The boy in red and gold didn't turn as the shield zipped past his shoulder and snapped back into the shadows. He didn't flinch when three more werewolves dropped with wet thuds. He didn't even blink.
He commanded.
"Perimeter formation," Harry said, voice low and steady, like the eye of a storm that had decided it was done playing nice. "Non-lethal if possible. Silver if not."
Shadows moved like they'd been waiting for the cue. And they had.
To his right, a girl stepped into the moonlight—tall, elegant, dressed in emerald and gold, like tactical royalty had just rage-quit the Met Gala. The golden Phoenix on her chest blazed with challenge. Her red hair shimmered with power, her eyes glowed soft green with danger.
Jean Grey. Girlfriend. Omega-level telepath. Mild caffeine addict. Definitely not someone you wanted annoyed before her morning coffee—or in the middle of a werewolf hunt.
She gave Harry a sideways smirk. "Trying to be cool again?"
Harry didn't look at her, but his lips twitched. "Trying? Babe, I'm the reason Batman has anxiety."
On his other side, Susan Bones dropped in like she'd been born in a war zone—armored Quidditch robes in black and yellow, wand out, hair braided, face set in the patented 'don't make me obliterate you' glare.
"Five on the left, six more in the trees. One's licking itself," she noted with surgical calm.
"Disgusting," Jean muttered.
"Jealous?" Harry quipped.
"Harry!"
"Kidding! Mostly."
He raised a hand. "Cedric. Daphne. Neville. Luna. Showtime."
Boom.
From the woods came four figures like Hogwarts' answer to the X-Men.
Cedric emerged first—hooded, armored, claws gleaming, moving like a predator who had read every rule of chivalry and decided, "Cool, now let's fight."
Daphne glided in next, literally—ice crackled underfoot as her armor hissed frost into the air. Her breath fogged as she looked at Greyback like he owed her rent.
Neville rose from the roots, green-brown armor wrapped in living vines that flexed with him. The trees actually leaned toward him. Which was either awesome or terrifying. Possibly both.
Then Luna appeared.
Correction: Luna drifted in like she'd been summoned by a cloud with strong opinions. Her blue and bronze shimmered with moonlight. Her hair floated like gravity had a crush on her. One wolf stared, tilted its head, and began chewing its own tail.
"Hello, Mr. Bitey," she greeted it politely.
More figures emerged from the treeline.
Hermione strode forward, robes cinched, wand glowing, barking orders with enough intensity to make a goblin cry.
"Shield charm perimeter, keep formation tight! Ron, left flank! Twins, high ground!"
"Aye aye, General Granger!" Fred called.
"Salute!" George added, sketching an exaggerated one.
Ron rolled his eyes and thumped his wand into his palm. "Let's just make 'em regret puberty."
Ginny, Tracey, Hannah—all in striking magical combat armor—spread out beside the twins.
Then came the power trio: Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, moving like they'd choreographed this assault to Beyoncé.
They weren't just teenagers.
They were MageX.
And then—because of course this needed to go from epic to legendary—the trees parted.
In walked Captain America.
Star-spangled suit. Shield gleaming. Jaw looking majestic. Eyes locked on Greyback like the werewolf had just kicked a bald eagle.
"Captain," Harry nodded.
Steve Rogers nodded back, calm as a glacier. "You call, I come."
"Kinda hot when you talk like that," Harry muttered, just loud enough for Jean to elbow him.
"Focus," she warned, even as her lips twitched.
Behind Cap came Clint Barton, arrow already notched, silver tip gleaming.
"I got twelve on target," Clint said, notching another arrow. "Four more about to regret their life choices."
Natasha emerged from the mist like a horror story in stilettos. Her blades whispered free. Her smirk said she knew things. Dangerous things.
Then came Logan.
Wolverine didn't walk. He prowled. Claws silver-tipped, eyes wild, growl already rumbling.
"They bleed silver?"
Harry nodded. "And cry like toddlers when you insult their fashion sense."
Logan's grin was all teeth. "Let's make 'em sob."
Finally, stepping like a thundercloud in human form:
Albus Dumbledore.
This was not the twinkly-eyed grandfather of bedtime stories. His robes shimmered with warded thread. His beard was braided for battle. His wand crackled with storm magic.
Sirius stood beside him—long coat, longer grin, looking like a rockstar with homicidal tendencies. Remus was mid-transformation, glowing eyes and claws visible under reinforced robes. Moody stomped forward with twitching wand and growls.
Tonks winked at Harry and morphed her nose into a wolf snout. Kingsley towered nearby, silent and radiating "I will end you" energy. Amelia Bones checked the silver shells in her wand-holstered shotgun.
Fenrir looked around.
Yeah. He was starting to get it.
This wasn't a fight.
This was a reckoning.
Harry stepped forward, red-and-gold cape fluttering.
He pointed at Greyback.
"You hunted kids. Thought you were top of the food chain. But tonight, Greyback…"
He drew his wand. Jean's hand brushed his.
"…the pack meets the pride."
Jean's eyes flared. Susan's wand glowed silver.
Cedric snarled. Luna hummed. Daphne froze the air itself. Neville cracked the earth.
Then came the chorus:
"Argentia Sagitta!"
Twelve silver arrows launched skyward.
The sky lit up. The wolves shrieked.
Fenrir Greyback took a step back.
And somewhere in the distance…
the moon hid behind a cloud.
—
Meanwhile...
Back at Hogwarts—Seventh Floor—Room of Requirement
The Room of Requirement had outdone itself.
Seriously, if you told Percy Weasley that one day he'd be running battlefield logistics from a command center that looked like Star Wars, Iron Man's garage, and a Ravenclaw's fever dream had a magical baby, he'd have filed the paperwork himself.
It was all floating crystal displays, glowing sigil boards, and enchanted projectors powered by what Percy privately suspected was caffeine-fueled Ravenclaw desperation. Oh, and a house-elf who looked like he was running an intergalactic war with nothing but pure vibes and a self-knitted jumpsuit.
"Squad Artemis," Percy barked into his comm, "you've got lupine hostiles inbound from your nine. Ambush formation. Five signatures. Coordinates locked. Suggest air cover and frost containment."
Luna Lovegood's voice floated back through the ether, as calm and airy as if she were discussing tea leaves.
"Would you like me to turn them into decorative lawn sculptures?"
"Preferably with minimal bloodshed and maximal dramatic irony."
"Splendid," Luna said.
Three seconds later, a panel lit up with a sparkle of silvery blue as werewolves got hit with an arctic blast so frosty Elsa would've needed a scarf. One went flying into a tree. The tree lost.
Dobby, meanwhile, was on his floating enchanted stool, headset comically oversized for his bat-like ears, fingers tap-dancing over a shimmering control panel made entirely of light.
"Big stinky wolf-men trying sneak behind Captain Cedric!" Dobby announced gleefully. "Deploying spicy sneezing gas and silver glitter mines!"
The view-screen lit up with the explosive equivalent of a rave. A trio of werewolves exploded into a cloud of sparkles and began wheezing like they'd inhaled an entire Puking Pastille factory.
"Confirmed hit," Percy said, checking a rune readout. "Well done, Dobby."
"Dobby is very tactical!" the elf declared, chest puffed out.
Another screen flared crimson. Percy spun to it like a conductor leading a symphony of magical doom.
"Hostiles approaching Hogsmeade perimeter. Multiple contacts, fast movers. Assigning Squad Thunderbolt. Hermione, do you copy?"
"Thunderbolt is in position," Hermione's voice replied, clipped and efficient. "Ginny's left flank, Ron's holding middle, I've got top-view with enchanted drone Snitches. Also, tell Dobby the tripwire bomb was genius."
Dobby turned the color of a particularly embarrassed tomato and wobbled on his stool.
"Focus, please," Percy muttered, catching him. "I need everyone sharp."
Another panel blinked. This one? Gold.
That was never good.
"Big wolfie," Dobby said, eyes going wide. "Alpha inbound."
Percy zoomed the view in. Yep. Fenrir Greyback, looking like a Jason Momoa nightmare with worse dental hygiene, was charging toward Harry's position.
"Code Phoenix," Percy snapped. "All squads converge on Omega Point. Initiate full spectrum mythic mode. Engage legendary."
"Phoenix confirmed," came Hermione's reply.
"Converging now," Ron said, over the comm. "Oh, and remind Harry to not be so freaking Harry about it."
On cue, the center screen locked on to a blur of red and gold—a streak of motion that was part lightning bolt, part flaming sword, and 100% sass.
Harry James Potter was done playing nice.
He vaulted through the trees like Tarzan had taken ninja lessons from Batman, blasting spells with one hand and flinging sarcasm with the other.
"Really, Fenrir? I expected more from a discount Chewbacca."
Fenrir growled. Harry smirked.
"What? Don't like the comparison? Sorry, I left my doggy treats in my other pants."
From Jean's comm: "Harry, I swear, if you get bit, I will invent magical rabies just to yell at you properly."
"Relax, Red. I've got enough hotness to burn off any infection."
Jean Grey, dressed in combat-ready crimson, was flying above the trees with her phoenix aura burning like a second sun.
She rolled her eyes. "Arrogant."
Harry grinned up at her. "You love it."
"Unfortunately."
Together, they dove—him from the trees, her from the sky. They met in a flash of gold and fire, colliding with Fenrir in a spell-streaked explosion so epic it probably got a standing ovation from the thunderclouds.
On another screen, Neville rode a rampaging Thestral like he'd just stolen it from Hades himself, yelling, "For Herbology!"
Next to him, Luna had somehow enchanted four werewolves into bouncing like beach balls made of fur and poor decisions.
One of them hit a tree and meowed.
Back in command, Percy was barely keeping up.
"Squad Apollo, assist Neville. Squad Mercury, flank right. Captain Logan—"
"Already ahead of you, bub," came the gruff, cigar-tinged voice of Wolverine, slicing his way through underbrush and monsters alike.
"Captain Rogers, assist Squad Artemis."
"On it," Steve replied, hurling his shield with enough force to make gravity reconsider its life choices.
"Agent Romanoff, intercept point delta."
"Already dancing," Natasha said coolly, flipping over a charging werewolf and shocking it into unconsciousness with a Widow's Bite.
"Clint?" Percy asked.
"Sniping from the top of the Owlery. Also, tell Dobby that spicy sneeze trap? Genius."
"Dobby is very popular today," the elf beamed.
"Can we focus, please?" Percy groaned. "I am not paid enough for this."
"You're not paid at all," Kingsley's voice cut in. "You volunteered."
"And that's the last time I ever will," Percy muttered.
The skies above the Forbidden Forest were now streaked with spell-fire, magical drones, and phoenix-flame contrails. Spells clashed mid-air, enchanted arrows whistled by, and somewhere, Fred and George launched fireworks shaped like taunting badgers.
"Converge on Harry's position!" Percy shouted. "Dobby, reroute comms to all squads."
Dobby gave a thumbs-up. "Ready, sir!"
Percy leaned forward.
"All units: Code Phoenix is live. Protect Harry Potter. Converge. Reinforce. Annihilate. And please, for Merlin's sake, don't let Fred and George start a conga line in the middle of the battlefield again."
A pause.
"Too late!" came Fred's cheerful voice. "Conga line and fireworks!"
"Merlin help us," Percy muttered.
But then, the central screen showed Harry standing over Fenrir, flaming sword crackling, Jean floating behind him like a goddess of war and fire.
They'd done it.
And Percy, the clipboard-wielding, headset-wearing, order-barking nerd at the heart of it all, cracked a grin.
"They said I couldn't handle field command," he said. "Ha."
—
(Back in the Forbidden Forest...)
Fenrir Greyback was having a very bad night.
The kind of night where your ribs are cracked, your jaw is loose, your fur's clotted with your own blood, and the forest sounds suspiciously like a horror movie soundtrack.
He was on his knees, surrounded by the dying howls of his so-called pack, and trying not to make eye contact with the walking apocalypse standing over him.
"You know," Harry said, folding his arms as red and gold armor shimmered like molten light across his chest, "I always imagined our meeting would involve more explosions and less… groveling. Not that I'm complaining."
Fenrir spat blood. "You think this is the end?" he growled. "Kill me and another takes my place. You can't stop us—"
Harry cut him off with a casual, almost polite, kick to the face. CRACK. "See, that's the thing about evil monologues," he said. "They work better when you're not leaking brain juice."
Jean, floating next to him in a blaze of Phoenix fire and cosmic attitude, arched a red brow. "Was that really necessary?"
Harry shrugged. "Probably not. But it felt good."
She grinned, the kind of grin that made stars blink in terror. "Fair."
He turned back to Fenrir, who was wheezing like a deflated accordion. "You know, I did consider finishing you off myself," Harry mused. "Get some blood pumping. Maybe neuter you with a hot blade. The usual Gryffindor therapy."
Fenrir bared his fangs. "You don't have the guts."
"Oh, I have the guts," Harry said sweetly. "I just have better plans. See, the honor of ending your waste of a life? That belongs to someone else."
And with the flair of a man who practiced dramatic entrances and exits in front of a mirror, Harry kicked Fenrir like a football.
To be fair, it was a hell of a kick. Even Logan, watching from the treeline and chewing on a cigar, muttered, "Bub's got a boot like a freight train."
Fenrir crashed through three trees, a hedge, a confused puffskein nest, and landed in a clearing ringed with silvery fire.
Waiting there, glowing faintly under the full moon, was Remus Lupin.
He wasn't fully transformed. Not the snarling, mindless beast that Fenrir expected.
No. Remus was something else entirely.
Clawed hands. Amber eyes. Muscles flexing under a shredded coat. Wolfish face. Human poise. And—most disturbingly—total control.
Fenrir coughed and stared. "Impossible…"
Remus's voice was calm and razor-sharp. "Hello, Fenrir."
"You… shouldn't be able to—"
"Control it? Be myself under the full moon?" Remus's gaze was steady. "No. I shouldn't. But I am. And you know why?"
Fenrir tried to scramble up. His limbs screamed in protest. "You were nothing! A weakling!"
"I was your victim," Remus said, walking toward him, each step like a drumbeat. "You bit me out of spite. Told your followers I was your pup. Called me your legacy. I was afraid for years—of hurting people, of losing control."
He stopped just short of Fenrir, claws shimmering with runes that pulsed with anti-curse magic.
"And now, I am more than you ever were. I am what you could never be."
Fenrir lunged. A last act of defiance.
Remus caught him mid-leap—and with a brutal grace, drove his claws into Fenrir's chest.
There was no scream. Just a gurgle.
And then… silence.
From the edge of the clearing, Harry watched with Jean, hand resting on hers. She leaned against him, warm and radiant.
He nodded. "That was for every scared kid who thought the monster under the bed had won."
Cue Luna, swinging down from a branch riding a flaming Thestral backwards, yelling, "I declare this forest officially exorcised!"
Percy—back in the Room of Requirements —sighed deeply and took out a quill. "I'm going to have to file seventeen forms for that statement."
Dobby popped in beside him with a grin. "Dobby is loving this chaos, sir! So much nicer than laundry day!"
Meanwhile, Clint and Natasha were sniping sarcastic commentary from a tree, Logan was sharpening a claw with his teeth, and Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—just gave Harry a thumbs-up.
"Nice boot, kid."
"Thanks," Harry called back. "I try to keep it polished for war crimes."
Sirius slung an arm around Remus's shoulder, nodding approvingly. "You ripped out his heart. Not literally, but emotionally. Proud of you, Moony."
Remus gave a tired, wolfish grin. "Thanks, Padfoot."
Dumbledore appeared in a swirl of silver light, twinkling eyes scanning the battlefield.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "ten points to whoever didn't set the forest entirely on fire."
Fred and George cheered. Ginny rolled her eyes. Hermione was already organizing cleanup spells while muttering, "Idiots. Brave, beautiful idiots."
Neville, holding a sword made of vine that was bigger than his torso, mumbled, "Did anyone see my pants?"
"Tracey has them!" Daphne called, hauling a petrified werewolf into a net.
Ron flopped down on a log. "Can someone please explain why we're always the clean-up crew?"
Susan, wand still glowing, grinned. "Because we're awesome."
Katie, Alicia, and Angelina high-fived in the background.
As the last embers of battle died, Jean turned to Harry.
"You okay?"
He smiled. "Never better."
She leaned in. "You know… cosmic fire makes a great excuse to cuddle."
"Noted," Harry said, pulling her close. "Also, you're hot."
Jean rolled her eyes. "You've used that one before."
"And I'll use it again."
She kissed him.
And in the background, Logan muttered, "Kids today. No respect for a quiet battlefield."
The war wasn't over.
But the monsters had lost tonight.
And that was enough.
—
(Still in the Forbidden Forest… minutes after Fenrir's very poetic and very deserved expiration)
The battle was over.
The moon still loomed overhead like a smug referee who'd just watched a particularly violent Quidditch match. The forest was silent now—no howls, no screaming, just the sizzle-pop of flames and the occasional crunch of a boot over broken twig. Owls flapped away in grumpy protest, clearly not fans of werewolf-themed barbecues.
Harry Potter, blood-smeared and limping slightly, surveyed the carnage with the air of someone who had definitely seen too much for one evening. He swiped a smear of werewolf gunk off his cheek and sighed.
"Right," he said, voice drier than a House Elf's sock drawer. "Cleanup time. Who's excited?"
"Thrilled," Cedric grunted, hoisting a half-transformed corpse by its ankles. "Nothing like a midnight monster mop-up to end the day."
"I know, right?" Harry said. "Exactly how I pictured date night going."
"Wait—this is your idea of romance?"
"Depends," Harry said, casting a smirk toward Jean, who was floating a trio of twitchy corpses with her mind like it was just another Tuesday. "Jean? Scale of one to 'restraining order,' how creeped out are you?"
Jean's lips curled into a wicked smile. Fire flickered in her eyes as she effortlessly stacked the bodies. "Oddly impressed. Mildly aroused. Confused about my life choices."
"Perfect," Harry said, beaming. "That's my love language."
Logan let out a gravelly snort, casually tossing another body over his shoulder like it was a gym bag full of bad decisions. "This kid's twisted. I like it."
"Back in my day," Steve muttered, carrying the limp form of a werewolf with quiet reverence, "we honored the dead. Even the ones trying to eat us."
"Back in my day," Logan said, gesturing broadly, "we didn't fight werewolves in cursed forests full of teleporting houseplants."
Steve gave him a look. "That's not a thing."
"It is now," Harry muttered. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Can we not?" Percy said, looking like a man on the verge of both a headache and an existential crisis. "Some of us are trying very hard not to throw up into our boots."
"I think the boots would prefer it," Fred chimed in, gleefully tossing a dismembered arm onto the growing pile.
"They've suffered enough," George agreed solemnly.
In the corner, Luna rode a floating silver lion. Yes, really. It padded through the clearing with entirely unnecessary elegance, paws glowing faintly. Luna hummed a dirge that may or may not have been taught to her by a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. No one had the heart—or courage—to ask.
Tracey, wand out and voice perfectly deadpan, levitated a particularly grisly torso toward the pile. "On the bright side," she said, "we just made the world significantly less hairy."
"Say that again," Daphne said, eyes narrowed, "and I'm shaving your eyebrows in your sleep."
Meanwhile, Remus stood silent and bloodstained, watching. His claws, still extended, gleamed in the moonlight. There was something new in his stance. Peace, maybe. Or maybe just really, really deep emotional repression.
Harry caught his eye. "You good?"
Remus gave a short nod. "Better than I've been in years."
Finally, the bodies were stacked—dozens of them, twisted and broken, each one an ending. The smell was… not pleasant. Like wet fur and a bad decision.
Jean floated upward, fire spiraling from her fingers. "You ready?"
Harry raised his wand, cocky smirk locked and loaded. "Ladies first."
Jean rolled her eyes. "You just want to stare at me while I channel cosmic fire."
"Is that a crime?"
"If it is, I'm not reporting it," she said, and unleashed the Phoenix Force.
Golden fire erupted from her hands, curling into a perfect dome around the pile. Not a spark touched the surrounding trees. The flames consumed only what they needed to, disciplined and divine.
Hermione, arms crossed, nodded in grudging approval. "Now that's responsible incineration."
Harry added a flick of his wand, feeding the fire with magic. It roared higher, bright and violent and clean.
No one spoke.
Even Luna's lion sat, tail swishing in solemn rhythm.
The flames devoured Fenrir's legacy like it was nothing. Like it was just another nightmare, burned away by dawn.
Steve stepped beside Harry, placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Nice work, son."
Harry nodded. "Thanks, Dad 2.0."
"I better be at least Dad 1.5," Logan growled. "We've bonded over claw trauma."
From across the clearing, Sirius shouted, "What the hell?! I was going to teach him how to hotwire a dragon!"
"Dragons don't have ignitions," Remus said flatly.
"They would if you believed, Moony."
"Stop talking," said several voices at once.
Jean floated down and landed beside Harry. She took his hand without a word. Just squeezed it.
"You alright?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her, really looked at her, eyes soft behind firelight. "Yeah. Tonight sucked. But the bad guys sucked worse. So I call that a win."
Jean leaned in and kissed his cheek. "After this? Ice cream and cuddles."
Harry smiled. "Thirty-seven scoops of rocky road and the world's longest snuggle."
With a sharp crack, Dobby appeared, wearing a tiny tie and holding a clipboard bigger than he was. "Harry Potter, sir!" he squeaked. "Dobby is here for post-murder paperwork and trauma marshmallows!"
Harry blinked. "Dobby, you are both too much and exactly enough."
"Dobby is honored and confused!"
Behind them, the fire kept burning.
Bright. Final.
Banishing shadows.
Making room for something better.
Something alive.
—
(Once the fire had burned out and the bodies had crumbled into ash…)
The wind in the Forbidden Forest carried the scent of scorched leather, silver, and something distinctly werewolfy—like wet dog mixed with rage and regret. The last embers smoldered, giving off the occasional hiss, like the universe itself was trying to let out one last dramatic sigh. It was over. For now.
Professor Dumbledore stood just beyond the circle of ash, his long cloak stirring with the breeze, eyes tired but bright behind his half-moon spectacles. He looked like he'd seen a thousand battles and was still holding out hope that humanity might eventually figure things out—someday, maybe, if they ever stopped being idiots.
He surveyed the group of worn-out teens and even more worn-out adults. They were bruised, bloodstained, and generally looked like they'd been through a particularly violent music video.
"Well," he began, voice calm as ever, "it appears the immediate threat has passed. Though I daresay each of us will carry something of tonight with us."
Harry, leaning against a still-glowing piece of rubble with Jean at his side, raised a hand.
"I vote we carry it while horizontal and in a deep, coma-like sleep."
There was a chorus of exhausted laughter.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "A wise suggestion, Mr. Potter. But before any of you go collapsing, I suggest changing out of your armor. I would prefer not to startle the other students into thinking Hogwarts has been overtaken by a rogue faction of magical bounty hunters."
Ron groaned. "But the Witch Weekly cover, 'Post-Apocalyptic Chic'—we'd be naturals!"
"Speak for yourself," Tracey muttered, yanking a twig from her hair. "I've got mud in places I didn't know I had."
"You've got mud in my boot," Daphne added, staring down at her enchanted heels like they'd personally betrayed her.
Fred elbowed George. "New business idea. Battle Glamour line: fashionably dirty for the magically elite."
George grinned. "We'll call it 'Blood & Blush.'"
Dumbledore raised a hand. "Before you trademark that, please—go. Rest." He turned to the older newcomers—Steve Rogers, Logan, Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton. "As for you, my friends, Hogwarts does have accommodations suitable for honored guests... and unconventional allies."
Natasha gave him a smirk. "Is that polite British for 'we scare you just a little bit'?"
Sirius leaned over to Remus. "She's my new favorite."
Dumbledore smiled. "Interpret it however you like, Miss Romanoff."
Logan lit a cigar with the tip of his claw. "Just give me a bed, a locked door, and a bottle of something that could make Hagrid blackout."
Steve coughed into his fist. "Two bottles. Logan's tolerance is practically mythological."
"I can show them the way," Sirius volunteered, clearly too excited about introducing them to the castle's secret tunnels.
"And what about breakfast?" Clint asked, lifting an eyebrow like a man with a priority system that began and ended with carbs.
"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "Please join us in the Great Hall after you've rested. Hogwarts breakfasts are... legendary."
The students suddenly snapped back to life like someone had yelled "free chocolate."
"You have to come!" Ginny said. "The waffles are criminally good."
"Pumpkin juice that tastes like fall got drunk on sugar and made a baby with happiness," Luna added, twirling a burnt feather in her fingers like it was a wand.
"And the platters refill automatically," Hermione added. "You don't even have to ask. Like, real magic."
Neville blinked blearily. "...Because it is magic, Hermione."
Fred slung an arm around Clint's shoulder. "We'll save you a seat near the good bacon."
"That's all the bacon," George whispered solemnly.
Steve looked between them all, war-weary and confused. "You just fought a werewolf army... and now you're excited about breakfast?"
Harry clapped him on the back. "Cap. Hogwarts may be a deathtrap, but breakfast slaps."
Logan growled. "I'll believe it when I see a steak the size of my fist."
Ron patted his stomach. "You'll believe it, bub."
Jean nudged Harry's side, eyes warm despite the soot on her face. "You're going to fall asleep mid-chew, aren't you?"
"I'm already dreaming of bacon," Harry muttered.
"And I'm already judging you," she replied, but leaned in just enough to rest her head against his shoulder.
Sirius started herding the adults toward the castle like a grumpy shepherd with stylish sheepdogs. Remus followed, calm and graceful, while Logan argued with a suit of armor that refused to move aside. Natasha ghosted past them all, impossibly elegant despite having just suplexed a werewolf into a tree. Clint checked his pockets for arrows and found, disturbingly, a sugar quill.
As the students trudged toward their respective towers, enchanted armor dissolving with weary flicks of wands, Dobby appeared with a pop, nearly giving Percy a heart attack.
"Dobby is being readying the guest beds! The fluffiest pillows! The squishiest mattresses! Dobby has also retrieved a bottle of Firewhisky for the grumpy man with the claws!"
"Good elf," Logan grunted.
"Dobby is also bringing warm socks for the redheaded archer man!"
"Sweet," Clint said. "I lost mine in a tree."
Percy—who had remained miraculously clean and extremely concerned—cleared his throat. "Professor Dumbledore, might I remind you that the Hogwarts charter strictly prohibits unscheduled magical creature bonfires within a hundred yards of the castle?"
Everyone stared.
Harry blinked. "You're upset about that? Not the werewolf cult?"
Percy sniffed. "Orderly chaos is still chaos."
Harry turned to Jean with a smirk. "And people say I'm dramatic."
She rolled her eyes fondly. "Only when you're conscious."
Dumbledore raised his voice one last time. "Sleep well, all of you. You have done more than enough for one night."
And just like that, the group dispersed.
There would be questions in the morning.
There would be press, paperwork, and possibly several angry Howlers from the Ministry.
But for now, they had peace.
And tomorrow?
They'd have Hogwarts breakfast.
And honestly, that made surviving the apocalypse almost worth it.
—
Harry and Jean were the last ones trailing toward the castle, moving at the speed of two people who'd just fought flaming werewolves, possibly encountered an assassin aunt, and were now attempting to process said events with all the grace of wet toast.
Everyone else had already peeled off toward the dormitories, muttering things like "emotional damage" and "who knew Percy Weasley could throw hands." Meanwhile, Jean's robes were still lightly smoldering, giving her the faint aura of a cursed marshmallow. Harry, for his part, looked like he'd done three rounds in a magical washing machine—and lost every single one.
"You sure you're okay?" Jean asked, giving him a gentle shoulder nudge. It was casual—nonchalant—but the way her hand lingered told a different story.
Harry gave a dry laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Define 'okay.' Because if it includes possibly discovering I have a dead mum's maybe-not-dead twin sister who might be a world-class assassin with commitment issues... then yes, I'm thriving."
Jean's mouth curved into a smirk. "So, normal Wednesday?"
"Deluxe Weird Wednesday," Harry muttered. "Now with extra emotional whiplash and unresolved family trauma. Collect all three and win a therapy owl."
They slowed as the path opened into the moonlit courtyard. Hogwarts shimmered in the distance, soft golden light spilling from its towers like it was trying to pretend it hadn't just hosted a supernatural cage match. Overhead, the stars looked like they'd been flicked across the sky by a god with excellent aim and no concept of subtlety.
Harry exhaled. "I keep thinking about her eyes."
"Natasha's?" Jean asked.
"Yeah. Same green as Mum's. Same shape. Same look of, 'I know what you did, and honestly, I'm not mad... I'm just incredibly disappointed and debating whether to set you on fire or give you a stern talking-to.'"
Jean tilted her head. "I mean, the timeline fits. Kidnapped from a London hospital in 1960. Shady KGB childhood. Red Room training. No records, no paper trail. Honestly, the fact she's not secretly a Bond villain is kind of impressive."
"Give it time," Harry said. "With my luck, she's also a time-traveling pirate queen or something."
They reached the marble stairs, the ones that creaked suspiciously even though they were made of stone and should not creak. Jean's fingers brushed his. Just a flicker of contact, but enough to ground him.
"You want her to be family," she said quietly.
Harry didn't respond at first. His silence stretched between them like a rubber band someone forgot to let go of.
"I think I just... want someone related to me who isn't a walking cautionary tale," he said eventually. "Or a ghost. Or Petunia."
Jean winced sympathetically. "Yeah, she gives 'Victorian doll that curses your crops' energy."
Harry chuckled. "She once grounded me for 'looking smug while existing.' Which was rich coming from a woman whose hobbies include passive aggression and beige."
Jean stopped him halfway up the staircase with a tug on his sleeve. Her green eyes—different from Natasha's, warmer, more alive—locked onto his.
"You're not a stray," she said, and there was steel behind the softness. "You're the reason half of us are still standing. You faced down werewolves and eldritch horrors and Percy Weasley's clipboard. You're not just surviving, Harry. You're leading."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean like that time I jumped off my broom mid-air because I forgot how landing worked?"
Jean snorted. "You made it look cool. In a did-he-just-commit-magical-suicide kind of way."
He grinned. "I try to keep the near-death experiences spicy."
They reached the Fat Lady's portrait, who was currently halfway through a bottle of enchanted rosé and attempting to sing Bohemian Rhapsody in Elvish. Badly.
"Password?" she slurred, eyeing them both like they were blurry hallucinations.
"Battle waffles," Harry said without blinking.
The portrait swung open with the weary resignation of someone who had given up on understanding teenagers five hundred years ago.
Inside the common room, the fire had burned down to embers, casting everything in soft shadows and warmth. Jean started toward the girls' staircase, but Harry caught her wrist, halting her gently.
"Hey," he said, and his voice wasn't cocky now—it was soft, rough around the edges. Honest. "Thanks. For today. For keeping me from totally losing it."
Jean stepped closer, not pulling her hand away. "Anytime, Potter."
He hesitated—just a beat.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn't dramatic. No thunderbolts. No audience. No enchanted birds singing romantic duets in the background. Just the two of them, soot-streaked, battle-worn, and entirely human. It was warm, and real, and tasted like adrenaline and maybe a little blood. Classic Hogwarts romance.
When they broke apart, Jean was smirking.
"Took you long enough," she said.
Harry blinked. "Wait—you wanted me to—?"
She leaned in, brushed her nose against his. "Goodnight, Harry."
And with that, she turned on her heel and vanished up the stairs like a flame slipping between shadows, leaving him dazed in the common room like someone who'd just tried Butterbeer for the first time and realized it had alcohol in it.
Harry stood there for a long moment, lips still tingling, brain short-circuiting.
Then he grinned to himself and muttered, "Best apocalypse ever."
He dragged his thoroughly wrecked self toward the boys' dorm, mind already racing toward tomorrow.
Tomorrow might bring secret-aunt-shaped chaos. Magical paternity tests. Ministry interrogations. Possibly waffles.
But tonight?
Tonight, he wasn't a stray cat. He wasn't an orphan or a mistake or a tragic backstory.
Tonight, he was Harry Bloody Potter.
And for once?
That felt like enough.
---
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