Meanwhile, at the hidden headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, chaos reigned.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS?" bellowed a red-faced Molly Weasley.

Normally, Sirius might have roared at her to keep it down, especially since her screams of rage had woken the snoozing picture of his mother, Walburga Black, and sent her into one of her shrieking fits, weeping about blood traitors and mudbloods and other such desecrations to the name of wizard. In this instance, however, he was quite on Molly's side: Harry was missing, and that was simply unacceptable.

The target of Molly's ire, an unkempt-looking wizard with droopy eyes like a basset hound's, shrank away from her. He looked like would have liked nothing more than to disapparate, but Dumbledore himself had cast the jinx which prevented Mundungus Fletcher from doing so. Considering the usual use of that jinx was to stop criminals from fleeing before they could be arrested and their wands confiscated, it was saying something that Dung was permitted to keep his.

For Mundungus had been the one on duty when Harry disappeared—Mundungus the one who had disapparated from outside number four Privet Drive shortly after the opening broadcast of the eight o'clock news, who had been away when Harry ran into trouble and needed help. Sirius himself was panicking: the simple fact was that Harry's breach of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy had been the Patronus Charm. There were only two creatures in the world that merited the use of a Patronus, and one of them couldn't exist in the climate of England. That left only one possibility in Sirius' mind.

His godson had been attacked by Dementors while Mundungus was supposed to be guarding him, and had been forced to defend himself. Harry was now facing potential expulsion from school, possibly even arrest if the whisperings around the Ministry were to be believed. The idea should have been ludicrous—arresting a child for defending himself against the darkest creatures to ever exist? But then, this was the same Ministry that had seen Sirius himself imprisoned for twelve years without trial. Harry, at least, had Dumbledore sticking up for him as he had not been there to stick up for Sirius, and while Sirius would never forget that Dumbledore had let him rot for more than a decade, he was desperately glad that Harry, at least, would get a hearing, and would have Dumbledore on his side.

The problem, of course, was that Harry was missing. The owl that had been sent by the Improper Use of Magic Office to inform Harry of his hearing on 12 August had returned to the Ministry with its letter undelivered. The Ministry tried to use this fact to demonstrate that Harry had fled, but once again Dumbledore intervened, pointing out that even wizards who were on the run, such as Sirius himself had been until recently, could be found by post owls. Not that the Ministry knew that Sirius had settled down, of course. The fact remained, however, that post owls could even locate someone hidden by a Fidelius Charm, despite the sender being unaware of the intended recipient's location.

Since the letter could not be delivered, Dumbledore had argued before an emergency session of the Wizengamot, the law according due process to those accused of criminal activities had not been fulfilled. He had, at least for the moment, successfully convinced enough members of the court to overrule those calling for Harry to be tried in absentia. That he had managed this even after the Ministry had demoted him from his position as the Wizengamot's Chief Warlock was nothing short of miraculous.

Still, all in all, Sirius supposed that he could admit he would have been satisfied if the Dementor attack and Ministry hearing was all that he had to worry about—he would not be pleased, of course, and he would certainly be worried, but Harry knew how to take care of himself, and Dumbledore was convinced that the Ministry couldn't possibly expel Harry in such a matter of self-defense. Sirius had to agree: Harry was accused of breaking the Statute of Secrecy by using magic in a muggle-inhabited area, and in the presence of a muggle, but the muggle in question was known beyond a doubt to be his cousin, Dudley Dursley, who was fully aware of the existence of magic, and there had been no other witnesses, no memories to modify, nothing to cover up.

As the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery also made provisions for self-defense—and casting a Patronus at a Dementor would certainly be considered the last defense of one's life in any sane court—Harry's hearing should be a formality. It wouldn't be, since the Ministry was looking for any excuse to discredit him wherever possible, but even so Sirius would have been optimistic.

But it wasn't just that. On top of all of those problems was the slightly more pressing matter that Harry had vanished, apparently without a trace. His Aunt and Uncle's car had been located at a small motel a few hours away, but nobody knew what they were apparently running from, and the Ministry couldn't be arsed to actually ask them any questions. Dudley Dursley was as completely gone as Harry was.

Harry's school trunk had been found in the wreckage of Privet Drive, along with the suitcase Dudley apparently took with him to his own boarding school, which the latter had never unpacked for the summer. Harry's trunk, despite appearing to have been packed very hastily, contained almost all of his possessions, including his owl's empty cage. Harry's prized broomstick had also been found, suggesting that Harry had not gone on the run.

Remus had searched the area, and could find no trace of Harry or anything else except a scent trail that went suddenly cold in the middle of the broken house, and an odd burnt smell in the street. There was no scent of blood or any of the usual signs of a battle. More perplexing still, while Harry's vanishing trail might have been attributed to his somehow taking to the sky despite leaving his broomstick behind, his trail had been closely accompanied by Dudley's, which had disappeared at the same spot. The Knight Bus had been called, but neither the conductors nor any of the passengers remembered seeing anyone get on, and the employees insisted that the Bus had not been to the neighborhood. Remus was now tracking down the elder Dursleys, since the Ministry was unwilling to.

The only evidence that Harry had not somehow been kidnapped was the lack of any magical trace of foul play. Dumbledore had examined the area himself, and had found no curses cast and none of the disturbances left by the passage of a Portkey. The only spell he could detect was a hover charm that he thought might have been Harry's. Strong though Harry might be for his age, his singular hover charm was definitely not capable of removing the front third of the house, and smashing up most of the street, no matter how creatively he applied it. Dumbledore's final note was that the only thing seemingly missing from Harry's trunk was was his Invisibility Cloak.

Together, this all suggested that wherever Harry and Dudley were, they were most likely together, and had gone willingly, without putting up a fight or any spells being cast. The only apparent possible method of travel was Apparition, but who would both Harry, who had been told to stay put until he was retrieved, and his notoriously magic-phobic cousin, willingly leave with? And how had whoever it was gotten away without leaving any scent behind themselves?

Dumbledore was apparently questioning the handful of people he knew who had the magical strength and focus necessary for Side-Along Apparition, cross-referencing with who might have the magical knowledge and wherewithal to hide their scent, but nobody at headquarters had heard from him in hours. Sirius, confined there in a bad mood, had been 'guarding' Mundungus when Molly arrived to have a go at the man.

Wherever you are, Harry…please be safe…

Harry jolted awake when someone gently flicked the end of his nose. Jerking his head back and blinking rapidly, he saw Dazzler smirking down at him before a blown bubble momentarily obscured her mouth.

"You sure are a heavy sleeper," she commented. "C'mon, Professor X wants to talk to you."

Harry tried to stand up, but had forgotten the seatbelt. After a moment of fiddling, it released, and he stood to stretch. Following Dazzler down the Blackbird's ramp and out of the plane hangar, he was surprised to see the sun hanging just above the horizon. Following his gaze, she popped another bubble and grinned. "Welcome to the States, where we drive on the other side of the road and nobody has a fancy accent like yours—well, except the Professor. We're also about five hours behind you, so you might be a little jet-lagged for a while."

Dazzler led Harry into a large estate that he thought looked like a place where someone like Malfoy might live. Not that Harry was poor, exactly, but the Potters, while pureblood, were certainly not semi-noble old money like the Malfoys or the Blacks. More of a nouveau riche for the wizarding world. Once he was inside the manor, however, Harry had to review his assessment. Posh though the large house undoubtedly was, there was a certain warmth to the surroundings that Harry simply couldn't see the Malfoys appreciating.

They met Dudley exiting a mahogany door on the ground floor in what Harry thought was the West wing of the house. He smiled uncertainly at Harry, who took in Dudley's tense posture and the small silver key in his large hand.

"Will you be staying, then?" Harry asked, curious.

Dudley flinched, but answered in a low voice. "You heard what Da—what Vernon said. He doesn't want to see either of us again."

Harry shrugged. "I've been hearing that for years," he reminded Dudley.

"I'm sorry," Dudley mumbled. "You still…still saved my life earlier." He shifted the key to his left hand and held out his right. Harry, still a little surprised, took it and shook. Harry watched Dudley round the corner out of sight, back toward the central stairway, then turned to find Dazzler watching him keenly.

"What?" he asked, self-conscious.

"Didn't you two…I dunno, live together?" she said pointedly.

"We don't get along," Harry replied. Then he glanced in the direction Dudley had disappeared and clarified. "Or we didn't. I guess we're making a fresh start."

Seeming to take him at his word, she gestured him through the door Dudley had exited. "Professor Xavier's waiting for you."

Entering, Harry found himself reminded strongly of walking into the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, though there were few superficial similarities. No whirring and puffing silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables here, no moving portraits adorned the walls, and no phoenix perched beside the door. The bookshelves lining the walls were familiar, though, as was the large window with a view of the grounds—albeit from the ground floor rather than a tower—and the desk standing in the center of the room. The man behind the desk also called Professor Dumbledore strongly to Harry's mind, though like the rooms, the two men could not have looked more different.

Where Dumbledore was tall, with long silver hair and beard and prominent wrinkles, Professor Xavier looked younger, like a man simply out of his prime. He was bald and clean-shaven, and wore a neat suit rather than Dumbledore's characteristically eccentric robes. Harry also couldn't hazard a guess at his height, for this man was in a wheelchair, with a comfortable-looking blanket covering his legs. When his eyes met Harry's, however, the twinkle there reminded Harry very strongly of his Headmaster, as did this man's sense of energy, which seemed to suit a much younger man.

"Welcome, Mister Potter," the bald man said. His voice, though quiet, carried easily across the room. "Won't you please have a seat?" He had a distinct—if oddly flattened by his time in America—Oxford accent, with notes of what Harry thought might be Yorkshire here and there. All in all, the effect was very pleasant, and went a long way to helping Harry feel at ease.

Harry sat as he was asked, noticing as he did so that they were not alone: Cyclops stood behind the Professor's shoulder, one hand resting on the back of the wheelchair. He had changed into casual clothes, a flannel shirt over jeans, and was wearing what looked like red sunglasses instead of his visor from earlier. Off to the side, the man called Wolverine leaned against the bookcase with his arms folded, his unlit cigar still clamped in his teeth as he gazed pensively out the window.

"Thank you, Miss Blaire, you may go," the Professor added to Dazzler.

Harry waved, and she grinned at him. "Come say 'bye' before you leave," she said to Harry. She nodded to the Professor, and popped her gum loudly as she shut the door behind her, making Wolverine growl about making her run extra laps. Harry heard her laugh as the door closed, and found himself smiling too.

"Thank you as well, for joining us, Mister Potter. My name is Charles Xavier," Professor Xavier continued, with an encouraging smile of his own. "And allow me to be, if not the first, then the most personally pleased to welcome you to the Xavier Academy for Gifted Youngsters, a boarding school established for the sake of young mutants like yourself.

"I understand," he continued, and here he glanced at Cyclops, "That there was some excitement involved with your pickup?"

Harry nodded, unsure what to say to that. When it was clear he wasn't going to speak, Xavier continued.

"I feel I should make abundantly clear, Harry—if I may be so presumptuous as to use your given name—that what occurred at your home was not your fault. It is not typical, and we are still looking into the possible causes."

Harry shrugged at this. While the appearance of the giant robot…the sentinel, he remembered…was surprising, it had signalled the end of Harry's exile to Privet Drive. The house was wrecked, but everyone was alive, so Harry honestly saw little to be upset about. Professor Xavier's eyebrows contracted slightly, but he continued as if untroubled.

"Given this rather unusual circumstance, not to mention the remoteness of your home compared to the school, I would like to formally extend you an invitation to stay here at the Institute. Your cousin, Mister Dursley, implied that your guardians would not object."

Harry snorted before he could stop himself. The Dursleys would not give a damn where Harry was, so long as it wasn't with them. They were most pleased that he was at Hogwarts ten months out of the year, and could only be more pleased by the fact that there was now an ocean separating them.

Noticing the looks of surprise on Xavier's and Cyclops' faces, and that even Wolverine had raised an eyebrow, Harry finally spoke. "He's right, they won't care."

Now Xavier gave a real frown. "Harry, as Miss Grey likely mentioned on the plane, it is not unusual for young mutants to face prejudice or even abuse. However, that is not something you will have to fear here at the institute. While your sudden appearance here may raise some questions, I have some friends working in the British Consulate here in New York. They are already working with the Department of State to grant you a student visa, so there should be no legal issue with you remaining here. You are assuredly not the first, nor will you be the last, foreign youth to find himself here."

Taking a moment to marshal his thoughts, Harry replied, "Thank you, Professor Xavier, sir. But, what about my school? Term starts on 1 September, and my teachers will be concerned…" he trailed off.

"Ah, yes, the young Mister Dursley implied that you were very attached to your school. We would not dream of preventing you from returning in due course, but at this moment it may be dangerous for you to do so."

Thinking of what he had faced at Hogwarts so far in his four years there, Harry could only shrug again. "It usually is, sir, but it's home."

"That, Harry, is how I hope you will come to think of this Institute," Xavier said. "As a home. I confess I don't know how your education has progressed, but here, there should be no danger to you that cannot be easily dealt with. There is the occasional flaring of tempers, and the potential for a loss of what self-control the average teenager possesses…" Here he gave a gentle smile. "But our staff is perfectly capable of handling any such incident, even with the inclusion of mutant abilities, and I am proud to say that in the life of this Academy, there have been no serious injuries sustained by any of her students."

Well, that was certainly a point over Hogwarts, where he found himself in the Hospital Wing at least once every year, Harry thought wryly. Still, his school and especially the Headmaster were not likely to take his disappearance lying down. He wondered how long it would take for them to discover him, and what they would do. Would they simply whisk him away back to Hogwarts?

"Er, Professor," said Harry. "Are you…quite sure there hasn't been some mistake, like we discussed on the plane?" He glanced at Cyclops, unsure if he had told Xavier about their earlier conversation.

Evidently he had not, for Xavier turned to him and asked, "Scott?"

Cyclops drew himself up like a soldier and summarized, "Mister Dursley seemed aware that he was a mutant when we picked him up, and it appears that his parents have a certain intolerance for anything 'abnormal'. He and Mister Potter had a short discussion after we explained why we came, and Mister Dursley implied that we had, perhaps, picked up Mister Potter by accident, indicating that we in some way mistook him for a mutant. Mister Potter himself also seemed to expect to be recognized, by name if not on sight, and was surprised when he was not."

"The big one asked him if 'what he was' and his school were a secret," Wolverine put in. Harry's head whipped around. His and Dudley's conversation had been held in whispers, he was certain that nobody could have overheard them. Wolverine simply smirked. "Kid, I could hear yer heartbeat over the jet engine, hearin' yer voices wasn't a problem even if I couldn't read yer lips."

"Mister Potter…" Xavier said slowly, "Was this school of yours…by any chance in the far North of Scotland?"

Harry stared back at Professor Xavier. He knew. He had to know, or he wouldn't have known to ask that question. Was he a wizard? But why would a wizard open a school for mutants? For that matter, shouldn't a British wizard of Xavier's apparent age know perfectly well who Harry was? There were too many unanswered questions, and Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Still, he could see no reason not to answer the question honestly. "I believe so, sir. I've never been certain exactly where. We take the train North from London every year to get there, you see."

Harry saw something odd flicker across the corner of his vision. Looking around, he saw that Wolverine had pushed himself upright, and was scowling at him. "He's hidin' somethin', Chuck," the wild-looking man growled.

"Thank you, Logan, that will do," Xavier said quellingly. "Go and fetch Miss Rasputin or Miss Sefton, if you would be so kind."

As Wolverine left, Xavier's gaze returned to Harry. "Everyone is entitled to their secrets at my school, Harry, as long as those secrets do not entail a danger to the other students. Can you assure me that this is the case?"

Harry nodded firmly before he heard the door close. He had no intention of using magic here, and knew that even if he did, he would never willingly hurt someone. There was the theoretical possibility that the students could be in danger if Voldemort or the Death Eaters attacked looking for Harry, but as Xavier himself had pointed out… "As long as no one knows I'm here, sir, there can't be any trouble."

Xavier's piercing look that reminded Harry so much of Dumbledore swept through him once more, but then Xavier bowed his head. "That will do to be going on with. Until contact is made, at the very least, can we impose on you to stay here as our guest, Mister Potter? I am still under the impression that we are not mistaken about you, but I would like to confirm my suspicions before we create any further plans. Are you agreeable?"

Harry nodded again. It wasn't as if he had anywhere else to go, so he may as well stay here for a few days until he could figure out how to get back in contact with the wizarding world, whether in America or in Britain. Unless, of course, he could convince Xavier to have him returned to Britain, in which case…

Harry's thoughts were interrupted as the door opened again, signalling Wolverine's return. He was followed by two younger girls with blonde hair, who Harry estimated to be perhaps eleven or twelve. They both took seats to Harry's left, looking nervous.

"Thank you both for coming, Miss Sefton, Dama Rasputina," he said calmly, slipping into a coarse-sounding accent for the last two words. "You are not in any trouble; I simply wondered if you might recognize this young man, who I'm told attends a very selective boarding school in the North of Britain."

The two girls cast glances at Harry, and the nearer did a double take. The girl farther away, whom Xavier had addressed in another language, simply shook her head. The one closer to Harry was a different story, however. She took in his untidy hair, round glasses, and green eyes, before Harry saw her eyes perform the familiar flick upward to his forehead. She peered at him, apparently trying to see through his hair, and then clapped her hands to her mouth.

"Oh my god, you're Harry Potter!" she gasped.

Harry sighed. By the girl's accent, she was American, but it appeared that not even the ocean could separate him completely from his fame. The second girl now looked mildly interested, but was at least politely looking him in the eye. The one who had recognized him seemed to be squealing quietly behind her hands.

Cyclops, looking from her to Harry, said, "I take it that's the reaction you were expecting when you introduced yourself on the jet?" Harry shrugged and nodded.

"So what's that about?" said Wolverine. "You some kinda teen heartthrob, kid? Guess there's no accounting for taste…" Harry's guffaws cut off the end of Logan's sentence. Him? A heartthrob?

"Would you care to enlighten us, Miss Sefton?" Xavier asked, though he looked amused.

The girl, who was blushing at both Logan's comments and—apparently—Harry's proximity, slowly lowered her hands and repeated in a strangled voice, "He's Harry Potter," as if that explained everything. Which he supposed it did…if you happened to be magical. Did that make this Miss Sefton a witch?

Cyclops opened his mouth, but Xavier merely raised a hand, silencing his protégé. He then nodded encouragingly at the young girl.

"He's…he's like the most famous person!" the blonde continued. "He's done all sorts of amazing things; he's fought evil and saved his school and rescued his friends who were kidnapped and turned to stone and fought dragons and mermen and sphinxes and giant spiders, and do you really have a flying car?" She addressed the last breathless question to Harry, still blushing furiously.

"Er, no," said Harry. "I, er, borrowed that. I think my godfather has a flying motorbike, though."

"Careful, kid, she'll swoon," Logan snarked. The girl shot him a dirty look, then turned back to Xavier.

"Professor, is he going here? Is he a mutant too?" Once again, she turned to address Harry halfway through. "Did something happen that you can't go back to Hogwarts? Are you gonna learn magic here with us instead?"

Harry froze, not due to her naming of Hogwarts, since the name wouldn't mean anything to a muggle, but because of her casual mention of magic. While he certainly didn't know anything about the laws of magical America, he was absolutely certain that the Statute of Secrecy still applied—it was an International standard!

Harry made his eyes widen and said, "Magic? What are you talking about?" He knew it was unconvincing, but didn't know what else he supposed to do. The girl looked hugely confused.

"But…but you're Harry Potter…"

"Yeah, midget, we've established that," Wolverine put in. The girl ignored him.

"So why are you…" then her eyes widened in understanding. She looked back at Xavier and said hurriedly, "If you remember, sir, witches and wizards are bound by law to keep magic a secret from nonmagical people, and I don't think Harry realized that you know about it."

Harry looked hurriedly at Xavier, who smiled. "Yes, indeed, though since I am not familiar with your apparent fame, I also did not wish to divulge that secret. I hope you can forgive our misunderstanding, Mister Potter."

"So he's a magic-user?" Cyclops inquired. Both Xavier and both blonde girls nodded. "And that's why you thought we had made a mistake in picking you up?" he added to Harry.

"Right," said Harry. "So then…Professor Xavier, do you know Professor Dumbledore?"

"Only by reputation," Xavier replied. "I had discussed with Lord Braddock the possibility that we would have to snatch away some British mutants, and he agreed to help smooth things over with both the Queen's government and Merlyn's. I will inform him that Mister Potter is here, and I am certain he will get the message to the right people.

"That being said, I would still like Mister Potter to remain if possible. Magician or not, Cerebro detected emissions of mutant energy from you as well as from your cousin, and I do not think it possible that your cousin alone could have put out enough of a signature to catch the attention of a sentinel. Two strong young mutants in close proximity, however, especially if you were recently in some peril…" He trailed off at the look on Harry's face, and gestured for Harry to explain.

"Dudley and I were attacked by creatures called Dementors," Harry said. "Earlier, or yesterday, or whenever it would have been with the time difference." The girl named Sefton gasped again, and even the other girl looked shocked. Harry ignored them. "I ran them off using magic, and I think Dudley set one on fire. That…must have been his mutant power?"

"And you are certain that you yourself did not feel any different? Nothing has changed about you or your perception of the world?"

"I don't think so, sir."

Xavier was silent for a moment, then said, "Very well, Harry. I think further questions can wait until later. The sun has gone down, which means for you it must feel very late indeed. Miss Sefton, if you would show Mister Potter to the guest suite across the hall, and to the kitchen?"

The girl bounded to her feet, nodding eagerly, and Harry suppressed a sigh. She reminded him a little of how Ginny used to be, or Colin Creevey: overwhelmed by the reputation of the Boy-Who-Lived, and unable to see how uncomfortable Harry was with his fame. Still, those two had learned, and Harry thought of both of them as friends—hopefully it would be the same with this girl.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him away, still blushing and ignoring Wolverine's chuckles. She showed him to a door stained in warm chestnut tones down the hallway on the opposite side, and pushed it open to reveal a spacious bedroom with a four-poster bed and attached bathroom.

"Here's where you'll stay for now," she said. "It's way nicer than the dorms upstairs, but you're like a guest of honor, so that's no surprise! My name's Amanda Sefton, by the way. Are you hungry?"

Harry, who had eaten nothing that day but a cheese sandwich at lunchtime and a mouthful of chocolate after his run-in with the Dementors, nodded.

"C'mon, the kitchen is this way!" She again grabbed his hand and led him back down the way he had come with Dazzler, across the entrance parlor and into the East wing, chattering all the while. "The Professor's study and our classrooms are over here in the West wing. That's the central staircase that leads up to the dorms. Over there is the rec room where people hang out if they're not in the commons upstairs or if they want Wolverine or Gambit to hustle them at pool. We have a big dining room here even though usually it's not that full. The kitchen's this way; sounds like there's some people in there. Not that weird, since a whole bunch of people just got back from picking you up."

Harry's head whirled as he tried to keep everything she told him straight, his feet following her automatically toward the kitchen, and wondering what was going on elsewhere.

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all tugged at the long, flesh-coloured strings they had been holding to their ears. The twins' prototype Extendable Ears coiled themselves neatly, having quickly retreated from the door downstairs where the emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix was breaking up. Fortunately, in their haste to discuss the matter of Harry, the Order had forgotten to place their usual Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.

The five of them returned to Ron's guest bedroom and arranged themselves on the two beds to discuss what they had overheard while eavesdropping, and Fred quickly dealt a hand of Exploding Snap, so that they could pretend to be absorbed in the game if they were checked on.

"So," George said in a low voice. "Even Dumbledore still doesn't know where Harry is, and Lupin can't get the Dursleys to talk to him."

"At least Snape says You-Know-Who is just as confused as we are," said Ginny.

"And if the Death Eaters knew anything, he'd tell Dumbledore right away," Hermione agreed.

"We hope," grumbled Ron. Ginny scowled and flicked one of her cards at him. He tried to catch it, but it ignited, sending the rest of the cards in his hand up in flames as well, and leaving him to suck on his burnt fingers.

"Don't say that," said Hermione.

"Still, George's point stands," said Fred. "I'm worried. Didn't you hear Moody's report? He and Kingsley finally got out there, and Moody says that the damage to the house and the street is textbook for a giant attack."

"There's no sign of approach or escape, though, and even You-Know-Who can't apparate a giant," George countered. "Dumbledore says there's no evidence of any spells being cast except Harry's Hover Charm."

"He must have flown away," said Ron for the umpteenth time. "There's no other way for him to have just up and disappeared with no trace."

"Without his broom, Ronniekins?" Fred asked skeptically, pointing to the corner of the room, where Harry's Firebolt stood next to his fully-packed trunk. Both had been retrieved during Dumbledore's last inspection of Privet Drive.

"He could have had another one!" Ron insisted. "Firebolts are all limited, so they're all registered. That one's definitely Harry's by the serial number, but he could have nicked one from the school broom shed or bought a cheap one to throw people off the scent when he flew away under the Cloak."

Harry's invisibility cloak had become public knowledge among the five of them when they started eavesdropping, and they clung to the fact that he had it because it meant he wouldn't be defenseless, wherever he was.

Ron's broomstick idea was nothing new, but it was the only viable possibility any of them could come up with, other than Sirius' mysterious-trusted-apparator hypothesis. Neither guess explained where Harry's cousin had gone or why, but nobody seemed very concerned about that except for Hermione, who was quite certain that Harry's hearing at the Ministry—assuming he was able to attend it—would include a charge of kidnapping a muggle. Not that the Ministry had ever cared before, she griped, but it would be quite within their current act.

She was surprised there hadn't been anything in the Daily Prophet, though she supposed the newspaper had not yet got to the point where they were willing to highlight the Ministry's own incompetence just to get a jab at Harry. Particularly when they were already doing so several time a week. Ugh.

Wherever Harry was, she hoped he wouldn't have to deal with as much negative press, at least.

"I don't like it," Wolverine growled as the door closed behind Illyana Rasputin, who had done her best to summarize Harry Potter's known adventures to date. "Caught in the lie or not, the kid tried to hide that he's bein' targeted by a madman. He's in the middle of a damn war, and he says with a straight face that he ain't gonna attract trouble? I know trouble, Chuck, and I c'n tell that kid's a magnet for it."

"All the more reason for us to offer him what help we can, Logan," Xavier replied. "Mister Potter is guilty of nothing more than trying to uphold his own society's laws. Given the worries that were dancing around his mind, concerning what seems to be a rather unjust government, I should think that the X-Men would be entirely sympathetic."

Wolverine merely scoffed at this pointed reply, but Cyclops looked decidedly uncomfortable. "You're not suggesting we stand against this Ministry of Magic, are you, Professor? Noble as it is to help those in need, we already have a cause to champion, and nigh-insurmountable obstacles of our own."

"I intend nothing of the sort at this time," Xavier said firmly. "Harry is a guest here, and will be treated as such until he decides to leave us or to stay on a student. I am hopeful that he will choose the latter, as it will allow us to study his development more closely. You see, while his scans from Cerebro did indicate that he was able to access an outside energy source—that being his magical power—in addition to his own distinctive mutant energy signature, there were also further readings that I still do not understand…from both Mister Potter and Mister Dursley."

"You were aware he was a magic-user all along, Professor?" Scott asked, surprised.

"I…suspected, yes," Xavier admitted. "I kept this to myself for several reasons. Primarily, my suspicions were mere guesswork. Beyond that…I have had no opportunity to scan for pure magic-users with Cerebro, which is obviously fine-tuned to seek out mutants. Our own handful of magic-users are themselves difficult to pinpoint with Cerebro, because high concentrations of magic appear to have a deleterious effect on electrical systems. Were it not for his proximity to Mister Dursley, I doubt we would have detected Mister Potter at all.

"Finally, I kept my silence about magic because I wished to see what Mister Potter's reaction would be, if gently pressed. I found him to be a shrewd young man, unfailingly polite and often wronged. He shows signs of a neglected, if not abusive past, but holds no grudges against the frankly anti-magical people who raised him—only a deep-seated wish to be free of them. He shows signs of both a talent for teaching and a liking for defending those around him, a willingness to work for what he perceives as the greater good, and a truly astounding courage that has led him to face all the dangers Miss Rasputina mentioned and more. Truly, if I was not certain his loyalty was placed elsewhere, I would recommend he be put in training as an X-Cadet based on his personality profile alone."

Cyclops sighed, staring at the door Potter had exited by and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Should we test him secretly like the rest, Professor?"

"I think not, Scott," Xavier replied. "I believe that where this particular young man is concerned, we will get the best results simply by asking, rather than by trying to manipulate him. You can do so when he awakens tomorrow."

"I understand, sir," said Scott, drawing himself up once more. Even Logan nodded grudgingly. Then, his voice growing concerned, Scott added, "It's late, Professor…"

"Yes, indeed. Goodnight, Scott, Logan."

"G'night Chuck," Wolverine said, crossing to the window, opening it, and vaulting out into the night to light his cigar at last.

Rolling his eyes behind his ruby quartz glasses, Cyclops shut the window behind his teammate. "Good night, Professor."

Harry entered the kitchen behind Amanda, and found Dazzler and Jean Grey sitting with another girl around Harry's age.

"Hiya Alison, Betsy, Ms Grey!" chirped the excitable blonde. "Is there anything good left to eat?"

"Just some TV dinners," said Dazzler, gesturing at the plastic tray in front of her. "So no, nothing good left. Seriously, I don't know why we buy these things."

"Wolverine buys them," Jean replied. "He doesn't exactly have to worry about his cholesterol or sodium intake, you see?" All the women chuckled at this. Harry, who didn't get the joke, just smiled awkwardly.

When Amanda turned to him, he said, in answer to her unasked question, "I'm not picky. I can even make something if it's not any trouble."

"No trouble at all, Harry," Jean assured him. "We've got some eggs and bread at least, since our weekly grocery run is, unfortunately, tomorrow. On which note, I think I will say goodnight."

As they all said goodbye, Amanda showed Harry where to find a frying pan, and he was soon frying up what Mrs Weasley called 'Eggy In A Basket'. As he worked, he studiously tried to ignore the three young women at the table who were blatantly gossiping about him. Given his past at Hogwarts, this wasn't exactly a new experience for Harry, though the fact that the almost-whispers seemed generally positive was a plus.

"He's so modest!" giggled Amanda. "And his accent is even cuter than I'd imagined—cuter than Betsy's for sure."

"An' what's that mean, luv?" asked the girl Harry hadn't met, Betsy. Her accent was upper-crust London, Harry thought. Not that different from some of the Dursley's neighbors on Privet Drive. "Should your boyfriend be jealous of him, or me?" She tossed her long, curly, black hair and smirked at Amanda, who was blushing again.

Dazzler snorted. She had thrown her midriff jacket over the back of the chair she was sitting on, leaving her in a high-necked halter top made of the same heavy leather and other dark grey material that the others had worn on the jet. It had a sunburst design on the front, done in yellow, which was replicated on the thighs of her equally-dark combat pants. She also wore a black headband in her short, dark red hair. As he slid his food onto a plate he had found in a nearby cabinet, Harry reflected that the getup would probably make for poor stealth. But then, since she could apparently shoot pink energy blasts from her fingertips, perhaps she wasn't concerned about that.

As the three were plainly distracted by their chat, Harry bolted the food standing at the kitchen island, quickly cleaned the utensils he had dirtied, and quietly slipped out of the kitchen. Glancing back, he saw Dazzler tip him a wink over Amanda's shoulder. He grinned back at her, waved goodnight, and returned to the guest room he had been shown.

Closing the door behind him and sitting down on the bed, he contemplated what tomorrow would likely bring. If at all possible, he needed to find a way to make contact with Dumbledore. He would have to ask Amanda if she knew of any transoceanic magical communications. Or perhaps Professor Xavier would have an idea. Sighing, Harry got undressed and climbed into bed, grateful that his guest bed was a four-poster, which made him feel a little more at home. Slipping his wand under his pillow, and collapsing bonelessly on top of it, Harry fell asleep almost at once.

A/N: Yeah, I'm basically pulling Xavier from the movies and no one else. It's not that important, but my own conception of the X-Men is basically based around taking the good qualities from every depiction and blending them with my own understanding of the characters.

Xavier politely addresses Illyana as "Дама Распутина", which would mean something like "Lady Rasputin", accounting for the feminine version of her last name. At least, I think it would be polite: any russophones who want to correct me, feel free.

Fred and George do not and will not use "twin-speak" to finish each other's sentences because they never ever do that in canon.

I am also officially declaring this alternate reality to be Earth-62442.