Hogwarts Express — December 22nd Location: Open-Style Compartment C Status: Overcrowded chaos. Energy: Sugar-high. Romance Level: Cozy fireplace. Banter: Weapon-grade.
There were twenty Hogwarts students.
One compartment.
One extremely overcaffeinated house-elf named Dobby.
And, somehow, the entire collective energy of a rock concert stuffed into a magically-enlarged U-shaped seating layout.
The benches had expanded themselves out of sheer survival instinct. Fred and George swore they saw them shudder when Ron brought out a fourth plate of cauldron cakes. Six patchwork blankets were strewn about like trophies from an overly affectionate chimera, and Dobby was adding throw pillows to a central pile he called his "Snuggle Throne."
"Dobby rules Seat 17," he declared, planting a Gryffindor flag made from an old sock. "No cold toes allowed in the throne zone!"
"Thank you, Dobby," Luna said dreamily as the elf wrapped her ankles in blinking wool socks. "They hum like centaur lullabies."
Harry Potter, relaxed and possibly the most smug he'd ever looked in public, sat like a king surveying his realm. Cocoa in hand. Jean Grey curled up against his side, her legs draped across his lap like she paid rent there.
Jean flipped through Modern Magical Mayhem, Vol. 4 with one hand while twirling a strand of hair around the other. "If Dobby adds one more pillow, he'll become furniture," she muttered. "Not that I'd stop him. He's at throw-pillow God-tier."
"Dobby is honored," Dobby chirped from under a heap of plaid.
Across the way, Daphne and Susan were in their blanket fort slash sovereign lesbian republic. Susan had a marshmallow dangling from her hair. Daphne was mock-interrogating Cedric.
"So," Daphne said, lazily, her voice cool and sharp, "Cho, Hannah, Angelina, or Katie? You can only pick one. Fight to the death, obviously."
Cedric's eyes flicked to Cho—who raised a single brow without even looking up from her wandwork.
"I'd rather duel a Hungarian Horntail," Cedric muttered.
"Cowardice noted," Tracey called from a corner, balancing a teacup on Neville's head while providing live commentary. "A strong showing by the Greengrass Slytherin Psychological Warfare Division."
Ron and Neville were in deep argument over edible survival tactics.
"If you had to eat only one candy for a week, what would it be?"
"Chocolate Frogs. High protein. They jump away if you drop them."
"Wrong," Ron replied, popping a sherbet lemon. "Fizzing Whizbees. You can fly on sugar alone."
Ginny, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie occupied Gossip Bench Alpha. Mostly whispering. Occasionally giggling. Always judging.
"You heard Jean called him 'Captain Brooding?'" Katie whispered.
"Wait, is that Scott?" Ginny asked, wide-eyed.
"Yup," Angelina said, smirking. "Captain Brooding Summers. Coming to a drama near you."
Percy was desperately trying to read A Bureaucrat's Guide to Efficient Spell Classification while George, very unhelpfully, kept transfiguring the book into random objects.
"George," Percy hissed. "This is a signed edition."
"Exactly," George said, nodding solemnly. "Which is why now it quotes Ogden and makes balloon animals."
Hermione was mapping out their entire Christmas trip.
"When we arrive at Xavier's, I suggest we begin with a basic intro circle. I have cue cards with everyone's name and mutant power, plus an optional magical fun fact—"
"Can mine be: 'has kissed three girls and survived'?" Harry asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Only if you want your face hexed off in your sleep."
Cho and Hannah were conjuring snow creatures in the windowsill. The latest—a half-melted penguin—was slowly dissolving into a puddle of enchanted glitter.
"It needs a hat," Cho muttered.
"It needs therapy," Hannah countered.
Luna and Dobby were deep into sock-rune knitting. Each stitch allegedly radiated bravery, kindness, and a mild cinnamon aura.
Jean tugged Harry's scarf. "You have that look again."
"Which one?"
"The I-had-one-hell-of-a-glow-up-and-now-your-ex-crush-has-regrets look."
Harry sipped his cocoa and smirked. "Accurate."
Susan peeked out of her fortress. "Scott's not ready for any of this."
Daphne smiled like she already had a monologue prepped. "Let's give him a Hogwarts welcome."
Fred raised his wand. "Who's betting Scott tries to challenge Harry to something stupid?"
George snorted. "Challenge? He's already lost. Harry's got three girls and a house-elf with a sock cult."
Harry raised his cocoa. "To Xavier's."
Jean clinked her mug against his. "And to ruining Scott's year in the most fabulous way possible."
Outside, the countryside rushed by in frosted white.
Inside?
Hogwarts was loud, magical, and utterly unstoppable.
Christmas was coming.
And Xavier's wasn't ready.
—
Platform 9¾ — December 22nd
Status: Arrival. Banter Level: Dangerously High. Hormonal Chaos: Weapons-Grade.
The Hogwarts Express hissed to a stop, clouds of steam billowing out like it had just finished a very dramatic monologue. Inside Compartment C, twenty-odd teenagers wrestled with trunks, tangled scarves, suspiciously charmed snacks, and at least one elf who had declared himself Lord of the Luggage.
"You know," Jean said, tugging Harry's scarf straight with military precision, "you should warn your godfather that his life is about to become a Disney Channel holiday special. Only with more explosions."
Harry grinned, emerald eyes flashing as he pulled on his dragon-hide gloves. "He lives for this. Besides, he said he wanted to meet the squad."
"We're not a squad. We're a glitter bomb waiting to happen," Susan muttered, lacing her fingers through Daphne's. Daphne, in turn, looked like she was preparing for diplomatic warfare with cheekbones that could cut glass.
Dobby, currently perched on top of Fred and George's levitating trunk, waved a sock like a flag. "Dobby decrees: no friend of Harry Potter shall exit without magical thermal protection!"
They spilled onto the platform like a teenage tsunami, every single one of them talking, laughing, casting minor hexes, or aggressively shoving marshmallows into one another's mouths. And waiting at the far end of the platform, leaning against a wrought iron lamp post like the cover model of Wizard GQ: Rebel Edition?
Sirius Black. Leather coat. Scruffy beard. Looked like he'd either just solved a murder or caused one.
Beside him stood Logan — leather jacket, sideburns, cigar clenched between his teeth. Looking exactly like he was debating whether or not to punch the train. For fun.
And flanking them like a Vogue assassin sent from the heavens: Natasha Romanoff. Hair in a sharp braid. Black heels clicking like a countdown to judgment. Possibly packing seventeen hidden weapons and definitely already judging everyone.
Sirius straightened as Harry approached, Jean on one arm, Daphne and Susan flanking like royal bodyguards.
"Well," Sirius said, his grin broadening, "if it isn't Hogwarts' answer to The Bachelor: Magical Edition."
"We don't use the H-word," Harry replied solemnly. "It throws the timeline into chaos."
Jean flipped her curls. "We're exclusive. Just not, you know, boring."
Sirius raised a brow. Logan grunted, "Kid's got more moves than I did in '45."
Natasha crossed her arms. "This is your elite unit?"
"Careful," Daphne said, brushing invisible dust from her robes. "We bite."
Susan nodded seriously. "And we come with snacks."
Fred and George bowed dramatically.
"Dear Sirius," George began.
"Please consider adopting us," Fred added. "Do you have a turret? Or at least a secret lair?"
Tracey leaned in. "Or a dungeon? Asking for science."
Percy rolled his eyes. "You need legal guardianship—"
"Boooring," chorused Ron, Ginny, and Katie.
Logan's eyes narrowed on Neville, who was currently arguing with Luna about the ethical treatment of enchanted mistletoe.
"That one?" Logan said. "Apocalypse survivor. Guaranteed."
"He already has," Hermione said, tossing a chocolate frog at Ron. "Twice."
Luna stepped up to Natasha, held out a blinking sock. "It wards off government spies."
Natasha blinked. Took the sock. "Useful."
Harry gestured between them. "Everyone, you already know the cavalry: Sirius Black, godfather and professional handsome menace. Logan, codename: Wolverine. Don't offer him hugs. And Natasha Romanoff, aka my aunt. Please don't challenge her to anything."
"You'll lose," Jean added.
Alicia sighed. "She's my role model."
Natasha eyed the squad. "Don't be weird."
"Too late," Fred chirped.
Trunks levitated, Dobby marched in front with a sock flag, and the group swarmed toward the cars. Logan lit a cigar. Sirius slung an arm over Harry's shoulder.
"So," Sirius said, "which of these lovely disasters are you taking out on the town in New York?"
"All of them," Harry replied.
Jean winked. Daphne smirked. Susan gave a serene wave.
"Merlin's balls," Logan muttered. "I'm gettin' too old for this."
"Three hours," Jean whispered to Harry as they climbed into the car. "That's how long Scott's gonna last."
Harry grinned. "Optimist."
Next stop? Xavier's. Where mutant angst was about to meet wizard sarcasm. And honestly? The X-Men weren't ready.
But Hogwarts always traveled loud. And they traveled together.
—
The Fridge — SHIELD Facility
Location: Classified
Status: Cloaked. Cloakroom now full of enchanted scarves. Emotional temperature: One gingerbread-scented panic away from implosion.
The Floo Network exploded like a sugar-high phoenix out of a fireplace.
Ron stumbled out first, covered in soot and dragging a trunk that was hissing suspiciously. "I swear that cauldron cake was alive," he muttered.
Then came Luna, floating out serenely with glitter in her hair and two levitating socks orbiting her head like sleep-deprived moons.
Clint Barton stood just to the left of the fireplace, nursing a coffee that smelled like trauma and caffeine dependency. He didn't flinch as Fred and George Weasley were launched out next, high-fiving mid-air before crashing into a stack of tactical crates.
"Yup," Clint said, not blinking. "Right on schedule."
Harry Potter landed like a Marvel superhero in dragon-hide boots, Jean Grey clinging to his arm with the elegance of a ballerina who could also set people on fire. Susan followed, unbothered and radiant, linking arms with Daphne who looked like she was already judging the architectural design.
"Clint!" Harry called. "Miss us?"
Clint stared at him over his mug like it personally offended him. "You brought all the teenagers."
Harry put a hand over his heart. "They followed me home. You can't just abandon a litter."
Dobby soared out of the chimney, trailed by a string of blinking sock-banners. "Dobby has arrived! The thermal supremacy is imminent!"
Tracey Davis popped into the room next, adjusting her leather boots. "This place smells like gunpowder and repressed trauma. I love it."
Logan grunted from his perch on a storage crate, a cigar clenched between his teeth. "That makes one of you."
Neville tripped on an anti-static mat, flailed, and was caught by Logan without fanfare. "Kid," Logan said, helping him upright, "don't swan-dive into a military facility. It bites."
Hermione had already pulled out her notebook, quill poised. "We need a structured arrival log. I have name tags. Possibly color-coded."
George nudged Fred. "Five galleons says she tries to sort SHIELD agents by Hogwarts House."
Fred nodded. "My money's on Barton being a Slytherin. Cunning, dry wit, borderline homicidal when sleep-deprived."
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie strolled in like a music video, all coordinated leather jackets and dangerous smiles. One SHIELD tech dropped his tablet. Katie winked. He fainted.
Clint sighed. "Quinjet's in Hangar C. Let's move before someone invokes HR."
—
Hangar C — Minutes Later
Status: Jet-induced Awe. Hormones: Weaponized. Banshee Screech Level: Rising.
The hangar doors slid open with a cinematic hiss, revealing the Quinjet. Sleek. Matte black. Sexy in a "might drop a missile" sort of way.
Ron gaped. "It's like a broomstick and a Hungarian Horntail had a high-tech lovechild."
"VTOL aircraft," Hermione announced. "Vertical Take-Off and Landing. No magic. Just Muggle engineering."
Fred placed a reverent hand on the hull. "Science you can ride. I'm aroused."
"That's deeply unsettling," Percy muttered.
Susan turned to Jean. "Think Scott's pacing yet?"
Jean smirked. "He's probably stress-monologuing at a potted plant."
Harry slung an arm over her shoulder. "Should we warn him I brought two girlfriends, a horde of chaos, and a house-elf with a sock cult?"
"Let him find out the fun way," Jean purred, brushing her fingers along the collar of his jacket. "Surprise trauma builds character."
Ginny and Alicia stared up at the Quinjet like it might suddenly sprout wings and sing.
"Wait, this thing flies?" Ginny asked.
"No broomsticks. No carpets. No feather charms. Just raw, glorious Muggle defiance of gravity," Alicia replied.
Neville looked ready to hurl.
"If you barf in here, I'm hexing you out the emergency hatch," Tracey offered helpfully.
Clint boarded with a sigh that probably came with health insurance. "Alright, listen up, Teen Avengers: Buckle in, don't touch anything red, and if you start singing show tunes, I will personally eviscerate you with a candy cane."
Dobby waved two glowing socks like signal flags. "Dobby is prepared for atmospheric glory!"
Logan snorted. "Kid," he muttered to Harry, "your squad's about to give the X-Men an aneurysm."
Harry just grinned. "We're not chaos. We're Hogwarts."
The Quinjet engines roared to life. Fred screamed, "SHOTGUN!" and was tackled by Angelina. Jean curled tighter into Harry's side. Daphne pulled Susan into her lap and declared herself Empress of Row Two. Ron took one look at the blinking control panel and decided to pray. Loudly.
As the jet lifted into the sky, Dobby led a chant of, "Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Sock it to 'em!"
Next stop: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Where mutants would learn the hard way—
You don't invite Hogwarts to your house unless you're ready for the glitter storm.
—
Quinjet — Still Mid-Flight
Status: Defying gravity. Teenagers loose in a pressurized tube. Chaos imminent.
It took exactly seven minutes for the mid-flight shenanigans to begin—which, to be fair, was longer than Clint Barton had bet.
Ron Weasley, red-headed agent of bedlam, was halfway through poking a glowing red button labeled EMERGENCY EXIT when Hermione Granger spoke without looking up from her very thick, very threatening-looking notebook.
"Ronald, if you touch that button again, I will hex your eyebrows into an interpretive dance routine. You'll never pass for human again."
Ron backed away like the button had grown fangs. It might've.
Meanwhile, Fred and George Weasley had initiated something they called Operation: Club Quinjingle—which involved repurposing enchanted snowflakes, ceiling lights, a rogue disco charm, and, somehow, a singing rubber chicken. The interior now pulsed with magical strobe effects.
Across the aisle, Susan Bones—red-haired, snuggled in a cloud of fleece, marshmallow fluff, and smugness—looked up from her cocoon, her head comfortably tucked under Daphne Greengrass's chin.
"Are the twins trying to summon a rave demon?"
"Only the fun kind," Daphne murmured, brushing her lips lazily across Susan's temple before sipping cocoa like it was spiked with royal blood. "If this summons Scott Summers, I'm blaming Percy."
"I haven't done anything," Percy protested from the front row, nose buried in a technical manual like it could protect him.
"Exactly," Tracey Davis deadpanned from her perch atop a crate. "That's what makes it shady."
In the middle row, Jean Grey had sprawled herself across Harry Potter's lap like it was a luxury seat with exclusive rights. One leg draped over his thigh. One hand idly tracing circles on his chest, her nails leaving lazy trails over the black dragonhide of his jacket.
"You're warm," she murmured, head tucked under his chin.
Harry glanced down at her with the kind of smirk that could melt butter and start a tabloid rumor. "I'm on a private Quinjet. I've got a mutant goddess in my lap. And I'm about to crash into Scott Summers' emotional stability like a flaming glitter bomb. Smug is the bare minimum."
Jean tilted her head, lips brushing his collarbone. "Just promise me, if he says anything even remotely condescending, you'll eviscerate him. Gently. Like a velvet dagger."
"I'll start with polite sarcasm and escalate to soul-crushing disappointment," Harry promised. "The Slytherin way."
At the back of the jet, Luna Lovegood drifted by like an ethereal sock fairy, braiding blinking enchanted mistletoe into Dobby's flight attendant cap. Dobby, perched proudly by the refreshment unit, was distributing cocoa and knitted comfort socks while narrating in full airline attendant cadence.
"Dobby would like to remind passengers to remain emotionally supported and hydrated during your journey into hostile mutant territory!"
Neville Longbottom, clutching his seatbelt like it owed him money, was looking increasingly pale.
"This is a tin can," he whispered. "A metal flying coffin. We're in the air. With no magic. In the air."
Alicia Spinnet passed him a bubblegum-flavored calming charm.
"Does it help?" Neville asked.
"Nope," Alicia said cheerfully. "But you'll blow minty pink bubbles while you scream."
Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell, feet up on a weapons crate labeled DO NOT OPEN (seriously, Steve), were placing bets.
"Ten Galleons on the autopilot snapping first," Katie said.
"Fifteen on Percy self-combusting when someone rearranges the snack trays," Angelina countered.
"I AM RIGHT HERE," Percy shouted.
"No one cares," Tracey replied sweetly.
The autopilot suddenly crackled to life. "Hello. I am not fine. Please remove the disco mode before I eject all of you."
Everyone screamed. Except Harry, who just took a casual sip of his cocoa and muttered, "Aw. We broke the AI. That's a new record."
Fred vaulted over the seat, wand in hand. "Harry! Duel me! Winner gets the last chocolate frog from the snack tray!"
Harry stood up with theatrical flair, his cloak fluttering behind him like it was charmed for maximum drama. "You dare challenge me, Weasley? Prepare for Doomstrike of ChocoFrog Justice."
Jean raised a hand lazily. "Winner gets lap privileges. Loser has to explain polyamory to Scott."
Fred blinked. "I concede."
Harry bowed.
Daphne grinned. "Elegant warfare."
Susan hummed. "And effective."
Up front, Clint Barton's voice crackled over the intercom. "Five minutes to landing. Last chance to act normal, folks."
"Pass," the entire Hogwarts squad chorused.
Ginny leaned toward Luna. "Do you think Xavier's even remotely prepared for us?"
Luna handed her a sock rune that allegedly glowed in the presence of judgment. "He'll believe in us. Eventually."
Jean shifted in Harry's lap, head tilted back. "Ready for Round One of 'X-Men: The Sarcasm Wars?'"
Harry leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips that probably caused minor turbulence.
"Always."
"Dobby has popcorn!" the elf shouted from the snack station. "And glitter sprinkles!"
Logan groaned from his crate. "This is gonna be a massacre."
The Quinjet began to descend, the lights of Westchester twinkling below.
The chaos wasn't winding down.
It was just shifting gears.
Next stop: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Population: Dramatic teens. Power levels: Dangerous. Attitude: Maxed out.
Mutants? Meet Hogwarts.
Good luck.
—
Quinjet — Hours Later
Status: Entering U.S. Airspace. Fuel Level: Full. Sanity Level: Barely Legal.
Somewhere over upstate New York, the Quinjet sliced through heavy winter clouds like it had somewhere better to be. Which, given its passengers, was entirely accurate.
"American airspace in five," Clint Barton called from the cockpit, sounding like a man who regretted all his life choices that didn't involve noise-canceling headphones or a tranquilizer dart.
Ron popped his head up from the seat behind him. "Wait—are Chocolate Frogs considered illegal imports?"
Clint didn't even turn around. "Only if they're still hopping."
Fred leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Ours unionized around Greenland. There was a marshmallow strike."
George solemnly nodded. "We had to appoint a representative. Name's Sir Croaksalot."
From the middle aisle, Dobby waved a tiny sock-shaped flag. "Sir Croaksalot is now Treasurer of the Snack Cabinet! Dobby officiated the ceremony himself!"
Hermione groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have let you three near the in-flight catering."
Meanwhile, the chaos vortex known as Harry Potter was lounging like royalty. He had a mug of conjured cocoa in one hand, Jean curled up on his lap with a content smirk, and the air of someone who knew exactly how good he looked doing absolutely nothing.
Jean, fiery hair tied up in a messy bun that still somehow looked editorial, peeked up from her magazine and tapped two fingers against his collarbone. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Radiating smugness like it's your patronus."
Harry tilted his head. "Well, when you're me, and you're minutes from landing on the doorstep of a guy who once tried to flirt with your girlfriend using a monologue about optic lasers, you earn a little smug."
"Just don't start with 'Hello, I'm the upgrade,'" Jean warned. "I'm not bailing you out when Scott vaporizes the nearest ficus."
"No promises," Harry said. "But if it helps, I'm mentally workshopping several 'my-girlfriend's-stalker' burns."
Across the aisle, Susan was lounging against Daphne, both wrapped in one oversized Gryffindor blanket like a royal decree of chaos and sapphic menace. Daphne looked over, cheekbones set to lethal, one hand lazily twirling her wand.
"Can we get a confirmation on arrival? Because I need to reapply lip gloss before we ruin Scott's day."
Susan nodded solemnly. "It's important to emotionally devastate a man and shine while doing it."
Tracey, perched on a crate with her boots up and a tiny teacup balanced on her knee, sipped thoughtfully. "Honestly, Scott might just implode from estrogen-based superiority."
Neville, who looked like he was attempting to blend into the wall panel, raised a shaky hand. "So, uh, quick question: if we crash, do we get posthumous House Points?"
George threw an arm around his shoulders. "Only if your last words rhyme."
"Or reference a Blast-Ended Skrewt," Fred added. "Bonus points for fire."
Angelina leaned back in her seat, smirking. "I just want to be there when someone tries to give Logan a name tag."
Katie, half-asleep and snuggled into Alicia's shoulder, cracked one eye open. "Does it say: 'Hello, my name is Go Away'?"
Back near the cockpit, Clint's voice returned, this time dangerously close to desperate. "Touchdown in ten. If anyone has a plan that doesn't involve glitter bombs or sock-based diplomacy, speak now."
Luna floated by, draping enchanted tinsel from the overhead bins. "Dobby and I prepared a welcome ritual involving enchanted scarves and interpretive wand dancing."
"No!" Clint barked.
"It involves mistletoe," Dobby added cheerfully.
"Absolutely not!"
As the jet began its descent, clouds parting to reveal the sprawling grounds of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, everyone instinctively turned to Harry.
He blinked. "What?"
Jean smirked. "You're the ringleader."
Daphne nodded. "The alpha gremlin."
Susan tossed him a wink. "Our Lord of Chaos."
Harry stood and cracked his knuckles. His emerald-green eyes gleamed with the kind of cocky self-assurance usually reserved for rock stars and gods of mischief.
"Alright then," he said, grabbing his wand and adjusting his jacket. "Let's go make some new friends cry."
Jean rose beside him, adjusting her sleeves like she was suiting up for war. "He won't know what hit him."
Susan kissed Daphne's cheek and murmured, "They never do."
The Quinjet touched down with a hiss of hydraulics and one final, slightly panicked beep from the AI. From the cockpit, Clint said flatly, "Welcome to Westchester. Try not to hex the telepaths."
As the ramp lowered and the sharp winter air rushed in, the Hogwarts brigade prepared to disembark like it was the opening shot of a superhero movie.
Hogwarts had arrived.
And Xavier's wasn't ready.
Not even close.
—
Quinjet — Ramp Lowering
Status: Doors Opening. Sass Level: Terminal. Drama Forecast: Cataclysmic.
The Quinjet's ramp hissed open like a reluctant beast being pried awake from a nap it didn't ask for. Cold wind rushed in, swirling snowflakes around like nature was trying to warn the residents of Westchester that some serious magical shenanigans were inbound.
Fred peeked around his snack fortress, voice low and conspiratorial.
m "Okay, new rule: if we survive this trip, someone has to compose a theme song for our grand entrance."
George smirked, fingers twitching with wand energy. "Challenge accepted. Already hexed the wind to play something dramatic."
Ron's eyes popped open. "Wait… is that the Jurassic Park theme? Seriously?"
"Panic mode," George admitted. "I panicked."
Jean, perfectly poised with that signature smirk, shot Harry a sideways glance while brushing a rebellious strand of red hair from her face. "What's the master plan, Potter?"
Harry shifted, emerald eyes glittering with just the right amount of cocky swagger "Step one: Charm them so hard their optic lasers short circuit. Step two: Emotionally eviscerate Scott with a side of style. Step three: Take over the spotlight and look so good it hurts."
Jean's grin deepened, dangerous and delicious. "Step four?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."
She leaned in, voice dropping to a teasing purr as she pressed a kiss just at the corner of his mouth. "Me. Always me."
Behind them, Daphne flicked her wand, smearing on a last swipe of lip gloss with deadly precision, then passed a hexed snowball to Susan like a secret weapon.
"Weapons hot," Daphne declared, voice smooth as silk and sharp as a dagger.
Susan's eyes sparkled with mischief as she adjusted her scarf like she was tightening a noose. "Time to make the American education system rethink its life choices."
Dobby was the first to hit the ramp, brandishing a glowing sock flag like a tiny, magical standard-bearer. "BEHOLD! HOGWARTS BRINGS WARMTH, MAGIC, AND VERY MILD CHAOS!"
The snow seemed to retreat politely.
Neville clung to his wand as if it was a flotation device. His voice was a near-whisper. "Maybe if I scream 'Diplomatic Immunity,' no one will force me to talk to Cyclops."
Tracey, sunglasses already perched despite sideways snow, gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "You're adorable, Nev."
Hermione folded up her checklist with a sigh that said I surrendered three chocolate frogs ago.
Angelina spun dramatically, cloak swirling like the grand entrance of a dark queen. "Ladies, gentlemen, himbos, and certified disasters: posture. Poise. And—most importantly—hex responsibly."
Ginny cracked her knuckles, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the upcoming chaos. "Time to meet the X-Men."
Harry stepped to the edge of the ramp, cloak flaring just right, magic humming softly beneath his boots like a promise.
"Alright, team," he said, voice dripping with smug charm. "Let's go make some new friends cry."
Jean adjusted her sleeves, voice low and lethal. "He won't know what hit him."
Susan kissed Daphne's cheek, voice a soft murmur. "They never do."
The ramp hit the snow with a final hiss.
From the cockpit, Clint's voice cut through the brewing storm like a grumpy warlord.
"Welcome to Westchester. Try not to hex the telepaths. Seriously."
The Hogwarts crew readied themselves, each a perfect storm of magic, sass, and teenage chaos.
Xavier's wasn't just unprepared.
They were doomed.
—
Xavier Institute — Front Grounds
Status: Jet Door Open. Reunion Energy: Max. Sulking Cyclops: Verified.
The moment Harry's boots crunched against the snowy path outside the Quinjet, there was a blur of motion—and then a full-body tackle hug.
"Susan Bones, you absolute goddess!" Kitty Pryde squealed, launching herself into Susan like gravity had been optional.
Susan barely staggered, catching Kitty mid-air and twirling her like it was choreographed. "KITTY! Your hair looks incredible. Did you phase into a salon and demand justice?"
"I phased into three," Kitty said proudly. "They all cried."
Daphne, only slightly threatened by the ball of affectionate energy clinging to her girlfriend, raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. The kind that silently said: You get thirty seconds before I hex someone's lip gloss off.
Meanwhile, Jean didn't even get a word out before a Southern drawl sliced through the flurries like a whip dipped in sass.
"Well butter my biscuit—sugar, you're back!"
Rogue strode up in a leather jacket that could win a knife fight and possibly file taxes. Her streak of white hair gleamed in the morning light like a warning sign. She crushed Jean in a hug that looked like it should've been rated for impact.
Jean hugged her back, red hair puffed into Rogue's collar. "Missed you too, queen of chaos and commentary."
"And Harry James Potter," came a cheerful, lightly accented voice, "the boy who taught me to duel, cheat at chess, and eat nachos at three in the morning. Mein Gott, you've grown more obnoxiously handsome."
Harry turned just in time to catch Kurt Wagner—tail, fangs, and all—before the fuzzy blue mutant teleported into a side-hug that broke several laws of personal space.
"Kurt!" Harry laughed, clapping him on the back. "Still teleporting straight into people's comfort zones?"
"I am a bamf, it is what I do," Kurt said, tail doing an unnecessary but highly fashionable spin.
Kitty pulled back, blinking between Susan and Jean… then turned to Daphne, who stood beside them with the posture of someone who had turned down five modeling contracts before breakfast.
"Wait. So… are you two…" Kitty made a series of complicated triangle gestures with her fingers, like she was solving a relationship Sudoku.
Jean smirked and leaned into Harry's side. "Not quite."
Susan wrapped her arm around Daphne's waist with a triumphant grin. "Try triangle… plus one."
Harry raised his cocoa like a toast. "You leave us alone at Hogwarts for five months and suddenly we're the reason polyamory has a PR team."
Rogue blinked. "You're all dating?"
Jean nodded. "All consenting. All committed. All chaotic."
Daphne gave Kitty the kind of cool smile that could slow traffic. "Daphne Greengrass. Slytherin. Crisis manager for three Gryffindors and one sock-based deity."
Kitty squealed like someone had just gifted her a unicorn in a crop top. Kurt's tail shaped a heart behind him like it had opinions.
"And before the crowd gets bigger," Harry said, grinning, "time to meet the rest of MageX."
He turned as the Hogwarts crew filed down the ramp like a British invasion with wand permits and no adult supervision.
"Ron Weasley," Harry announced. "Our strategist. Also our emotional support disaster."
Ron waved. "Hi. I brought snacks and sarcasm."
Hermione nudged him with an elbow. "I'm Hermione. I have contingency plans for his contingency plans."
"Fred and George," Harry said. "Explosive experts. Chaos in stereo."
Fred gave a cheeky salute. "We cater."
George followed up. "We also cremate. You know—full service."
"Ginny," Harry continued. "Seeker, hexer, cocoa supremacist."
Ginny smirked. "Disrespect the cocoa and you'll wake up with eyebrows in your shoes."
"Percy," Harry said, gesturing toward the stiffest spine in the crowd. "Regulatory compliance incarnate."
Percy adjusted his glasses with the gravity of a man who made spreadsheets for fun. "I filed six incident reports en route. You're welcome."
"Angelina, Alicia, Katie," Harry continued. "Quidditch captains. Founders of the Flying Femme Fatales."
Angelina twirled her wand. "Cloaks, broomsticks, and girl power."
Hannah waved. "Hannah Abbott. Token innocent. Definitely not the one who once transfigured a boy's tongue into a sea cucumber."
"Tracey Davis," Harry said. "Snark engine. Five stars. Would sass again."
Tracey didn't look up from her levitating teacup. "Already drafting your Yelp review."
"Cedric Diggory," Harry said. "Hufflepuff royalty. Six-foot-three. Still glows."
Cedric grinned. "It's moisturizer. And clean living. And dazzling humility."
"Cho Chang," Harry added. "Our newest Seeker. Lethal with sarcasm."
Cho didn't smile. "He's lucky I like him."
"And Luna Lovegood," Harry finished. "Dream prophet. Chaos whisperer. Tinsel ambassador."
Luna drifted by with the breeze. "I taught the wind how to waltz."
Kitty's jaw dropped. "You brought a house-elf?!"
Dobby marched forward, sock-banner in one hand, hat made of glitter and gumption. "Dobby is Head of Welcome Committee and Sock Prophet of the Coming Snugglepocalypse!"
"Don't ask," Jean said casually. "Just offer him tea and duck if he brings out the finger puppets."
Nearby, a snowball fight had broken out between George and Angelina that looked like it might evolve into an avalanche.
And from the top steps of the mansion, someone watched. Arms crossed. Brows furrowed. Sunglasses dialed to 'brood.'
Scott Summers.
He wasn't glaring. That would've implied energy. No, Scott was doing that patented slow-burn brooding. The kind where you stare too long and forget how to blink.
Harry caught his gaze and smiled—slow, sharp, and just a little too perfect.
He leaned toward Jean. "We doing this now, or are we giving him time to emotionally hydrate first?"
Jean handed him her lipstick. "Go break a boy, sweetheart."
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!