A/N: So, here is the second chapter! I have to say I worked harder than usual, could it be the reviews? Hmm...I guess we'll have to find out. :P Also, if you have any questions at the end of this chapter just ask and I'll try to answer them to the best of my abilities.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or X-Men, but I wouldn't mind if the owners decided to give them to me. ;)

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At exactly 2:30 am at 1407 Graymalkin Lane, one Charles Xavier startled awake with the feeling something was happening, something big, something bad. He pushes himself up and into the wheelchair next to his bed, not bothering to change out of his pajamas, and wheels himself as fast as possible towards the elevator. If anything can give him answers to what is happening, Cerebro had to be it.

When he finally opens the door into the giant mutant detector, he is over at the control panel in less than four seconds and hurries in putting on the helmet-looking contraption which was in fact the heart of the machine. He gave himself half a minute, to get used to the feeling of being connected to Cerebro, before he concentrated on finding the mutant who's thoughts woke him up.

The fear radiating of this mutant's thoughts was a consuming power, absorbing every other emotion that tried to interfere. He followed the whisper of one of its thoughts which still rung in his ears: 'Please.' It was a very powerful thought, one that had kept repeating in this persons mind, seeming to be woven into the fibers of it's very body; integrated into it's being. A mutant in this much fear wasn't hard to find, and he did in less than fifteen minutes. It was currently alone, somewhere in the UK and whatever kind if situation it was currently in was making it more scared by the minute.

Not knowing how much time they had, he quickly send a telepathic message to the X-Men for them to gather in the headmaster's office. They didn't have any time to lose.

Jean was the first one to arrive with a worried look on her face "Professor, what's happened? Has someone—"

"I will explain when everyone's here, if I have to explain twice it will take too much time." Xavier interrupted. Jean frowned at the panicked edge to his voice but didn't try to ask again.

The next to arrive was Scott, who —just as Jean— immediately started firing questions "Has something —" but was interrupted as well, again by Xavier who this time did so by holding up his hand.

"I will explain it when the last of us arrive." Xavier looked around Scott to see Storm walk in, giving him a understanding smile. "Now we are only missing one." Xavier closed his eyes and was about to send another message.

"I'm here Bub." he opened his eyes to see Logan walk inside before slouching down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Good." He looked around at the people in his office with a soft smile of fondness on his face, which fell away as he remembered why he called them to his office in the first place. "Now, I'm sorry to have woken you at this ungodly hour but I need your help. I called you here because there is someone in the UK who has just manifested its mutant powers and—"

"Why would you call us together for something like that? There are lots of people who manifest their mutant powers every day." interrupted Scott. He had been sleeping for only one hour when he was called, grading essays didn't become an easier task as a mutant and he didn't get much sleep as it was, so being interrupted while having a much needed sleep wasn't making him any happier.

"If you would let the professor finish, he could explain why he called us to his office."

"Thank you, Storm." said Xavier, receiving a polite nod from the white haired mutant. "I do indeed have a reason for waking you all up. Someone in the UK has just manifested its mutant powers, which isn't the problem, what is the problem is, that it seems to have been hurt and has entered in a state of panic. Now I don't know what kind of mutation this mutant has, but if it has a possible destructive power like for example; sharp claws, an optic blast or kinetic powers and it starts attacking people…" Xavier didn't have to finish his sentence for the rest to understand the seriousness of the situation.

"Well, are you guys coming, or what?"

Xavier looked up from his desk to see Logan already walking out of the office, followed by a grumbling Scott. Jean looked torn over something as she stood in the middle of the room looking after Scott, when Storm called to her "Don't worry Jean, go after them to make sure they don't break anything. I'll finish up with the professor." Jean looked up at Storm giving her a grateful smile, before jogging in the direction the two agitated males had walked off to.

Xavier smiled at Storm when she turned back to him, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Now, the address is—"

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Harry woke up feeling sore and with a giant headache. He cracked his eyes open to a squint and turned his head, as he concentrated he could vaguely make out the contours of a small door with a diagonal cut at the top. He was back in his cupboard then.

Groaning, Harry pushed himself up and felt around searching for his glasses, but couldn't seem to find them. Frowning Harry slid to the side of his bed, so he could drape his feet over the edge, and looked around again. Everything was hazy, but he was pretty sure his glasses weren't there. That was weird. They wouldn't have forgotten to throw then in here with him, how was he supposed to make their breakfast, if he couldn't see?

Harry went to scratch his head, but a sharp stinging pain on the back of his head made him pull his hand back with a hiss. He looked down at his hand and was surprised at the amount of blood, the fight with Vernon should have ended about an hour ago, if he was still bleeding this much it was no wonder he had a headache. He looked around for any sort of cloth long enough to wrap around his head and grumbled when he caught sight of his already mostly torn sleeve, which only seemed to be kept from falling off by a few thin threads still connected to the rest of the shirt. Knowing he wouldn't find anything better, Harry ripped the sleeve off and tied it around his head, which pressed the gash on his head closed. Well, there went his last bloodstain-less shirt. Harry scowled looking down at his, now, bare left shoulder and soothingly rubbed over his elbow trying to remember if he had a shirt with long sleeves left. When he suddenly heard a soft thump from upstairs.

He immediately stopped moving, having learned to always pay attention to everything happening around him, for the littlest knowledge of the Dursley's whereabouts could turn out to be life saving a few minutes later. He sat still listening for a few minutes but when there hadn't been any follow-up sounds, he was on high alert. A Dursley walking around without the complaining of creaking floorboards wasn't known to be in existence, for as far as Harry knew, and silence was therefore not what he had expected. Something was wrong. Harry slowly stood up and, from habit, reached in his back pocket. Harry, internally, cursed as he only felt the thin worn fabric of his pants and remembered that his uncle had taken his wand as soon as he had stepped into the house, two days ago. Harry punched the door in frustration. How was he going to get out no— and jumped back, hitting his head against the ceiling, as the door suddenly fell forward off its hinges. That was weird, was it already broken when he woke up? Harry —all the while softly rubbing his, now devilishly, aching head— tried to remember but quickly dismissed it as a coincidence when he caught a glance of something shiny, through the doorway, on the ground in the living room. He stepped out of his cupboard and swiftly —or as swiftly as one could be with a limp— walked into the living room, keeping his steps as light as possible.

Harry felt a sudden relieve as he found his glasses had been the cause, lying on the ground in the light that came from one of Dudley's favorite movies; a typical hack and slash, playing on the TV. He practically dived at the eyewear, which had seen better days as one of its lenses was missing, and eagerly shoved it on his nose.

Harry had found the hazy world he had woken up to in need of improvement, but the world his eyes met when they got back in focus wasn't any better, he dare say, it was worse. Before he could blame the disorganization of objects in his room to an impatient Vernon, who had probably not wanted to waste time on putting his nephew back in the cupboard and had thus —quite likely— literally thrown him in, but he could think of no reason for the circumstances in which he found the living room. The wallpaper seemed to be curling of the walls and paint was starting to chip of, the previously white and frequently washed curtains sliced through and nearing on a coal-like color, seemingly having been burned, the carpet had scorch marks the size of a football and the furniture had all been shoved to the wall; blocking the view one would normally have on the front door. The flowers Petunia always displayed around the room —which Harry had grown and maintained— to impress the neighbors, had been smashed against the wall, ending the terrain of puke inducing pink inside the house.

Harry looked around baffled at the battlefield that had once been a chemically clean living room, smelling of bleach, and now was a mess reeking of ash, wet soil and —Harry inhaled sharply, blood. The scent was very faint and he wouldn't have been able to smell it had he not been acquainted to it as much as he was, having worn the smell all too often when he was at "home". Harry looked up and quickly found the source was a small red splat of blood in the back left corner of the room, against the ceiling. It could be his; the fight with Vernon had taken place not too long ago, but the blood was on the ceiling and no matter how much Vernon probably wished he could, the big walrus wasn't strong enough to throw Harry that high or hard —not that he didn't try. Having excluded himself still left the question; then who's blood is it? Harry felt bile rise up in his throat at the thought of Hedwig having disobeyed his demands, of her staying at Hogwarts this summer, and coming here to run into Vernon. Harry swallowed thickly, Vernon wouldn't think twice about hurting her, he would earlier call for Dudley asking if he wants to help. Harry didn't hesitate as he grabbed Vernon's letter opener —out of one of the drawers of the overturned coffee table— and ran out of the living room bounding up the stairs, thus missing a thin polished stick lying half underneath the soil and a shard of one of the smashed flowerpots.

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If there is any confusion about certain things that happened in this chapter please let me know and I will answer them to the best of my abilities. Also, I am already working on the next chapter, so as not to make you guys wait for too long. Again thank you for reading this chapter. (=^L^=)