Note: This is a crossover between the X-Men Movie-verse and the Harry Potter Movie-verse.
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It was a calm Sunday morning. Much too calm in fact. Birds were chirping away in their soothing, yet strangely annoying, singing voices just by the low, overhanging ledge at the foot of the lone window. Pure, untainted sunlight in all their bright and sunny glory filtered through the blinds with joyous extraordinaire, lighting up the room with fierce intensity. If that wasn't enough, a cool, fresh breeze teased in through the window, which was apparently left wide open.
"Fuck it!" Pyro yelled, feeling extremely irritated with all this random nothingness that bothered him to no end. Why the hell did Bobby leave the stupid window open? Throwing his pillow in the general direction of the window, or somewhere thereabouts, he buried his head under the covers of his bed. The unfortunate cotton-covered pillow had landed next to his desk, on the floor just a mere two metres away from the window.
His aim was flawless.
He groaned. Why did weekends have to be like this? It was bad enough that he'd always be the last to wake up. Bobby Drake, that ice-cream loving bastard, was probably somewhere down in the gardens snogging his girlfriend behind some unlucky bush. Not that Pyro knew who his girlfriend was anymore. Kitty Pryde was apparently somewhere on the top of the Iceman's list right about now. Or maybe it was the other way around. Pyro couldn't quite care.
He had every intention to go back to sleep, pulling the covers even further over his head to block out the blinding light and not even bothering to retrieve his pillow from the ground of the already-very-chaotic room that he shared with Drake. But before he could even think about snoozing, he heard a strange, foreign sound just beside his bed. Something between a faint pop and a turbulent whoosh. The reverberation was so near to his head that he wondered if maybe he'd just imagined it.
And then he heard something else. A movement from somewhere within his room, like someone had stumbled over something. Bobby couldn't be back yet, could he? Pyro didn't hear the door open. Or close. Or whatever. Couldn't be him. Then who? Or what?
Bam!
"What the fuck?"
Someone screamed, in a very strange accent too. Pyro threw his bed covers off him and blearily looked around the room in alarm. There definitely was an intruder in his bedroom. There, sprawled on the floor—he apparently tripped on the innocent, by-standing pillow that Pyro had thrown just moments before—was a tall, youthful-looking teenage boy, just probably slightly younger than Pyro, with blonde hair and piercingly blue eyes.
Pyro spared no time for gaping and got straight to the point.
"Who the hell're you?" the fire-throwing mutant asked, rather rudely.
The stranger looked somewhat startled for a moment, and then, he picked himself off the ground in a hurry, brushing himself and flicking his stunningly beautiful hair out of his eyes in the most arrogantly dignified way possible, for someone who'd just tripped on a well-placed head cushion. He looked miffed, offended even, and maybe just a tad befuddled. He didn't make the 'befuddled' part that obvious, but Pyro knew a lost-and-confused stranger when he saw one.
"Haven't you ever heard of me?" the blonde boy said in the most conceited tone of voice that Pyro had ever heard anyone speak in, besides himself, of course.
When Pyro shook his head in amusement, the boy before him crossed his arms defiantly—that was when Pyro noticed the dark and almost ridiculous-looking floor-length robes that the stranger was wearing.
"I'm a Malfoy, you stupid git. Draco Malfoy."
Pyro raised an inquiring eyebrow. "That's supposed to mean something to me?" he asked bluntly.
Draco Malfoy ground his teeth in irritation, but amazingly enough, had kept his superior-than-thou stance about him. "My father was part of the Minis--"
"Save it," Pyro snapped, annoyed, "Don't give a damn about Malfoys or Dracos or what your daddy does."
"Fuck you."
"No thanks. I don't do ugly, bitch boys like you." Pyro gave Draco a once-over and added, "Especially not ones as pig-headed such as yourself."
The Malfoy roared. "THAT'S IT. YOU'RE DEAD."
He whipped out his wand from under his dark robes—pure eagle feather and chocolate-black mahogany—and aimed it straight at Pyro's face. John shot him an amused look.
"What? Gonna' poke me to death?" he asked, laughingly.
Draco screamed.
"Incendio!"
A huge jet of bright red flame shot towards Pyro at an alarming speed, not giving the boy enough time to evade the blazing fire. Not that it really mattered to the pyrokinetic manipulator anyway. With the bat of an eyelid, John Allerdyce extinguished the ball of fire in an instant, not even leaving a puff of smoke to trail behind.
For a second, both of them just stared at each other, bewildered.
And then…
"How the hell did you do that?" they both asked in unison.
And Draco snorted, breaking eye contact and once again looking around the room.
"Doesn't matter. You're so obviously a bloody Muggle, that's for sure," the blonde said scathingly, "Filthy, pathetic Muggle. I don't know how the hell I even got here of all places. Must've apparated wrong or something."
Pyro had apparently not taken in a single word that Draco had said and asked yet again, "Yeah, but how the hell did you do that?"
Draco sniffed, twirling his wand between his immaculate fingers. "Magic, obviously." And the Malfoy silently patted himself on the back. He was damn sure that even Hermione Granger wouldn't have been able to say that as snootily as he.
Pyro scoffed, clearly not accepting Draco's simple explanation. "Magic. Right. Well, Mister Magician. What other cheap tricks do you have hidden under those oh-so-enormous sleeves of yours? Besides a mini flame-thrower?"
Draco looked affronted yet again. What was with this inferior Muggle-blooded incompetent and his fucking ego?
"You see? This is the problem with every bloody Muggle on the planet. They don't even know that magic exists!" Draco half-exclaimed in hot anger, as though not knowing about magic was the most preposterous thing next to Harry Potter winning the Triwizard Tournament.
"But magic doesn't exist. You're probably just delusional," Pyro commented with a smirk, driving a hand through his dark hair, which looked messy (and downright sexy) from sleep.
The wooden stick in Draco's hand was, once again, in the air and pointed at Pyro's head.
"Say that again, I dare you," the Malfoy kid hissed.
"You are insane," Pyro said, slowly this time as though speaking to a particularly slow child.
"Impedimenta!" Draco shrieked.
There was a blindingly white light and Pyro was suddenly thrown back against the wall and off his bed, finally landing awkwardly and painfully on the floor a few feet away.
"Shit. What the hell?" the poor mutant groaned, rubbing his sore arm.
"That'll teach you to mess with a Slytherin from Hogwarts," Draco said, pompously, pocketing his wand.
Pyro looked up quickly from the ground at Draco, bruised and battered, with a visible frown on his face,
"Hogwarts?" Pyro echoed.
Draco nodded in a less-than-humble way. "School of Witchcraft and-"
"Shut up. I know. My distant uncle from my mother's side went there as a student," Pyro looked thoughtfully up at the boy Wizard, "Never heard from him since. A Tom Riddle dude. Heard of him?"
Draco's jaw dropped in shock and just a bit more than horror.
"You - you're related to Lord Voldemort?" the blonde-haired teenager squeaked unthinkingly before flinching at the recklessness of speaking the name of the dark lord.
"No," Pyro said irritably, "I said Tom Riddle. Not Lord—what was it—Bitchalot?"
"Voldem…! Never mind," Draco said quickly. "You never told me that you were related to, uh, Tom Riddle! I thought you didn't even believe in magic!"
"I don't. I thought he was fucking crazy, too."
Draco looked somewhat perturbed by Pyro's nonchalance. How could one be so calm and collected knowing that they were somehow related to the most evil person in the world? Ignorant Muggles, Draco grumbled to himself.
"Right. Fine. Whatever. I think I'll just… go now."
"Good. Get out of my room."
Without another word, Draco Malfoy apparated out of John Allerdyce's room, mind focused on getting to Diagon Alley as fast as possible, without splinching of course.
Pyro meanwhile, was already barrelling out the bedroom door, dying to tell Bobby and Rogue and whoever else who would bother to listen, about his encounter with the 'weird, blonde, stick-holding wizard' (as he would later come to call Draco) in his room.
-end.
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-A/N-: This was my first ever one-shot crossover with this pair. Snarky. Very snarky. Very weird to write, too. Hmm… I might write more… for the fun of it. Haha.
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