Xavier Institute — Front Grounds
Status: Sass Level: Approaching Terminal. Brood Level: Mutant Class Omega. Professor Approaching: Everyone Look Busy.
The snowy air barely had a chance to settle after the Quinjet's engines wound down when Harry Potter—wearing his trademark smirk and carrying enough bad boy energy to power the entire East Coast—rolled his shoulders like he was stepping into a prize fight.
Jean—perched at his side, hair a fiery crown and attitude sharp enough to cut glass—slipped her hand onto his collar and tugged him just a little closer. "Don't you dare go full sass on him," she murmured, lips quirking. "You actually like this one."
Harry's emerald eyes glinted. His smirk widened as he shot a pointed glance at Scott Summers, who was standing by the steps and clenching his jaw so hard you could practically hear his molars filing for divorce. "Relax, love," Harry said, voice low and dangerously charming. "I've got at least three more levels of sass before I max out. Professor's safe."
Daphne, lounging behind him with Susan draped casually on her arm like she was some kind of runway trophy wife, arched one perfect eyebrow. "Debatable."
Susan, red hair catching the sunlight, leaned in to kiss Daphne's cheek and grinned wickedly. "We've literally never seen him below maximum sass."
Harry shot them both a wink over his shoulder. "That's because you're both bad influences."
But before he could deliver the final blow to Scott's dignity (and yes, Harry already had three burns locked and loaded), a calm, measured voice sliced through the winter air.
"Harry. If you can spare a moment?"
The voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. Professor Charles Xavier didn't do loud. He simply existed, and everyone within a hundred feet suddenly remembered to sit up straight and mind their manners.
Even Fred and George, who'd been plotting something that involved enchanted snowballs and the roof, instinctively straightened and saluted before catching themselves and immediately going back to looking mischievous.
Harry paused mid-step, calculating. He glanced at Jean. "Rain check?"
She smirked, her green eyes shining as she fixed his collar one last time. "I'll hold your spot in line, Potter."
"You're an angel," he said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before sauntering off toward Xavier. He made sure his cloak flared dramatically behind him as he went—because really, what was the point of being Harry Potter if you didn't make an entrance out of every exit?
As he passed the Hogwarts crew, Fred stage-whispered, "Bet you a Galleon he's got the Professor charmed in under two minutes."
George snorted. "Please. Ninety seconds."
"Fifty," Daphne countered, lazily examining her nails. "I know my man."
Susan just sighed, dreamy and devastating all at once. "Merlin help Xavier if he underestimates him."
At the top of the steps, Xavier was already waiting—bald, impeccably dressed, and wearing the faintest smile, like he already knew how this entire conversation was going to go. His wheelchair glided forward as if it, too, was enchanted (Harry made a mental note to ask about that later).
"Harry," Xavier greeted, voice warm but with that steel core Harry had always admired. "It's good to see you again. You've… grown."
Harry's trademark grin bloomed—equal parts charming, cocky, and just a little too dangerous. "Professor," he said smoothly, "you look exactly the same. Not even a wrinkle. Either you've discovered a magical anti-aging potion or you're secretly part veela. In which case—well played, sir."
Behind him, Ginny actually choked on her cocoa. Fred and George clapped in unison.
To Xavier's credit, his smile didn't falter. If anything, it deepened by about one-eighth of a millimeter. "Still irreverent, I see."
"Still accurate, you mean," Harry quipped back, and for just a second—just a second—he saw a glimmer of genuine amusement in Xavier's eyes.
Jean called up from the courtyard below, voice sweet as sin. "Behave, Potter!"
"Define 'behave,' darling!" Harry shot back without missing a beat. He blew her a kiss just to watch her roll her eyes and blush. Which she did. Gorgeous.
Xavier, still infinitely patient, gestured toward the open doors. "If you would, I'd like you to meet some of our new students before you settle in. They've heard a great deal about you and…" His gaze flicked to the group of Hogwarts chaos engines at the bottom of the steps. "…your team."
Harry chuckled under his breath, and the sound was positively lethal. "Bet they haven't heard the half of it."
He turned to glance at Jean one more time—she gave him a two-fingered wave that was equal parts flirtation and challenge. Then he glanced at Scott, who was still standing there brooding like a wet cat in designer shades.
Harry winked at him. Slowly. Deliberately. Just to make it sting.
Then he followed Xavier into the mansion, cloak still flaring behind him as the double doors swung shut with a low, dramatic thunk.
Somewhere deep inside the Institute, the storm began to brew.
And somewhere outside, Fred and George simultaneously muttered, "Ten Galleons says Scott cries before lunch."
—
Xavier Institute — Grand Hall
Status: Sass Level: Weaponized. Banter: Imminent. Explosions: Likely.
When Harry Potter walked into the grand hall of the Institute, he was reminded of two things immediately.
One: whoever was in charge of polishing this much oak every week probably needed hazard pay.
Two: this place had serious Great Hall energy — minus the floating candles, plus a faint whiff of ozone.
Professor Xavier glided forward like the world's most intimidating chess piece, his wheelchair barely making a sound as he came to a stop in the middle of the room. He steepled his fingers, smile patient and mildly terrifying, the way only adults who "already know what you're going to say" can manage.
"Harry," Xavier began, his voice all calm authority, "this is where you'll meet some of the newest members of our family."
Harry tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and tilted his head just enough to make his emerald-green eyes sparkle with just the right amount of trouble. "Ready when you are. New friends, new enemies — usually it's fifty-fifty. I'm flexible."
He caught the faint twitch at the corner of Xavier's mouth and mentally high-fived himself.
The side door opened, and the first of the new kids strolled in. Actually… swaggered in was more accurate.
She had messy strawberry-blonde hair in a ponytail that screamed "didn't own a brush" and a mischievous grin that screamed even louder "probably owns several sticks of dynamite."
She cracked her knuckles, planted one hand on her hip, and said, "Name's Tabitha. Codename: Boom Boom."
She let that sink in for a second before adding, "I make things go boom. Mostly on purpose. You know… ninety percent of the time."
Harry's grin widened. "Perfect. You and I are going to get along dangerously well. Hogwarts just finished fixing one of our towers."
Tabitha gave him a look of pure respect. "We should hang out."
Next came a boy in a baseball cap, Southern drawl already firing up as he strolled in like he'd accidentally wandered off a farm and into an X-Men comic.
"Sam Guthrie," he said, grinning shyly. "Ah'm called Cannonball on account of—well…" He gave a little shrug. "Ah fly. Fast. Real fast. And I don't exactly stop gracefully."
Harry smirked. "Noted. You're officially on my 'don't stand in front of' list."
Sam actually chuckled at that, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fair enough."
The next girl padded in quietly, her flame-red hair tumbling around her shoulders and her wary amber eyes scanning Harry like he was either prey or predator — or maybe both. Her posture was all tension, like a wolf pretending to be a girl.
"Rahne Sinclair," she said, her thick Scottish brogue rolling off the name like a challenge. "Wolfsbane."
Harry studied her for half a beat, then dipped his chin in quiet acknowledgment. "Respect," he said simply. "I've got a few friends who bite too."
That earned him the faintest curl of her lips — which, from her, probably counted as a belly laugh.
And finally came a kid who looked like he could bench-press the entire hall.
Piotr Rasputin, fifteen, shoulders broad enough to block out the light. His calm, even voice carried just a trace of Russian as he said, "Colossus."
Harry tilted his head up (way up) and extended his hand. "Harry. Good to meet someone who could crush me into paste and still somehow look polite doing it."
Piotr's huge hand engulfed his and gave a surprisingly gentle shake. "You lead your team well. I respect this."
Harry flashed his trademark grin, sharp and a little cocky. "I do my best. Occasionally even on purpose."
Tabitha snorted behind him. "So… Marauder, huh? Sounds like you're, like, the king of stirring the pot."
Harry didn't even blink. "Not king," he said. "Just really good at making sure everyone's teacups match when I flip the table."
Tabitha whistled, clearly impressed. Sam just muttered under his breath, "Yeah… he's trouble."
Rahne eyed him sideways. "Aye. Trouble wi' teeth."
Even Piotr chuckled softly.
Xavier finally interjected, his voice as calm as ever. "You all have a lot to learn from one another — and from Harry. His… leadership style may be unorthodox, but effective."
At that moment, Jean appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she owned the place. Which, knowing her, she probably did.
"Sounds like your kind of crowd," she teased.
Harry kissed the top of her fiery red head as she slid an arm around his waist. "Exactly. Let's see what kind of chaos we can cook up together."
Tabitha folded her arms, grin wicked. "I'm already lookin' forward to it."
Sam muttered to her, "Try not to blow up the whole place."
Rahne crossed her arms and half-smiled. "No promises."
Piotr rumbled, "We will… try to keep it intact."
Harry glanced back at Xavier, still grinning like he knew something nobody else did. "Lead the way, Professor. Show me where the fun begins."
Xavier nodded, turning his chair toward the hallways beyond. His smile was faint, but his eyes sparkled with something between amusement and mild dread.
"Then let us begin."
The doors at the far end swung open, and Harry followed, cloak flaring out behind him like he'd planned the whole thing. Which, let's be honest, he probably had.
Behind him, Tabitha muttered to Sam, "You think he's gonna survive us?"
Sam snorted. "Shoot, girl. Ah'm more worried about us survivin' him."
And, judging by the look on Harry's face as he disappeared into the next corridor, Sam might've been onto something.
—
If the room had a maximum occupancy limit, nobody here cared.
Harry Potter leaned against the rail like he owned the place — emerald eyes glittering with mischief, smirk dialed in to lethal. In the middle of the room, Tabitha "Boom Boom" Smith juggled three crackling plasma orbs in one hand, looking like trouble personified.
He called out lazily, "Are you trying to blow your fingers off, or is this just your way of introducing yourself?"
Tabitha shot him a grin so sharp it probably needed a license. "Relax, Pretty Boy. Lost skin grows back."
Harry tilted his head, lips curling. "Not always on the same fingers, though."
In the corner, Rahne crouched low, her wild red hair falling in her face, amber eyes sharp and dangerous. Sam, fiddling with his gloves, looked caught between admiration and terror.
"Pretty sure Ah don't wanna know where she learned that trick," Sam muttered, his drawl soft but carrying.
"Good instincts, Guthrie," Harry said approvingly, then flicked his gaze to Rahne. "And you, Sinclair — planning to pounce, or is that just your resting wolf face?"
Rahne let out something between a growl and a laugh. "Ye keep talkin' like that, Potter," she said in her thick Scottish brogue, "an' we'll find out."
Harry actually looked impressed. "Noted. Love the energy."
Before Piotr could say anything (and he looked very much like he was trying to politely ask if Harry could survive being folded in half), the doors burst open. And suddenly it was wizards, mutants, egos, and hormones everywhere.
The cavalry had arrived.
MageX came in like a storm. Fred and George led the charge, twirling their wands and already taking bets under their breath. Ginny followed with Luna (who wore a crown of mistletoe like it was her birthright), Daphne and Susan were locked at the hip — Daphne with a smirk that could kill, Susan with a laugh that could heal — and Hermione, looking like she was already drafting everyone's detention slips.
And the X-Men? Not to be outdone. Kitty Pryde phased through a wall just to make her entrance more dramatic. Rogue leaned on the doorframe, all Southern sass and smoky eyeliner. Kurt bamfed in with a puff of brimstone and cheer. Scott Summers strode in like he was auditioning for the lead in Brooding: The Musical.
The room crackled with tension and teenage energy. If Hogwarts was chaos, and the X-Men were barely-controlled chaos, this was… whatever came after that.
Kitty raised an eyebrow. "You're multiplying," she told Harry flatly.
Harry only shrugged. "Well, you know. Go big or go home."
"Ah think you brought both," Rogue muttered, eyes glittering.
Jean arrived just then, sliding up to Harry's side, her fiery hair catching the light like molten gold. She slipped her arm through his and looked up at him with that confident, flirty smile that drove Scott absolutely bananas.
"Oh look," Harry murmured under his breath, loud enough for Scott to hear. "The mood lighting's finally here."
Fred and George cackled in unison.
"Put me down for five Galleons on Summers stormin' out before Harry hits double digits," George whispered to Fred.
"Make it ten," Fred replied.
In the back corner, Neville quietly muttered, "I give it twenty minutes before someone blows up the roof."
Beside him, Ron groaned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Why'd I come again?"
Hermione gave him a withering look. "To support your team. And because you'd have got lost without me."
"Not wrong," Ron admitted.
The wizards spread out, mingling. Ginny and Luna gravitated toward Kitty. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie clustered near Rogue, all whispering plans that would probably give Xavier a headache. Cedric stood off to the side looking ridiculously heroic, while Tracey and Cho eyed everyone like they were judging a fashion contest and everyone was failing.
Tabitha sauntered up to Daphne and Susan, clearly intrigued. "Okay. You two look like you're plotting world domination and you've got matching evil queen energy. I respect that."
Daphne just smiled wickedly. "Oh honey, that's adorable. We're already halfway there."
Susan kissed Daphne's cheek and grinned at Tabitha. "And we're recruiting."
Across the room, Jean leaned closer to Harry, her breath tickling his ear. "So. Who's going to snap first?"
Harry grinned, eyes sweeping the crowd like a general surveying his battlefield. "Oh darling," he murmured, "why would I ruin the surprise?"
Fred and George were now openly calling out bets.
"All right, all right, wands and wallets out!" Fred announced.
"Five to one Rogue decks Weasley," George added cheerfully.
"Ten to one Boom Boom takes out the roof," Fred countered.
"Fifty to one Harry makes Summers cry!"
That earned them a sharp glare from Scott, who crossed his arms and glared at Harry like Harry had personally stolen his car.
Harry caught the look, smiled faintly, and called across the room, "You're brooding so hard I can feel the angst from here, Summers. Might wanna take it down a notch before you sprain something."
That was when even Piotr — gentle giant Piotr — chuckled.
The whole room seemed to exhale at once, like the game had finally begun.
Harry stood up straight, letting his cloak fall around him just right. He flashed Jean a wicked grin and kissed her temple before stepping forward and addressing everyone.
"All right, children. Wizards. Mutants. Hybrids. Whatever else we've got in here. You're in my playground now. We've got two choices — friendly sparring session, or full-out bragging rights battle royale. And just so you know…" He smirked, hands in his pockets. "…I never lose."
Jean laughed softly, fire sparking in her green eyes as she whispered, "Cocky."
Harry shot her his signature grin. "Confident."
And then he added, loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Let the chaos begin."
And if you asked anyone later, they'd all agree: Harry Potter's smile at that moment was absolutely, one hundred percent, trouble.
—
If you ever wanted to watch a room full of magical teenagers and mutant superheroes collectively forget how to behave, you just had to say six magic words: "MageX versus X-Men. Tomorrow. Noon."
Which, of course, Scott Summers did.
Harry Potter didn't even flinch. He just stood there on the center platform, one hand in his pocket, emerald eyes shining like mischief was his day job (which, let's be honest, it kind of was). His smirk could have been bottled and sold as a weapon.
Across from him, Scott looked like he'd swallowed a lemon and decided to punch it anyway.
The collective gasp of the room wasn't even subtle. Fred and George Weasley actually yelled:
"Oooooooooooh!"
Like, full-on, synchronized, obnoxious twin chorus.
George nudged Fred. "Oh, he mad."
Fred nodded solemnly. "Bet he's practicing his speech in the mirror later."
Harry finally spoke, his voice calm and just sharp enough to slice Scott's ego in two. "Tomorrow?" he said. "That's adorable. You think you need twenty-four hours to come up with a plan."
That earned him a snicker from Rogue, who leaned on the railing, her black gloves flexing lazily. "Ah'm startin' to like you, sugar," she drawled. "Even if you are a little too cocky for your own good."
Jean, meanwhile, was still leaning against Harry's arm, her red hair catching the light like a wildfire. She tilted her head and smiled — and Merlin help Scott Summers, because it was aimed right at Harry. "A competition, huh?" she purred. "That's cute."
Harry leaned down to murmur back to her, letting his lips brush just enough against her ear to make her blush and Scott absolutely seethe. "Not half as cute as you, darling."
Jean smirked. Scott fumed. Fred whispered "brutal" to George.
"Fine," Scott bit out, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Tomorrow. Noon. My team against yours. No excuses when you lose."
Harry arched an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. "Noon works. That way you still have the afternoon to cry into your cereal." He paused just long enough to twist the knife. "Thoughtful of me, really."
The room broke.
Tabitha, perched on the edge of a bench and twirling a spark in her hand like it was a pet hamster, burst out laughing. "Oh, I like him," she announced to no one in particular.
"You would," Rahne muttered from her crouch in the corner, her amber eyes flashing with what might have been approval. Or hunger. Or both. With her, it was hard to tell.
Susan and Daphne were still draped on each other like a couple of very smug queens, Daphne running her nails over Susan's arm. "Honestly, love," Daphne drawled, her icy blue eyes on Scott, "we could mop the floor with them tonight."
Susan grinned and kissed her cheek. "But then they wouldn't have time to cry into their pillows."
Tabitha whistled appreciatively. "Okay, I really like you two."
"Ah think y'all are a little too sure of yourselves," Sam Guthrie said, crossing his arms. He was doing his best not to grin, but his Southern drawl made it sound more charming than intimidating. "Hate to break it to ya."
"Oh, Guthrie," Harry called over, still not looking away from Scott. "I've been breaking things since before you were tall enough to reach the cookie jar. Don't worry, you're next."
That got a quiet chuckle from Piotr, who stood like a statue, arms folded. "You have… confidence," he rumbled in his Russian accent. "Is good. Overconfidence…" He smiled faintly. "We will see."
Fred and George had already started taking bets.
"Ten Galleons says Summers cries before lunch tomorrow," Fred announced, scribbling notes on a napkin.
"Twenty if it's during breakfast," George countered.
"Done."
Kitty phased through the bench she was sitting on and popped up next to Harry, looking deeply unimpressed. "You do realize this isn't just, like, magical dodgeball or whatever you people play, right?"
Harry finally tore his gaze away from Scott long enough to smirk at her. "Kitty, if this was Quidditch, we'd already be done."
Neville actually snorted at that, trying to hide it behind his hand. Luna clapped politely from her chair in the corner, still humming ominously.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose like she was praying for lightning to strike Harry down. Ron, as usual, looked torn between admiration and fear. Cedric just stood back, looking like some heroic Greek statue brought to life, shaking his head.
And Rogue — bless her chaotic heart — just let out a low whistle and said to no one in particular, "Ah reckon tomorrow's gonna be fun."
Jean pressed a kiss to Harry's cheek and murmured just for him: "Don't be too mean. He might break."
Harry grinned, the kind of grin that could get him arrested in several countries. "Oh, darling," he said — loud enough for Scott to hear — "I haven't even started."
That was when Fred jumped up on a chair and yelled, "Fifty Galleons says Harry makes him cry during the match!"
George immediately countered, "Nah! Before breakfast!"
"Done."
Harry finally straightened up, his cloak swishing dramatically because of course it did. He stepped forward, hands in his pockets, looking around the room like it was already his. His emerald eyes glinted like he was about to announce the next apocalypse.
"All right, people," he said. "You heard the man. Tomorrow. MageX versus X-Men. Bring your A-game. Bring your sass. Bring your insurance cards. I'm not paying for anyone's dental work when this is over."
That got him laughter, groans, and at least one wolfish growl from Rahne.
Harry just smiled, flashing that trademark look that said: I know exactly what I'm doing, and you're about to find out the hard way.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
—
Xavier's Office — War Council
Status: Danger Room Booked. Logan Already Scheming. Natasha Ready to Kill. Charles… Amused.
Professor Charles Xavier was many things — a visionary, a teacher, a telepath — but above all else, he was a man who believed in being prepared.
Which was why, before Harry Potter and Scott Summers even finished chest-thumping at each other in the training annex, Charles had already summoned the adults.
And judging by the mood in his office now, he was the only one who found this funny.
The big moonlit window glowed behind him. The room smelled faintly of books and judgment.
Charles steepled his fingers and delivered the news with all the calm of a man explaining a weather forecast.
"Tomorrow at noon, the X-Men and MageX have scheduled themselves… a match. The exact stakes are unclear, though I suspect bragging rights are involved. Likely quite a lot of them."
That earned a low chuckle from the corner, where Sirius Black had made himself very comfortable — boots crossed on a coffee table and a bottle of Butterbeer he'd absolutely smuggled in.
"Ah," Sirius said in his deep, lazy drawl, "Harry's finally livening this place up. Took him long enough."
"Or starting a small war," Hank McCoy corrected gently, his voice all elegant syllables as he adjusted his glasses. "Which, given his… proclivities, is equally plausible."
Logan, leaning in his chair with his feet kicked up on the edge of Xavier's priceless rug, snorted.
"Kid's got style," Logan muttered, his rough Canadian accent curling into a grin. "I'll give 'im that."
"And an excess of testosterone," Ororo Munroe added dryly from her spot by the window, arms folded, her white hair gleaming in the moonlight like it was woven out of storms.
Hank nodded sagely. "Indeed, a most volatile mixture."
Natasha Romanoff — who had been sitting silently in her heels and blazer like a predator in a boardroom — finally spoke. Her green eyes pinned Charles with surgical precision.
"Define 'match,'" she said evenly. "And define 'no one gets hurt.'"
It wasn't really a question.
From his perch against the wall, Clint Barton raised a hand, completely unfazed by her tone.
"I mean, come on. It's Potter. Kid's tougher than he looks. You guys see what he did to Greyback's pack over Halloween? Still finding fur in the trees."
Natasha didn't even glance at him.
"That's not the point," she said.
Logan, who'd lit a cigar at some point because of course he had, blew out a stream of smoke and finally looked up at her with a half-smile.
"Relax, Red," he growled. "Kid's already twice the operator half our kids here'll ever be. If anything, this'll teach them a thing or two."
"And if it doesn't?" Natasha asked sweetly, in the exact same tone you'd use if you were offering to stab someone in the throat.
Logan grinned at her like he actually enjoyed the danger.
Sirius clapped his hands once.
"Oh, now that's the Black Widow glare," Sirius said, looking thoroughly delighted. "Always wondered what it'd be like to see it in person."
Clint raised a brow and added, "Yeah, it's even scarier up close. You'll get used to it, Black."
Sirius smirked. "I sincerely hope not."
Hank, who looked as though he was fighting a losing battle with his own patience, cleared his throat.
"Perhaps it would be wise to view this as a… controlled experiment. Charles?"
Charles allowed himself a small smile — the kind that said he'd already thought three steps past where everyone else was.
"Precisely my thought, Hank. Logan, if you'd be so kind… adjust the Danger Room programming accordingly."
Logan leaned back and grinned, showing a hint of teeth.
"Oh, don't you worry, Chuck. Already got ideas. Gonna have 'em running in circles till they figure out how to play nice."
"You mean chaotic," Ororo said mildly, raising one perfectly shaped brow.
Logan's grin widened. "Same thing, 'Ro."
As the group began filing out, Clint muttered, "I'm putting fifty on the kid. Anybody wanna take Summers for the upset?"
Sirius immediately scoffed. "Please. I'll take that action. Harry doesn't lose."
Clint shrugged, already fishing a few bills from his pocket. "We'll see."
Natasha lingered. Always the last to leave, always the one to get the last word.
She turned on her heel, her green eyes flashing in the moonlight, and fixed Xavier with a look sharp enough to shave steel.
"Don't let him get hurt," she said simply.
And with that, she was gone — the click of her heels fading into silence.
Charles sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers and letting the faintest smile ghost across his lips.
Oh yes. Tomorrow was going to be… very educational.
For everyone.
—
Xavier's School — Danger Room, Late Night
Status: Logan Plotting Mayhem. Ororo Being The Responsible One. Kids Are So Doomed.
The lights in the Danger Room glowed a soft, ominous blue — the kind of blue that made you feel like you'd already lost and didn't even know it yet.
It was quiet at this hour. Too quiet.
Logan prowled the perimeter like a wolf sniffing out prey, his boots echoing on the metal floor, a half-chewed cigar clenched between his teeth. If he was smiling (and he absolutely was), it was the kind of smile that meant tomorrow was going to be painful.
"Alright, let's see…" he muttered to himself, tapping the panel and cycling through programs. "Stealth scenario? Nah. Too easy. Close-quarters? Temptin'. Hm. Maybe a little… jungle warfare meets laser grid meets nightmare fuel."
From behind him, a calm voice spoke up.
"Logan. You're enjoying this far too much."
Ororo Munroe stood in the doorway, all white silk and quiet judgment. She folded her arms, her long braid catching the light. Her expression said seriously?, but her tone was smooth as ever.
Logan didn't even look up.
"Storm. Yer up late."
Ororo stepped into the room, her heels whispering over the floor.
"So are you. And don't pretend this is just you being a responsible instructor. You're having fun, Logan."
Logan finally turned, flashing her a grin that could've been carved out of pure mischief.
"Damn right I am. You kiddin'? Summers practically begged me t' make this hurt."
Ororo tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite herself.
"You're aware these are students, yes? Teenagers?"
Logan snorted and jabbed a thumb at the control panel.
"Teenagers who can shoot fire, fly, and punch through walls. Better they learn how t' take a hit now, while it's just me messin' with 'em and not some schmuck out there who actually wants 'em dead."
Ororo crossed her arms tighter but didn't argue. He had a point. And Logan loved when that happened.
"Still," she said finally, "try not to kill them. Or humiliate them too much. Especially Scott. He's… fragile."
Logan chuckled low in his chest, like a grizzly that'd just spotted a nice fat salmon.
"Oh, don't you worry 'bout Summers. Kid's got pride. This'll do 'im good."
He turned back to the panel, cycling through a few more scenarios before stopping on one that made even Ororo raise a brow.
"Really?" she asked flatly.
Logan just grinned around his cigar.
"Hey. Gotta keep the wizard on his toes."
Ororo sighed, walking closer so she could see what he'd queued up. There were trenches. And flamethrowers. And something that looked suspiciously like a mutant-powered tornado.
"You know," she said lightly, "if Harry wins despite all of this… Scott may never recover."
Logan let out a laugh that was more growl than human.
"That's the idea, 'Ro."
Ororo gave him a long look, then finally allowed herself a quiet chuckle.
"You're impossible," she said, shaking her head.
"Damn right," Logan replied. Then he leaned an elbow on the panel and smirked at her.
"But admit it — you're lookin' forward t' watchin' them crash and burn just a little, ain'tcha?"
Ororo's silence was answer enough.
The faintest spark of lightning danced over her fingertips before she turned to leave, her white braid swinging behind her.
"Don't break them," she called over her shoulder. "Too badly."
Logan just chuckled and muttered to himself.
"No promises."
And then he went back to programming — humming a little tune that sounded suspiciously like "Highway to Hell."
Tomorrow was going to be beautiful.
For him.
For the kids? Not so much.
---
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