Logan had stopped thinking about Dumbledore's announcement a long time ago. He was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling and counting the nonexistent pens stuck in it. He often liked to pass the time this way at the Institute, because the only way to vent his anger in a nonvisible way was to, sometimes, stab the ceiling with pens the place never-seemed-to-run-out-of. Suffice to say, whenever he thought about his lost past, this usually happened. Now he thought about it, it happened a lot. At that moment, he wished there were pens in his room, because he was thinking about his past now. It frustrated him to no end: he couldn't remember anything and what he could wasn't happy nor clear. He did remember the vial the Snape had given him: the one with the memory-restorative potion. He sat up and saw his discarded robes on the chair by the window, and decided that the quickest way to get it was to use his wand, thereby also getting some practice with it. Grumbling and rubbing his head fifteen minutes later, he finally managed to get the vial out of his pocket and within close proximity of his hand. He just stretched the remaining three feet: no use injuring himself further. The liquid was clear-or was it blue? – and looked as if it were boiling, though the vial was quite cool. He was still not sure whether to drink it straight up or in something. He finally decided with the first option, and hoping it wouldn't kill him, drank it all. He closed his eyes for a minute, keeping his dinner down while swallowing the disgusting concoction. After a few seconds, he deduced that he had finally found something that tasted worse than the "muffins" Kitty had baked. He'd opened his eyes again, but the sudden rush of memories that hit him made him close them again. Vaguely, in the flood of images, he remembered something about being allowed to use a "Pensieve" to sort out his newly restored memories. So, not the first time and certainly not the last, he disregarded the time and went in search of the person who could provide him this "Pensieve."
"They need a map or something. This is getting old," Logan was lost, again. He'd been aiming for Dumbledore's office, but had ended up, twice, in front of an empty Great Hall. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was reminded, a little embarrassed, that he was still in his pajamas: a white no-sleeve t-shirt and light greenish-grey sweatpants. He really hadn't thought this through as much as he would have liked to think he did. His night- or rather morning – was made one step worse by the arrival of Filch's stupid cat, Mrs. Norris, who looked at him as if he was doing something wrong. "I'm allowed to be up!" he found himself yelling at her; she meowed and walked away, presumably to find her irritating master, who Logan wasn't too keen on seeing at the moment. He wasn't halfway up a staircase when it started moving, catching him off guard and causing him to sink his claws into the banister. "Oooo vandalizing the stairs are we? We'll see what the headmaster has to say about that." The staircase had exhausted its moving and Logan looked up. At first he saw nothing, but appearing in a very Cheshire-Cat like way, a little man sat floating above him, grinning hugely. The man was dressed in loud, unusual clothes, complete with a bell-covered hat and an orange bow tie. He had black hair and was smiling at Logan like he'd just won the lottery. "What do you want?" Logan growled. The man tittered, "Oh not nice is we? Well then I think I'll have to tell the headmaster. Oh positively." Logan rolled his eyes and continued up the stairs, but found his thoughts again interrupted by the infuriating little man. He was now floating upside down. "What are we doing out of bed? I should call Filch I should. Student out of bed-" "I'm not a student bub," Logan continued up the stairs, this time making it to the landing, "And what are you?" Normally he would have thought this question rude but he didn't this time: the little man really was infuriating. "Peeves the poltergeist, at your service," Peeves said mockingly. Logan gave a small sigh: a poltergeist? He'd never leave. "I'm a teacher bub, so watch what you say." Unfortunately, as Logan learned later, Peeves didn't care who you were. The only ones he respected were The Bloody Baron (a ghost of Slytherin) and Dumbledore. Peeves cackled, "A professor huh? Well, let me give you a proper greeting!" Seemingly from nowhere, Peeves pulled out several ink bottles and proceeded to empty them on Logan's head. Logan swung wide, his claws barely missing Peeves who just cackled again and zoomed away shouting, "Cranky Claws! Cranky Claws!" Logan groaned and wiped the ink dripping off his face: he would never hear the end of this.
Light was beginning to pour in the windows and Logan decided to ask about the Pensieve later. He made his way slowly back to his room, still wiping ink off his face and muttering under his breath. He was delayed again, but he wasn't lost this time: he walked into someone. "Sorry," he muttered, hoping it wasn't Filch because although he was irritated he didn't think that was a sufficient reason for cutting someone to shreds. Luckily, or perhaps not, it was McGonagall. She was wearing a tartan dressing gown, holding her lit-up wand in her hand. She raised an eyebrow: "What in the name of Merlin happened to you?" Logan took the towel she'd conjured up, wiping the ever present ink off his hair and face. "That poltergeist-" "Peeves?" Logan nodded and McGonagall gave an exasperated sigh, "He came with the castle." Logan was puzzled but assumed that meant he'd been here forever and wasn't leaving. McGonagall conjured up another towel and handed it to him, "I suggest you get cleaned up," she pointed to the window, "It's almost morning. Now if you'll excuse me." She pat his shoulder and walked briskly down the hall and around the corner. When Logan did find his way back to his room, he was tired and really just wanted to catch up on the sleep he hadn't gotten, but his head was too filled with recovered memories and ink was still dripping down his face. He sighed and headed to the bath: it wasn't the first time he'd lost a whole night's sleep.
Kitty was practically bouncing in her seat she was so excited. Dumbledore's announcement was all that was on her mind; that, and flying lessons this Wednesday. It was only Monday, and the first day of lessons. Sunday had really just been a day to help the first years familiarize themselves with the school, something the new professors were happy to have had as well. Kitty had finished eating ten minutes ago, and was reading one of her Charms books but was too excited to really concentrate. Finally, Dumbledore finished eating, the food disappeared, and he stood up arms spread wide and waiting for attention. It didn't take long and everyone turned to look at him: "This Wednesday, the first years will have their first flying lesson. The time will be noted on your message boards. Also, our first Quidditch match of the season is coming up in November, and you should see your team captain for the trial dates however first years be aware that you are not allowed to try out. Speaking of the Quidditch match, it seems our commentator from last year has graduated and therefore, we need a new one. If you're interested, please see your head of house for details. Now, off you go! You don't want to be late for your first lesson!" Logan stood up along with everyone else, "Yeah, I don't want to be late but somehow, that keeps happening." He exited the Great Hall, focusing on not getting lost, and spotted someone he thought he knew. "X-23," he said it louder than he thought he had, and the girl whipped her brown hair around, her green eyes narrowing as she scanned the oppositely moving crowd. Their eyes locked, and the glint of metal in between her knuckles disappeared as her suspicion went out the window, her eyes widening in surprise. She pushed against the thinning crowd, running the extra couple of feet to Logan. She stared up at him, the suspicion back, but there was no hiding her apparent pleasure at him being there. He stared back, trying to figure out how he hadn't seen her until now: she wasn't a first year, he didn't hear her name called, though now he thought of it "X-23" could hardly be what they called her. She tilted her head to the side and smirked, "Didn't think I'd ever see you again." He snorted, "Didn't think you'd be the type to come to a school like, this." He motioned around them and she laughed. Before they could continue their conversation, Filch and his cat swept up behind them, scowling and muttering, "Standing around in the halls, just cleaned 'em, never a thank you-" X-23 rolled her eyes, "Can it." Mrs. Norris hissed, arching her back and letting out a low growl. X-23 stuck her tongue out at her, the claw in her right foot shooting out to poke the cat, scaring her and causing her to streak down the hallway, Filch following and complaining about disrespect to his cat. She rolled her eyes again, "I hate that cat. And him," she added thoughtfully. Logan put a hand on her head, ruffling her hair slightly, "Sure are my clone." She smirked and started up the stairs, "I have Transfiguration now so-" Logan caught up to her, cutting her off, "Do you know how to get to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom?"
It was only the second day, and Logan had, miraculously, arrived late to his class, again, although this time he was teaching. And unlike last time, it wasn't because he was lost, he was sidetracked: it wasn't every day you found your clone you thought was gone. When he entered he found several students, including Kitty, Kurt, and Jean, staring at him in bewilderment. He walked to the front of the room and turned to face them, "So I'm late. So what?" he snapped. No one said anything and he continued, his tone a little softer, "Now I don't want to hear any of this 'Professor' stuff; call me Logan or Mr. Logan. So, Defense Against the Dark Arts. To be honest, I don't really know what it is you're really defending against, and I don't see why you can't just punch them in the gut but I'm going to teach you this stuff anyway. First, who here has heard of Pixies?" The lesson went fairly well, and Logan managed to make the lesson somewhat interesting, and seemed to have earned a good spot with the students when it came time for homework. "Well it says here that giving you homework is a good way to get you to remember the stuff," he said as he read the advice McGonagall had written for him, "But then again why assign something I don't want to grade?" There was a cheer from the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and then the bell rang, signaling the start of second period. This isn't so hard, he thought. At the end of the lesson, Logan felt he might have been able to teach them something. Which was reassuring; sort of. He'd also had time to check his second year roster, and confirmed his belief that X-23 was going by the name her 'mother' had given her: Laura Kinney.
If Kitty didn't get to her flying lesson soon she was going to explode. Not that she was late, no Kitty was still at breakfast and classes hadn't even started on Wednesday, but she was so eager to go she couldn't eat. Kurt looked up from his over filled plate, " Ki'y 'ou nee' to ea'" Kitty turned her attention to him, "Eww Kurt don't talk with your mouth full that's disgusting!" Kurt swallowed, "Sorry Kitty. I said you need to eat." Kitty shook her head, "I'm too excited to eat you know? I mean we get to fly today!" Kurt looked down at his plate full of food, hungrily, "No. I don't know." Kitty rolled her eyes: all Kurt had on his mind now was food. She turned in her seat, I could go talk to Rogue, or Scott, or Jean. Her eyes glanced to the staff table, or…..
Logan had asked Hagrid to pass the sausages at least five times and he hadn't. They weren't that far out of his reach to begin with but if he just casually snagged one with his claw… He glanced at Storm next to him: if she saw him he was done for. Luckily, she wasn't paying attention. Perfect, he reached forward and speared one of the sausages with his claw and was just pulling his hand back when someone said his name. "Hey Mr. Logan. Aren't you excited for flying lessons? I am. Do you get to fly? Are you gonna watch us?" He turned to the source of the voice and found Kitty's head sitting on his plate; or rather through it. He jumped backwards, startled and not only fell out of his chair, spilling pumpkin juice on himself, but Storm saw him. "Logan!" she hissed, "Put. Your. Claws. Away!" he retracted them, still on the ground, and sat up, well aware that several kids were staring at him. "What are they staring at me for. I'm not the one with my head in a plate," he grumbled. Kitty had slid out of the table and was now sitting on his chair. "Sorry Mr. Logan. So anyway aren't you excited for the flying lessons today?" Logan sighed, "If I say yes will you leave?" he growled. Before Kitty could reply, the bell rang and she hopped of his chair. "Gotta run! See you at the flying lessons!" He watched her go, along with the last few minutes he'd had to eat breakfast.
Rogue was sitting at the Gryffindor table, giggling as Logan picked himself up and wiped the pumpkin juice off his face. Scott, who was next to her, stood up, "You coming Rogue?" She stood up, following him out of the Great Hall. "Yeh, what class do we have now?" Scott looked at his timetable, "I have Potions." Rogue looked at her own timetable, "Yeh me too, with the Hufflepuffs. That means we'll be with Kitty and Kurt." Scott nodded and they made their way down to the dark dungeons that held the Potions classroom. Kurt and Kitty were already there, talking excitedly. The room was buzzing with excitement, until the professor entered. Rogue had seen pretty clearly that Logan hadn't been fond of Professor Snape, and after Monday, she'd known why. He scowled and narrowed his eyes as he spoke to them, yelling at Kitty for taking notes and bringing her close to tears. (If it hadn't been for the fact that she didn't want the greasy-haired professor's memories or traits in her, she would have knocked him out cold.) Rogue's first impression of him hadn't improved as the lesson wore on, and after checking her timetable twice, couldn't have been happier when the last five minutes rolled around. Today, Wednesday, was no better. He had them copy notes, and made a show of telling Kitty that now she could copy notes and making Rogue dislike him even more. At least she had Ororo next: a familiar face would be nice, even if that face was teaching you and would probably assign homework.
Logan was on his way to lunch, and then to the flying lessons, when Professor Snape stopped him in the hallway. "The headmaster requests your presence." Logan pushed past him, "Sorry Thor I'm on my way to lunch." Snape had turned a sickly color when Logan called him Thor, presuming it as an insult. (Which, coming from Logan, it probably was.) He stepped in front of Logan again, blocking his path. Logan rolled his eyes, "I'll get there in my own good time bub." Snape glared at him, "He asks that you come now." Logan snarled but refrained from tearing him to shreds. "Fine."
Although Logan had agreed to go to the headmaster, he had planned on turning the corner and continuing to the Great Hall. He had not planned on Snape stalking, he would have called it escorting, him to the headmaster's office. He glanced at the gargoyle standing guard before leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Snape scowled, the only facial expression he knows how to make Logan thought, and waved to the gargoyle. "Well?" Logan raised an eyebrow, "What?" Snape narrowed his eyes, "Are you going to go in?" he snapped. Logan shrugged, "Don't know the password." He could see Snape clench his jaw, "Lemon drops," he hissed. The gargoyle leapt aside, exposing the spiral staircase beyond. Logan pushed off the wall and climbed the stairs, irritatingly aware that Snape followed him, yet again. He knocked and entered, barely stopping himself from slamming the door in Snape's face. Dumbledore didn't look up from what he was writing but waved his hand twice, conjuring up two plush armchairs. Logan sank into one of them, smirking as he watched Snape almost painfully follow suit. "Well, if it isn't that good for nothing great-great-grandson of mine." Logan looked up at the source of the voice: a painting of a clever looking man with black hair, dark eyes, a pointed beard and thin eyebrows. He wore silver and green robes and Logan assumed that meant he was from Slytherin. The man scowled at him, "You lousy piece of Black. I-" "Phineas I would ask you not to insult our guest," Dumbledore said, still not looking up. Phineas sniffed, "His existence is an insult. When I was headmaster-" "Phineas you should know that Sirius is in Azkaban." Logan glanced to the portrait of the old headmaster whose eyes had widened. "What's Azkaban?" Phineas scoffed, "Don't know what Azkaban is? Bet you're a mudblood aren't you? Of course you wouldn't know." The lady next to Phineas gasped, "Phineas how dare you use that word!" She turned to Logan and smiled kindly, "Azkaban is the magic prison for terrible witches and wizards." Logan raised an eyebrow, "And what did this Sirius do to get himself in there?" The witch in the portrait, Dilys Derwent, sighed, "He was such a good student! A troublemaker yes but we didn't think he was capable of doing something so terrible!" Another portrait, Armondo Dippet, nodded. "But what did he do?" Logan asked again. Dippet gulped, "He blasted an entire street apart! It-it killed twelve muggles and Sirius' own friend, Peter Pettigrew!" "And if that wasn't enough he betrayed Lily and James Potter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Dilys Derwent added, slightly teary-eyed. Logan nodded: murder tended to get you imprisoned. Dumbledore finally looked up, aware of the drastic change in conversation as well as Snape's increasingly paling expression. This didn't go unnoticed by Logan either. He was aware that not only was Snape clenching his jaw, but if he gripped the chair any harder he was going to break it. Logan cleared his throat, interrupting Phineas and Armando's argument, and looked to Dumbledore. "You wanted to see me?" Dumbledore, who'd been watching their argument with slight amusement, turned to him, "Yes I did Logan. You took the potion that Severus made?" Logan nodded and Dumbledore continued, "I apologize that you were not able to use the Pensieve to review your memories, but perhaps it would be better if you worked with Severus on unlocking concealed memories, as well as use the Pensieve." Snape had turned the sickly color of sour milk again, and was clutching the arms of the chair with anger. "Professor Dumbledore I apologize but I can't help Mr. Howlett. I have much to deal with at the moment." Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes hardened slightly as he turned his gaze to Snape. "I believe you have much on your plate, but surely you can remove some to accommodate him? Perhaps Miss Kinney can serve detention with another teacher?" Logan smirked slightly: what could she have done to get detention? Snape stood up rather swiftly and made his way to the door. Upon reaching it he turned, "Saturday, 3pm. Don't be late." He swept out the door, closing it with a slight bang.
Logan, muttering to himself, turned back to Dumbledore. "I'll take as much time as I need." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again and Phineas, taking advantage of the quiet, started berating Logan again. "When I was headmaster we never let professors who knew nothing of their subjects teach. And at least they could use wands! It's no wonder I thought you were my good for nothing great-great-grandson! And look where he is: prison! Wouldn't be surprised if you've been there, you look the type-" Dumbledore sighed, "Phineas if you can't hold your tongue I'll have to ask you to go to your other portrait." Phineas sniffed and exited his painting, grumbling heatedly, but instead of appearing in another headmaster's portrait he was gone. "Where'd he go?" Logan asked. Dumbledore looked back at him, "To his other portrait in Grimmauld Place. You'll have to excuse him, he tends to be rather negative towards those not in his house." Logan nodded but didn't comment. Dumbledore stood up and made his way to the cabinet emitting the faint blue light. He opened it to reveal a stone basin with intricate carvings around the sides. He reached forward and pulled a shallow silver bowl out of the top and carried it back to the desk where he set it down, where it hovered above the desk. Wispy, smoke-like substance floated in what appeared to be water, emitting the light. Dumbledore motioned to them, "These are memories. Focus on the one memory that is the most jumbled." Logan did so and Dumbledore nodded, "Now hold your wand to your temple." Logan did as he was told (for once) and as he removed the tip of his wand, a wispy smoke-like substance dangled from the end of it before floating, like a feather, down to join the others. Curious, he prodded it with his wand and watched as it expanded. He looked to Dumbledore, who motioned him forward. Unsure what to expect, Logan held his breath before plunging his head into the liquid. When he opened his eyes, he was standing on a dirt road leading to a brick house. A scream came from inside, followed by a gunshot. Logan ran towards the door as it burst open, two young boys running down the steps and towards him. When they reached him they didn't stop but ran into him, or rather through him. He followed and heard snatches of their conversation, mostly about staying together, until they stopped. He watched perplexed as to how they didn't see him. The younger one looked to the older, "Victor I didn't mean it!" The older one narrowed his eyes, "Yes you did, and he deserved it. And you gave it to him." Victor put his hands on the younger's shoulders, "We're brothers Jimmy, do you realize that?" Logan took a step towards the boys, only to have them disappear as the scene dissolved into another. It looked like a type of civil war reenactment, though the weapons and blood were very real. A cannon passed through him and hit the man behind him, who stood up and threw it back at the one who'd shot it. Logan thought he looked vaguely familiar. Another cannon was fired and the man ducked, dissolving into another war. Scene after scene flashed in front of Logan's eyes: World War I, World War II, Vietnam War, all with the same man that was hit with the cannon, along with another, Victor. World War II was the clearest as it involved his time with Captain America, but he didn't really make the connection until the Vietnam War. Victor was attacking his fellow soldiers while the other man tried to stop him. The soldiers turned on them both and the man stuck his fist next to his head, bone claws sliding out from in between his knuckles. Logan watched, transfixed as Victor (Sabertooth), his brother, took joy in killing those around him. As he, Logan, defended Victor from the others, and finally, as they were both tied to posts and shot twenty-one times for treason only to be placed in a cell later, completely unscathed. The picture dissolved into black and Logan presumed it was done, until a familiar scene came to life around him. It was a laboratory of sorts with a large tank in the center where he, Logan, was sedated and immersed in. A breathing mask was attached to his mouth and nose, while many tubes where attached to his arms, legs, chest, and back. A man entered the room and glanced over Logan, before flipping a switch and pressing a series of buttons. Logan watched in horror as the nightmare he often woke from played out, uninterrupted, before his eyes. The Logan in the tank jerked and thrashed in the water as the monitor next to the man showed silver fluid enter his body and coat his bones. The man pressed another button and the captive Logan stopped thrashing as the last of the adamantium coated his bones. He turned to an unseen person, "Well done. Your experiment has worked. Weapon X is officially online." For one of the first times in his life, Logan was horrified: the man before him, the one who had made him what he was, was someone he had only recently seen the face of. The scene ended and Logan fell backwards gasping, onto the floor of Dumbledore's office.