I don't own Harry Potter or the X-men!end/AN/

Harry stared at his palms. He knew it was his eleventh birthday today, but he also knew it was just another birthday. Sometimes, he pretended he got cake. Another fantasy involving sugar, of course: he'd always felt his mouth water for the many desserts that Uncle Vernon and Dudley ate, Aunt Petunia getting a small slice of cake or pie because she had to watch her figure.

His bed filled his room, the closet, really, even though Dudley had his bedroom, his toy room, where all his old toys sat alone and were not allowed to be played with by Harry, and then the video game room, where he played bloody games where he tore people in half or ran them over with his car. Harry was usually shooed out of the room by Dudley when he was playing his video games, but Harry still remembered the happy game he'd seen when Dudley was younger: Animal Crossing.

Harry had sneaked in three times to play this game, making his own little happy boy figure and just collecting everything he could. He enjoyed talking to the villagers and doing errands for them. When Dudley had found out, he'd told his parents, and Harry had been shut in his room for the weekend, his only solace a cup of milk and a bowl of cereal for all his meals.

Now, he was seated with his cup of milk and bowl of cereal. This was for the doughnut incident, of course, not the game ages ago. Though, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were the type to punish without evidence and then say, "Well, we might've missed something bad you did anyway."

The milk was skim. Harry drank half of it, then poured the rest on the cereal. It was normal Cheerios, not the sugary cereals that Dudley had.

Still, he ate it. He imagined he was at school, like Dudley; he wasn't allowed to go to school, instead being homeschooled. Of course, this just meant being left alone with textbooks and told to learn.

He always scored well on the tests they did every year, though, because he wanted to know. He wanted to be able to do math, and he wanted to know about history and he wanted to know about science. He also liked his curly cursive, something he'd been perfecting on his walls in the closet. The curly letters spelled out all kinds of things, from his name to things he thought would be interesting to write. Bubblegum. Cupcake. Elephant. Splendorous.

He liked to think he would go to school someday. He didn't know anyone besides the random neighbor kids who sometimes stopped over to play with Dudley. They usually didn't come back much, finding Dudley very boring to play with.

Today, he was imagining walking down a hallway, with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack. This had been the obsession he'd had for a while, when Dudley was on a TMNT binge.

His favorite was Leonardo, because he liked the color blue.

Today, he wrote the word, in his curly cursive, 'Birthday.' Then he wrote, 'Happy' and then 'Eleven.'

He wished something would happen for his birthday tomorrow, but he knew nothing would. Things just did not happen to him unless they were bad.

His door abruptly flew open as he felt a wave of sorrow, slamming the handle into the wall. He wasn't sure why it did it at all.

"Harry!" Aunt Petunia shouted in a tremulous voice. "Stop that right now!"

"I didn't do anything," Harry protested, not for the first time.

"You stop it, Harry. You are being bad, stop now." Aunt Petunia stood over him, having been in the kitchen washing dishes. Sometimes she did that herself.

Harry's ears burned. He didn't like being rebuked, especially when he didn't understand why. "Okay. I'll just stop doing nothing."

Aunt Petunia face got more pinched. "Vernon! Harry's giving me lip again!"

Uncle Vernon lumbered down the stairs, a sour expression on his bloated face. "Harry Potter, you stop being disrespectful and rebellious to your aunt."

"Yes, sir. I will go right back to doing nothing." Harry turned over on his bed, considering this dealt with.

He could imagine Uncle Vernon's purpling face as he heard the telltale hiss of breath. He turned back over, sure that he would be dressed down for this, but that was when there was the sound of the doorbell.

Aunt Petunia said tightly, "I'll get that." She headed over to the front door, and swung it open.

"Hello," came the unfamiliar voice, "My name is Professor Charles Xavier, and I'm here to see your nephew."

Harry was shocked to hear that. He started to poke his head out, but Uncle Vernon pushed it back in.

"I'm-I'm terribly sorry, but we've got no nephew," Aunt Petunia stammered.

"A boy by the name of Harry Potter," Xavier said certainly. "Yes, your nephew."

"No one by that name lives here," Uncle Vernon said, shutting the closet door. Before he'd shut it, Harry had noticed beads of sweat starting to break out on his brow.

Muffled, the conversation continued. "No, I'm quite certain that you have a nephew here. It was agreed upon by his parents that he should enter the academy by eleven years of age; they put down enough money to cover his education, since he was showing signs so early."

'I wish he could hear me,' Harry thought, liking the professor already.

I can hear you. Don't panic, this is the Professor. Please open your closet door and come out.

Harry startled, but somehow, he knew this was all right. Someone had come here to see him, and it was his instinct to trust him. He swung open the door just as Uncle Vernon insisted,

"Well, I know nothing about that!"

"I'm here!" Harry shouted, a bit dramatic, but it was the first time someone had come to see him, and he was excited.

Professor Charles Xavier was in a wheelchair. He smiled at Harry, saying, "Hello, Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you."

A tough-looking short man standing next to Xavier didn't smile. He was glaring at Uncle Vernon, who was sweating profusely.

"Am I going to go to a school now?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"No!" Uncle Vernon snapped. "We can't afford that!"

"All of it's paid for," Xavier said calmly. "It was his parents' wish that he attend Xavier's School for Gifted Children. Surely you can't deny his parents this when they've already paid for it?"

Harry grinned, sure he was going to go there. At that, a lamp smashed into a wall.

He cringed, expecting to be in trouble, but neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia said anything, mute.

The hairy man growled, "Look at the kid, Xavier."

"I know, Logan," Xavier sighed. He looked over at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia with a serious look on his face. "If you don't want your treatment of Harry to become widely known, I would suggest you allow him to pack his bags."

Both paled. Harry didn't know what Xavier meant, but he waited eagerly for them to say yes.

"Uh... I mean, I guess that would be all right," Aunt Petunia said weakly.

Harry whooped, and ran to grab his few clothes and his tattered baby yellow teddy bear. He had it all in his arms within seconds, and came to rejoin Logan and Xavier.

Logan looked darkly. "Is that all you have?"

"It's everything! Where are we going? Is it a real school?"

Xavier smiled gently at Harry. "Harry, it's a school for the gifted. When you were born, you were born with a special gift inside you. Other people, like myself and Mr. Logan, have a gift too. Our school will help you with your gift."

Harry stared blankly. "Gift? I don't have a gift."

"You're a telekinetic mutant, kid," Logan said bluntly.

It didn't even occur to Harry to be upset he was a mutant. It didn't even occur to him to question what a telekinetic was.

He had a gift. He had value. And he would be darned if he was going to stay here.

/AN/ This may be much longer than I planned. And also, sorry about taking like a year or more to do this. I doubt anyone's still interested, but I wanted to update anyway. If there's still interest, I may put up the third chapter, but if not, I'll probably leave it be.