Chapter 5

The Hogwarts Express chugged along, its familiar rhythm like a heartbeat in Harry's chest. He slouched in his seat, a grin plastered across his face as if someone had cast a permanent Cheering Charm on him. This wasn't just any post-Hogwarts ride back to reality. No, this was different. For the first time in forever, Harry wasn't headed to Privet Drive and its endless supply of misery. He was bound for Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning. Yep, a school for mutants. Say goodbye to cupboard under the stairs; hello to Danger Room and telepathic professors.

Across from him, Ron sat rigidly, staring out the window like it had just insulted his mother. His face was a symphony of confusion and mild terror, as if the rolling Scottish hills might suddenly sprout arms and start a duel. Harry could practically see the steam rising from Ron's ears as his brain tried—and failed—to make sense of what Harry had told him earlier.

"So, let me get this straight," Ron finally said, dragging his gaze away from the window. "You're a… what was it again? Mutant? Like… with superpowers?"

"Exactly," Harry said, leaning back with a smirk. "Think of it like being a wizard, except with a little extra pizzazz."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Extra pizzazz? Mate, you're flying around without a broom and could probably melt steel beams with your eyeballs. That's not pizzazz; that's mental!"

"You think that's mental?" Hermione piped up from the corner, her nose buried in a hefty book titled An Introduction to Mutant Genetics: A Beginner's Guide to Extraordinary DNA. How she had managed to find it in the Hogwarts library, Harry had no idea. Then again, Hermione could probably find a needle in a haystack—if the needle had footnotes.

She looked up, her eyes practically glowing with excitement. "It's fascinating, really. Mutations occur at the genetic level, often triggered by environmental factors or stress. In Harry's case, it could be linked to his exposure to Voldemort's magic as a baby. Or it could be a dormant gene that—"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm begging you. Speak English."

Hermione huffed, clearly unimpressed with Ron's lack of scientific enthusiasm. "Fine. Harry's special, even by wizarding standards. Happy?"

"Not really," Ron muttered, crossing his arms. "Next thing you'll tell me, there's a mutant sorting hat or something. 'Gryffindor, but with lasers!'"

Harry snorted. "I don't think Xavier's has a sorting ceremony, Ron. Pretty sure they just stick you in a room and figure out whether you can fly or turn invisible."

Ron didn't look convinced. "Still sounds dodgy. What if you wake up one morning and accidentally blow up the kitchen?"

Harry grinned. "Good thing I don't have to cook, then."

Hermione sighed, setting her book aside. "Honestly, Ron. This is a good thing. Harry's finally going to be somewhere he can learn more about himself—somewhere he doesn't have to deal with people like the Dursleys."

Harry's grin faltered for a split second. Leave it to Hermione to hit the nail on the head. The Dursleys were in his rearview mirror now—permanently, he hoped. And if Xavier's Institute meant no more cramped cupboards, no more Dudley stealing his food, and no more Aunt Petunia shrieking about "unnaturalness," then he was all in.

"Yeah," he said softly. "It'll be nice to have a fresh start."

Ron gave him a sidelong glance. "Still sounds like a lot to take in. I mean, first we find out you're a Parselmouth, and now you're… this."

"Tell me about it," Harry said, his grin returning. "But hey, at least I'm not carrying around Voldemort's soul anymore. That's got to count for something."

Hermione's eyes sharpened. "Speaking of which, Harry, are you absolutely sure the scar is gone? No residual effects? No—"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, holding up his hair to show his forehead. "I'm fine. Honest. Scar's gone, Voldemort's soul is toast, and I'm not hearing creepy snake whispers anymore. Let's call it a win."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but stopped when Ron groaned dramatically. "Merlin's beard, can we not turn this into another lecture? My brain's already fried from the whole 'mutant' thing."

The three of them fell into a comfortable silence after that, the kind of quiet that only best friends could share. The train rocked gently, the soft clatter of wheels on tracks filling the space between them. Harry gazed out the window, watching the countryside blur by. For the first time in a long while, he felt… light. Like he wasn't carrying the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders anymore.

Ron eventually broke the silence, his voice low and thoughtful. "So… do you think they've got Butterbeer at this mutant school of yours?"

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "Doubt it, mate. But if they've got anything like pumpkin juice, I'll survive."

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled. "Honestly, Ron. You'd think Butterbeer was the solution to everything."

"Have you had Butterbeer?" Ron shot back, grinning. "It's practically a cure-all."

Harry chuckled, leaning back in his seat. The Hogwarts Express rumbled on, carrying them toward London and, for Harry, a whole new world. He didn't know exactly what to expect at Xavier's Institute, but with Ron and Hermione by his side—bickering, bantering, and just being them—he figured he could handle anything. Even mutant school.

"Well," Harry said, a spark of excitement in his voice, "here's to new adventures."

Ron raised an imaginary glass. "To not blowing up kitchens."

Hermione smirked. "And to Harry not melting steel beams with his eyeballs."

Harry laughed, the sound blending with the rhythm of the train as it carried them into the unknown.

—

The compartment door slid open with all the grace of a villain's dramatic entrance in a low-budget TV drama. Sure enough, there stood Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, who looked as though they'd been dragged straight out of central casting for "dim-witted henchmen."

"Well, well, well," Malfoy drawled, his smirk so smug it practically had its own zip code. "If it isn't the famous Harry Potter, slumming it with his little fan club."

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like a man who'd just realized he'd forgotten to turn off the stove. "Malfoy, I thought we agreed. You only bother me on odd-numbered days."

Malfoy ignored him, stepping further into the compartment like he owned the place. "I just wanted to see how the Chosen One is adjusting to his new... mutant status. Heard you've got some fancy new tricks up your sleeve. Care to give us a demonstration? Or are you saving those for when you inevitably embarrass yourself?"

Ron, who had been unwrapping a Chocolate Frog like it contained the secrets of the universe, scowled. "Why don't you jog on, Malfoy? Some of us are trying to enjoy our snacks without your face ruining the view."

Hermione, perched primly beside Harry with a massive book balanced on her lap, snapped the tome shut with a sharp thwack. "Honestly, Malfoy," she said, her tone brisk and professorial, "do you wake up every morning and decide, 'Today, I'm going to be insufferable'? Or does it just come naturally?"

Malfoy's sneer faltered for a fraction of a second before he turned it up to eleven. "Careful, Granger. Don't want to get too comfortable, do we? Mudbloods don't exactly have a bright future—"

That was it. Before Hermione could fire back, Harry was on his feet, his new mutant-enhanced reflexes kicking in. He crossed the space in a flash and had Malfoy by the collar, hoisting him off the ground like he weighed as much as a sack of feathers. Malfoy's eyes went wide, and for a brief, glorious moment, he actually looked scared.

"Say that again," Harry said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "Go on, Malfoy. I dare you."

Crabbe and Goyle froze, their instincts apparently telling them that a Harry Potter with superpowers was not someone to mess with. Malfoy, for all his bravado, squirmed like a cat caught in a bathtub.

"Put me down, Potter!" he yelped, his usual drawl replaced with something that sounded suspiciously like panic. "My father—"

"—will hear about this," Harry finished, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we've all heard the bit. Here's a thought, Malfoy: try saying something original for once in your life."

Ron, now leaning back with his feet propped up, snorted. "Careful, Harry. You might short-circuit his brain. It's not built for creative thinking."

"Or thinking in general," Hermione added with a tight smile, her fingers curling around the spine of her book as though considering using it as a projectile.

Harry let Malfoy go, and he stumbled back into Crabbe, who barely caught him. His face had gone as red as Ron's hair, and the glare he shot Harry could've melted steel. "You'll regret this, Potter," Malfoy spat, attempting to straighten his robes with some shred of dignity. "Mark my words."

"Sure," Harry said with a shrug. "Let me know when you come up with a plan that doesn't involve whining."

Malfoy opened his mouth, probably to fire off some recycled insult, but Hermione cut in before he could. "Are you done now?" she asked, her tone polite but with an edge sharp enough to slice through solid rock. "Because I'm fairly certain there's a compartment somewhere with your name on it. Preferably one very far away from us."

For a second, it looked like Malfoy might argue. But then he caught the way Harry's hands were flexing, as if testing just how much force it would take to punt him down the aisle, and wisely decided against it. "Let's go," he muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, who lumbered after him like disgruntled trolls.

—

As the compartment door slammed shut behind Malfoy and his cronies, the air inside seemed to clear instantly, as if someone had finally turned off a particularly obnoxious magical radio station. Harry sank back into his seat, letting out a satisfied sigh. Across from him, Ron was grinning so hard he looked like he might split his face in two.

"Mate, that was brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. "Did you see the look on Malfoy's face? Like he'd just swallowed a puking pastille whole!"

Harry smirked, stretching out his legs and looking far too pleased with himself. "I was aiming for 'terrified ferret,' but I'll take it."

Ron laughed so loudly that Hedwig gave an indignant hoot from her cage in the corner. "Terrified ferret—classic! Honestly, Harry, if you keep this up, they're going to have to rename you 'The Boy Who Terrifies.'"

Hermione, meanwhile, was sitting as stiff as a first-year caught breaking curfew, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her book was open on her lap, but her focus was entirely on Harry, and not in the admiring, laughing way Ron was. No, Hermione looked more like someone who had just spotted a spelling error in a published essay—deeply concerned and ready to lecture.

"Harry," she began in her best I'm about to be the responsible one voice, "you can't just go around lifting people off the ground like that. What if someone reports you? What if Malfoy's father—"

"—hears about it?" Harry interrupted, mimicking Malfoy's posh drawl perfectly. "Relax, Hermione. It's Malfoy. He's like a B-list villain. All talk, no substance."

Ron snorted. "Exactly. The guy's about as threatening as a Cornish pixie."

Hermione did not laugh. In fact, she looked even more serious, which was a little impressive, given her default Hermione-ness. "This isn't funny," she said sharply, fixing both boys with the kind of glare that could make even a Hungarian Horntail think twice. "You can't solve all your problems with brute force, Harry. We're not Gryffindors because we're reckless."

"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered, earning a pointed look from Hermione.

"I'm serious!" Hermione continued, turning back to Harry. "You've been different ever since..." She trailed off, glancing at Harry's broader shoulders and sharper jawline, her cheeks turning faintly pink. "Ever since your, um, mutation," she finished awkwardly, clearly trying to focus on the issue at hand and not... whatever else might be distracting her.

Harry gave her a sheepish grin, which, annoyingly, only made him look more charming. "I know you're right, Hermione," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I'll try to keep my cool. No more lifting people off the ground. Promise."

Hermione didn't look entirely convinced, but she sighed and picked up her book, flipping it open with a flourish that clearly said, I'm done talking about this for now. "Good," she said briskly. "Because the last thing we need is for you to end up on the front page of the Daily Prophet for assaulting a fellow student. Again."

Ron leaned over to Harry, his voice low. "She's just mad because you didn't let her hex Malfoy first."

"I heard that, Ron!" Hermione snapped, not looking up from her book.

Harry grinned, but as the banter continued, he couldn't help but notice that Hermione kept sneaking glances at him over the top of her book. It wasn't like she hadn't looked at him before, but this was... different. Her expression was thoughtful, almost curious, like she was studying a particularly tricky Arithmancy problem. And, okay, Harry wasn't exactly oblivious. He knew he'd changed after his Mutant powers has awakened—taller, stronger, better eyesight thanks to his whole mutant thing. But this was Hermione. She wasn't supposed to notice stuff like that, was she?

Ron, thankfully oblivious to all of this, was busy tearing into a bag of Every-Flavor Beans. "Ugh, grass!" he groaned, spitting out the offending bean into his hand. "Why do they even put these in here? Who wants to eat grass?"

"People who are starving on a deserted island," Hermione said without missing a beat. "Which, at this rate, might include you if you keep spending all your pocket money on sweets."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on, Hermione, let him enjoy his beans. Who knows? Maybe the next one will be steak-flavored."

"Or troll bogey," Ron muttered darkly, eyeing his remaining beans with suspicion.

The train rumbled on, and the tension from Malfoy's visit faded into the background. Harry leaned back, letting Ron and Hermione's bickering wash over him like the soothing hum of the Hogwarts Express. Sure, this year was already shaping up to be anything but normal, but with friends like these, Harry figured he could handle whatever came his way.

Even if it meant Hermione was now looking at him like he was an unsolved mystery wrapped in a particularly attractive enigma.

—

The Hogwarts Express let out one final, dramatic clank as it pulled into King's Cross Station, and if Harry didn't know better, he would've sworn the train itself was just as eager as he was to get moving. The platform was buzzing with activity—families waving goodbye, students chatting excitedly, and the occasional owl hooting as if it had an urgent letter to deliver. But none of that could distract Harry. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Logan! Ms. Munroe!" Harry shouted, already halfway out of his seat, his eyes scanning the crowds for the familiar figures who'd become a strange but welcome part of his life.

And there they were, like something straight out of a comic book—or maybe a movie, depending on how you looked at it. Logan, in his signature leather jacket and perpetually lit cigar, stood out like a sore thumb in a sea of casual school uniforms. He gave Harry a nod, that gruff, approving look of his. "Hey, kid. Made it in one piece, I see."

Next to him, Ororo Munroe—better known as Storm, and Harry's second-favorite X-Men after Logan—glided effortlessly through the crowd. She was like a walking embodiment of calm authority, her presence so commanding that even the bustling station seemed to give her space. And then she smiled at Harry, the kind of smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Welcome, Harry. We're delighted to have you join us at Xavier's Institute."

Harry's grin nearly split his face. "Thanks, Ms. Munroe. It's... it's amazing to be here. Really."

He quickly turned to introduce his best friends, who had been following him through the throng of people like two well-meaning, but somewhat confused, sidekicks. "Logan, Ms. Munroe, these are my best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

Ron, who had been looking around at the station like it was a magical carnival, snapped to attention and waved at Logan and Ororo like they were old friends. "Hey there! Nice to meet you!" His hand was practically spinning in the air, which, given the sheer size of Ron, could probably have cleared a few tables if he wasn't careful.

Hermione, on the other hand, was standing a little straighter, her usual "I'm the responsible one" posture firmly in place. She gave a polite but somewhat formal nod as she shook Ororo's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you both," she said, though her voice was a little softer than usual. Her eyes briefly flickered to Harry, like a small spark of something unidentifiable flared to life. She quickly cleared her throat, probably trying to refocus, but Harry noticed. Hermione never got distracted like that. Ever.

Logan gave her a gruff once-over before blowing out a puff of smoke from his cigar. "Nice to meet you," he muttered, the words more out of habit than any real warmth, but somehow it didn't feel cold. "Just remember, bub, I don't tolerate nonsense."

"Oh, we're going to get along just fine," Ron muttered to Harry, grinning as Logan's eyes narrowed at him.

Ororo, always the picture of grace, offered a smile that was both welcoming and commanding at the same time. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. We're thrilled to make your acquaintance," she said, the serene warmth of her words contrasting with Logan's, well, Logan-ness.

Just then, a familiar, loud, and decidedly not subtle voice called out, cutting through the chatter. "Harry, my boy!" Mr. Weasley barreled through the crowd, weaving like an excited octopus on roller skates, arms flailing as he made a beeline for Harry.

Before Harry could even react, Mr. Weasley had scooped him up in a bear hug that could probably rival a Grizzly's. "So good to see you! And who are these fine people?" he boomed, giving Logan and Ororo an enthusiastic look like he hadn't just nearly crushed Harry's ribs.

Harry, laughing despite himself, gasped for air and pointed at Logan and Ororo. "Mr. Weasley, this is Logan and Ms. Munroe," he introduced, practically bouncing with excitement. "They're friends from Xavier's Institute."

Logan gave a stiff nod, looking unbothered, though his cigar nearly singed his own eyebrows. "Pleasure's mine," he grunted, offering one of his rare smiles, the kind that only appeared when he was certain someone wasn't going to try to stab him in the back.

Ororo was already extending a hand to Mr. Weasley, her smile warm and kind. "Likewise. We're pleased to meet you."

The Weasley clan soon crowded around Harry, their usual chaos enveloping the moment like a warm, comforting blanket. Mrs. Weasley was already fussing over Harry, firing off a barrage of questions about his journey. "Did you eat enough on the train? I made sure to send you with plenty of food, but you must be starving! Have you been sleeping well?"

"Honestly, Mrs. Weasley, I'm fine," Harry protested, his stomach loudly protesting as he tried to shove aside the plate of sandwiches she was offering him. He could hear Ron's stomach growling in the background, probably jealous. "Everything's been great. Really."

Meanwhile, the younger Weasley siblings—Fred, George, Ginny—stood off to the side, looking at Logan and Ororo with wide eyes. Ginny, in particular, was watching Ms. Munroe with an expression somewhere between admiration and awe. Harry had a feeling the Weasley twins would be pestering him for details about the X-Men before the day was out.

Hermione, though, stood a little farther away, arms crossed, staring at Harry with an unreadable expression on her face. It wasn't just admiration anymore. It was... something else. Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it was making him feel like he had to shift his stance a little bit, like maybe the person who had always been his best friend was starting to see him in a different light.

He wanted to ask her about it, but the moment was gone before he could. Instead, he just let the madness of the Weasley family, the excitement of the day, and the promise of a new chapter wash over him.

With friends new and old, this was going to be one unforgettable year. And who knew? Maybe there was more to the changes going on inside him than just his mutant powers. Maybe this was the year when everything—everything—finally started to make sense.

—

The Weasley family had practically swarmed Harry in a bear hug of love, excitement, and just a little bit of chaos. Honestly, if there were a professional team of huggers, Mrs. Weasley would be the captain. But now, as the last hug (from Ginny) came to a close, Harry found himself trying to manage the bittersweet farewell. He'd spent the entire train ride giddy with excitement about the new adventure ahead, but now that it was time to go, the nerves were starting to creep in.

"So, Logan," Harry began, casually trying to sound cool but failing miserably, "how are we getting to the Institute?" His voice had that eager undertone, the one you get when you're about to meet someone famous—except, in Harry's case, it wasn't a someone but a jet.

Logan gave him a sly smile, the kind that made you feel like you were in on some inside joke. He took a long, leisurely drag from his cigar (which, by the way, was already starting to turn the air into something that could be described as "risky to your lungs"). "We're flying in the X-Jet, kid," he said like he was dropping a bomb. "Top-of-the-line, custom-built for people like us." He let the words hang in the air like a superhero movie trailer. "That's how we roll."

Harry's jaw dropped. "The X-Jet?" He tried to keep it together, but his voice cracked like a middle schooler getting his first kiss. "That sounds epic!"

Logan chuckled, clearly amused by Harry's over-the-top excitement. "You're gonna love it. But don't get too comfortable, kid. We're not here for a sightseeing tour. The X-Jet's got a schedule, and it's not in the mood to wait."

As Logan's words sank in, Harry's brain exploded with visions of sleek, high-tech jets zooming through the sky at ludicrous speeds. He was still trying to figure out how to look casual while doing it, but then Mrs. Weasley swarmed in like a tornado of affection. The moment she set eyes on him, her arms were around him, pulling him into a hug that almost broke his spine in the best possible way.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley's voice was full of emotion. "You take care of yourself. Write to us, won't you?" Her eyes were glistening, but that didn't stop her from giving him a motherly squeeze that said I'm going to miss you, but I'll let you go anyway.

Harry felt the lump in his throat and forced a smile. "I won't forget, Mrs. Weasley. I promise." He hugged her back with all the sincerity he could muster.

Ron gave him a slap on the back that sounded like someone had tried to knock a door down. "Don't worry, mate," Ron said, grinning like he'd just discovered a new way to prank Fred and George. "We'll save you a seat at the Leaky Cauldron for when you get back. Or, you know, somewhere better, like a real pub."

Hermione, standing a little off to the side like she was battling an internal tug-of-war, gave Harry a soft smile that was more than just friendly. Her eyes lingered for a second longer than usual, and Harry couldn't help but notice that her gaze held something that he couldn't quite identify. Was it… nervousness? Affection? A complicated mixture of both?

"Take care, Harry," she said, her voice warm and just a touch wistful. "And don't forget your homework. I will know if you slack off."

"Of course not, Hermione," Harry replied with a smirk. "You think I'm going to let you have all the fun with the assignments? Not a chance."

The words came out easy, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, something deeper than friendship. As she turned away to talk to her brothers, he couldn't help but watch her for a second too long.

Ginny, ever the youngest Weasley, popped up out of nowhere and wrapped Harry in a hug that, while not as bone-crushing as Mrs. Weasley's, still conveyed a level of sibling affection that left him feeling oddly warm inside. "Don't go forgetting about us, Harry," she teased, her voice light and easy. "The place won't be the same without you."

He returned the hug, ruffling her hair. "Don't worry, Gin. I'll be back for the Third Year shopping spree at Diagon Alley. I can't leave you alone with Fred and George, can I?"

Fred and George, who had been hanging back, giving everyone a few seconds to get their hugs in, appeared out of nowhere like they were starring in an action movie. Fred gave Harry a thumbs-up. "You take care of yourself, mate," he said with that grin that practically screamed 'mischief managed.'

"Yeah, we'll hold down the fort," George added. "Just don't be surprised if we've turned the whole Institute into a practical joke by the time you get back."

"And if you don't—" Fred started.

"—we'll do it ourselves," George finished.

It was impossible not to laugh. These two could always manage to lighten the mood, even in the most tense of goodbyes.

Harry turned back to see Percy, who had been quietly standing at the edge of the group, his arms crossed as he surveyed the scene with his usual, unflappable demeanor. "Well, Harry," Percy said, his tone a little stiff, like he was trying to be official, "I expect you to conduct yourself responsibly while you're away. Don't forget—you're representing Hogwarts."

"Of course, Percy," Harry said, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll make sure to be the best-behaved student ever."

Mr. Weasley, in the meantime, was still trying to wrap his head around the whole "jet" situation. "So, Logan," he said, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of confusion and awe, "is this, er, a muggle flying machine? I've read about them, but I've never seen one in person. Do they—do they have wires? Or wheels? Wait, how does it fly? Do you have to, uh, rev the engine first?"

Logan gave Mr. Weasley a blank stare. "Uh, no, Mr. Weasley. No revving. It just flies." He made a whooshing sound for emphasis.

Mr. Weasley nodded like it all made perfect sense. "Ah! Like a magical broomstick! But without the broomstick. Right?"

Logan sighed, clearly at a loss for words. "Sure. Let's go with that."

Finally, as the clock ticked down and the time to leave approached, Harry turned back to his friends one last time. He gave them all a big smile, knowing that his next adventure was just beginning. "Thanks, everyone. I'll miss you all. But don't worry," he added with a wink, "I'll be back before you know it."

With one last glance at the Weasleys, Harry followed Logan and Ms. Munroe toward the waiting X-Jet. The air buzzed with the energy of the unknown, and Harry couldn't help but feel that this was only the beginning of something much, much bigger.

As Logan led the way with a swagger that could rival any action hero, Harry's heart was racing with excitement. This was going to be the adventure of a lifetime.

And he wouldn't miss it for the world.

—

As Harry walked alongside Logan and Storm, his brain was on overload. It was all happening too fast—he had just said goodbye to the Weasleys and Hermione, and now, here he was, about to climb into something that looked like it was ripped straight out of a superhero movie. Except it wasn't just any superhero movie. This was real.

"Seriously," Harry muttered to himself, "am I dreaming right now?"

Storm, whose presence was as commanding as it was serene, shot him a look that was part amusement, part 'you should probably pay attention.' Her face was calm, but Harry could sense that she was definitely enjoying his awe. "You'll get used to it, Harry," she said, her voice smooth like honey. "The X-Jet is a marvel, but what awaits you at the Institute is even more impressive."

"I'll take your word for it," Harry said, trying to sound like he wasn't about to burst from excitement. They walked into a narrow alleyway, and Harry blinked when Logan hit a button on a small device. It was like something out of a sci-fi show—suddenly, the X-Jet wasn't just a fantasy. It materialized before their eyes, sleek and shining, like a stealth bomber crossed with a spaceship.

"Whoa," Harry breathed. "Is this... the X-Jet?"

Logan, casually puffing on his cigar like it was the most normal thing in the world, gave him a look that could have been straight out of a comic book. "Yep. Pretty sweet, huh, kid?" He grinned, clearly getting a kick out of Harry's reaction. "Now, less gawking, more moving. We've got places to be."

Harry shook his head, eyes wide. "I've seen pictures, but this is... this is next level."

Logan just shrugged. "You'll get used to it. Now c'mon, before I get too cold standing around here looking like a tourist."

Storm stepped up to the hatch, effortlessly bypassing the high-tech lock. She gave Harry a soft smile as she climbed in, and Logan followed with a roll of his eyes, flicking his cigar butt onto the pavement. "Always showin' off," he muttered.

They all filed inside, and Harry's jaw almost hit the floor. The interior of the X-Jet was... well, it was like the cockpit of a spaceship if that spaceship had been designed by someone with a deep understanding of what makes cool look really cool. The controls looked like a hybrid of a fighter jet and a high-end gaming console, all sleek, glowing buttons and holographic screens. Plush seats lined the walls, and the atmosphere was comfortable, like a luxurious waiting room with a view... that was way above the clouds.

Logan slid into the pilot's seat with a practiced ease, his fingers dancing over the controls, while Storm took the co-pilot's chair. Her calm demeanor was at odds with Logan's usual gruffness, but together, they made the perfect team.

"You sure you know how to fly this thing?" Harry asked, trying to hide the nervous edge in his voice.

Logan shot him a smirk. "You ever seen a plane crash on my watch, bub? Didn't think so." He tapped a couple of buttons. "Hold on tight, kid. It's go time."

With a rumble that sent a thrill racing up Harry's spine, the engines roared to life. Storm kept her focus on the flight path, her hands gliding over the controls with a grace that made Harry wonder if she had wings of her own.

The jet lifted effortlessly from the ground, like it was born to fly. Harry's stomach did a little flip-flop as the city below them shrank into a blur. It was like watching a magic trick unfold in real life—one second they were on the ground, the next they were soaring into the sky, leaving London far behind.

"Not bad, huh?" Logan grinned at Harry, clearly enjoying the kid's reaction. "It's got everything. Cloaking tech, stealth mode, you name it. And don't even get me started on the weapons systems."

Harry could barely contain his excitement. "Weapons systems?! Like, what? Can we fire lasers or something?"

Logan leaned back in his seat, taking a drag from his cigar. "Nah, kid. More like a whole arsenal. But we don't use it unless we have to. Believe me, when you're flying a jet like this, the biggest weapon is your ability to avoid trouble." He glanced over at Storm, who just raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with Logan's bravado.

"We don't always avoid trouble, Logan," Storm said, her voice cool, but with a spark of humor. "Sometimes, you have to fight back."

Harry couldn't stop grinning. He was soaring above the clouds, surrounded by people who made his previous life feel like a distant memory. This wasn't just a flight to Westchester County, New York; this was the beginning of a new chapter, one that had superhero written all over it.

The jet hummed smoothly, the horizon stretching out in front of them. Logan and Storm's banter continued, but Harry could barely focus. He was too caught up in the sheer thrill of it all. Everything—everything—had just changed.

"Think the Institute's gonna be anything like this?" Harry asked, hoping to keep his cool but failing spectacularly.

"Oh, it's way cooler," Logan said with a wink. "You're gonna love it, kid. Trust me."

And Harry did. Trust him, that is. Because if there was one thing Harry knew by now, it was that he was in for one heck of an adventure.

---

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 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!

Click the link below to join the conversation:

https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd

Can't wait to see you there!

If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:

https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007

Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s

Thank you for your support!