Charles, at his customary position at the lectern, was a portrait of serenity and sagacity. His deep, resonant voice flowed like a gentle river through the classroom, navigating the students through the complex web of ethical implications and empathetic challenges of mutant-human dynamics.

In the midst of this thoughtful discourse, a subtle shift in the room's energy hinted at an unexpected development. A faint disturbance of cool air, a muffled creak of the aged classroom door, and suddenly, all eyes were drawn to the entrance.

A towering figure entered, trying his best to meld with the shadows at the room's periphery. The man was tall, imposing, his bulk wrapped in a casual ensemble of distressed jeans and a battered leather jacket. His demeanor was at odds with the scholarly ambiance, his presence carrying an undercurrent of tension and secrecy.

His entrance into the room elicited a moment of silence, a ripple of anticipation and curiosity washing over the students. He was an unfamiliar face, an outsider to their academic haven, but his very physique suggested an intriguing backstory.

Charles, momentarily pausing his lecture, pivoted his wheelchair to face the newcomer. His face softened into a welcoming smile, his eyes gleaming with intrigue and amusement. Good Morning Logan," he called out, his voice gently breaking the silence.

The stranger looked confused. In the small classroom, Harry watched the stranger with curious eyes. The man seemed on edge, as if expecting someone or something to jump out at him at any moment. It was a curious situation, one that added an unexpected dash of mystery to an otherwise mundane day.

"That's it," Charles announced, his calm voice cutting through the remaining tension in the room. With a symphony of scrapes and creaks, the students started to get up, packing their bags and filing out of the classroom in a calm, orderly manner.

As Harry prepared to leave, his gaze inadvertently fell on the stranger. He found himself caught in the piercing gaze of the man, a pair of dark, world-weary eyes staring back at him. There was an intensity in his gaze, a wariness that hinted at a lifetime of battles fought and won.

The moment passed quickly, but it left an impression, a faint afterimage that lingered in Harry's mind. Shaking off the unusual feeling, he moved out of the classroom, into the hallway where Jean and Scott were waiting for him.

"Harry," Jean greeted, her red hair glowing like fire under the fluorescent lights. There was a soft warmth in her emerald green eyes, but her posture was all business. "Ready for your first training session?"

Scott, ever the stoic, gave a nod of encouragement, his sunglasses hiding any trace of emotion. His arms were folded across his chest, and he gave off an aura of unwavering dedication. It was clear that this was not a casual catch-up, but the beginning of a journey that would demand nothing but the best from Harry.

"Alright, follow us," Scott directed, leading the way towards the Danger Room with Jean and Harry trailing behind him. The hallways were quiet, save for the soft hum of the lights overhead and the muffled sound of conversations filtering in from classrooms.

"How was your birthday, Harry?" Jean asked, striking up a casual conversation to lighten the mood. There was a maternal warmth in her tone, a clear sign of how much she cared for the young boy.

"It was amazing," Harry replied, his eyes brightening up at the memory. "I still can't believe the broomstick Sirius got me. And that sketch Piotr drew and your present… it's just perfect."

Jean smiled at his enthusiasm. "That's wonderful to hear, Harry. They really care about you, you know. We all do."

As they arrived at the entrance of the Danger Room, Scott turned to address Harry. "We're going to be pushing you hard, Harry," he said, his tone serious. "But always remember, we're here to help you grow, not to break you."

Scott led Harry into the room, his steps echoing slightly against the metallic floor. He moved with familiarity, as though the Danger Room was as much a home to him as any other part of the mansion. His fingers brushed lightly over the surface of a control panel, causing a three-dimensional, holographic image of the room's layout to shimmer into existence.

"Welcome to the Danger Room, Harry," Scott began, his eyes gleaming with a mix of seriousness and excitement behind his ruby-quartz glasses. "This place might seem overwhelming at first, but you'll get used to it."

His hand gestured to the holo-display, a network of lines and figures representing the room's potential layouts. "Each training scenario is designed specifically for each student, tailored to their individual abilities and areas they need to improve. For you, we'll be focusing primarily on control and manipulation of your powers, as well as offensive and defensive techniques."

Harry watched as Scott manipulated the holo-display, selecting various modules and explaining their functions in depth. The tactical programs, the energy fields, the shifting terrains- all these features designed to provide a comprehensive and challenging training experience.

"In here, we can simulate a variety of environments and situations," Scott continued, his finger moving through a list of pre-programmed scenarios. "From a calm field to a raging storm, from a bustling city to an alien landscape. You'll face computer-generated adversaries, solve puzzles, overcome obstacles, all while learning to manage and maximize your powers."

As Scott was explaining, Harry couldn't help but gaze around the room, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the digital interfaces. It was all quite overwhelming, but at the same time, Harry felt a thrill of anticipation, a sense of adventure. His training was about to begin, and he was eager to see just how far he could push his abilities.

As they continued their tour, they passed a glass cabinet filled with meticulously arranged X-Men uniforms. The suits, made of a flexible, durable material, were designed in a variety of colors and styles, each one bearing the distinctive 'X' emblem on the chest or belt.

Harry slowed his pace, his eyes tracing over the uniforms with a sense of awe. These were the suits of the X-Men, of the superheroes he'd heard stories about. His fingers instinctively reached out, wanting to feel the material, to somehow connect with the legacy it represented.

Scott, noticing Harry's fascination, gave a chuckle. "Not yet, Harry," he said, his hand lightly gripping Harry's shoulder and guiding him away from the cabinet. His voice was gentle, yet firm. "You're still a bit young for these. Besides, our focus right now is on your training, not the uniform."

A hint of a smile crept onto Harry's face. He understood Scott's point, but the allure of those suits, of the possibility of one day donning one himself, was simply too strong to resist. But for now, he would have to content himself with focusing on his training, on harnessing his powers.

With that thought in his mind, Harry allowed Scott to lead him away from the cabinet, the anticipation for the training ahead refueling his excitement. He glanced back once more at the suits, their vibrant colors and intricate designs imprinted on his memory. One day, he promised himself, one day he'd wear one of those uniforms. And when that day comes, he'd be ready.

Their training began in one of the room's countless simulation scenarios - a vast, derelict cityscape. Broken buildings loomed overhead, casting long, distorted shadows on the cracked asphalt. The air, though artificial, had a palpable tension to it.

Scott led Harry to the center of the make-believe city square. "This is the 'ruins of New York' scenario. It's designed to recreate the aftermath of a catastrophic event. We use it to train in search, rescue, and combat situations," Scott explained.

As Scott continued to talk, Jean was busy adjusting the control panel on one side of the room. The 'Danger Room,' as it was known, was equipped with state-of-the-art technology, allowing it to simulate any kind of environment or condition they could possibly need.

"All right, Harry," Jean began, joining them in the square. "Today, we're starting simple. Your main task is to navigate through this environment and reach the designated 'safe zone'. You can use your powers, but remember, the goal here isn't to use them as much as possible. It's to use them as effectively and efficiently as possible."

"And watch out," Scott added, a smirk playing on his lips. "The Danger Room will throw surprises at you. Adapt and overcome."

As they moved to the observation deck, Harry found himself alone in the center of this artificial chaos. His heart was pounding, adrenaline tingling in his veins. The light dimmed, replaced by the eerie glow of the ruined cityscape. Then, suddenly, a loud siren blared, signaling the start of the exercise.

In the exercise, Harry's powers began to truly shine, showcasing not only his raw potential but also his ability to adapt and strategize. His cosmic gifts bestowed him with the power to manipulate energy and matter, as well as defy gravity, but as with any young mutant, there were limitations and flaws to his abilities.

At one point, he tried to create a shield of energy to block a wave of simulated debris. The shield held, but not for long. It flickered and dissipated, the pieces of debris hitting Harry and knocking him down. He winced, struggling to his feet, brushing the dust off his clothes. A flaw – maintaining energy constructs required focus and stamina, both of which were harder to manage in the middle of a chaotic simulation.

Later, when a simulation of a fallen building blocked his path, Harry attempted to use his powers to phase through it. The first attempt was a partial success. He managed to get halfway through the wall before he got stuck, his legs visible on one side of the wall and his torso and head on the other. Struggling and with a lot of effort, he pulled himself free. Another flaw – phasing through objects was not as easy as it seemed and needed more precision than he had anticipated.

His levitation ability, on the other hand, was near flawless. He had a natural affinity for it. With a thought, he could lift off the ground and move in any direction he wished. He was like a bird, free to soar above the simulated chaos below. During the training, he used this ability extensively, flying over obstacles and getting to places that would have been impossible otherwise.

Despite the challenges, Harry never once thought of giving up. Every failure was a lesson, every success a stepping stone. He was determined to master his powers, to become the best version of himself he could be.

From their vantage point, Scott and Jean watched him. His dedication was admirable, his progress impressive. "He's got potential," Scott said, his eyes following Harry's every move.

Jean smiled, her own thoughts echoing Scott's. "Yes," she agreed. "And he's only just getting started."

Scott glanced at Jean, his expression resolute. "Jean, ramp it up a few notches," he instructed, his gaze never leaving Harry.

Jean's eyes widened in disbelief, turning to face Scott. "Scott!" she protested, her tone sharp. "He's just a kid, you can't expect him to-"

Scott interrupted her, his voice firm yet gentle. "I know, Jean. But he's also incredibly powerful. We can't coddle him. He has to learn to control his powers, especially when things get tough."

A moment of silent tension lingered between them, the hum of the Danger Room's systems the only sound filling the room. Eventually, Jean sighed, nodding in reluctant agreement. "Alright," she acquiesced, her fingers deftly adjusting the settings of the control panel.

As the simulated terrain shifted, a cry for help resonated through the speakers, echoing around the room. Harry's head jerked towards the sound, a sense of urgency taking over him.

"Help! Somebody, please!" The voice sounded genuinely scared, and despite knowing it was merely a part of the simulation, Harry felt a pang of worry.

Jean and Scott exchanged a glance, realizing the complexity of the scenario might have hit a bit close to home for the empathetic Harry. Scott had a grimace on his face, but he kept quiet, studying Harry's reaction intently.

Without missing a beat, Harry's powers flared to life. His eyes began to glow with an ethereal light, the cosmos reflected within them. It was a sight that always filled the room with a sense of awe, the sheer force of Harry's connection with the cosmos apparent to anyone observing.

With a burst of determination, Harry propelled himself towards the distress call. He was getting the hang of manipulating his cosmic energy to achieve levitation, his body floating with an ease that made it seem like he was born to fly. Yet, there were still moments of imbalance, sudden jerks in movement, his flight not as seamless as he'd like it to be.

Meanwhile, his energy projection ability was still far from perfect. While he had managed to materialize energy blasts in his hands, controlling their strength and aim was another challenge entirely. More often than not, his blasts would either be too strong, causing unnecessary destruction, or too weak, barely leaving a mark.

As he reached the simulated victim, he steeled himself, ready to use his powers to fend off the approaching simulated threat. Even though the scenario was simulated, for Harry, the stakes felt real. After all, he knew better than most how real danger could come from the most unexpected places.

The surrounding environment began to shift again, the distress call proving to be a trap. Suddenly, Harry was surrounded by simulated enemy forces. The area was a gridlock, with nowhere to run or hide. His heart pounded in his chest as he faced the artificial threat, but he refused to back down.

The first blast of energy came at him without warning, fast and furious. Harry managed to counter it with an energy blast of his own, a focused beam of cosmic power shooting from his palms. The forces clashed in mid-air, causing a shockwave that sent him skidding backwards.

Harry grimaced, regaining his footing. His levitation was unstable, a clear sign of his exhaustion. His energy blasts, too, were becoming erratic, his normally steady hands shaking slightly. The continuous exertion was taking a toll on him, his body straining against the overwhelming force of his powers.

Despite the odds, Harry refused to give up. He threw himself back into the fray, his cosmic energy swirling around him like a radiant aura. His body moved on instinct, ducking and weaving through the continuous onslaught of attacks.

One by one, he managed to neutralize some of the enemies, his energy blasts gaining some precision under the pressure. But there were too many. The simulated enemies just kept coming, their attacks becoming more aggressive with each passing second.

A sudden blast from behind caught him off guard, sending him sprawling to the ground. He tried to rise, but his body felt heavy, his energy reserves nearing depletion. For the first time in the exercise, a sense of defeat crept into Harry's mind.

From their observation deck, Jean and Scott watched the scene unfold, their expressions tight with worry. The scenario was intense, a step above what Harry was used to. But it was necessary. The real world wouldn't be lenient, and Harry needed to be prepared. It was a harsh lesson, but an essential one.

Suddenly, the simulation ended, the room transitioning from the chaotic battlefield back into the basic room of the Danger Room. Harry was left panting heavily, his body sprawled out on the floor. The echo of energy blasts and shouting still rang in his ears, gradually fading into silence.

Jean and Scott were by his side in an instant, their faces etched with concern. Jean knelt down, checking him over for any injuries while Scott stood back a little, arms folded across his chest.

"Harry, are you okay?" Jean asked, her green eyes scanning his face.

"Yeah," Harry managed to breathe out, wincing slightly. "Just...tired."

Scott nodded, his gaze serious. "This was a tough scenario, Harry. It was meant to be. Do you understand why we did it?"

Harry swallowed hard, taking a moment to catch his breath before answering. His mind was still racing from the exercise, but he understood the purpose behind it. He nodded slightly, his throat dry.

"To...teach me...about...reality," Harry panted out. "The world...isn't always fair. Not everyone...can be saved."

Scott nodded, a grim but approving expression on his face. "That's right. And you also need to learn to conserve your energy. You can't go all out right at the start. You have to strategize, prioritize your resources. Your powers are incredible, Harry. But if you deplete your energy reserves without a second thought, they can also be your downfall."

Jean's hand was on Harry's shoulder, a gentle and reassuring presence. She gave him a comforting smile, her eyes warm. "It's not about winning or losing, Harry. It's about learning. You did well today. And you'll do better next time."

Despite the exhaustion, Harry managed a weak smile. He was pushed to his limits today, and he had learned a hard but necessary lesson. He understood his flaws and what he needed to work on. It was a tough training session, but he was grateful for it. After all, he was here to learn, to become better. And he wouldn't give up until he did.

arry was half-awake by the time they were leaving the Danger Room. His body ached in ways he hadn't felt before, his energy spent. As Scott carried him, he could hear Jean and Scott talking quietly. His eyes fluttered shut as he let their voices lull him into a light doze.

Just as they were about to exit the Danger Room, they ran into Charles and the burly stranger they'd seen earlier. Charles had a calm smile on his face, while the stranger seemed a bit more apprehensive.

"Ah, Jean, Scott," Charles said, his eyes flitting over to the sleeping Harry. "I see training went well."

Scott gave a small smile. "Yeah, he did good. Pushed himself pretty hard though."

Charles nodded, glancing at the stranger beside him. "Well, I'll let you get him settled. But before you go, I'd like to introduce you to someone."

Charles gestured towards the burly stranger. "This is Logan."

The stranger—Logan—gave a short nod, his eyes scrutinizing them.

"Logan has just joined us," Charles continued. "I'm sure you'll get to know each other better in the coming days."

Jean gave Logan a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you, Logan. Welcome to the Xavier Institute."

Scott just nodded, adjusting Harry's weight in his arms. "Nice to meet you."

Logan watched as Scott and Jean started to walk away, Harry still cradled in Scott's arms. His brows furrowed in confusion. "Why are you training a kid?" he asked, turning to look at Charles. There was an edge to his voice, a hint of protective anger.

Scott, hearing the question, immediately turned around, his gaze sharp on Logan. His protectiveness over Harry was well known among the residents of the Institute. "Harry isn't just any kid," he said, his voice tight. "And we aren't training him to be a soldier. We're helping him understand his abilities, control them. It's about safety, for him and for others."

Charles watched the exchange quietly, his expression calm. He knew that this was a sensitive topic, especially for Scott. He had seen Harry grow up, and had been a mentor to him. But he also understood Logan's concern. The concept of training someone as young as Harry could easily be misinterpreted.

"Scott is right, Logan," Charles finally spoke up, his voice gentle. "Our goal here isn't to create soldiers. It's to help these young mutants understand themselves better, to control their powers so they don't harm themselves or others. And most importantly, it's to give them a place where they feel safe and accepted."

Logan was silent for a moment, taking in Charles's words. Finally, he grunted in acknowledgment, nodding slightly. It wasn't a complete acceptance, but it was a start. And Charles knew that, with time, Logan would come to understand their mission better.

Scott carried the sleeping Harry into his room, carefully laying him down on his bed. Jean was right beside him, tucking Harry under the warm comforter. There was a gentleness in their actions, a tenderness that could only come from caring deeply about the boy.

As they stepped away from the bed, Jean reached out and took Scott's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. They moved to the window, watching as the moonlight streamed in, casting a soft glow on Harry's peaceful face.

"It's hard to believe he's only eleven," Jean murmured, her gaze still on Harry. "He's been through so much, seen so much. But he's so strong, so resilient."

Scott nodded in agreement. "He's a fighter. Always has been. He has this spirit, this fire in him that just...burns so brightly. I think that's why he resonates with so many of us."

Jean smiled at that, turning her head to look at Scott. "He's going to make a real difference someday, isn't he?"

Scott's gaze was steady as he returned Jean's smile. "He already is, Jean. He already is."

The room fell silent again, save for Harry's quiet, rhythmic breathing. Scott watched him sleep, his features relaxing into a calm and peacefulness that seemed rare during his waking hours. Despite the quiet serenity, a worry gnawed at Scott, settling in his chest like a weight.

"He's leaving us soon," he said, his voice barely a whisper. The words hung heavy in the room, emphasizing the reality they were all trying to come to terms with.

Jean turned towards him, studying his concerned profile. There was a deep furrow between his brows, a testament to the thoughts racing in his mind. Her heart ached at the sight. She knew how much Scott cared for Harry, how much they all did.

"Yes," she said softly, "but not forever, Scott. Just for a while."

Scott nodded, understanding the truth in her words, but it did little to ease his worry. "I know, but Hogwarts...it's a whole different world, Jean. What if-"

"Scott," Jean interrupted, her tone gentle yet firm. "We've prepared him as best as we can. Harry's smart, resourceful, and brave. He can handle himself."

She paused, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Besides," she teased, nudging Scott with her elbow, "I think you're just going to miss having him around."

Scott huffed a laugh, the tension easing slightly. "Maybe you're right," he admitted. "But can you blame me?"

Jean smiled, her eyes softening. "Not in the slightest," she said, leaning against Scott's shoulder.

Scott turned to face Jean, a vulnerability in his gaze that was rarely seen. His fears, usually hidden behind a stoic exterior, were now laid bare for her to see. "But Jean, what if something does happen? What if we aren't there to help him?"

The gravity in his voice made Jean's heart twinge. She reached up, brushing her fingers gently across his stubbled cheek. Her eyes held his, a steady anchor amidst the sea of his worries.

"Scott," she said, her voice soothing and calm, "Harry's stronger than you give him credit for. He's faced challenges before, faced them alone, and he's come out on the other side. He will be fine."

Her hand fell to his shoulder, squeezing gently, her touch grounding him. "And remember, we're always with him, even if we're not physically there. He carries a piece of us, of this school, with him. He won't be alone."

Scott took a deep breath, allowing Jean's words to sink in. He knew she was right. Harry was capable, resilient, and above all, he had a knack for surprising them all. His fears weren't completely assuaged, but Jean's reassurances had brought some comfort.

"You're right," he admitted, offering her a small smile. "I just...I worry."

"I know you do," Jean said, returning his smile. "That's one of the things I love about you, Scott Summers. But for now, let's trust in Harry. He's earned that much."

Her words seemed to bring a sense of calm over Scott, his worries momentarily pacified. As they stood there, watching over their sleeping charge, there was a quiet understanding between them. They would do whatever it took to protect Harry, but they also knew that he was capable of protecting himself.

Harry fell into an uneasy sleep. He drifted into the realm of dreams, a place that often mirrored the tumult of his waking life. Tonight was no exception.

Harry found himself standing on the edge of a precipice, wind howling around him as he looked down upon a dystopian landscape. He was no longer the 10-year-old boy from Xavier's School, but a grown man, his body lean and strong, his senses heightened, his cosmic power a constant hum under his skin.

The auburn-haired girl was there, looking as she always did in his dreams – hair billowing around her in fiery waves, blue eyes wide with fear. She was struggling against unseen binds, her panicked gaze meeting him across the chaotic scene.

And they weren't alone. Looming shadows took form in his dream, morphing into three figures that sent a chill down Harry's spine. A man encased in a suit of iron, harsh and metallic, with a glow radiating from his chest. A man wielding a hammer that crackled with raw energy, lightning dancing across its surface. The third, a man bearing a shield emblazoned with the mark of a skull.

The dream-Harry moved, not with the carefree grace of childhood, but with the controlled precision of a seasoned warrior. His senses screamed danger. The presence of these figures wasn't a mere coincidence. They were here for the girl. They were here for him.

The landscape shifted as Harry took a step forward, his cosmic powers coiling inside him like a sleeping beast, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. The men turned towards him, their gazes cold and calculated.

The details of the dream were vivid, almost painfully so. The howl of the wind. The rough texture of the ground beneath his feet. The sharpness of his powers pricking at his consciousness. The silent pleas in the girl's eyes.

And then, just as Harry was about to leap into the fray, he woke. The dream dissipated like smoke, leaving behind a palpable sense of dread and the ghost of a girl's terrified gaze. It was a dream, just a dream. But the memory of it lingered, sharp as a blade against his skin.

The digital clock on his bedside table blinked at midnight. Harry rubbed his eyes, attempting to shake off the remnants of the dream. He needed something to take his mind off of it, something to ground him back to reality.

Throwing on a robe, Harry slipped out of his room and padded down the hallway to the kitchen. The Xavier mansion was quiet at this hour, the only sound being the soft humming of the air conditioning and the distant echo of his own footsteps on the wooden floor.

As he pushed the kitchen door open, the soft glow of the refrigerator light spilled out, casting long, angular shadows across the room. Inside its cool interior, a figure rummaged around, back turned towards him.

"Bobby?" Harry questioned, recognizing the teenager by his light blond hair. Bobby Drake, one of the older students at the mansion, turned around at the sound of Harry's voice. A surprised expression crossed his face, followed by a friendly smile.

"Hey, Harry," he greeted, closing the refrigerator door with an elbow, his hands full with a carton of ice cream and a pair of spoons. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

Harry returned the smile, his anxiety momentarily forgotten. He shook his head, pulling out a chair by the kitchen island and hopping onto it. "Just...bad dreams, I guess," he admitted, accepting the offered spoon from Bobby.

Bobby nodded sympathetically, digging his spoon into the carton. "I get those too, sometimes. Dreams can be weird."

Bobby swallowed another spoonful of ice cream, his eyebrows knitting together as a thought seemed to occur to him. "Hey, have you met the new girl yet?" he asked, glancing sideways at Harry.

Harry, a bit surprised by the sudden question, shook his head. "New girl?" he echoed, the spoon halfway to his mouth. "No, I haven't. Who is she?"

"Her name's Rogue," Bobby replied, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. He seemed thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "She's... different. Keeps to herself a lot. I think she's still trying to get used to everything."

Harry tilted his head, intrigued by Bobby's description. "Rogue, huh?" he mused out loud. His mind wandered back to his dream, the auburn-haired girl flashing in his mind's eye. He quickly dismissed the thought, however, not wanting to fall down the rabbit hole of dream interpretations.

Bobby simply nodded, turning his attention back to the ice cream.

Bobby glanced over at Harry, a curious glint in his eyes. "So, I heard you had your first training today," he said, trying to sound casual. "How did it go?" He was careful to keep his tone nonchalant, but Harry could sense a hint of envy in his words. He was, after all, only a few years older than Harry but had been at the school for a while and was still waiting to begin his official training.

Harry shrugged, casting his eyes down to the ice cream in front of him. "It was... interesting," he replied, not wanting to divulge too much. "A lot harder than I thought it would be, to be honest."

Bobby nodded sympathetically, although he couldn't quite hide the sparkle of intrigue in his eyes. He was about to ask another question when the kitchen door creaked open, and another student walked in.

ohn sauntered into the room, the dimmed kitchen lights reflecting off his tousled brown hair. A crooked grin adorned his face, drawing attention to the playful twinkle in his hazel eyes. He was a few years older than Harry and Bobby, and there was a certain level of worldliness about him that was absent in the younger boys.

"What are you chumps doing up so late?" John asked, his tone rich with subtle mockery. His gaze flicked briefly over to Harry, a spark of hostility buried deep within the friendly facade. It was common knowledge in the school that Harry was Charles's new prodigy and it had ignited a small flame of jealousy within John.

"Just couldn't sleep," Bobby replied, shrugging nonchalantly as he scooped up another spoonful of ice cream. "Figured we'd raid the kitchen. Want some?"

John leaned against the kitchen counter, his attention shifting back to Harry. He remained silent for a few moments before finally breaking into a wide grin,"Didn't know babies could stay up this late," he said, the mock surprise in his voice failing to mask the underlying edge.

It was a playful jab, but it was also an attempt to assert some form of dominance over Harry, who had quickly become the subject of attention within the school, thanks to his unique powers and his close relationship with Charles. Harry, for his part, took the jibe in stride.

"Just having a snack, John," Harry replied, his voice steady. He scooped a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, maintaining eye contact with the older boy as if to challenge him.

John chuckled, ruffling Harry's hair in a seemingly friendly gesture. But the challenge had been noted. This was a game of hierarchy among the young mutants, and it was clear that Harry wasn't going to back down easily.

"Did you see the new guy?"John's mischievous grin widened at Bobby's words, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was suppressing a chuckle. "Oh, I've heard plenty," he replied, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a casual shrug. "Rumor has it, he's a real bad guy. A serial killer, they say."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, a spike of concern prickling at the back of his mind. He remembered the rugged man he'd seen in the classroom earlier, the one who'd tried to conceal his presence. He seemed distant, aloof, but a serial killer?

"That's just a rumor, John," Bobby interjected, his voice carrying a hint of disapproval. "Don't scare Harry with such tales."

John simply laughed, seemingly unbothered by Bobby's chiding. "I'm just saying what I heard," he said, raising his hands in a mock surrender. "Who knows? Maybe we'll find out soon enough."

Harry blinked at John, his gaze steady and unflinching. He wasn't scared; rather, he was amused by the obvious attempt to rattle him. He recognized the tactic from his Hogwarts days, a display of machismo meant to assert dominance.

With a small, knowing smile playing on his lips, Harry met John's gaze directly. "I think you're wrong, John," he said confidently, his tone steady. "When I looked at him, I didn't see a killer. I saw someone... lost. As if he's either running away from something or looking for something. I couldn't quite understand it all."

Bobby's eyes widened at Harry's words, while a look of surprise crossed John's face. Harry, at that moment, didn't look like a boy who had just turned eleven, nor did he sound like one. Instead, he stood there with a maturity that belied his age, the quiet confidence in his voice and the wisdom in his eyes leaving both Bobby and John momentarily speechless.

John recovered quickly, however, letting out a low chuckle as he shook his head. "Well, isn't our baby wizard all grown up?" he mocked, but there was a new glint in his eyes, a hint of begrudging respect that hadn't been there before. Harry simply grinned, confident in his assessment and not bothered by John's jibes. After all, he had faced far worse.

Harry's gaze didn't waver as he met John's eyes, a calmness spreading over him. He had always had this innate ability to see past people's exterior, to feel the emotions roiling underneath, and John was no different.

"How's your father, John?" Harry asked, his voice soft yet unyielding. There was no accusation or judgment in his tone, just a simple, direct question.

The effect was immediate. John's eyes widened and he recoiled as if he'd been physically struck, his initial anger dissolving into a look of shock. No one in the school brought up his father, a topic he kept well-guarded. For a moment, he was speechless, the jovial and cocky air about him vanishing, replaced by a wounded vulnerability.

"None of your business, Potter," John growled after a moment, his voice low and dangerous. But the edge was gone from his tone, replaced with a harsh defensiveness. He shot a glare at Harry and Bobby, then stormed out of the kitchen, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Bobby turned to look at Harry, an awed expression on his face. "How did you...?" He trailed off, clearly at a loss for words.

Harry just gave a shrug, keeping his eyes on the door through which John had exited. He hadn't intended to rattle John, but he knew that sometimes, the truth was necessary for growth.

Bobby looked at Harry "I didn't," Harry assured Bobby, turning to face him. His voice was firm, but his expression was soft, trying to relay his sincerity. "I didn't use any power, Bobby."

"But you knew about his father," Bobby pressed, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I've been his roommate for two years, and he's never mentioned anything about his family."

Harry sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "Sometimes, you don't need powers to see what's right in front of you," he explained, choosing his words carefully. "John is guarded, standoffish. He's lashing out because he's hurt, and often, that hurt comes from family. It was a guess, a shot in the dark."

Bobby stared at Harry for a long moment, his blue eyes assessing. Finally, he nodded, seeming to accept Harry's words. "Still," he said, "you have a way of seeing through people, Harry. It's... It's kind of amazing."

Harry smiled, but there was a touch of sadness in his eyes. "Maybe. But it also means I see a lot of pain, Bobby. A lot of pain." His gaze drifted back to the door through which John had disappeared, his thoughts far away.

The kitchen was silent for a long moment, the two young mutants lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Bobby broke the silence. "I should probably head back to bed," he mumbled, standing up. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Bobby," Harry replied, watching as Bobby exited the kitchen. Once he was alone, he let out a soft sigh, his thoughts still on John. He hoped that one day, John would find a way to confront his pain, to heal. And maybe, just maybe, Harry could help him do that.

The morning sunlight was streaming through the window when Harry was roused from his slumber by a thunderous knock on his bedroom door. He groaned, pulling the pillow over his head in a futile attempt to block out the noise.

"Harry wake up," Sirius yelled on the other side of the door.

"SIRIUS!" Harry grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. The knocking didn't stop, instead, the door creaked open and a too-cheerful voice echoed through the room.

"Rise and shine, Harry!" Sirius beamed, standing at the doorway with his hands on his hips. His eyes sparkled with excitement and his grin was wider than Harry had seen in days.

Harry peeked out from under his pillow, squinting at the bright light pouring in from his window. "What time is it?" He asked, his voice still groggy from sleep.

"It's time to get up! We've got a big day ahead!" Sirius was practically bouncing on his heels, unable to contain his excitement. "We're going shopping!"

"Shopping?" Harry asked, pulling himself into a sitting position. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to make sense of Sirius's words. "What are we shopping for?"

Sirius's grin widened, if that was even possible. "Your school stuff, of course! Hogwarts is just around the corner. You need your supplies, don't you?"

With a jolt, Harry remembered his upcoming return to Hogwarts. He hadn't thought much about it amidst all the excitement at Xavier's School. He quickly pushed the covers off and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his tiredness forgotten.

"Right, let's get to it then," he said, sharing Sirius's grin. Hogwarts, his other home, was waiting.

A sudden rumble in his stomach made Harry pause. He clutched his belly, a sheepish grin on his face. "First things first, I'm starving. Let's get some breakfast," he proposed.

Sirius chuckled. "Of course, food first. Lead the way, mate."

They made their way through the corridors towards the kitchen, the smell of pancakes and syrup filling the air. However, as they rounded a corner, Sirius collided with a broad-shouldered figure. It was Logan.

"Watch it, bub," Logan grumbled, steadying himself. He looked down at Sirius, his expression unreadable.

"Or what", Sirius said, looking up at Logan. "Or what?" Logan shot back, the challenge hanging heavy in the air.

A cool smile played at the corners of Sirius's mouth as he matched Logan's gaze. There was a moment of tension, a silent conversation happening between their locked eyes. The corridor suddenly seemed much smaller, the morning light casting long shadows on the walls.

Harry held his breath, uncertain of the situation unfolding before him. He had seen Sirius in many moods, but never quite like this.

Logan, maintaining his hardened exterior, squinted down at Sirius. "What do they call you, the Mad Hatter?" he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

Sirius, never one to let an opportunity for jest slip away, chuckled heartily and pulled his wand out from his pocket. "You know," he said, twirling the wand between his fingers with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I could turn your clothes pink for you."

Logan's scowl deepened at the thought, his eyes narrowed to slits. "You do that and I'll..."

His threat was cut off by the sudden appearance of Jean, her red hair glowing in the morning light filtering through the windows. She wore a confused expression, her eyes darting between the two men. "What's going on here?" she asked, her gaze landing on Sirius's wand and then moving to Logan's annoyed face.

Before Sirius could answer, Logan huffed a resigned sigh and grumbled, "Just a difference of opinion, Jean."

Jean turned a skeptical look on Sirius, who merely shrugged and put his wand away, much to Logan's visible relief. "Nothing to worry about, Jean," he assured her. "We were just discussing... fashion choices."

"Right..." Jean said slowly, a dubious expression still on her face as she studied the pair. She decided to leave the issue for now, seeing the tension dissolve.

Turning her attention to Harry, she bent down to his level, her eyes softening considerably. "Charles would like to see you before you go with Sirius," she said in a gentler tone, her eyes flickering with concern. "He's in his office. And Harry," she added, "please, stay out of trouble, okay?"

Harry nodded solemnly, his green eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He glanced back at Sirius and Logan, still engaged in some form of standoff, and chuckled. "I'll try, Jean," he promised. "But no guarantees when I'm with Sirius."

Jean let out a soft, amused huff at that, ruffling Harry's hair affectionately before standing back up. She shot one last warning look between Sirius and Logan before shaking her head in exasperation. Jean paused in her departure and turned back towards them. "You know," she started, her eyes falling first on Sirius and then on Logan, "You two are really bad influences on Harry."

Sirius broke into a hearty laugh, the sounds echoing around the empty corridor. He reached out and clapped a hand on Logan's shoulder, the other man's confusion evident in his features.

"I didn't do anything," Logan protested, looking at Jean for support. The corners of her mouth twitched, clearly struggling to suppress a smile at the unexpected camaraderie between the two.

"Exactly my point, Logan," she retorted, though there was no heat in her voice.

Sirius, still grinning, clapped Logan on the back. "Women, eh?" he said, laughing again as Logan shot him an irritated look. "Always finding a way to blame us."

With one last roll of her eyes, Jean walked away "Right, food," Sirius echoed, ruffling Harry's hair as he steered the young boy towards the dining hall.

Harry turned and gave Logan a small wave. "See ya, Logan," he called out, his green eyes bright with mirth.

Logan with his gruff demeanor softening a bit as he looked at Harry. "See ya, kid," he replied, his voice almost gentle.

As Sirius and Harry walked away, leaving Logan standing alone, they could feel his gaze on their retreating backs. But for now, they had a more pressing matter at hand - breakfast. After all, they had a long day ahead and they were going to need all the energy they could get.

Breakfast was a vibrant event at the Xavier Institute, a colorful mixture of beings of all ages, all with unique abilities, all sharing a meal. Sirius, ever the indulgent godfather, piled Harry's plate high with an assortment of breakfast foods, before leading him to a table.

"As I was mentioning earlier, Harry," Sirius said, once they were seated comfortably, "We'll be visiting Diagon Alley. You recall it from your Hogwarts letters, don't you?"

With a mouth full of eggs and toast, Harry nodded enthusiastically. He had heard about the magical alley from his Hogwarts letters and was thrilled about the upcoming experience.

In the midst of Sirius's enchanting storytelling about his own escapades in Diagon Alley, Kitty, Bobby, and Piotr joined them. Their chatter added to the vibrant symphony of sound in the dining hall, turning it into a wonderful kind of chaos.

While they were chatting, Bobby's attention was drawn to the figure standing near the dining hall entrance. It was Rogue, the new student he had mentioned to Harry the night before. He signaled for her to join them and introduced her to Harry and Sirius.

"Meet Rogue," Bobby said, indicating the newcomer. "She just arrived."

Rogue, her black hair contrasting starkly with her pale skin, and her clear grey eyes a picture of cautious curiosity, gave a slight wave and managed a small smile. "Nice to meet y'all," she said, her distinctive southern accent standing out amidst the predominant New York tones at the table.

"So Rogue, mind telling us what your powers are?" Sirius asked, trying to break the ice. His jovial tone, however, seemed to have the opposite effect. Rogue's face turned a shade of red, her eyes dropping to her plate.

"SIRIUS!" Harry exclaimed, his brows furrowed in a reproachful expression. He had learnt during his time at Xavier's Institute that asking about someone's mutant abilities could be a sensitive topic. Some mutations were not easily controlled or came with severe side effects, making it a deeply personal subject. "That was rude. It's okay, Rogue. You don't have to share if you don't want to."

Sirius looked taken aback by Harry's rebuke, but quickly composed himself. "You're right, Harry. I apologize, Rogue. It was thoughtless of me."

He offered her an apologetic smile and changed the subject "Actually, I have a trick up my sleeve," Sirius revealed, a mischievous grin spreading across his features. His hand delved into the pocket of his worn-out, leather jacket, retrieving a polished wand. The other students at the table leaned forward, interest piquing as they took in the sight of the unfamiliar object.

With the ease of someone who had performed the gesture a thousand times, Sirius gave the wand a nonchalant twirl, its tip pointed towards the room's far corner. His lips moved silently, pronouncing a wordless incantation, then the magic happened.

From a lush bouquet sitting in an antique vase on a sideboard, a single red rose disentangled itself. As if guided by an invisible hand, the flower soared elegantly across the room, finally coming to a graceful halt in front of Rogue. The aroma of fresh rose petals filled the air around them, a sweet scent that made the moment even more surreal. Harry couldn't help the grin spreading on his face as he watched Rogue's eyes widen in wonder.

"That... that was amazing," she confessed, her voice soft, a little breathless. Her gloved hand reached out to carefully accept the rose, the delicate petals contrasted against the stark black of her gloves. "Thank you"

Sirius dismissed her gratitude with an airy wave of his hand. "Ah, it's nothing, lass," he replied, his blue eyes twinkling under the soft glow of the dining room lights. "My apologies."

His gaze then shifted towards Harry, catching the younger boy's proud smile. It wasn't just the magic trick that had caught his godson's admiration; it was how Sirius had helped put Rogue at ease. Sirius returned the grin, giving Harry an approving nod.

"Right, now onto business," Sirius announced, pushing his now empty plate aside and turning his attention back to Harry. His gaze was intense, but there was an excitement in his eyes that was infectious. "We've got a fair bit to sort out at Diagon Alley. Your school supplies list is quite extensive."

Harry couldn't help but lean forward, eager to hear about the peculiar shopping list. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Rogue and the others also listening attentively, intrigued by the mystical nature of Harry's world.

"We'll need to visit Gringotts first, of course," Sirius began, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "The goblins run a tight ship. You'll have to swap your Muggle money for Wizarding currency. Remember, it's 17 silver Sickles to a gold Galleon, and 29 bronze Knuts to a Sickle."

Harry nodded, mentally calculating the conversion rates, trying to get a grasp of the new economy he was about to be introduced to.

"Then there's Madam Malkin's for your robes," Sirius continued, ticking the items off on his fingers. "She'll fuss over you, but she's the best in the business. Then we have to hit Flourish and Blotts for your school books."

A sense of wonder filled Harry's heart at the thought of all those magical books waiting for him. Stories of enchanting creatures, guides to powerful spells, and historical accounts of legendary wizards and witches.

"Let's not forget Ollivanders for your wand," Sirius said, a touch of nostalgia creeping into his voice. He looked at his own wand, an object that held memories, both dark and light, from his past. "The wand chooses the wizard, remember that Harry."

Sirius's words had a profound effect on Harry, as a sense of anticipation slowly started to build within him. "Sounds exciting, doesn't it?" Sirius grinned, his eyes full of promise and anticipation. And in that moment, Harry knew it was indeed going to be the most exciting day of his life.

Kitty's eyes were wide with fascination as she leaned into the conversation, listening intently to Sirius's rundown of the magical shopping district. As Harry's smile widened at the prospect of the adventure that lay ahead, Kitty bit her lip, a thought forming in her mind.

"Hey, Harry?" she began, a little hesitant but her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Would you mind getting me something from Diagon Alley? I mean, it's not like I can go there myself and it sounds... just magical. I've never been to London before, let alone a magic shopping street hidden in London!"

Harry looked surprised, then a grin spread across his face. "Sure Kitty, I'd be happy to. Any preferences?" he asked.

Kitty thought for a moment, then shook her head, her curls bouncing. "No, not really. Just...something magic, I guess? Maybe something small and magical that can sit on my desk? I trust your taste, Harry. Just remember, nothing alive." she added, her eyes twinkling with laughter.

"Got it, no magical creatures," Harry chuckled, nodding his understanding. "I'll find something magical and desk-sized for you, Kitty."

The table broke out into laughter, the mood light and filled with eager anticipation for Harry's trip to Diagon Alley.

John, having been watching their conversation from the corner of his eye, finally decided to insert himself into the conversation. He swaggered over to the table, his demeanor oozing casual arrogance.

"Psssh, magic," he scoffed, looking dismissively at Harry's wand. "That couldn't hurt a fly compared to this."

With a theatrical flourish, John held out his hand. A small, bright flame erupted from his fingertips, casting an eerie light over his smirking face. The flame danced in his palm, flickering and twisting like a miniature, living creature.

He was clearly trying to impress, and Harry had to admit that the flame was quite a spectacle. But he also remembered the lessons from his first training session in the Danger Room – powers, like magic, came with responsibilities. It was not about showing off or using them for personal gain, but about using them for the greater good, to protect and help others.

The table fell silent, all eyes on the dancing flame in John's hand. Harry glanced at Rogue, who seemed more intimidated than impressed. The smile faded from Harry's face and he turned his gaze back to John.

"Yeah, that's cool, John," he said calmly, his tone level. "But remember, it's not what power you have but how you use it that truly matters."

John's smirk faltered for a moment, before he closed his hand and extinguished the flame.

John, still trying to recover from the embarrassment, turned back to Harry. A hint of anger was visible in his eyes, as he was not used to being put in his place, especially by a younger student.

"So, what do you know, Potter?" John said, trying to sound casual. "You don't understand anything. Magic seems like a waste of time. You should be focusing on your mutant powers."

Harry looked back at John, a calm and understanding expression on his face. He wasn't trying to provoke John or start an argument, he was just speaking from his own experience and beliefs.

"Everyone has different abilities, John," Harry said in a soothing tone. "Just because they're different doesn't mean they're a waste of time. I think all our powers, mutant or magical, can be unique and beneficial in their own ways."

He glanced at the others around the table, hoping they agreed. "And who's to say we can't focus on both? Isn't it all about finding balance and learning to control our powers, regardless of what they are?"

John looked taken aback for a moment, then shrugged dismissively. "At least I was born a mutant unlike you. Your mother sacrificed herself to save you."

"Never talk about my mother," Harry's voice was quiet, but it held an intensity that made the room go silent. His small hands were clenched into fists at his side. He looked John straight in the eye, unflinching. "You know nothing about her, or her sacrifice."

John looked taken aback by the intensity of Harry's reaction, his smug smile wavering for a moment. He seemed to weigh his options before a calculating look crossed his features. "Just saying, Potter, you're more of a charity case than a real mutant."

"That's enough, John," Sirius warned, his tone sharp. But Harry was already on his feet, his green eyes flashing dangerously.

Every throbbing pulse of Harry's heart seemed to resonate through the room, a deafening percussion that dwarfed all other sound. The animosity within him was no longer just an abstract feeling, it had transmuted into a raw, tangible energy. This energy, fueled by his cosmic mutation, was teetering on the edge of his control.

As his ire escalated, Harry's eyes, once bright with the innocence of youth, now shimmered with an otherworldly luminescence. His latent cosmic powers, once a tranquil pool deep within him, now roared like a tempestuous ocean, eager to crash upon the shores of reality.

From the most innocuous items to the grandest of furniture, nothing was immune to the impact of his emotional storm. Cutlery that lay scattered on the table began to tremble with an insidious intent, their metallic surface shivering as if cold. The once still forks and knives skittered across ceramic plates, clanging and clattering in a cacophony of noise that reverberated off the walls. A salt shaker, caught in this invisible maelstrom, wobbled and eventually capsized, spilling a cascade of crystalline granules that danced across the surface of the table, like tiny ice skaters spinning out of control on a rink.

The glasses of water, once serene, began to quiver, the liquid within them morphing from tranquil to tempestuous. Ripples emerged from the center of the glasses, growing larger and more aggressive with every beat of Harry's heart. Water sloshed over the rim, splashing onto the table, and soaked into the tablecloth, creating an ever-expanding wet patch.

Even the room's atmosphere succumbed to the shift. The air thickened, becoming heavy with an unseen pressure. It was as if gravity itself was protesting, losing its unwavering grip. Windows, steadfast until now, began to groan under this pressure. The glass vibrated, tiny fractures webbing out across the surface, each crack a testament to the force that strained against it.

The ambient light dimmed, swallowed by a foreboding gloom. Small objects, the victims of his untamed power, began to pop out of existence. They didn't fade or dissolve but simply disappeared in tiny, quiet pops, vanishing from reality as if they'd never existed at all. The world, it seemed, was bending to the will of Harry's wrath, a testament to the destructive potential of his cosmic powers.

The students watched, aghast, as this spectacle unfolded before them. Their eyes widened in alarm, and those closest to Harry instinctively recoiled, pushing back their chairs and retreating from the epicenter of the disturbance. This was not a spectacle of awe-inspiring power; it was a harrowing display of uncontrolled might.

A dissonant sound, an eerie composition of tones and frequencies beyond the scope of human hearing, pervaded the room. It was an echo from a realm far beyond their comprehension, a side effect of Harry's powers that pierced the quiet like a scream in the night. Students clasped their hands over their ears, their faces twisting in discomfort as the unearthly symphony swelled around them.

Despite its surreal, almost slow-motion appearance, the scene was one of alarming destruction. Windows shattered, their fragments hanging in the air for a heartbeat before disappearing entirely, swallowed by the maelstrom of Harry's powers. The delicate china plates and cups on the tables exploded into shards, spinning and floating in the air like a deadly ballet of porcelain and glass.

Tables, those unassuming bastions of stability, shuddered under the invisible force of Harry's cosmic wrath. The wood groaned in protest, the legs scraping against the stone floor as if attempting to resist an inevitable pull. Despite their mute protestations, one by one, the tables began to defy gravity. They lifted off the ground, slow and purposeful, as if pulled by invisible puppet strings. Chairs followed suit, their ascension slower, creating a strange dance of furniture hanging in mid-air, teetering precariously as if trying to maintain a semblance of balance.

Bobby's eyes widened in shock as he looked from Harry to the trembling table. "Harry..." he started, but his words were drowned out by the metallic cacophony of the trembling cutlery.

Sirius, however, was quick to notice the signs. "Harry, breathe," he instructed, a note of concern in his voice.

Harry's gaze remained locked on the spot where John had disappeared from sight, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. The tremors around him seemed to be getting stronger, the vibration escalating into a small earthquake.

The wave of fury washing over Harry was more than just an emotional response. It was a living force, a storm surge of cosmic power that surged forth, threatening to sweep away the dam holding it back. It filled his mind, crowding out all rational thought, drowning out the voices of those around him. The world around him seemed to dim, the chatter and noise of the room fading to an indistinct murmur.

There was a roaring in his ears, like a cosmic maelstrom, as if a thousand galaxies were being born and dying all at once. Each beat of his heart was like the crash of a supernova, echoing across the vast expanse of his mind. His body felt simultaneously weightless and as heavy as a dying star, the force of his rage and the power it stirred a counterbalance to the mundane reality around him.

Deep within Harry, the celestial mutation began to react, jolted from its usual state of relative tranquility. It was akin to the birth of a supernova, a sublime burst of energy contending against the physical boundaries of his small frame. This was not a sensation of aggression or discomfort, but more an experience of infinite potential, a limitless energy yearning for an outlet.

Through the maelstrom of his anger, there was a fleeting sense of fear. This was a power unlike anything he had ever felt, a force as wild and unpredictable as the cosmos itself. He felt the pulse of it coursing through him, saw the echo of stars and galaxies in the darkness of his mind.

For a moment, he was not in the dining hall at the Xavier's School. He was floating in the heart of a nebula, watching as new stars were born from the dust and gas. He was in the center of a galaxy, the cosmic energy swirling around him like a spiraling arm of stars. He was a part of the universe, and the universe was a part of him.

As the storm of cosmic power surged within Harry, he became vaguely aware of two other presences attempting to reach out to him. The familiar mind-touch of Professor Xavier and Jean Grey was like a beacon amidst the chaos, a point of contact with reality.

Jean and Charles, their mind, reached out into the maelstrom. They found themselves not within the mind of a ten-year-old boy, but within a representation of the cosmos itself. It was breathtakingly vast and endlessly deep, filled with radiant celestial bodies and the cold emptiness of space. It was like being adrift in the universe, staring into the heart of a quasar, lost amidst the swirling eddies of a spiral galaxy.

Xavier, ever the composed presence, remained calm despite the awe-inspiring spectacle. His mental voice, steady and comforting, resonated within the cosmos. "Harry," he said, "You are not alone. We are here with you."

Jean's voice echoed Charles' sentiments, her mental touch soothing against the tempestuous waves of cosmic power. "Harry, we need you to focus. You're in control here."

In response, the cosmos seemed to shudder, celestial bodies distorting and flaring with new intensity. But slowly, very slowly, the chaos started to ebb. The galaxies ceased their violent dance, the newborn stars began to calm, and the sense of overwhelming anger began to recede.

It was a painstakingly slow process, like coaxing a star back from the brink of supernova, but Jean and Charles never faltered. They held steadfast in the cosmos, their minds interlaced with Harry's, offering their unwavering support.

As the cosmic storm gradually lessened, the connection with reality grew stronger, the solid feel of the physical world becoming more tangible. Harry's rage subsided, leaving him drained yet calm, the echo of the cosmos still whispering in the back of his mind.

Jean and Charles, still connected with him, gently retreated from the cosmos of Harry's mind. They left behind a sense of warmth and reassurance, a mental touch that was like the memory of a comforting hug.

"You did well, Harry," Charles' voice echoed within his mind, as Harry once more became aware of his surroundings. "Remember, we're here for you. You're never alone."

In Harry's consciousness, a distant echo of John's words still lingered, causing an icy sting. "At least I was born a mutant unlike you. Your mother sacrificed herself to save you."

The words hung in the air, their venom seeping through the fragile peace that Harry had managed to regain. The sacrifice of Lily Potter was not something Harry took lightly; it was an open wound, a painful reminder of the love he was robbed of, a sacrifice he did not fully understand.

John's snide comment was a tarnish on the sacred memory of his mother, an insult that stoked the flames of his anger. Lily Potter had given her life for her son, an act of love that no amount of malice could diminish.

As the words played over and over in Harry's mind, they began to lose their initial sting. Instead, they transformed into a sort of affirmation, a testament to the strength of a mother's love, a symbol of Harry's indomitable will to survive.

His mother's sacrifice wasn't a mark of weakness. It was a testament to her strength, to her unwavering love. A love so powerful it had protected him from the darkest of forces, a love that lived on in Harry's very essence, shaping him into who he was.

"Yes," Harry mentally acknowledged, a newfound sense of peace settling over him. "My mother sacrificed herself for me. And I'll honor her sacrifice by living my life to the fullest, by becoming the best I can be."

A sense of calm gradually washed over Harry, seeping into his being as he gradually let go of the anger. The cosmic within him stilled, receding back into the shadows of his consciousness, leaving a profound sense of peace in its wake. And then, with an inaudible sigh, the vast cosmic landscape that had engulfed his mind started to dissipate, replaced by the stark reality of the dining hall.

Harry slowly blinked open his eyes. He was back, back in the reality of the school dining hall, back amidst the stunned silence. His ears were filled with the resounding quiet, a stark contrast to the cosmic symphony that had played out in his mind moments ago.

His gaze flitted across the room, landing on the faces staring back at him. There was a range of emotions displayed around him - fear, awe, curiosity, and confusion. The laughter and chatter from moments ago were now replaced by an unnerving silence.

Bobby, Kitty, Piotr, and even Rogue wore expressions of disbelief, their eyes wide as they took in the spectacle that had just unfolded.

Even Sirius, who knew the extent of Harry's powers, looked taken aback, his usual joviality replaced with a look of concern. Logan, standing a few feet away, had a hardened look on his face, his initial impression of the 'kid' undoubtedly revised.

Harry stood there, the echoes of Jean and Charles' words still resonating in his mind, feeling more exposed than ever. He could feel their eyes on him, could see the questions forming in their minds. The world seemed to spin faster, the walls of the dining hall closing in.

And then, without a word, Harry turned and bolted. He pushed past the bewildered crowd, his heart pounding in his chest as he ran. He didn't know where he was heading, just that he needed to get away, needed to find solitude, away from the prying eyes and unspoken questions.