Second Edition Notes:

It's been so long since I submitted anything on this project that I decided to do some serious editing on it. This first chapter doesn't have as many changes as others; mostly just some corrected typos, added details and smoothing out of syntax. Later chapters, however, have some major changes that make the story flow a lot more smoothly. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived

Harry reached over swatted the annoying alarm clock that had dared to interrupt his sleep. There was an audible sproing sound as the main spring snapped and the clock gave up its last. Drat. That was the fourth clock this year. His grandparents weren't going to be happy, but it really wasn't his fault. Mechanical and electronic devices just didn't like him lately. In fact, for the last year or so they seemed to have a strange tendency to break in his presence; particularly if he was mad.

Oh, well. There was nothing he could do for it now. He climbed out of bed and stretched languorously, then headed to the small bathroom across the hall from his room in the small house that had been his world for the whole of his young life. Suddenly, he stopped in the middle of the hall. It was July. Why had he set his alarm? He didn't have school. Then he remembered. It was the 31st; his birthday; the day he turned thirteen.

Suppressing the urge to shout for joy, he dashed into the bathroom and took a rushed shower. It was going to be a special day. Grandmother Evans told him that his Aunt Rose was coming to help him celebrate, along with her husband, Vernon Dorsey and their son, Doug. They didn't care much for Harry any more than he cared for them. He could deal with them; however, because Grandfather Evans promised Professor Xavier would be there and had a very special gift for him.

The Professor had been a part of Harry's life for as long as he could remember. Normally very proper and reserved man, the Professor had a wonderful sense of humor when he chose to show it, as well as an incredible imagination. Harry always loved listening to the Professor's stories growing up; still did.

Clad in well worn, but comfortable athletic shoes, jeans and the t-shirt the Professor had bought for him at the ZZ Top concert he'd taken him to the year before, Harry barely restrained himself as he descended the stairs. Of course, there was no running down the stairs in his grandfather's house. It was a rule; one of many.

Harry loved his grandparents. They'd raised him since his parents died in a car crash the Halloween after his second birthday. They had several pictures of his mother at various ages. In fact one sat on his night stand. They didn't have any pictures of his father for some reason, although they told him he was the spitting image of the man who stole their daughter's heart.

The Evans' were already well into retirement when Harry was brought to them eleven years earlier. His grandfather was an austere man who brooked no foolishness from his grandson. He often corrected Harry, but rarely complimented him. That just made earning such a compliment all the more valuable and memorable. His grandmother was a stern disciplinarian as well, but fair. She had a disapproving stare that could have made Adolf Hitler repent. Harry had to work to please either of them, but it was worth it when he did.

At the foot of the stairs, he was greeted by the smell of his grandfather's pipe and morning coffee at the breakfast table and that of his grandmother's French toast cooking in the kitchen. Harry loved his grandmother's French toast and she well knew it, which made her gesture this morning all the more special.

"Good morning, Grandfather," he said respectfully as he entered the dining room.

"Morning, boy," Robert Evans responded. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you, sir." He met the old man's eyes, nodded, then headed into the kitchen to help his grandmother.

"Good morning, Grandmother," he said, then leaned in to kiss her cheek as she turned towards him. "Thank you."

He didn't need to say what for. She knew. She always knew.

"It's your birthday," she huffed turning back to her cooking. "I figured that was a good enough reason to make a special effort. Take that carafe of orange juice and the syrup to the table, then set it for me. Breakfast will be ready in about five minutes."

He obeyed quickly, carefully and without comment. Whatever their failings may have been, his grandparents had raised Harry well. They'd groomed him into an intelligent, quiet, well-mannered and disciplined young man. It was an accomplishment they were quietly most proud of.

"When are we expecting the Professor and the Dorsey's," Harry asked a half hour later as they finished breakfast and he began to bus the dishes.

"About noon," his grandmother told him. "Just leave the dishes to soak in the sink. I'll get to them later. You should go out and spend the morning with your friends. Just be home by eleven."

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded. It was his job to fill, run and empty the dishwasher, but if she was going to let him off the hook, he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As he headed outside a few minutes later, Harry checked the clock. It was a little before eight am, leaving him with three hours to kill. He decided to head to the neighborhood park and enjoy the sun for a while.

Harry was a somewhat solitary boy by nature. He didn't have many friends and no really close ones, so there was no one he cared to share the morning with. He wasn't exactly ostracized at school; more like ignored. Despite his small stature and glasses, even the school bullies rarely even acknowledged his existence and almost never harassed him. It was like he was so far out of cool that he was beneath their notice. Strangely, he didn't really mind.

He was neither a goth nor a rocker. Most his peers would find his eclectic taste in music strange if they bothered to ask. He was smart, but nowhere near the top of his class. He wasn't particularly talented at anything, so most of the cliques were out. He didn't even play chess. In a Middle School world where everyone seemed to have a niche, Harry was the odd man out.

It wasn't that he was unmotivated or without interests. In fact, many things interested him. None of them rose to the level of a passion, however. He was the quiet kid that everyone liked, but nobody actually knew. If asked, any of his classmates would say Harry was nice enough, but a little odd. Otherwise, they didn't have much of an opinion about him.

In the park, Harry went to his favorite tree and climbed to his customary perch. Through the leaves, he watched a few wispy clouds drift lazily across the blue summer sky. From there, he could hear the other teens playing basketball and soccer nearby. From the play area, he caught the chatter of younger children playing on the swings and merry-go-round. The smell of freshly mowed and watered grass drifted up to him from below. Leaning back against the rough bark of the tree, he closed his eyes and just let his senses and mind wander.

When he opened his eyes again, he took a quick glance at the clock on the park's recreation center. It was past ten thirty, so he jumped down and headed for home. He never remembered what he experienced in his cerebral wanderings, but he always emerged from them refreshed and calmed.

Arriving home at 10:59, Harry wiped his feet carefully on the mat. From the den, he heard the sound of his grandfather talking to someone. He couldn't pick up what they were saying, but he recognized the other man's voice. Knocking respectfully on the jamb framing the open entrance to the room, Harry thought about the Professor. Xavier was a tall, athletic man, despite the wheelchair. His head was completely bald, but he had a well maintained half beard that was an very silvery shade of blonde. As always, he wore slacks, a turtle neck shirt and a sport coat with patches on the elbows.

"Harry, my boy," the Professor smiled ebulliently as he gestured for Harry to join them. "I can't believe how you've grown. I can barely believe it's been eleven years since I brought you to live with your grandparents. Now, look at you; thirteen and ready to take on the world."

"You brought me to live here, sir?" Harry could hardly contain his curiosity as he shook the older man's hand.

"Didn't I ever tell you that?" Xavier seemed surprised. "I must be getting senile in my old age. Yes, Harry. Your parents were students of mine at one time. Later they became good friends. I was the one that found you after they died. It was I who decided to have you raised here. I can't believe I never told you that. Most peculiar."

Harry was speechless, but Xavier simply smiled. "The stories I could tell you. We'll have to take the time soon. A boy should know the kind of people his parents were; particularly when they were people like James and Lily Potter."

"I'd like that, sir," Harry managed to stammer. "I'd like that a lot."

The arrival of his aunt and her family ruined the moment. Almost immediately, they exiled him and Doug to his room. His Aunt Rose joined his grandmother in the kitchen and Uncle Vernon joined his grandfather and the Professor in the den.

Harry and Doug had absolutely nothing in common. Doug was big and brash, a loud mouth and a bit of a bully. The second they were alone, he started to complain that Harry didn't even have a television, game console or computer in his room.

"There's a TV and computer in the den I use when I need to." Harry shrugged.

"I have my OWN television, Blu-ray player, game console, desktop and laptop in my room," Doug bragged, thinking he could ruin Harry's birthday by making him jealous.

Harry knew his aunt and uncle spoiled Doug rotten. It was a frequent subject of conversation between his grandparents when they didn't think he was listening. They were concerned that their daughter and her husband gave Doug everything, so he appreciated nothing. They felt their younger daughter married a blustering fool and was determined to raise Doug to be a carbon copy of his father.

With Doug alternating between complaining and bragging, Harry sat back on his bed and let his mind drift like he had in the park and many times before. This time the feeling was different, however. He immediately found himself lifting from his body and floating out of the room.

It was a strange sensation, but for some reason he wasn't afraid. He didn't want to be trapped in his room with Doug. He wanted to be in the den with the Professor and that was where he went. He drifted through the house to the den where his grandfather was refereeing an argument between Uncle Vernon and Professor Xavier.

"It's all foolishness if you ask me," Vernon bellowed, as if volume added weight to his position. "Arcane Science and magical mutations be damned. I bet it's nothing more than some kind of conspiracy and parlor tricks."

The Professor templed his fingers before him as he spoke calmly. "However you might wish it was merely foolishness, parlor tricks and conspiracy, Mr. Dorsey, we all know that isn't so, and all the bluster in the world isn't going to change that fact. More and more children with arcane gifts are being born every day. My magical world and your mundane world are being dragged ever closer . . . whether people in either world would have it or not. That is why I wanted Harry to experience both worlds, and why I brought him here after his parents were murdered."

With those words, the jagged scar on Harry's forehead suddenly flared with pain as his mind jerked back in time and memory. It was late at night and snow dusted the ground outside the small house. A man and a woman stood proudly over a crib where a child of about two slept peacefully. The woman was the same person in the picture beside on Harry's nightstand and he realized he really was the spitting image of the man. The child in the crib, he knew, had to be him.

The explosion that rocked the house caught James and Lily by surprise, but they reacted instantly. They both pulled wands and rapidly cast spells. Lily focused on increasing the protective spells around the crib. James ran to confront the intruders. The bedroom door exploded inward as James reached it and a forbidden curse cast before he could react.

"Avada Kedavra," the blue skinned giant spat and Harry saw his father die.

"You'll never get my son, Apocalypse," Lily swore.

"He's already mine." The massive man pointed his wand at the crib and again cast the killing curse.

"No!" Lily threw herself between the Dark Lord and her child even as she uttered a quick counter spell.

Sadly, Apocalypse was too powerful for her and she fell beside her husband. The massively built man stepped up to the crib. He stared down at the still sleeping child. Harry wasn't sure how he knew, but he was certain that a one way field of silence surrounded the bed, keeping outside noises from waking the baby, but alerting parents if the child awoke, cried or was in distress.

"Are you the one destined to kill me?" The man laughed harshly. "I think not."

Even as he uttered the spell a third time, his intended victim's eyes opened. They glowed with roiling, coruscating, raw chaos. The curse struck in that instant, scarring the baby, but rebounding on the caster with magnified force. Stumbling back, Apocalypse screamed in horror as his body withered and decayed burnt out by the backlashing energies.

Harry. Xavier's voice cut through the memory as if from a far distance.

In an instant, Harry found himself standing next to the Professor, sans wheelchair, on a barren plane that seemed to stretch forever beneath an empty sky. Trying to traverse astral space alone is a rather foolish enterprise even with proper training.

Harry had only one question and it had nothing to do with his current situation. Was that real?

I'm afraid it was. Xavier's face was and expression of deep sadness. I arrived on the scene a few instants later to find your parents and Apocalypse dead and you sleeping peacefully. I was too late to save them, but the Dark Lord seemed to be dead and you had somehow survived a curse that ended the lives of many far more gifted and properly trained opponents.

Who was he? Something profound inside Harry needed to know; something primal.

His name was Tom Riddle. Xavier frowned distastefully at the very mention of the name. Although he claimed he was originally born thousands of years ago in ancient Egypt. He insisted his real name was En Sabah Nur. At one time he was my student. The magical community knew him as the Dark Lord Apocalypse. Even today, most people fear to speak his name. They refer to him as "You Know Who". You, on the other hand, are the "Boy Who Lived".

You sound like you don't believe he's really dead. The observation was void or emotion; almost clinical.

That night, I was more concerned with getting you to safety. He wasn't surprised that Harry caught that. When I returned later, your parents' bodies were undisturbed, but Riddle was nowhere to be found. He certainly seemed dead, but I thought him dead several times before. He has a rather annoying talent for surviving death scenarios.

While Harry mulled that over, Xavier figured they should return to the physical world. That's not to say he isn't truly dead this time; merely that we don't know. It was fortunate that I sensed your presence in the den and was here to anchor you when you stumbled into the astral realm. When you left your body, you gave your cousin quite a scare. He thought you were dead. His parents have taken him home. The whole affair left him quite traumatized.

With those somewhat sarcastic words, they were back in Harry's bedroom looking down at their bodies. The Dorsey's were gone. His grandparents were there and visibly concerned. Both he and Xavier seemed to be unconscious and didn't seem to be breathing.

Astralis Accompli, the Professor said with a precise gesture of a wand that hadn't been in his hand before and Harry immediately woke in his body.

"Why didn't you tell me, sir?" While Harry's tone was still respectful, it was also insistent and a little hurt.

"We were going to tell you today." The Professor's response was gentle, but unapologetic. "Telling you sooner wouldn't have made the news easier to bear. In fact, if I could have kept the truth - - and the pain it brings you - - from you longer, I would have. No child or teenager should have to deal with the murder of their parents. For better or worse, I wanted to spare you that as long as possible."

Harry was silent for several moments. He carefully weighed what the Professor had told him. In the end, as much as a small part of him wanted to, he found he couldn't fault the man's logic.

"Thank you for that, sir," he said finally, "but if it's okay, I have a lot of questions. Starting with, what am I?"

"I should think you'd have questions." Xavier laughed sympathetically. "What you are depends on whose perceptions you trust. The mundane world would call you a wizard if they knew people like us existed. I reality, you and I are both mutants; born with unique abilities and the common potential to literally alter reality in a wide variety of ways. In my case, I'm a telepath. I can read and even control peoples' minds and communicate mentally across great distances. It's a gift I use carefully; even sparingly."

"Wow." Harry's mind raced at the possibilities. "Am I a telepath, too?"

"I don't believe so." Xavier smiled obligingly.

Harry wasn't sure if he should be disappointed or not. "What . . . then?"

"Your personal abilities I believe are a good deal more complex and unique than mine," Xavier said, "but more on that a little later. It's your birthday and your grandmother went to some effort to make some of your favorite foods for lunch and bake you a special cake. They and your presents await us downstairs."

Harry suddenly realized his grandparents were right there listening. "I'm sorry I scared you so bad."

Maxine Evans smiled. "I think you can be forgiven . . . this time. We can't hold you responsible for controlling abilities you didn't even know you had. Now that you do know, however, you need to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, ma'am," he responded immediately.

Grandmother Evans' chocolate cakes were things of legend in the small upstate New York town where Harry grew up. She knew how much he enjoyed them and out did herself for his thirteenth birthday. She'd even made a macaroni and cheese casserole that had lots of diced polish sausage and more cheese than normal because he liked it that way. He was overwhelmed and impulsively hugged and kissed her.

"Thank you, Grandmother. It looks wonderful."

"You're welcome, Harry." Her voice held more emotion than she'd shown since he was hospitalized with appendicitis and got a really bad infection. "We don't say this nearly often enough, but your grandfather and I are very proud of you and the fine young man you're becoming."

His grandfather nodded gruffly, which said more than any words to Harry.

"It's time for me to leave, isn't it?" The conclusion seemed obvious. "Professor Xavier, in the den, you said you wanted me to experience both worlds. Grandmother, you haven't made this much of a big deal over my birthday since I was seven."

Xavier smiled. He'd always known Harry was perceptive and had deductive abilities beyond his years. The boy was also a good deal smarter than mundane IQ tests would ever be able to measure.

"I'm headmaster at Xavier's Academy for the Gifted. It's a school for mutants. Now that you're old enough to attend, I'm happy to invite you to join our student body. The school year doesn't start until early September, but new student orientation is already in progress."

Harry was speechless. This had to be the big surprise he'd been promised. He could hardly believe it.

"Eat your lunch and cake, Harry," his grandfather said, "It'll give you time to process all of this."

Lunch, cake and ice cream occupied them for the next half hour. Once the table was cleared, they adjourned to the den where four gifts awaited Harry. He decided to open the Dorsey's gift first and save the good ones for after.

True to form, Aunt Rose gave him a comb and brush set, and some hair care products. She probably picked it all up at her local pharmacy. It was a subtle jab, of course. Harry had a good brush, but no matter what he did with it, his hair refused to be tamed. His grandparents had given up on it years ago and Aunt Rose knew it. He'd have to write her a thank you letter later, anyway; along with an apology for scaring Doug so badly.

His grandparents' gift was a flat rectangular box that weighed too much to be clothes. He opened it to find a new laptop computer. He didn't know what to say. It was the most wonderful gift he ever received.

"You'll need if for school," his grandfather told him. "Charles promises it can survive your issue with electronics. You should get a new alarm clock from the same manufacturers."

"Thank you, sir." Harry hugged the old man who hugged him back a little more tightly than normal.

"Thank you, Grandmother." He noticed a hint of a tear when he kissed her.

The next gift was a flat square box and very light. Inside was a gossamer fine sheet of shimmering cloth.

"It's beautiful, Professor." Harry's tone showed his confusion on what he was expected to do with such a gift; beautiful as it was.

"It belonged to your father," Xavier explained. "It's an invisibility cloak; a valuable item and one not to be abused. I give it to you because it's what he would have wanted and because I'm sure I can trust you to use it more responsibly than he did."

"Yes, sir." Harry unfolded the cloak and draped it over his shoulders; marveling as his body vanished beneath it. "I'll take good care of it. You'll have to tell me about how he used it someday."

"I'm not sure I want to give you any ideas, lad." Xavier laughed. "Your father was a bit of a scamp as a student."

He then handed Harry his final gift; a long, thin box. "This, too, was your father's. I know not how and when he came by the cloak, but what's in that box has been in the Potter family for generations."

The box contained a dark wooden wand about a foot in length. It was polished to a reflective sheen and almost leaped into Harry's hand as soon as it was free from its containment. As he held it in awe, a corona of light surrounded Harry and his hair flared out slightly with static. In his hand, it felt like a thing alive; like a part of his body denied him far too long.

"It's made of rowan wood and contains a phoenix feather." Xavier nodded. "A wand is used to focus and even magnify the power within you. This one is particularly adept at both. It's said that no one who has used it in battle has ever lost. Had your father been able to employ it, he could well have been the one fated to destroy the Dark Lord."

"I don't know what to say, sir." Harry suddenly realized there was something else in the box. Removing the padding, he discovered an antique key. "Thank you."

"That's the key to the Potter family vault at Gringott's Bank in Manhattan. Under the guidelines of your father's Will, until your twenty-fifth birthday, you'll need to be accompanied by me or another teacher at the school in order to use that key, but you are the sole heir of the entire Potter estate."

"I think that's enough for one afternoon." Robert Evans rose from his seat. "Any more surprises and the boy's head will explode."

"We'll talk more after dinner, Harry." The Professor agreed. "Time enough then for you to make the necessary decisions."

Harry spent the next several hours alone in his room and deep in thought. When his grandmother called him to dinner, he wasn't hungry, but he responded obediently. It was an extremely uncomfortable meal. Harry's grandparents were dealing with the prospect of no longer having him around. Harry was still processing everything that had happened in the past ten hours. Professor Xavier knew he was an outsider in this dynamic. He simply tried to make sure he didn't interfere or intrude into the thoughts of any of his hosts. It didn't make for a lot of snappy dinner conversation, but no one seemed to notice.

After the meal, Maxine cleared the table and sent Harry to the den with the Professor. It was time for their talk and his decision. Did he even have a choice?

"I'm going to ask you a rather foolish seeming question," Xavier said as Harry sat down on the couch next to the laptop which was still in the box, "but it's an important one. How are you?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not really sure, sir. I'm a little confused, but I guess I'm okay."

"That's actually a good start." Xavier found the strangest things amusing sometimes. "Are there any questions for which I might help supply answers?"

"Why me, Professor?" Harry's tone was calm, even analytical. "Why did Apocalypse think I would be the one to kill him?"

"That's a far more involved question than it might seem." Xavier slipped subconsciously and naturally into the role of teacher. "To understand the answer, you must have some grounding in the arts of divination and precognition. They're both inexact studies to say the least, but valuable nonetheless, as they give glimpses into the future if interpreted correctly."

He folded his hands in his lap. "Precognition is actually a telepathic ability; more observational than anything else. It can be surprisingly accurate short term, but is subject to misinterpretation; particularly the more distant the event being predicted is in the future. It's most useful for predicting an opponent's actions in a fight or other competition."

He paused. "Divination is far less accurate in the short term, but can on occasion, through study of large scale societal trends, predict events occurring on a global or even national level. Sadly, despite the delusions of the gullible, it's of only minimal personal value. It can predict most likely outcomes of certain actions, but simply knowing the probabilities alters the equation itself entirely."

Sensing Harry's confusion, Xavier got to the point. "You're wondering what all of this has to do with your question. On rare occasions, the two arts combine to create some truly astounding results. Such an occurrence happened the night you were born. A prophecy was rendered and recorded. I was present when it happened. As we discovered too late, so was an agent of Apocalypse."

"A prophecy predicted that I would kill Apocalypse?" Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Actually," the Professor corrected him, "it predicted that a child born that day would. Tom was never one to leave contingencies uncovered. He began hunting down and killing every child born in the community that day. Given his prejudices, it likely never occurred to him that the prophecy could just as easily have referred to the child of mundane parents, but that's beside the point. Your parents were forewarned and took extreme measures to protect you. Unfortunately, they trusted the secret of their location to a friend who betrayed them."

"Who?" Harry thought he'd found someone to focus all the frustration, anger and rage he didn't want on.

"His name was Peter Pettigrew." Xavier nipped that in the bud immediately. "He was killed a short time later by a good man who let rage, anger and guilt destroy his own life. Don't make that mistake, Harry. Even for long lived people like us, life is too short to waste it on things like vengeance and guilt. Your parents wouldn't have wanted that for you."

Harry felt like someone had taken a bucket of ice cold water and dumped it on the burning coals of his rage. The anger surprisingly gave way to a profound sense of relief. It felt like the unbearable burden he hadn't realized he picked up that morning suddenly lifted. He could breathe again.

"Thank you, sir." He actually smiled for the first time since that morning.

Xavier smiled back and placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "I did little more than point you in the right direction. You did the rest."

In the wake of the anger, a wave of exhaustion washed over Harry, but he still had questions. "You said my powers were unique. What can you tell me about them?"

Xavier observed him carefully for a moment. "Given what happened to Apocalypse and other more recent events your grandparents told me about, I believe your powers derive from chaos itself. Strangely, this is an ability shared by both the other surviving children born the same day as you. We have no idea what powers those Apocalypse killed would have developed, but even three in a generation with that potential has never happened before; much less three in the same day."

"Ours is a world of order, Harry." Xavier leaned back in his wheelchair. "Even the Arcane Sciences have rules, equations and patterns that can be violated only at great risk to the caster and his environment. Apocalypse was a being of order; order and control taken to the extreme and abused. His mutant power was almost complete control of his physical body, but he early developed a gift for finding order and pattern where others saw only utter chaos, as well as weaknesses in structures and organizations. It was a gift he used with profound ability and vicious intent."

Harry always appreciated the way the Professor never talked down to him, but it sometimes took effort to not get lost in the man's words. Fortunately, Xavier was well aware of this and a good gauge of how much he could push a student's mind.

"Tom Riddle was a believer in what is called 'social and genetic Darwinism'. He wasn't the author of the theory, but he became one of its most fanatical adherents. He was convinced that only those who were strong enough to survive had the right to do so. In his view, the weak were a burden on society that should be eliminated to make way for the strong."

He paused briefly, but continued when Harry nodded. "By his theory, mutants are stronger than mundanes and pureblood mutants are the strongest of all. Never mind that his own father was a mundane. He wanted a very organized, controlled and brutal hierarchy with him at the very top. The world he would have created, would have no place for mundanes or what he and his followers called muggleborns; mutants with two mundane parents."

He shook his head bitterly. "Even mudbloods, or half breeds like Tom, himself, would have trouble in his world. This is why he claimed his mother must have cheated on his father with another pureblood and he was born of that union. It's pure delusion, of course."

"Would I be considered a pureblood," Harry asked.

"It depends on whose definition you use," the Professor considered. "While the Evans family never produced a mutant before your mother, the Potters are one of the oldest families in our community. Most will consider you a pureblood, but those who don't like you, are afraid of you, or want to belittle you, will call you a half breed or mudblood. Does it really matter?"

"No," Harry answered honestly. "I was just curious."

"Good." The older man smiled proudly at his protégée. "I didn't think it would. Besides, your mother put the lie to Riddle's theory. Born to a family without a trace of mystical blood, she was one of the most powerful and versatile casters I ever trained. She was particularly adept at defensive and protective spells. While your father, James was extremely capable in his own right, particularly as a duelist, he was wont to tell anyone he met that Lily had the real power in the family."

"What were they like?" Harry's voice was small and quiet.

The affection Charles felt for Harry and his parents was evident in his eyes. "Lily Evans was a bright, caring young woman; mature and respectful, but opinionated and strong willed at the same time. She knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to try anything. She loved learning and was a favorite of nearly every teacher at the school. Her laugh and attitude were infectious, but you didn't want to get on her bad side. She was normally quite even tempered, but her wrath when provoked was legendary."

He paused, then moved on as Harry listened raptly. "James Potter . . . what can I say about James? I already used the word scamp. He was a member of the first Marauders. Students at Xavier's are divided into teams. Your father, along with his friends: Sirius, Remus, Peter and the Jeffries twins, Lionel and Madison, and a young woman named Nymphadora Tonks they formed their own new team in their second years. They were the bane of my existence as often as they were a source of almost endless and nigh legendary amusement. Every one of them was a prankster of the first order, but your father was the best and the worst of them."

Harry almost laughed at the image.

A glint of mirth sparkled in Xavier's eye at the memory. "Since your actions either earn or cost points for your team, the Marauders were a conundrum. Your father in particular cost his team more points on his own than most teams lost as a whole. If he hadn't earned even more points for creative problem solving and other talents at the same time, the others might even have complained. I doubt it, however. They certainly made the old school interesting."

He sobered. "The only things your father loved more than your mother, pranks and practical jokes, were flying and playing Quidditch. He still holds school records for both; as well as for spending the most time in detention in a single year of any student."

"Quidditch?" Harry's attention perked up.

"It's a flying and strategy sport popular in the mutant community," Xavier explained. "It originated in Britain and is quite complicated. You'll learn more when you get to the school. Your father was a natural. I have faith you will be as well."

He returned to his story. "James and Lily were total opposites at first. We all wondered what she saw in him, but bright girls seem to have this inexplicable tendency to fall for bad boys. He was an eternal child, but she turned him into a man I was proud to call friend. He, in turn, brought her out of her intellectual shell and taught her to free her spirit. From the moment they met, their fates were sealed and no one else existed for either of them."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said quietly. "Until today, I'd only seen pictures of my mother and didn't even know what my father looked like except that I took after him. Now, I think I actually know them; at least a little."

"They were good people and well worth knowing." Xavier reached into his jacket and came out with a parchment envelope bearing the school crest on its wax seal and Harry's name in calligraphy on the other side. "This is your official invitation to attend Xavier's should you decide to do so."

"I have a choice?" Harry let more surprise than intended slip into his voice.

"We all have choices, Harry." Xavier's expression was calm. "Attendance at Xavier's is voluntary. In fact we have to turn down many applicants each year. I hope you will attend. I think it will be best for you and believe it's what your parents would want. I'll not force you, however."

"What will happen if I decide to stay here?" He'd already made his decision, but Harry was still curious.

"Alternatives would be worked out to train you here." Xavier could read Harry's decision on his face and surface thoughts. "Given the nature of your unique abilities, training in their use will be required lest you become a danger to yourself and those around you. The school is the easiest and most efficient way to accomplish that; not to mention the safest. If necessary, however, arrangements can be made for you to train independently while pursuing a mundane education."

"As long as I can come home and visit my grandparents on vacations, then," he said, "I'll accept your invitation."

"Excellent." Xavier shook Harry's hand. "I'd like to have you accompany me when I leave in the morning. We can detour to do some shopping for your school supplies. This will give you about a month to adjust to life in the community before you have to deal with lessons as well."

"That's not a lot of time to say goodbye." Harry wasn't sure he was ready to leave just yet.

Xavier understood. "One of the many things I had to agree to before Robert and Maxine would permit me to invite you was that you'd visit for Labor Day before the school year started, as well as coming home for Christmas and summer break. They agree that the sooner you start acclimating, the better."

Harry was silent, but eventually nodded his consent.

The Professor smiled. "I've already made the necessary arrangements. Tonight, you need to pack whatever clothes and personal things you want to take with you. Uniforms are worn for classes, meals, assemblies and school events, but you're free to dress as you wish the rest of the time . . . within the constraints of reason and propriety, of course. We had to add that last proviso to the school rules after a particular stunt by your father and his friends. Fortunately, all the fig leaves stayed in place, or it could have been . . . revealing."

Harry started laughing and couldn't stop. It was a healthy, cleansing laugh. Professor Xavier quickly joined in.

Writer's Notes:

This story will primarily cross the universe of Harry Potter with that of Marvel Comics and take a great deal of license with both. First off, I changed several of the stranger British names from the books to be a bit more pleasing to my very American ear. I hope Ms. Rowling doesn't mind. I also changed the roles of most of the established Potter characters that I used, as well as those of nearly all of the Marvel characters. I disconnected most (definitely not all) of the Potter characters from the school, but may appear in various other roles. Marvel characters have replaced them in the central supporting rolls.

I will also be including the White Council, Nevernever and Wardens from Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden novels. I further intend to include Slayers and Vampires from the Buffy/Angel Universe. Both of these are secondary, however.

Harry, Hermione (now Helen), Neville (now Neville Long), Luna, the Weasley family (now the Wesley family) and Professor Minerva McGonagall are the only protagonists I endeavored to keep as close as possible to their original design, although Harry was raised by his maternal grandparents, instead of the Dursley's, who appear as the Dorsey's. Everything else is subject to my admittedly bent imagination. Note, however, that I am NOT a Ron basher and will NOT be portraying him as a total idiot. He has occasional bouts of envy and frequent relapses of foot in mouth disease, but what teenager doesn't?

The biggest change is the merger of mutants and wizards. In addition to having unique personal powers, all mutants can access the forces of what they call Arcane Science. Through force of will, they can alter the universe around them in various ways. Naturally, since the universe dislikes being altered at a whim, this is a very dangerous endeavor; thus the need for wands, incantations and such to help focus the energies.

By the way, Lily Evans' parents were never named in the original novels. The names Robert and Maxine come from an aunt and uncle who took me in briefly after my mother died. With regards to my Aunt Maxine, I've often said that she could have been the inspiration for David Eddings' Polgara character.

Finally, please note that this story in no way presents anything close to real magic. As a Christian, I believe that such forces exist and I know that anyone who messes with them - - no matter what they call their "art" - - is a fool. I've seen too much in the last half century to doubt. Real magic is empowered by very real demonic forces that use it to ensnare and destroy those foolish enough to play with things they should stay well away from. This is a fantasy; a made up story and should be treated accordingly.