The world seemed to hold its breath as Harry and Jean walked forward, but time itself felt like it was dragging. Each step Harry took echoed in his mind, the way it always did when he was about to face something that didn't make sense. Like when he realized he could breathe underwater at age six, or when he got his first broomstick and then immediately broke it by slamming it into a tree. This? Well, this was a whole new level.
And then it hit him. Not a wave of magic or an attack, but something much worse—emotions. They'd come crashing through him, out of nowhere, like an old, forgotten memory suddenly pushing its way through his chest.
Because standing right in front of him was Natasha Romanoff. Or, more precisely, the Natasha Romanoff—Black Widow herself. A woman who, for reasons Harry couldn't even begin to unpack, looked exactly like his mum. Lily Potter. The woman who died protecting him. The one who he only knew from magical pictures and blurry memories in his dreams.
Harry's stomach did a weird little flip that he was pretty sure wasn't normal, and his breath caught. He wasn't sure if it was the weird emotional undertow or just his body deciding to get back at him for all the stress it had been through lately. Either way, it was like he was being yanked backward into a past he didn't even know he had.
Jean, sensing the sudden spike in Harry's emotional state, turned to him. "You alright?"
"I… I think I just saw my mum," Harry muttered, still rooted to the spot. He knew it wasn't his mum—logically, he was well aware. But his heart wasn't feeling particularly logical right now. It was way too busy wondering if he was about to fall over from shock.
Jean gave him a knowing glance, squeezing his hand. "Yeah, she does look a lot like her, doesn't she?"
"She really does," Harry whispered, almost as if the words were stolen from his throat.
Natasha had noticed them by now, and she turned her head, her gaze locking with Harry's. For a split second, Harry wondered if his heart was going to explode from all the overwhelming emotions rushing through him. He tried not to blink, just in case he was imagining this. But nope—Natasha Romanoff was still standing there, looking exactly like Lily Potter.
"Hello, Harry," Natasha said, her voice warm, but it held a curious edge, like she, too, had just stumbled into a world of confusion and unexpected deja vu.
The words hit Harry like a full-body jolt of ice-cold water. His breath caught, and his heart stopped for a beat, and that wasn't something Harry Potter was known for doing, even in the most dangerous of situations.
"Uh, I'm not going to lie. That's… that's kind of freaky," Harry finally managed, his voice cracking.
Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly not phased by his sudden emotional outburst. "I think I could say the same thing about you, kid."
"Oh, yeah? You think?!" Harry replied, throwing his hands up. "Because, let's be real, you look exactly like my mum. Who died protecting me! So yeah, I'm just a little thrown off right now!"
Jean gave him a gentle nudge. "Tone it down, Harry."
"I'm just saying," Harry muttered, clearly not ready to calm down about it. "Who doesn't freak out when they see their dead parent's face on a world-class assassin?"
"I get it," Natasha said with a small sigh, stepping forward, her face softening just a bit. "You're probably wondering if I'm your long-lost twin sister or something."
"Actually, yes," Harry replied, crossing his arms. "That's exactly what I'm wondering. Should I be calling you Lily Number Two?"
"Not exactly," Natasha quipped, her lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "I mean, you wouldn't be the first person to think so. But I don't know who my family is. I don't even have a last name until they gave me one in the Red Room."
This stopped Harry cold. "Wait, what?"
Natasha shrugged, a gesture so casual it was almost unnerving, considering the depth of what she'd just said. "Yeah. You know, the usual. Kidnapped as a baby, raised to be an assassin. Standard Tuesday stuff."
"Yeah, definitely your standard Tuesday," Jean remarked sarcastically, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Kidnapped as a baby? Did they also give you an evil lair while they were at it?"
Natasha's lips twitched into a grin. "Don't get me started. But, yeah, my life's been a bit… complicated." She hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment. "I never knew who my real family was. I only found out today… about her."
Harry watched Natasha carefully. She was standing tall, but her eyes… They were different from the Black Widow he'd seen on TV. There was something raw there. Something vulnerable.
"And it just so happens," Natasha continued, voice a little softer now, "I look exactly like her. Your mum, I mean. Lily Potter."
Jean squeezed Harry's hand a little tighter, sensing the whirlwind of emotions passing through him. "Are you sure? I mean, that's… a big claim, Nat. You know how that sounds."
"I know. I don't know it, not for sure. But it's hard to ignore." Natasha's voice dropped to a whisper. "She looked like me. She might've been my twin sister. I don't know. But… it's all I've got."
Harry's head spun. He thought he might actually pass out. Instead, he settled for blinking rapidly, trying to clear the haze in his mind. "So you think… what? That my mum's your twin sister?"
"I think," Natasha said, swallowing hard, "it's possible. I don't even know who I am, Harry. I don't know my real name, my real family. I was just—"
"You were just like me," Harry interrupted, a sudden realization sinking in. "A kid who didn't get to choose their fate. A kid who got dealt a bad hand and had to make the best of it."
Natasha met his gaze, her eyes flickering with something that wasn't quite sadness, but something deeper. She didn't answer right away, but Harry could tell she understood.
"So," Harry said, taking a deep breath, "what do we do now? I mean, do we go hunt down whoever made you a part of their creepy, evil assassin club and find out who your real family is? I've got a lot of questions and not nearly enough coffee for this."
"Yeah, that sounds about right," Natasha said with a half-smile. "But first, we should probably take a minute to process the fact that I look like your mum."
"Right. That. Processing." Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but despite the chaos swirling in his mind, he found himself grinning. "Guess we should talk about that. Over coffee?"
"Or something stronger," Natasha said, arching an eyebrow, a wicked glint in her eyes.
"Oh, you definitely have my attention now," Harry said, the corners of his mouth curving upward as Jean rolled her eyes at him.
"Boys," she muttered under her breath, but even she couldn't hide the smile tugging at her lips.
And as the group of them—Black Widow, the Avengers, Harry, Jean, and the rest—stood there, trying to figure out just what the heck had happened, one thing became abundantly clear.
This was going to be one hell of a story to tell.
—
It was one of those moments that could only happen when you throw a bunch of magical people and superheroes into the same room. The air in the Room of Requirement was thick, like someone had forgotten to turn on the fan or, more likely, like the weight of impending doom had a gravitational pull all its own. Everyone was still buzzing from Natasha's heart-to-heart—and by everyone, I mean everyone except for Logan, who had somehow convinced the entire group that there was something seriously wrong with his eye.
Seriously, though. For a guy with a healing factor, he sure liked playing the "I've got something in my eye" card.
But before anyone could comment on it (again), or before Clint could make a snarky remark about Logan's emotional fragility (again), Dumbledore did that thing he does. You know, that little throat-clear that's equal parts polite and "I'm about to drop some hard truth on you, so brace yourselves."
"I do hope," he began, his voice smooth but carrying a weight that made the air feel even heavier, "that we haven't forgotten why we're gathered here." He glanced around the room, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "A pack of werewolves, led by Fenrir Greyback. Does that ring any bells?"
For a moment, the room was dead silent, save for Logan's dramatic eye-rubbing (which, if anyone was keeping track, was at least the fifth time). Then it hit like a ton of bricks. Greyback. Werewolves. The Forbidden Forest.
Right. The thing they were all actually supposed to be focusing on.
Sirius let out a bark of laughter—loud, unrestrained, and totally unhelpful. "Honestly, I almost forgot there were werewolves involved, what with all the emotional breakthroughs happening." He gave Natasha a teasing look that was about a second away from getting him punched in the shoulder. "But hey, no judgment. I get it. Heart-to-hearts are important."
Logan scowled and shot a look at Sirius. "Yeah, well, someone's gotta keep it together while you guys have a full-on group therapy session. Not all of us need to cry to bond, pal."
"Oh, come on, Logan," Clint quipped, leaning against a wall and crossing his arms. "We know you're just trying to distract us from the fact that your claws need a good stretching. Just admit it—you're secretly excited about the werewolves, huh?"
Logan raised an eyebrow and turned his attention back to Clint, the fake sincerity dripping from his voice. "Oh, absolutely. I mean, who wouldn't be excited about a bunch of rabid monsters showing up? Just the kind of day I had in mind, you know?"
Susan, looking like she was debating whether to roll her eyes or break out the popcorn, leaned in toward Harry. "How are you not just exhausted by him by now?" she whispered, nodding toward Logan, who had—surprise—started dramatically rubbing his eye again.
Harry couldn't help but grin. "You get used to it. Plus, it's kind of funny to watch him pretend like he's a big softie when we all know he's one rage-fueled berserker mode away from turning us all into werewolf chow."
Jean, standing next to him, gave his hand a quick squeeze, her eyes flashing with that sharp focus that made Harry's heart skip a beat. "Don't worry," she said, her voice a comforting whisper in his ear. "We've got this."
Harry turned to her, meeting her gaze with a smile that felt like it could cut through all the tension. "We always got this."
Before Jean could respond, Dumbledore spoke up again, his voice cutting through the banter. "As entertaining as this exchange has been, I believe we should refocus on the matter at hand. Fenrir Greyback and his pack will be arriving by Portkey, and the time is nigh."
It was like someone flipped a switch. The casual joking stopped, and everyone's attention snapped back to Dumbledore like he was holding the last cookie in the jar.
Sirius cracked his knuckles, looking like he'd just finished laughing at something Clint said (probably at Logan's expense). "Right, right. Werewolves, the ultimate mood killers. Let's get to work, then."
Remus, ever the voice of reason (even if he did have a bit of a werewolf-related bias), nodded seriously. "Greyback is no small threat. He's ruthless, and his pack will be just as savage. We need to be prepared. No more distractions, people."
Harry glanced around the room, and for a second, the sheer force of the group's collective badassery hit him all at once. Captain America standing at the ready, his shield strapped to his back like he was about to save the world. Clint adjusting his bow, eyes narrowing as if the next thing he shot would be exactly the right arrow for the job. Logan cracking his knuckles, probably itching to throw down. Remus looking like he was mentally preparing for a fight he knew all too well.
And then, of course, there was Jean, whose eyes were full of focus—and something else, too, something that made Harry feel like he could take on any werewolf that crossed his path, Greyback included.
Dumbledore raised his wand slightly, and the light from the tip flickered as he spoke, "We have time. The Portkeys won't activate until later this afternoon, according to Lucius Malfoy, who, as of now, is safely tucked away in the dungeons under the watchful eye of Severus."
Clint raised an eyebrow. "You've got someone locked up in the dungeon? Huh. Kinda makes me wonder if there's a special fancy chair in there."
"Don't get any ideas," Remus warned, his voice serious but with that underlying warmth that made him the group's dad figure. "We're not in the business of torturing people—well, except for theoretically—but we do need to focus."
"Right," Steve said, his voice cutting through the conversation with the kind of clarity that only a guy who was practically born to lead could pull off. "We've got time to prepare, so let's use it wisely. We'll fight as a team. But we need to keep our heads."
Logan snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "Heads, huh? Sure thing, Cap. But you know, if things get too wild, I'm probably gonna let my claws do the talking."
"Sure, Logan," Clint drawled. "Your claws always do the talking. I just wish they'd let you say something else for once."
"I can talk, thank you very much," Logan said, shooting Clint a pointed look. "You're just too busy with your sarcasm to notice."
"Yeah, yeah," Clint muttered, shaking his head. "So, we ready for this or what?"
"Absolutely," Sirius grinned. "Let's go rip some werewolves to shreds. But remember—only the evil ones. We have standards."
Jean smirked, her hand brushing Harry's as they stood side by side. "We've got this, Harry. No matter what comes, we're a team."
Harry met her gaze, his heart thudding in his chest as the room quieted again, all eyes on him. He could feel the weight of their expectations, but it didn't scare him. Not when he had Jean beside him, not when they had all each other.
"We've got this," he said, his voice steady. "Now, let's go kick some werewolf ass."
And as the team got into position, ready for whatever came next, Harry couldn't help but think, Yeah, we really do.
—
The air in the Room of Requirement crackled with tension. Dumbledore, the only person who could walk into a room like he was about to perform magic, even without a wand, adjusted his half-moon glasses. His twinkling eyes gave away nothing except maybe a little too much knowledge for comfort.
"I believe it's time for me to converse with the Centaurs," he announced, voice light, but the weight of the task in his words wasn't lost on anyone. "Their cooperation could be... quite valuable in dealing with Greyback and his pack. I suspect the wolves won't simply lie down and take a nap."
Harry glanced at Steve, who stood a few feet away, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, his shield tucked securely against his back. Steve was the kind of guy who didn't like to be idle. Harry was pretty sure that if you left Steve alone for five minutes, he'd start organizing the room or running laps to burn off his excess energy.
"Alright, you handle the Centaurs, Dumbledore," Harry said, nodding to him. "We'll be the ones dealing with the wolves. I'm sure you've got some charm or lecture up your sleeve that'll work on them."
Dumbledore smiled in that all-knowing way that made Harry feel like he'd been gently patted on the head by a wise old owl. "I shall return shortly. Don't get too comfortable, Harry."
And with that, Dumbledore sauntered out of the room, clearly already making plans in his head about how he would handle the notoriously grumpy Centaurs. No doubt, he was probably thinking about bringing them tea or doing a little dance to show off his twinkling wizard feet.
Steve turned towards the group, his face serious, but there was a flicker of frustration behind his eyes. "You know, I think it'd be a hell of a lot more useful if we actually got some hands-on training. Sitting around waiting for the werewolves to show up isn't going to prepare us for the real deal."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that we go on a werewolf-hunting spree right now? Because I gotta tell you, it's not quite as glamorous as it sounds."
Steve's lips twitched in a near-smile. "I'm just saying we should train together. Natasha, Clint, Logan, and I can join your simulations. We've all got our strengths, but we don't know what we're up against. Wouldn't hurt to test it out."
It didn't take more than a second for Harry to process that. "Oh, I see. You want to see how we handle the wolves, huh? That's smart. No sense in training like it's a Saturday stroll in the park when you're about to be thrown into the middle of a pack of snarling, clawing monsters."
"Exactly," Steve said with a nod, straightening up and cracking his neck. "We're all good in a fight, but I want to know how these wolves fight. I want to know how you guys move, how you react."
Jean, standing by Harry's side, shot him a knowing look. "I'm all for the training, but remember, Harry, we've been running simulations for hours. Don't burn them out too quickly." She turned to Natasha and Clint, her eyes bright. "These simulations aren't exactly easy."
Natasha, who'd been standing there with arms crossed, gave a lazy smirk. "We're not exactly delicate flowers, Jean. Give us some credit."
Clint leaned against the wall, looking far too casual for someone about to deal with werewolves. "Yeah, as long as there aren't any giant spiders in the simulations, I'm good."
Harry grinned. "No spiders, Clint. But there are plenty of surprises."
"Should we be worried?" Clint asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Only if you're allergic to silver," Harry replied, turning to the rest of the group. "We've got a lot of werewolf-specific prep to do, and I'm going to need to make sure Natasha and Clint are caught up. They've been trained for all kinds of things, but this... this is a whole new beast."
Steve gave a little snort of amusement. "Hey, we've trained together before, Harry. Don't act like I'm some newbie."
"Right, right," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "You've trained the world's deadliest assassins and spent decades fighting supervillains. I'll try to remember that while you're being eaten alive by a werewolf."
"Could happen," Steve said, with a grin. "But, y'know, I've got that shield, so I'm not too worried."
"Yeah, I'm sure that shield's going to help you out when they rip you to pieces," Harry said, barely suppressing his chuckle.
Logan, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, stepped forward, eyeing the group with a mix of amusement and impatience. "You kids keep talking about silver. You should know by now that the trick with werewolves isn't just silver. You need to hit 'em right, or you're just wasting your time."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "And you've been keeping that little tidbit to yourself, old man?"
Logan shrugged, looking almost bored. "Thought you'd figure it out by now."
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Jean beat him to it. "Alright, enough with the banter, you two. We've got work to do."
"Right," Harry said, giving Jean a playful grin. "You're absolutely right. Now, as much as I love talking about how we're all going to die, let's get to it. We need to introduce Natasha and Clint to MageX, and make sure they've got the right gear. We'll go over the details with them, and then—"
"Not to interrupt, kid," Sirius said, stepping forward, "but Remus and I will handle the gear. You go do your thing, introduce your new recruits, and we'll make sure they're properly armed. Wouldn't want them going out there with just their good looks and old-school spy tricks, right?"
Remus, who'd been quietly observing the entire conversation, chuckled softly. "Sirius is right. You don't want to be caught in the middle of a werewolf fight with just a couple of daggers and a nice suit. We'll sort it out."
"Thanks, guys," Harry said, giving them both a nod. "Alright, let's get this show on the road."
He turned to face the far side of the room, where the rest of MageX was still recovering from the simulations. Hermione was sitting on the floor, panting slightly, while Ron was busy glaring at Fred and George, who were laughing at something only they found funny. Ginny was adjusting her broomstick, Percy was muttering about tactics, and Neville was pacing back and forth, his mind clearly already back in the game.
"Alright, everyone," Harry called, raising his voice to cut through the chatter. "We've got some new faces joining the team. You already know Steve and Logan, but I'd like you to meet Natasha and Clint. They are going to be working with us from now on. I trust you all to give them the usual warm MageX welcome."
Fred slapped George on the back, grinning. "Does that mean we're allowed to punch them, or are we sticking to the whole 'no physical violence' rule?"
"We've got a lot of werewolves to take down," Harry replied with a grin, "so let's make sure they're ready for the job. After that, we'll go over the gear. Silver's a must."
Steve and the others exchanged looks, clearly ready for whatever came next.
"I'm just hoping we don't have to fight any werewolves that turn into giant spiders," Clint muttered, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the room.
Hermione chuckled softly, shaking her head. "That's a 'no,' Clint. But we do have plenty of other surprises in store for you."
"Bring it on," Natasha said, cracking her knuckles, her eyes lighting up with a mix of excitement and focus. "We're ready."
And just like that, the mood in the Room of Requirement shifted. It was no longer just a place of weary recovery; it had become a war room, one where silver weapons, tactics, and training collided with the undeniable buzz of impending battle.
—
The Forbidden Forest was a place that most students wisely avoided. Shadows moved where light should have been, and even the wind seemed to whisper secrets too ancient for comfort. But Dumbledore walked as if the trees themselves bent to greet him, his long robes trailing behind like a whisper of moonlight.
He moved deeper into the woods, his hand resting on the head of his wand—but not out of fear. No, it was reverence. Dumbledore knew that the Centaurs didn't tolerate arrogance or intrusion. You walked into their territory like a guest entering an ancient temple—respectfully, and with no illusions about your own importance.
The first arrow thunked into the tree beside him with a dramatic finality that might have startled a lesser wizard. Dumbledore simply stopped walking and waited, his blue eyes scanning the darkness beyond the arrow.
"Firenze," he said gently. "I trust you still recognize my voice."
From the shadows emerged the familiar silhouette of the pale-haired Centaur, his powerful equine body stepping into the moonlight with effortless grace. His eyes, deep as starlight, regarded Dumbledore with something approaching fondness.
"You walk in bold steps, Albus Dumbledore. Few would enter our domain uninvited."
Dumbledore gave a small smile. "And fewer still would dare to shoot at me, yet here I am, unperforated. A small mercy."
Firenze gave a faint snort, then turned his head slightly as more Centaurs emerged—Magorian, Bane, Ronan, and two younger ones Dumbledore didn't recognize. Their stances varied from cautious to openly hostile.
"What brings you into the forest?" Magorian asked, his voice low and suspicious. "Surely the stars have not grown silent?"
"No," Dumbledore replied, clasping his hands in front of him. "They sing louder than ever. But I fear we must now choose whether to listen... or be devoured by those who cannot hear them."
Ronan stepped forward, his eyes clouded with mystery. "The werewolves."
Bane scowled. "The affairs of humans. Always bloody, always selfish."
"They do not seek to spill blood only among humans," Dumbledore said. "Greyback's pack is growing bolder, wilder. They mean to tear through the barriers between worlds. Magical and Muggle alike."
"Let them," Bane growled. "Perhaps then your kind will finally understand that nature is not to be chained and categorized in dusty books."
Firenze's gaze didn't leave Dumbledore. "And what do you ask of us, Headmaster? Warriors? Scouts? Or prophets?"
"None," Dumbledore replied softly. "I ask for allies. Not pawns on a battlefield, but guides. Your knowledge of the forest, your understanding of ancient magics, your instincts—these are things we cannot afford to overlook."
The Centaurs murmured among themselves. Ronan stared upward as if reading invisible scrolls across the stars. Magorian glanced toward Firenze, then gave Dumbledore a hard look.
"And what do we receive in return?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with something far older than simple amusement. "The opportunity to ensure balance. To stand for something more than prophecy. To choose your place in what is coming, instead of being swept away by it."
Bane scoffed and turned away, but Firenze stepped forward.
"You ask us to trust you," he said. "As we once did. That ended poorly."
"I ask you to trust yourselves," Dumbledore corrected. "Because if the stars are correct, then the choice won't just be between war and peace. It will be between survival... and extinction."
The forest fell quiet. Even the wind stopped whispering.
Magorian finally spoke. "We will consider it. But we are not your cavalry, wizard. If we march, it will be because we choose to. Not because the stars or some boy with a scar tells us to."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "As it should be."
Then, with the barest nod to Firenze, he turned and began walking back toward the castle, the forest opening just enough to allow him through. Behind him, the murmurs of the Centaurs faded into the wind.
The stars twinkled above, but they no longer looked peaceful. They looked... watchful.
—
The Room of Requirement had once again outdone itself. This time, it had transformed into a dense, fog-laden forest, complete with gnarled trees, tangled underbrush, and an eerie soundtrack of distant howls that would make any horror movie director green with envy.
Harry stood at the center, his eyes glowing faintly gold, a testament to the Phoenix fire simmering beneath his skin. His Gryffindor-red Armor glowed dramatically—because, of course, it did. The golden runes etched into his Gauntlets shimmered, hinting at the power they contained.
"Alright," Harry announced, his voice cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. "Sim's loading up five Alpha-level lycanthropes, two dozen betas, and a couple of fun new mutations I cooked up between breaks."
Jean arched an eyebrow, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulder. "You built werewolf DLC while you were having a meltdown?"
"Ofcourse I did," Harry replied with a grin. "Because I'm a multitasking monster."
Beside him, Susan groaned. "He's been waiting hours to say that out loud."
"I'm not apologizing," Harry said, unapologetically. "Now! MageX, you know the drill—positions! Avengers… hope you stretched."
Steve Rogers stepped forward, adjusting the straps of his shield with the kind of slow, dramatic purpose that screamed, yes, I did wake up this morning and choose Captain America-level violence.
"Alright, team," Steve said, glancing at Natasha, Clint, and Logan. "Let's see how well we play with the wizard kids."
"Not kids," Jean muttered. "We're teenagers with trauma and absurd power levels. There's a difference."
"I've seen gods with fewer issues," Logan growled, rolling his shoulders. "Cedric! You ready, kid?"
Cedric stepped up beside him, claws sliding out of his fingertips with a clean snikt. He gave Logan a sharp grin. "Born ready."
"Atta boy," Logan said, proud in his very grumpy, claws-and-cigar way.
Hermione pulled her hair back in a sleek ponytail, wand in one hand, a glowing holographic map hovering over the other. "Sim has locked their scent signatures. Susan, Ginny, you're on perimeter. Ron, shield duty. Neville, you've got the left flank. Luna—try not to talk to the fog. Again."
"But the fog's lonely," Luna said serenely, already trailing her fingers through it. "The Wrackspurts told me so."
Clint blinked. "Okay. So… that's normal?"
Fred grinned. "For Luna? That's her in first gear."
"And if she starts singing to the moon, that's third," George added.
"Right," Natasha said, checking her batons. "Mentally preparing myself for chaos."
"Speaking of chaos," Harry muttered, cracking his knuckles, "Sim starts in five. Jean, you're with me. Phoenix formation."
Jean gave a sultry smile that could've melted steel. "Try not to get too distracted watching me work."
Harry winked. "Only if you return the favor."
Susan rolled her eyes so hard it might've shifted the simulation. "Flirting after the werewolves. Priorities, people."
The countdown began.
3… 2… 1…
The forest exploded into movement.
From the trees burst a pack of massive beasts—fur like shadow, eyes like burning coals, and claws long enough to carve through castle walls. The Alpha, a hulking thing with a scarred muzzle and bones protruding unnaturally from its back, let out a howl that rattled the trees.
And then MageX moved.
Fred and George vanished in twin bursts of smoke—reappearing above the battlefield, tossing rune-enhanced fireworks like candy from chaos gods. Hermione and Ron worked in perfect unison, shielding spells layering like bricks as Neville summoned a wall of brambles so thick it made Fang look like a garden hedgehog.
Harry and Jean were already airborne—flames wreathing Harry's fists, golden wings of fire stretching from his back as he barrelled into the first werewolf like a meteor. It yelped, clawing wildly, but Harry spun mid-air and uppercutted the thing into a tree. The tree lost.
Jean wasn't far behind. She slammed a telekinetic wave outward that flattened three more wolves, her eyes glowing white-hot. Then she landed beside Harry, heels clicking ominously. "That one drooled on me," she said, disgusted.
"It was mesmerized by your hair," Harry said, incinerating another beast mid-pounce. "Can't blame it."
Meanwhile, Cedric and Logan tore through the right flank with the kind of brutal grace that made Clint mutter, "Remind me never to piss off the Hufflepuffs."
Katie, Alicia, and Angelina zipped overhead on conjured brooms, launching enchanted bolas that exploded in bursts of freezing mist. Daphne, arms spread, called a wave of frost that turned two wolves into glittering statues.
"Susan!" Steve shouted, deflecting a werewolf with his shield and hurling it into a bramble wall. "That one's circling behind!"
"I know," Susan said, eyes glowing silver. She flicked her wand, whispered a word, and the air around the sneaking wolf shattered like glass, revealing the illusion. "Liar liar, claws on fire."
Natasha landed beside her, panting. "That was… eerie."
Susan grinned. "That's the point."
Overhead, Luna hummed to the mist, speaking in a soft tone only she and, presumably, the fog could understand. "They don't like the werewolves," she said suddenly. "The mist wants to help."
"Uh-huh," Tracey said, casting hex after hex with deadly precision. "You let me know when the mist starts paying rent."
Back in the fray, Harry let out a roar—not magical, just Harry—as he caught the Alpha by the throat and slammed it into the dirt. The creature snarled, trying to break free, but Harry's grip tightened.
"Let me guess," he said, his voice low, golden fire flaring across his arms. "You thought this was gonna be easy."
The wolf hissed, snapping its teeth.
Harry leaned in, grinning like the apocalypse in a hoodie. "Bad call, Fido."
He ignited.
The Alpha yowled, writhing in a pillar of fire until it vanished into smoke.
Silence followed. Then the simulation flickered and died.
Steve, breathing hard, turned to face the group. "Well. That was… intense."
Logan let out a low whistle. "You kids've been busy."
"We don't really do 'quiet afternoons' anymore," Hermione said, brushing dirt off her robes.
Clint flopped onto a conjured rock. "Someone bring me water, a towel, and maybe a therapist."
"You did great," Ginny said brightly, tossing him a bottle. "Only got bit once."
"Twice," Clint muttered. "Pretty sure one of them licked me too."
Susan clapped her hands. "Alright, good job, team. That was our hardest simulation yet, and no one died!"
"Emotionally?" Percy asked. "Because I may have trauma."
Harry, standing dead center, his cloak still smoldering at the hem, gave a sharp nod. "We're getting better. Stronger. Faster. The wolves won't know what hit them."
Jean moved to his side, sliding her fingers into his.
"And if they do?" she asked, raising a brow.
Harry smirked. "Then we hit 'em again. Harder."
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
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