like them."

Xavier's features softened as he turned his full attention to her. "Ororo, I understand this is sudden. But I've been searching for you for a long time. You are extraordinary, and my school is a place where people like us—mutants—can find acceptance, understanding, and community."

Ororo tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "Community?" Her voice was steady but sharp. "I've been surviving on my own since I was a child. I don't need anyone to 'accept' me."

"Of course not," Xavier said quickly, his voice tinged with admiration. "You are strong, Ororo. That much is evident. But strength doesn't mean you have to stand alone. My institute isn't about saving anyone—it's about empowering them."

Tonks finally stepped forward, her wand in plain sight. "Alright, hold up. You sensed her and decided to pop by uninvited? Hate to break it to you, Professor Mind-Reader, but that's giving major stalker vibes."

Hank raised his hands in a placating gesture. "It's not as invasive as it sounds, I promise."

"Sure," Tonks replied, her expression skeptical as she twirled her wand idly. "You're lucky she hasn't zapped you yet."

Natasha's lips curved into the faintest smirk at Tonks' retort, though her attention remained locked on Xavier. "You can see why we might have concerns about your approach."

Xavier sighed, his patience seemingly boundless. "I understand your reservations. I only ask that Ororo hear me out. The decision is entirely hers."

Ororo's eyes flicked to Natasha, who gave a subtle nod. "He's not lying. But that doesn't mean you owe him a thing."

Vivian placed a comforting hand on Ororo's shoulder. "It's up to you. What do you want to do?"

Ororo's gaze moved back to Xavier, guarded but steady. "I don't trust you, not yet. But I'll hear you out—inside."

"Thank you," Xavier said simply, his tone respectful.

Natasha reluctantly stepped aside, though her sharp gaze lingered on them as they entered. Tonks leaned in close to Ororo and whispered, "If they try anything funny, I'll hex their pants off. No one messes with my friends."

Ororo chuckled softly. "Good to know."

As they moved to the living room, the air hummed with tension. Natasha remained a silent, watchful sentinel, while Tonks perched on the edge of her seat, her wand never far from her hand. Ororo sat across from Xavier, her heart pounding as she prepared to hear whatever he had to say. Another chapter of her life was opening, but this time, she wasn't walking into it alone.

—

Natasha carefully closed the door behind Charles Xavier and Hank McCoy, ensuring they were well out of earshot. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one was around to overhear, then pulled out the small, weathered enchanted diary from the inside pocket of her jacket. Her fingers traced the familiar runes on the cover, and with a flick of her wrist, she set the quill in motion. The ink flowed effortlessly, her words appearing on the page.

Harry,

Something's come up. I'm at Ororo's sister's house with some unexpected visitors—mutants who are trying to recruit Ororo. One of them is Charles Xavier, and he's talking to her, which means it's only a matter of time before they realize you're a mutant too. Can you come? Things are a little tense here.

-Natasha

She put the quill down, tapping the diary gently. There was a subtle pulse of magic in the air as she closed it, knowing full well that Harry would feel the connection immediately. They had this odd, unspoken understanding, a bond that transcended words and distances.

Meanwhile, across the world in Kamar-Taj, Harry was bent over a set of ancient, arcane texts, meticulously flipping through the pages as Wong, his teacher, attempted to guide him through the final stages of the Animagus Ritual.

"Harry, you're overcomplicating this. The ritual is complex enough without you rewriting it," Wong grumbled, rubbing his temples in frustration. He was losing patience as Harry's mind seemed to wander from one theory to another.

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad," Harry said with a grin, his voice laced with the characteristic mischievousness that Wong had long since learned to recognize. "I mean, I'm practically there. Just a couple more adjustments."

Wong raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "You've been saying that for days now. Focus."

As Harry carefully examined a diagram of magical symbols, he felt the familiar pull of the enchanted diary in his pocket. He could practically hear it calling to him, and when he glanced down, the glowing ink on the pages seemed to appear out of thin air. The message from Natasha was there, clear and urgent.

He read it, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the details. He immediately looked up at Wong, who was still absorbed in his work.

"Looks like I've got to go," Harry said, a tone of finality in his voice.

Wong looked up, giving Harry a deadpan stare. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Hey, there's a crisis. You've got this. Hold down the fort for me, Wong," Harry said, already gathering his belongings with impressive speed.

Wong sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. "I'll get more work done if you're not here. Just don't make a mess of things. You've got a knack for that."

Harry winked, his usual grin tugging at his lips. "I'm leaving this place in one piece, I swear."

Before Wong could respond, Harry was already gone, vanishing in a swirl of magic.

Meanwhile, back at the safehouse, the tension in the room had not gone unnoticed. Ororo Munroe stood with her arms crossed, her eyes watching the door as if she could sense what was coming. Across from her, Charles Xavier sat with Hank McCoy, both of them quiet, as they discussed plans for mutant solidarity and their ongoing recruitment efforts. Natasha, ever the strategist, remained silent, her gaze flicking between the people in the room as she processed the situation.

The moment the air shimmered and the familiar crackling sound filled the room, everyone's attention snapped to the source. Ororo's heart skipped a beat as Harry appeared in a flash of red and gold, his suit reflecting the dim lighting in the room.

"Well, well, well. Looks like someone got here faster than expected," Harry's voice rang out, teasing, yet there was an edge of seriousness beneath it. He took in the room, eyes landing on Xavier with a sharp assessment.

Xavier's eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape as he processed the magnitude of Harry's arrival. His telepathic abilities couldn't have been prepared for the presence he now sensed—this was no ordinary mutant. This was something... different. Powerful.

"You're... you're a mutant?" Xavier asked, his voice a mix of surprise and awe. His mental faculties worked quickly, trying to scan Harry, only to be met with an overwhelming, almost ungraspable force. He'd met many mutants in his lifetime, but none like this.

Harry shrugged, a nonchalant grin on his face as he leaned against the wall. "I mean, yeah. But I'm not your run-of-the-mill mutant. A little more complicated than that."

Ororo, still standing by, watched with a mixture of admiration and affection, though she masked it with a cool expression. Her gaze lingered on Harry for a moment longer than necessary before she turned to Xavier. "You always know how to make an entrance, don't you?"

Harry chuckled, the warmth of his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he glanced at her. "Hey, you know me. I try to keep things interesting."

Tonks, ever the cheeky one, grinned and leaned casually against the doorframe. "I thought no one could steal the spotlight from Professor X, but here we are. Harry, you're officially the most powerful one in the room."

Harry gave Tonks a wink. "Hey, I'm just here to keep things running smoothly. You know, as usual."

Xavier, still recovering from the initial shock of Harry's presence, adjusted his posture and spoke again, trying to regain some semblance of control. "I didn't sense your powers. You're... unlike anything I've encountered before."

Harry gave a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, I get that a lot. I'm not exactly a textbook mutant. But I'm guessing I'm not the only one who doesn't quite fit your typical 'Xavier' mold, huh?"

Hank McCoy, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up, his voice filled with a hint of curiosity. "You're a mystery, but I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of that. The question is, what exactly are we dealing with here? You've got more power in that suit than half the mutants I know."

Harry shot him a glance, his smirk widening. "Well, I guess you'll find out soon enough."

As Ororo's eyes softened, she looked at Harry again, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. She knew Harry and Natasha had their own thing, but a small part of her couldn't help the feeling that had settled in her chest every time he was near.

"Let's hear what you have to say, Xavier," Ororo said, her voice calm but firm, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

Xavier looked at her, then back to Harry, who remained cool and collected despite the tension swirling around them. "Very well. This meeting is... unexpected, to say the least. But I think we can all agree that the stakes are higher than we initially realized."

"Complicated, sure," Harry said, his grin never fading, "but we'll all manage. I'm here, and I'll listen to what you have to offer."

As the conversation shifted toward their plans, Harry leaned against the wall, his gaze never leaving the group. His presence had shifted the dynamic, and though he didn't speak much, he could feel the weight of the room. Everyone was trying to figure out what he was, and he knew they wouldn't be satisfied with simple answers.

But for now, all he needed to do was listen. He'd figure it out in due time.

---

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