The deafening silence in the dining hall hung in the air like a heavy shroud as Harry tore himself away from the scene, the remnants of his unleashed energy dissipating in his wake. The doors of the mansion swung open with a mind of their own, granting him a path to escape. He sprinted out, his heart pounding in his chest, his vision blurred by unshed tears.

He stumbled into the verdant landscape surrounding the Xavier Institute, the meticulously manicured lawns soon giving way to a wild, untamed forest. The leaves crunched under his feet as he ventured deeper into the thicket, the chaos of his power subsiding to the serene symphony of nature.

Tall trees towered over him, their gnarled branches forming a dense canopy overhead, filtering the sunlight into a hazy, emerald glow. Bushes with delicate flowers, their vivid hues a stark contrast against the green underbrush, lined his path. He could hear the whisper of the wind as it danced through the foliage, carrying the sweet scent of the earth and the faint twittering of unseen birds. It was a world away from the charged, volatile atmosphere of the dining hall.

But even the serene beauty of the forest couldn't ease the turmoil in his mind. Every step he took, every rustle of the leaves under his feet, was a harsh reminder of his loss of control. He had seen fear in the eyes of his friends, his teachers, his fellow students – a fear he had incited. The realization left a sour taste in his mouth, one that no amount of fresh forest air could cleanse.

His mind was a battlefield of confusion and regret, of anger and guilt. He wrestled with the echo of John's harsh words, their cruel intention still ringing in his ears. They had dredged up a pain so profound, a grief so raw, it had awakened the cosmos within him. How had he let himself lose control so completely?

Would he always be this volatile, this dangerous?

With each heartbeat, the weight of his unchecked power bore down on him. He was a child carrying the cosmos in his heart - a force that was as wondrous as it was terrifying. He had seen what it could do when he lost control; the damage, the fear it could instill. It was a responsibility he was still learning to comprehend, let alone control.

Lost in his inner turmoil, Harry hardly noticed when he slowed his pace, coming to a stop in a small clearing. He stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes stinging from unshed tears. He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the forest canopy, its tranquility mocking his inner chaos.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he slumped against a tree trunk, his mind racing, his heart heavy with the burden of his powers. The peaceful quiet of the forest seemed to mock his turmoil, standing in stark contrast to the storm raging within him.

Harry slid down the rough bark of the tree, landing on the cushioned forest floor. His heart pounded wildly against his ribcage, the aftermath of his anger and the raw exertion of his escape. The world felt too tight around him, closing in on him with each passing second. He hugged his knees close to his chest, burying his face in the sanctuary of his folded arms.

He was a danger. That thought echoed in his mind, bouncing off the walls of his skull, refusing to be silenced. He had hurt people before - unintentionally, yes, but he had hurt them nonetheless. He had caused damage, incited fear, all because he couldn't control the storm that resided within him.

Harry had thought his cosmic powers were a gift, something that set him apart, made him special. But now, he couldn't help but see them as a curse. A ticking time bomb that threatened to explode at any given moment, endangering the lives of those around him. The memory of his outburst in the dining hall was a vivid reminder of what he could do, of the harm he was capable of inflicting.

Each pulsation of his powers felt like a warning, a reminder of his destructive potential. They resonated within him, a constant hum that no longer felt exciting or extraordinary but menacing and volatile.

He thought of Sirius, of Jean, of Charles, of all the students at the mansion - all of them could be at risk. Because of him. Because he couldn't control the powers that seemed determined to control him. His mind raced, plagued by 'what ifs'. What if he lost control again? What if someone got seriously hurt? Or worse...

The thought was too much, too terrifying to bear. He could not - would not - be the cause of harm to anyone else. He had to distance himself, keep everyone safe from the storm that he was.

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the cool forest air fill his lungs, trying to calm the tumult within him. He didn't know what to do, or where to go. All he knew was that he needed to figure out a way to control his powers, to reign in the chaos that threatened to break free.

A low growl sounded behind him, alerting him to a presence. Harry turned and looked straight into a pair of intense, almost feral eyes that belonged to the man known as Logan - Wolverine.

Dressed in a simple flannel shirt and jeans, Logan stood there, cigar in one hand, staring at Harry with a hard-to-read expression. His rugged, muscular frame towered over the young boy, the difference in their sizes making Harry feel smaller, more vulnerable than he already was.

"How'd you find me?" Harry asked, his voice barely a whisper in the crisp forest air. His wide green eyes were filled with curiosity and a hint of apprehension as he looked up at the gruff man.

"I followed your scent," Logan replied, his deep, gravelly voice echoing lightly through the silent forest. He took a deep drag of his cigar, before blowing out a puff of smoke, his eyes never leaving Harry. "And it ain't hard to find a kid who's kicking up a fuss like you did back there."

There was no accusation in Logan's voice, just a matter-of-fact observation. It struck Harry that Logan didn't seem frightened or worried by him or his powers, unlike others. Instead, there was a certain level of understanding, maybe even empathy, in those keen, watchful eyes.

The quiet stretched between them, a comfortable silence that let Harry gather his thoughts. The words of John and his outburst in the dining hall replayed in his mind, filling him with a fresh wave of doubt and fear.

Looking up at Logan, his voice shaky but determined, Harry finally voiced his deepest fear. "What if I can't control it? What if...what if I hurt someone?"

Logan didn't answer immediately. He took another drag of his cigar, his gaze distant, as if he was battling with his own ghosts. Then he looked at Harry, his eyes hardened with resolve and said, "You learn. You make mistakes. You get up and keep trying. That's all there is to it, kid."

Harry realized that this man, who was considered dangerous and volatile by many, had learned to control his own violent instincts and powers. He found a strange comfort in Logan's words, in knowing that if Wolverine could do it, then maybe, just maybe, he could too.

"Kid," Logan's voice was a rough rasp in the silent woods, his next words measured and deliberate. "You've got some folks back at the mansion, worried sick about you." He lifted a finger, pointing in the direction of the mansion. His other hand lifted the cigar to his lips, taking a slow drag before continuing, the ember glowing a warm, radiant red in the fading light. "And not 'cause of what you did... but 'cause they care 'bout you."

Harry's heart constricted in his chest. He hadn't meant to frighten anyone. All he'd wanted was to escape, to put distance between himself and everyone else. To ensure he couldn't hurt anyone else. The realization that he'd caused them to worry about him made his stomach churn with guilt.

Logan's stern expression softened just a tad, his eyes reflecting an uncharacteristic gentleness. "Look, kid. We've all got our demons." He tapped his cigar, a shower of red sparks falling to the forest floor. "We've all had to learn control. It's part of being... well, different."

He looked Harry straight in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "But pushing folks away, running from 'em... ain't gonna help. They wanna be there for you, whether you think you deserve it or not."

Harry looked down, his thoughts spiraling, his guilt gnawing at him. Logan's words were simple, but they carried a profound truth that Harry hadn't considered. His heart felt heavy in his chest, his mind a whirl of thoughts and emotions.

Logan's demeanor changed as he decided to open up about his own past. His cigar hung loosely between his fingers, the smoke swirling around them, offering a temporary veil for his thoughts. He glanced at Harry, seeming to measure his words carefully before he began speaking.

"You know, kid," he started, his voice heavy with a long-kept burden, "I ain't always known who I am."

Harry watched Logan curiously. The older man's eyes seemed to be looking at something far beyond the horizon, something intangible and filled with a mysterious kind of sorrow.

"See," Logan continued, his voice quieter, "I've got these... ghosts, I guess. Memories that ain't there, and some that are too clear. Faces I don't remember and places I can't forget."

He drew a deep breath, the lines on his weathered face deepening. "For the longest time, I was just... lost. Didn't know where I came from, where I was going, who I was. Just a man wanderin', tryin' to piece together a puzzle with missin' pieces."

His gaze fell onto his hands, roughened and scarred from countless battles, his knuckles gnarled from years of punches thrown and withstood. "Sometimes... sometimes it's like lookin' at a stranger in the mirror," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper now. "Like there's a part of me that I can't reach, can't remember."

Harry listened, rapt with attention. He could see the pain in Logan's eyes, the haunted look that appeared whenever he talked about his past. And in that moment, he understood what Logan was saying. He was not alone in his struggles, in his fears. Even the toughest people had their ghosts, their own challenges to face.

Logan let out a deep sigh, flicking the ash from his cigar. He turned to look at Harry, his gaze hard but understanding. "But I learned, kid," he said, a hint of steel in his voice. "I learned that you can't run from your past. Can't hide from your ghosts. You gotta face 'em, confront 'em. Only then can you start to move forward."

He clapped Harry on the shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "We all have our battles to fight, Harry," he added, his voice softer. "The important thing is to remember you're not alone. You got people who care about you, ready to stand by you. No matter what."

Harry shifted, letting Logan's words sink in. His eyes flickered to the older man, an idea forming in his mind. "I could help you, you know," he said, hesitantly.

Logan turned sharply to look at him, his bushy eyebrows furrowing into a skeptical scowl. "What do you mean, kid?"

"Well," Harry began, gathering his thoughts. "I mean, I've got these powers. Maybe I could, I don't know, help you remember something, see something you've forgotten." His voice was unsure, yet hopeful.

Logan seemed to contemplate the proposition for a moment before chuckling, a raspy, low sound. He took another puff from his cigar, the orange glow illuminating his rugged features as he shook his head.

"Appreciate the offer, kid," he said, the smoke curling around his words. "But the professor already offered. Said he could dive into my mind, dredge up the past." He sighed heavily, his gaze hardening. "Some things are better left forgotten, Harry. I've made peace with that."

Harry felt a pang of disappointment, but he understood. He could see the tough exterior Logan had built around himself, the walls erected to shield him from his past.

"But thanks, kid," Logan added, his gruff voice softer. He clapped Harry on the shoulder again, a small grin on his face. "Means a lot." He then continued forward, leaving Harry to ponder his words as the forest around them seemed to swallow their conversation, echoing Logan's message: You're not alone.

Harry stared ahead, the forest a blur of green and brown as he watched Logan. He chewed on his lip, mulling over the words he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke, "Why are you here, Logan?"

Logan turned to look at Harry, a quizzical expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow as he took a puff from his cigar. "What do you mean, kid?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably under Logan's gaze. He was just a kid asking questions, but he was curious. "I mean, why are you here at Xavier's? What made you stay?"

Logan was quiet for a moment, considering his answer. He took a long drag of his cigar, the ember at the end glowing brightly. Finally, he shrugged his broad shoulders. "Honestly, kid, I don't know."

Harry frowned. That wasn't the answer he was expecting.

Logan glanced at him and sighed. "I guess, I'm just looking for something," he said, his voice low. "Don't know what it is, but I got a feeling it's here. Or maybe it's not about finding something, but losing. Losing the past, the memories."

His voice trailed off, leaving a silence that hung heavily between them. Logan turned away, his gaze lost in the distance, as if he were looking for something he couldn't name.

Harry was quiet, taking in Logan's words. He understood that feeling of being lost, of searching for something. He felt it too. He was about to say something when Logan turned back to him.

"Now come on, kid," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. "Let's get you back. You've got people worried about you."

The sun's rays had just begun to peek through the trees, casting long shadows that danced and swirled on the dew-covered grass. Birdsong filled the morning air, their melodies intertwining with the rustle of the leaves in the wind. The tranquility of the scene was in stark contrast to the turmoil of emotions churning inside Harry.

The mansion came into view, its grandeur stark against the forest that enveloped it. The morning light caught on the mansion's windows, turning them into a myriad of sparkling diamonds.

Jean was the first to move, her fiery auburn hair trailing behind her as she rushed towards Harry. A soft, almost inaudible gasp escaped her lips as she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. He could smell the gentle fragrance of lavender from her hair and feel the subtle tremors from her relief-racked body.

Nearby, Charles wheeled himself closer, a gentle smile etched on his face that belied his worry. "I'm glad to see you safe, Harry," he murmured. His warm, calming presence was like a soothing balm on Harry's frazzled nerves.

Scott was the next to step forward, his visor-covered eyes scanning Harry. His jaw was clenched, but his voice was steady. "You had us worried, Harry," he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a reassuring grip.

Sirius, who had been watching silently from the sidelines, moved closer. His face was drawn, but his blue eyes sparkled with relief. He ruffled Harry's already messy hair, giving him a lopsided smile that held a world of relief. "You gave us quite a scare, pup," he chuckled softly.

All around him, Harry could feel the concern and relief from those who had become his new family. They were worried about him, cared for him.

Charles met Logan's gaze with an intensity that was almost tangible. The creases around his eyes deepened as he nodded, gratitude painting his face in a gentle wash of humility. "Your assistance is invaluable, Logan," Charles said, his voice steady yet layered with heartfelt appreciation.

Logan responded with a nonchalant shrug, his facade of indifference hardly concealing the subtle trace of concern that flickered in his eyes. "Wasn't no big deal," he muttered, but the lightness of his tone didn't match the sincerity that lay beneath it.

Harry, watching this exchange, felt a flicker of perplexity furrowed his brows. It hit him then, a sudden understanding washing over him like a wave breaking on the shore. Charles and Jean, with their potent psychic abilities, could have pinpointed his location within moments. They could have brought him back to the mansion with a mere thought. Yet, they had entrusted Logan with the task, allowing him the space to face his own demons, on his own terms.

This realization, though silent, was profoundly impactful. It showed him the depth of their respect for his individuality, their empathetic comprehension of his emotional turmoil. They had faith in Logan, and by extension, in him.

Logan gave him a short nod, an acknowledgment that passed between them like a quiet promise, before he turned away.

The thought lingered in Harry's mind like an unresolved puzzle, quietly itching at the corner of his thoughts. Why had Logan been the one to find him? But the question remained unvoiced, swallowed by the comforting hum of the mansion and the concerned faces surrounding him.

It was Sirius who finally shattered the silence, his voice cutting through Harry's introspection like a beacon. "Well, kiddo," he began, an undercurrent of amusement edging his words, "do you still fancy a trip to get those school supplies of yours?"

The question was a lifeline thrown amidst the storm of Harry's thoughts. It was a simple, ordinary query, a welcome distraction from the swirling vortex of emotion and cosmic power that had swept him up in its unforgiving grip only hours ago.

Harry looked up at Sirius, his green eyes meeting the older man's gaze. His lips tugged upwards in a tentative smile, the first one since the incident in the dining hall. "Yeah," he replied, his voice surprisingly steady. "I'd like that, Sirius."

The moment was short-lived as Charles cleared his throat, capturing Harry's attention. "Harry, would you join me in my office? There are some things we need to discuss."

The warm and soothing voice of the Professor diffused some of the tension from Harry's face. He nodded and followed Charles, his small steps echoing in the quiet corridors of the mansion.

In the office, Charles positioned himself behind the mahogany desk, a thoughtful expression on his face. The sunlight filtering through the window cast an inviting glow on his face. "Now, Harry," he began, "I want you to tell me how you're feeling. What are your thoughts right now?"

Harry's brows knitted as he mulled over the question. "I'm... I'm scared, Professor," he admitted, his voice small. "Scared of hurting someone with... with whatever this is inside me. I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me."

Charles nodded, his face softening with understanding. "I can understand that, Harry. It's quite a responsibility you have. But remember, power is neither good nor bad; it's what we do with it that makes the difference."

There was a pause as Harry considered Charles' words. It was a lot to process for a young boy, but he had always been mature for his age. Finally, he voiced another concern, "Professor, how will I train if I go to Hogwarts? I can't... I can't afford to lose control like that again."

Charles gave Harry an encouraging smile. "You're right, Harry. And we're going to do our best to ensure that doesn't happen. I plan on working closely with Hogwarts to coordinate your training. We have many ways to communicate - not all of them are conventional, of course. Your training will continue, even if you're miles away."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. The knot of fear in his stomach eased, replaced with a glimmer of hope.

"Before you head off with Sirius, I'd like to do a small training exercise," Charles suggested, his tone mild but his gaze intensely focused on Harry.

Harry straightened up, curiosity mingling with apprehension in his eyes. "What kind of exercise, Professor?"

"Telepathy," Charles replied simply, folding his hands in his lap. "I'd like to guide you through a process where you learn to shield your mind. It's a basic skill that every telepath should master. Also, it would help us to better understand your cosmic powers."

A myriad of thoughts raced through Harry's mind. Telepathy? Shielding his mind? It all sounded incredibly exciting but also quite overwhelming.

Charles seemed to sense Harry's apprehension, as he offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Harry. I'll guide you through it. Are you ready?"

Charles nodded slowly, his fingers lightly tapping on the armrest of his wheelchair. "Very well, Harry. Let's take it a step further, then."

His eyes remained locked onto Harry's, the intensity of his gaze creating an unspoken understanding between them. They were about to delve deeper, to navigate through the intricacies of Harry's mind, shaped and honed by the brief bouts of training he'd experienced in his younger years.

"Close your eyes, Harry," Charles instructed. His voice was calm, resonating with an almost meditative tranquility. Harry obliged, his eyelashes casting long shadows down his cheeks as he closed his eyes.

"Now, I want you to imagine a labyrinth," Charles continued, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "Envision it as clearly as you can. The walls are tall, vast, and complex, just like your mind. Can you see it?"

In the darkness behind his eyelids, Harry began to construct the labyrinth. Each wall rose mightily, branching out into an intricate network of pathways. It was like viewing his thoughts from a different perspective, each turn and twist representing a memory, a thought, an emotion.

"Good," Charles' voice drifted back, pulling Harry from his introspective exploration. "Now, imagine a light, a glowing orb, if you will. This orb represents your conscious mind, the part of you that you're actively controlling."

Harry conjured up the image of a brilliant orb, its radiance pulsating throughout the winding pathways of the labyrinth. The orb moved slowly, illuminating the darkened corners, dispelling shadows, revealing secrets.

"Now, I'm going to try and reach out to your orb, your consciousness," Charles declared, his voice steady. "But you mustn't let me. Picture a barrier around the orb. Your shield. Keep me out."

Harry felt a gentle pressure against his consciousness, like a feather-light touch. Instinctively, he wrapped the orb in a layer of light, reinforcing it with all his concentration.

He felt Charles' mental probe, a soft nudge against his protective shield. Harry pushed back, feeling a sense of accomplishment when he sensed Charles' withdrawal. The exercise ended, and Harry opened his eyes to find Charles looking at him with a mixture of surprise and approval.

"That's impressive, Harry," Charles praised, his voice laced with admiration. "Your telepathic abilities are remarkably strong. We'll work more on this, but I think you're off to a very good start."

Charles took a deep breath, steadying his thoughts before he spoke. "Harry," he began, his voice slow and measured. "Your cosmic powers are not like anything we've dealt with before. The potential within you is vast, a spectrum of capabilities that stretches far beyond the confines of our understanding."

His fingers drummed a steady rhythm against the armrest of his wheelchair as he took a moment to organize his thoughts. "That being said," he continued, "we can attempt to channel and control these powers using similar methods that we use for telepathy and telekinesis."

Harry watched him carefully, his eyes showing a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. "How would we do that, Professor?"

"Well, we could start by visualizing your cosmic powers as a separate entity within you, much like we did with your conscious mind," Charles suggested. "Imagine it as a vibrant star, pulsating with power and life. Can you do that?"

Harry nodded, closing his eyes to better focus on the task. He visualized the cosmic powers within him as a glowing star, a beacon of radiant energy at the core of his being.

"Good," Charles encouraged. "Now, similar to what we did earlier, create a barrier around it. This is your control, your way of regulating the flow of that power."

Harry did as instructed, creating a protective barrier around the shining star. He felt a strange sensation, like a humming vibration echoing through his body, as if the star was resonating with his intent.

"Now, with your permission," Charles said, his voice a touch more tentative than before, "I'd like to attempt to connect with this cosmic power within you. I won't manipulate it, just observe. Are you okay with that, Harry?"

Harry, his nerves humming with energy and a touch of anxiety, gave a small nod. He prepared himself for the foreign touch of Charles' mind against the protective barrier he'd built around the radiant star of his cosmic powers.

As Charles' presence gently brushed against the edges of his mind, Harry focused on keeping the barrier strong yet flexible. This was new territory for both of them, a stepping stone towards understanding and controlling the cosmic potential within him.

Charles' mental presence was soothing and respectful, providing Harry with a sense of security as they delved into the complexities of his cosmic powers.

Charles' consciousness gently drifted towards the brilliant sphere of Harry's cosmic power, the radiant star in the center of his mental landscape. As he approached it, he could feel the immense energy pulsating from it, a force unlike anything he had ever encountered before.

Suddenly, from the radiant star, another figure emerged. It was a form of Harry, yet not quite the same. This figure was luminous, a celestial manifestation that bore a striking resemblance to the young boy, but it was clearly a different power altogether.

This was Harry's cosmic self.

"Hello," Charles began, his mental voice resonating in the vast space of Harry's mind. "I mean you no harm. I am here to help Harry understand and control his cosmic powers."

Cosmic Harry turned to regard Charles, its gaze almost dismissive. It was like looking into the heart of a star, burning with untamed energy and unfathomable wisdom. It saw Charles, a mere speck in the grand scheme of the cosmos, attempting to comprehend its magnitude.

In the unfathomable depths of Harry's consciousness, Charles and the celestial manifestation of Harry's cosmic power stood in quiet confrontation. Cosmic Harry shimmered, its edges constantly in flux, much like a star undergoing violent nuclear reactions.

"You seek to understand me," Cosmic Harry finally spoke, its voice echoing through the void. It sounded like Harry, but the tone was laced with an edge of omnipotent confidence, a sense of being that stretched across eons.

"But understand this," Cosmic Harry continued, "I am not a tool to be used, nor a weapon to be wielded. I exist within Harry, and he exists within me. We are one."

Charles, for all his wisdom and experience, felt the stark enormity of his task. This cosmic power was not some latent power to be awakened and controlled. It was a living, conscious force that sought to experience existence in its own way.

"I understand your need for freedom," Charles replied, his mental voice echoing in the void. "But Harry is still learning, still growing. He needs to understand you, as much as you need to understand him. The emotions he feels, the anger, the joy, the sorrow... they are as much a part of him as you are."

Cosmic Harry remained silent, its brilliant form flickering in the void. A million different colors danced across its surface, a cosmic light show that was equal parts fascinating and terrifying.

"His emotions... they are strong," Cosmic Harry finally said, a hint of contemplation in its voice. "Perhaps too strong."

"But they are his," Charles replied, his tone steadfast. "And they make him who he is. They fuel his strength, his resolve, his compassion. And they could also be the key to understanding how you two can coexist."

A moment of silence hung between them, as if the entire universe was holding its breath.

Charles regarded Cosmic Harry before him, its radiance pulsing in rhythm with Harry's own life force. It was a testament to the complexity of existence - a grand orchestration of cosmic energy housed within the mind of a young boy.

"I understand you're a part of Harry and he is a part of you," Charles said, striving to keep his mental voice steady in the face of such cosmic enormity. "But what I want to know is what you desire. What is it that you truly want?"

Cosmic Harry paused, its radiant form undulating as if contemplating the weight of Charles' words. "I wish to be," it finally responded. "To experience. To learn and grow as Harry does. He is me and I am him."

Charles nodded. This was progress, a chance to understand this cosmic force. "But you must also understand that Harry is more than just your conduit. He is a living, breathing person, with his own will and desires."

A flicker ran across Cosmic Harry's form, a ripple in the fabric of its cosmic energy. "I do not wish to override Harry's will," Cosmic Harry stated, the echo of its voice sounding almost defensive. "His experiences, his emotions, they are as much a part of me as they are of him."

"And that is a line you must respect," Charles pressed. "Harry should not be forced to surrender to you. He has the right to his own mind, to his own will. You are a part of him, but you are not him."

Again, a silence filled the cosmic void, Cosmic Harry seemingly contemplating Charles' words. "Very well," it finally assented, its form rippling with acceptance. "But understand this, Charles Xavier, your presence here is an intrusion, a meddling in affairs beyond your understanding."

Charles felt a shiver run down his spine. Even in his astral form, the immense power of Cosmic Harry was tangible, threatening. "Perhaps," he conceded, "but I am here to protect Harry, to guide him. And I will do what it takes to ensure his safety, even if it means venturing into the cosmic unknown."

Cosmic Harry radiated an energy that seemed to shake the very fabric of the mental space they occupied. "I have existed within Harry since the beginning," it intoned, its voice echoing like the reverberation of a distant star. "We are not two separate beings, but one. An inseparable blend of humanity and cosmic force."

Its form pulsed as it continued, the energy around it swirling with a nebulous intensity, "You see me as a foreign element within him, a power to be controlled or suppressed. But that is not what we are. The boy you seek to protect and the cosmic force you fear are not distinct."

With an assertive flash of light, Cosmic Harry declared, "We are ready to be one, to integrate completely. The boy's mind is prepared, his body is capable. The time is near."

Charles remained calm, but he could feel a growing sense of unease. He knew he was dealing with something that exceeded his comprehension. Yet, he had to try, for Harry's sake.

"I understand," Charles responded with as much firmness as he could muster. "But it is important that this... integration happens in a way that is safe for Harry. We need to ensure his will, his identity remains intact."

Cosmic Harry pulsing energy seemed to smirk at Charles' words, "Do you not understand, Charles Xavier? I am not a threat to Harry. I am Harry. There is no danger here. Only the natural progression of evolution."

Despite its assurance, a warning rang in Charles' mind, an instinctive understanding of the fine line they were treading. But before he could respond, Cosmic Harry delivered its final proclamation.

"Your concern is noted. Know this: I can keep you here, locked away. This is not a threat, just a fact. Remember, you are a mere grain of sand in the grand scheme of the cosmos. Harry and I... We are the cosmos."

Cosmic Harry's projection was an exact replica of Harry, yet it possessed a sense of ancient wisdom and grandeur that the young boy did not. Its gaze held the depth of eternity, as if all the mysteries of the cosmos were reflected in those green eyes.

"Tell me," Charles began, his voice echoing in the vast expanse of the cosmic mind, "What do you make of magic? The magic that Harry is born with, the magic that is part of his heritage."

Cosmic Harry, tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. It was silent for a moment, the cosmic winds whirling around them. Then, in a voice that resonated like a chorus of stars, it answered.

"Magic," it mused, its voice echoing through the celestial void, "is but an extension of existence, a thread in the fabric of reality. It is a manifestation of the natural order, an order that the cosmic forces abide by. I am a being of cosmic power, born of the raw energy of the universe. As I dwell within Harry, our essences intertwine. The magic in him resonates with the cosmic energy in me. Together, we can bring forth a new kind of magic. A magic born from the cosmic energy within us."

Charles felt a chill run down his spine. Cosmic Harrys words were ominous yet filled with an undeniable truth. It was a grand scheme, a merging of two of the most powerful forces known to them. The implications of such a combination were vast and unknown.

"And what would this... cosmic magic entail?" Charles asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.

"A new era of possibilities," Cosmic Harry responded, its voice filled with certainty, "The cosmic energy I embody is omnipotent. It contains the essence of creation, destruction, and all that lies in between. Harry's magic, tethered to this earth, is governed by laws and limitations. But combined with my power, it can transcend those bounds. It would be a magic born of the cosmos, unrestricted, unbounded, capable of feats beyond human comprehension."

"And mutations? About us, mutants?"

Cosmic Harry was silent for a moment, seeming to contemplate the question. Then, it responded, its voice resonating around Charles like a symphony of countless stars, each word pulsating with raw energy.

"Mutations... fascinating, yes," it said. "A wonderful yet chaotic interplay of genetics and evolution, a dance of proteins and nucleic acids. Yet, it is but a single perspective of the infinite possibilities that exist within the cosmos."

Charles felt his mind reel as Cosmic Harry expanded on its point. It spoke of energy as an entity, of matter being one representation of energy, and of mutation being a microscopic modification of this intricate cosmic dance.

"In essence," Cosmic Harry continued, "mutations are nothing more than the physical manifestation of a change in the underlying energy patterns. They are the universe's way of exploring potentialities within the narrow confines of the genetic code. The X-gene, your mutation, is a variant of this exploration, an emergent phenomenon resulting from the complex interplay of cosmic energies."

Charles was struck by the profundity of the Cosmic Harry's perspective. Cosmic Harry seemed to view mutation, not as a biological anomaly but as a fundamental cosmic process.

"And Harry...what is he to you? And this new form of magic you talk about?" Charles asked, anxiety creeping into his voice.

Cosmic Harry laughed, a sound akin to the harmonious chime of celestial bodies. "Harry is a vessel. A unique convergent point for the cosmos and the earthly, a nexus of magic and mutation. His is not a mutation or magic as you understand them. It is a right from the cosmos itself. His magic...our power...will bridge the gap between the seen and the unseen, the known and the unknown."

Cosmic Harry revelation hung heavily in the mental space, a silence settling between them. Charles felt a wave of trepidation wash over him. Such power, in the hands of a child, was a concept that filled him with awe and fear.

Yet, as he looked into Cosmic Harry's gaze, he realized that this was not a choice. It was a destiny, one that Harry would have to navigate and embrace, a destiny that could change the course of the universe forever.

The words echoed in the void, the figure disappearing, leaving Charles alone amidst the sparkling cosmos of Harry's mind.

Slowly, Charles returned to the physical realm, the ethereal echo of the cosmos in Harry's mind fading away. The immediate sensory change was jarring; the silent, endless expanse replaced with the grounded reality of his office. The muted tick of the grandfather clock, the faint smell of parchment and ink, the gentle morning light filtering through the heavy curtains.

Across from him, Harry sat, bright eyes curiously watching. He appeared unchanged, the same boy Charles had been training a moment ago. But within him housed a power of vast cosmic power, a power within the mind of someone so young, a mind that Charles had just confronted.

"Professor?" Harry's voice broke through his thoughts. "How did I do? Did I...did I control it?"

Charles blinked, glancing at the eager young boy. His face was lit with hope and a touch of anxiety, his green eyes sparkling with expectation. Charles mustered a warm smile, pushing aside the revelation he had just experienced.

"You did well, Harry," Charles assured him, his tone sincere. "Very well indeed. You are making excellent progress. It's clear you are getting a good hold over your powers. Remember, it's all about control and understanding. Your emotions, your thoughts - they play a crucial role."

Harry's face brightened at the words, the worry lines on his forehead still showing. Charles felt a pang of guilt for withholding the encounter with the cosmic power within him, but he knew it was for the best. For now.

"Thanks, Professor," Harry replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "I'll keep working on it."

Charles nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a gentle smile. "I know you will, Harry."

Yet, as he watched Harry walk out of his office, Charles couldn't help but feel a knot of worry in the pit of his stomach. An uncertainty about the future, about the cosmic power within Harry. He had navigated through a myriad of minds, had encountered all forms of mental anomalies, but this was uncharted territory.

As Charles' comforting words faded behind him, Harry slipped back into the familiar hallways of the mansion. Each portrait, every embellishment, resonated with a comforting familiarity, yet he felt a sense of disconnection. An incident had transpired that had unwittingly drawn a subtle yet profound line of distinction between him and his friends. The enormity of his cosmic powers and the fear of what he might unintentionally unleash had painted his solitude in striking colors.

Rounding a corner, he stumbled upon Kitty, Bobby, and Rogue engaged in a spirited conversation. At his approach, their banter ceased, replaced with wide-eyed concern and the pregnant silence of the unsaid.

"Harry," Kitty started, her voice a soft whisper. Her expressive eyes flickered over his face, noting the heaviness that had settled there. The levity that usually graced his features was absent, replaced by an elusive shroud that was foreign and disquieting.

Harry nodded in response but didn't meet her gaze. Instead, he focused on a small crack in the tile floor, its intricate details somehow more bearable than the worried looks of his friends. His fingers twitched at his side.

Bobby broke the silence with a sheepish grin. "Hey, buddy, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Harry mustered a small smile in return, the corners of his mouth twitching with the effort. "Yeah, just lost in thought."

Kitty, the most perceptive among them, didn't appear convinced. Her gaze lingered on him, the soft grey of her eyes reflecting a cloud of concern. Harry noted the unspoken question in her eyes. Was he okay? Could they help? But Harry didn't know how to answer, didn't know if anyone could help navigate the maze of uncertainties that had made a home in his mind.

Turning away from the scrutiny of their gazes, Harry said softly, "I think I need a little time alone."

And with that, he walked away, leaving his friends behind, their worried whispers becoming the background noise of his thoughts. His powers had isolated him in ways he hadn't anticipated, marking him different, dangerous even.

The mansion was rife with silent conversations and hushed whispers as Sirius walked its lengthy corridors, each carrying echoes of the spectacle that had occurred in the dining hall. His mind was an uneasy sea of worry for Harry, the boy he had sworn to protect.

Tracing the quiet hush to a small corner of the mansion's elaborate library, Sirius found Harry standing by the grand window, staring blankly at the gentle cascade of rain outside. His small frame was hunched over, his head lowered, and his fingers tracing the intricate patterns on the window pane.

"Harry," Sirius called out gently, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Harry didn't startle, indicating that he had sensed Sirius's presence. He turned around slowly, his vibrant green eyes clouded with a melange of emotions that Sirius couldn't quite put his finger on. Fear, confusion, guilt, and an intense longing that tugged at Sirius's heart.

"Everyone's worried," Sirius began, moving closer to Harry. His hand hovered for a moment before resting gently on the boy's shoulder. "Especially after this morning."

"I know," Harry replied, his voice as soft as a sigh, laden with unshed tears. His gaze dropped to his feet, avoiding Sirius's scrutinizing stare.

Sirius crouched down to Harry's level, his eyes meeting Harry's. The fire in his godson's eyes had been replaced with a flicker, and Sirius felt a pang in his chest. He had to tread carefully, choosing his words with precision.

"You have a power inside you, Harry, something grand and fierce. But remember, it doesn't define you," Sirius said, his voice unwavering, asserting each word with a firm conviction. "It's a part of you, yes, but it's not all of you. You are more than your powers, more than the fear they evoke."

Harry remained silent, absorbing Sirius's words, his gaze flickering between Sirius and the rain-soaked world outside. After a moment, he nodded, a weak smile tugging at his lips. Sirius patted his shoulder encouragingly, a silent promise that he wouldn't have to navigate this storm alone.

"Come on," Sirius said, standing up and ruffling Harry's unruly hair affectionately. "Let's go get your school supplies. A bit of magic should do you good."

Holding out a tarnished silver spoon to Harry, Sirius beamed, "This, Harry, is a portkey. We'll be using it to travel to Diagon Alley."

Harry glanced from Sirius' encouraging eyes to the innocuous spoon in his outstretched hand. It was an ordinary kitchen spoon, well-worn with years of use. It certainly didn't look like anything special, let alone a device for magical transportation. Sensing Harry's confusion, Sirius began to explain.

"You see, a portkey is an object enchanted to instantly transport anyone touching it to a specific location. This old spoon, for instance, is charmed to take us straight to Diagon Alley. All you have to do is touch it, and it'll do the rest."

Sirius' eyes twinkled with excitement, matching the curiosity in Harry's gaze. With a reassuring nod from Sirius, Harry reached out and laid his hand on the spoon. A rush of anticipation surged through him.

Ready to face whatever was to come, Sirius looked at Harry and announced, "Alright, here we go. On three. One... Two... Three..."

Just as they both tightened their grips on the spoon, the world blurred around them, colors merged and morphed, and a rushing sound filled their ears. Then, in the blink of an eye, the disorienting sensation ceased, and they found themselves standing in the middle of the bustling Diagon Alley.

With a broad grin, Sirius proclaimed, "Welcome to Diagon Alley, Harry."