Edited: 3/3/16
Author's Note: The next couple of chapters will be taken from and inspired by Kristine Kathryn Rusch's and Dean Wesley Smith's book X-Men, as well as the first X-Men movie.
Chapter 17– Friendly Enemies
"It is easy enough to be friendly to one's friends. But to befriend the one who regards himself as your enemy is the quintessence of true religion. The other is mere business." - Mahatma Gandhi
A thick line of pain itched over his abdomen from hip to hip, but the sensation was distant, nothing like the memory of the blade sliding through his flesh, spilling his guts. His breath caught in the back of his throat, but he didn't open his eyes. Voices drew his attention away from the pleasant shock of being alive. After that bastard gutted him, he thought it was the end, but…perhaps it was just a short reprieve after all.
"I was able to patch him up, but I'm not gunna lie, there's no way in hell that wound doesn't get infected. I mean seriously, his insides were laying on the pavement. I did my best, but short of pouring bleach inside him, there's not much I can do."
"I see. Were you able to get enough samples?"
"Yeah, but it's better to keep them around for testing. I have the samples, but without the living test subject, I won't be able to make any modifications if the samples aren't enough."
"Do what you can while it's still alive."
"Sure thing boss."
Shit, where da hell am I?
Wade fidgeted under the laser-like green gaze drilling holes into the side of his head, but refused to look up. Ignore him, and he'll go away. Sure he will, just like a bear won't maul you if you play dead. Right, who came up with that bit of bullshit anyway? Bears? I bet they started that rumor so stupid people would lay down and become an easy…
His thoughts came to a screeching halt when he felt the glare go from mere intense interest, to death. Swallowing, Wade gave in to the inevitable and looked at the petite assassin. "What?" He barked, pretending like his left eye wasn't swollen shut, and his arm wasn't in a red and black cast that already bore the signatures of the rest of the team. IX didn't respond, but he continued staring in that creepy way of his, and Wade couldn't take it anymore.
"Look, it wasn't my fault! I mean sure it was a snatch and grab and yeah, it should have been a breeze, but fuck! Who the hell brings a stick to a sword fight anyway?" Heat scorched his cheeks at the admission. He'd almost lost to a guy with a freaking stick of all things. "I got him in the end!" That hadn't been a good thing though. By the time he'd managed to slip past the other mutant's guard, he'd been so furious that he hadn't checked the blow, and ended up doing a hell of a lot more damage then he'd meant to. Thankfully, Wraith was his partner, and they were able to teleport the injured mutant directly to the medical wing – spilled guts and all. "You should see the other guy."
IX continued his silent observation of the foolish swordsman, who blathered on about his supposed victory. He was intrigued by the story in spite of Wade's poor presentation. While he had little regard for the loud mouthed mutant, he couldn't deny the man was an expert at sword play. That another mutant was not only able to keep up with Wade's speed, but actually gain the upper hand at least twice with nothing more than a wooden staff was worth investigating.
With a last lingering look, IX turned to track down Stryker.
Long fingers, suited to shuffling cards, traced over the warm metal band that had been snapped around his neck while he was still groggy from the anesthesia.
"Now, your mutation is quite impressive, and hmmm, troublesome when it comes to containment. So I whipped up this nifty little device. Should your energy spike due to you charging up an object, well, it'll detonate the small bomb now located snugly around your scrawny neck. It'll be best if you don't do that, Kay? I don't want to have to deal with the dissection of your headless corpse just yet."
His nose wrinkled while he recalled the strangely cheerful, yet completely psychotic, doctor who'd put him back together and chained him to this place. Reaching down, he touched the skin of his stomach, and felt the heat growing there. Maybe it would be better to detonate the collar now, and save himself a little pain. No, it wasn't in his nature to give in, even when the odds were so far beyond hopeless it became a cosmic joke.
He was going to die in this wretched place, but he'd be damned if he would do their work for them.
"Ah, here he is. I had no idea you could heal." The voice of the good doctor would have jerked him into a sitting position if the wave of pure agony hadn't threatened to send him into unconsciousness. Remy turned his head and blinked in surprise when he saw the small green-eyed man next to the doctor.
Even though he'd only been awake for a few hours, he'd already heard stories about the Green-Eyed Demon, the Sellout, the Traitor, the Executioner. Somehow, he'd expected someone taller. Not this slender boy with dead eyes who'd come to heal instead of kill.
"Healing others is not my strong suit. I might kill him in error if I am distracted in any way."
"Can I watch?" Instead of being upset about the thought of his possible death, the doctor sounded like an excided child whose friend offered to show him a scab he was about to rip off.
"Yes."
The door clicked open, admitting the pair into his small cell. Without so much as a greeting, the short man stood over his bed and reached forward to lift the orange shirt. "What brings ya ta Gambit den? I can use a healin', true, but dat's not your usual is it, Mon Ami? Why heal Gambit?" Remy demanded, though his tone was hard, a small smile lingered on his lips. The smile faded a second later when he tried to get a read on the other mutant. One of his lesser known talents was the ability to charm almost anyone. Those who knew about it thought he projected a sense of trust onto others. It was one of the reasons he'd been able to fleece so many when it came to gabling.
It was more complex than that. While he was able to gain the trust of almost anyone – even some of the most powerful mutants around – it wasn't something he projected into them. Instead, when he saw someone, he was able to focus and see the depths of their hearts. He couldn't see into the mind like a telepath, nor into their moment by moment emotions, like an empathy. His gift was unique. He saw the emotional currents that formed a person. By examining those currents, he could reach out and dip a mental finger into the waters of their heart to shift the flow of emotion in his favor. It allowed him to nudge and manipulate the most important facets of a person, the emotions which were the underlying guide to all decision making.
When he reached for the green-eyed mutant, he felt nothing. Strange, shieldin' perhaps? His fingers itched to reach out and touch to make sure that he was real, and not some sort of hologram. The lack of emotion was as disturbing to him as the lack of scent would be to a feral.
"I have a proposition for you. I will heal your injuries, and should you survive the procedure, you will train me in the use of your chosen weapon." He replied, not a hint of a smile on his face to indicate that this might be some sort of strange joke.
Gambit touched the metal collar again as he studied the other male. "Ya be wantin' ta learn from Gambit how to fight wid a Bo? Well, get dis collar off me, and Gambit be teachin' ya all ya want ta know." He grinned, and somehow managed to give off an air of relaxed arrogance even half dead.
"The collar will remain. If I do not heal you, you will die within the month. If I heal you, you will be permitted to leave this cage during training. You'll have your weapon, and may use it full force, without using your powers. If you attempt to escape, you will be cut down. If you refuse, you will be returned to the medical ward where you will be experimented on until you die of your wounds." The words were softly spoken, but the threat burned Remy's pride. He gritted his teeth, wanting to throw the offer back in his face, but knowing the consequences of doing so.
Closing his eyes, he forced a smile to his lips. "It seems I'll be acceptin' your kind offer, Mon Ami." Remy expected the mutant to smile, or gloat, or something to indicate the win, but he didn't. Instead, he moved forward and tugged the shirt up to expose the white bandages wrapped around his lower stomach.
The doctor moved to his other side, and swiftly cut the bandages, exposing the wound. Staples held the flesh together, but the skin was already red, and hot to the touch, indicating infection. Cool, slender hands began exploring the wound, probing it, much to Remy's discomfort. "You must remain still. There will be pain but if you thrash about, I will kill you."
Remy forced himself to take a slow breath at the declaration. It didn't sound like a threat, more like a warning. Then again, it was hard to tell much from the monotone. He closed his eyes, biting his lip when he felt the heat spill into the damaged tissue. Pain licked a leisurely line over the wound, and it took everything he had not to try and move away. Fire settled in his guts, boiling him alive.
All of IX's attention was drawn into the terrible wound. He'd never attempted to heal someone who'd already been operated on before, and found the stitches to be an irritant. His power burned them away while he worked, but he had to take care not to destroy the flesh as well. I should have had the doctor remove them first, he mused but knew it was too late to stop now. The beam of tightly controlled power worked its magic, cleansing the body beneath his hands of the toxic buildup while it healed the deep slash.
Sweat slid unnoticed down his face and burned his eyes, but he didn't wipe it away. Pushing through the growing fatigue, he sealed the wound, leaving a thin white line behind. IX swayed, nearly collapsing onto the bed.
As quick as the pain came, it vanished. Remy blinked and frowned at the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The light touch on his stomach grew heavier, and he realized the one who'd healed him was now using him to say upright. Unfocused green eyes caught his attention, and he was shocked to see how exhausted the other mutant was. Why save him if it was difficult to do so?
"Huh, so healing takes a lot out of you?" The doctor piped up.
Closing his eyes, IX forced himself to straighten. "Yes. My power is a destructive force. Bending it to healing is not an easy task and requires a far higher degree of control than any of my other techniques."
"Absolutely fascinating! Come along, I have a few experiments I'd like to run." Without looking back, they left. Remy could only gape after them in sheer astonishment.
Two days later, the strange healer, and soon to be student, appeared again. Remy frowned when he saw the menacing shadow following at the heels of the short male. While this mutant had emotions, they were primal things. Rage mingled with an animal's territoriality, and Remy couldn't understand where the rage was coming from. After all, the feral was on the other side of the bars. He was one of the keepers, instead of one of the kept, so why the fury?
He knew it would be as impossible to manipulate the new male as it was the assassin, though for different reasons. The feral was too animalistic. His emotions were too sharp and focused to be nudged from their path the way normal peoples were.
Remy stood when the pair came to a halt in front of his cage. Hours of examination had shown no easy escape from the prison, and he wanted to get a better view of how the doors were operated. To his disgust, the small mutant simply rested his hand on the door and whispered "Open." It popped open like an obedient dog, allowing him to come face to face with the boy who'd saved his life for the first time since the healing.
With a bow, Remy offered a charming smile. "I be Remy. We weren't properly introduced da o'er day, who might ya be, Mon Ami?"
IX studied the taller mutant, satisfied by his state of health. "I am IX, and this is X. Come along." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving his back exposed for attack. Not that Remy would be so foolish, not with hard whisky eyes burning into his flesh. He wasn't the sort of man to take needless risks, and his instincts screamed that the feral would tear him to pieces if he so much as glanced at IX the wrong way.
As if reading his thoughts, X's lips pealed back, exposing a set of brilliant white teeth that - although human blunt - looked strong enough to rip his throat out.
Turning, Remy followed after IX and calmly ignored the dead leaf like sound of whispers coming from the other cages. Let them think him a sellout, but Remy was a man who paid his debts, and he'd made a deal. He would train IX in the use of the bo, and perhaps he would find a chink in that blank faced armor and make friends with him. It never hurt to make allies in a place like this. Any chance of escape would hinge on forming connections.
"Look, Mon Ami, you be standin' all wrong. Let Remy show-"
"No. Attack me."
"I know you be wantin' ta learn, but to learn you have ta know how to hold the weapon first!" Remy said, exasperated with IX utter refusal to actually be trained. How was he supposed to teach someone who wouldn't listen to instruction?
IX set the bo aside, and moved to the center of the training room. "X, attack me." Remy's jaw dropped when the much larger male launched himself across the room. If possible, it would have dropped even more when six razor sharp knives ripped out of his knuckles to slash in a glittering arch at IX's head.
Before they could connect, IX sidestepped. A small knife darted out, hissing over the other mutant's ribs. The pair began to circle each other.
Remy couldn't take his eyes off the deadly dance of the pair. They'd clearly trained together for a long time, and flowed over and around each other like liquid. While he watched, Remy felt something and couldn't keep the shock off his face, though the two wouldn't notice anyway. They were too focused on each other.
He felt something from IX. It was a small thing, like a tiny current of warm water at the bottom of a shaded pond. In the days since the healing, Remy had convinced himself that IX was able to shield his emotions, but now he realized that he was truly almost empty of them.
Unlike most people, whose souls were like the ocean, full of currents and undercurrents, IX was like a small pond in the center of a forest. His waters were deep, but still. Nothing moved them...no. Almost nothing moved them. Still watching, he saw those green eyes remain locked intently on the feral. That tiny ribbon of heat was a result of X, Remy was certain of it.
And X, well he was a raging inferno of lust. Remy had to avoid dipping into that heat less his own body respond.
After half an hour, IX's small knife got caught between X's ribs. The feral was on the smaller male in an instant, pressing him to the ground as his teeth sank into the delicate shoulder hard enough to make Remy wince before they detangled themselves and stood again.
X returned to the wall to watch as IX turned back to Remy. "You see, I will not break. Attack me, and I will learn as we fight."
Deciding to take IX word for it, Remy attacked. He didn't hold back, even when IX made a rookie mistake, leaving his fingers exposed on the wood. Remy's bo came down, and he cringed when he heard bone break.
A low snarl snapped his head around to see X stalking towards him.
"No." IX's voice halted X in his tracks before sending him back to the wall. Closing his eyes, IX focused and the bones knitted back together.
Remy expected to see the same exhaustion on IX face that had been there during his healing, but found nothing. "Ya can heal ya'self widout sufferin' for it?" Remy asked.
"Yes," came the less than enlightening reply. "Again."
Sighing, Remy attacked again. The pattern continued for over three hours before IX called a halt to the training. After each blow that caused too much damage to be ignored, IX would pause long enough to heal before demanding Remy attack again.
To the Cajun's amazement, IX did learn simply from being beaten bloody over and over again. More and more, Remy had to deflect his own attacks as the smaller mutant learned his style and then to his shock, began to change that style to better fit his smaller frame.
"Enough. We will train again tomorrow."
Remy couldn't quite suppress the groan of exhaustion at the thought. He wasn't in bad shape, but three hours of non-stop fighting was still more than he was used to.
IX stood silently, studying the trembling girl curled up in the middle of the cage. Sweat fell in small streams down her face, and though her sobs had subsided, she still sniffled every few seconds. Her chestnut brown hair was plastered to her skull from the sweat, and her face was covered in red splotches from the experiments. Two hours ago, the Doctor demanded he take the girl back to the cages and watch her because he was sick to death of her caterwauling and carrying on. He'd ordered IX to keep an eye on the experiment and to retrieve him if anything went wrong.
The normal curses had died down an hour ago, and even Remy stopped trying to get the smaller mutant to talk. He hadn't responded to anyone, and continued his silent vigil as if he and the girl were alone in the vast room.
Suddenly, the halting sniffles broke off as the tiny form began convulsing. IX saw the girl's face begin to purple, and observed the white froth already forming on her lips. It was obvious she was choking on her tongue, and he knew that she would be dead in by time he retrieved the Doctor since the man flat out refused to allow IX to shadow walk him anywhere. He could save the girl, but that went against his orders.
Turning away, IX slipped into a shadow and vanished. Ten minutes later, and six too late to do any good, they returned. The Doctor took one look at the cooling corpse and cursed before he rounded on IX. It would have been effortless for the small assassin to dodge the blow, but he stood still and allowed the backhanded slap to land.
The force of the blow was enough to slam him into the front of Remy's cage, but IX said nothing. Instead, he straightened, and ignored the small trickle of blood oozing down his chin.
"You imbecile, why didn't you do something!" The Doctor shrieked.
"Your orders-"
"My orders be damned," he hissed. "What kind of moron walks away from someone who is clearly dying when they could stop them from dying first before they get the doctor?"
IX didn't reply, nor did he drop his eyes or demonstrate any of the normal behaviors of someone who's ashamed of their actions.
"Idiot. Whatever. Take the corpse to the autopsy room."
Remy studied IX, dipping into that hauntingly empty pool of emotion and feeling nothing as the Doctor stormed away.
"Pathetic," Pietro hissed from the cage across from him. His body blurred, trying fruitlessly to escape the rubber contraption that held him in the center of the cage. "He's nothing but a whipped dog. No matter how many times the masters kick him, he still lick their boots."
IX said nothing, not even bothering to look back at the tethered mutant.
"Mon Ami, why do ya let them treat ya so?" Remy asked.
IX opened the door to the cage and tossed the limp body over his shoulder. "It is my duty to obey," he replied in a dead voice before vanishing.
Time Skip - Three Years - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The Great Hall rang with the chatter of students as the sorting came to the P's and no Harry Potter was called. None of the teachers commented, and instead Professor McGonagall's voice rose as she called the next name.
And so, the sorting continued.
Professor Dumbledore knew tomorrow news would go out that young Harry died in a tragic house fire five years ago. After he'd learned of Harry's demise, he'd kept the news to himself out of weakness. In his heart, he'd hoped the boy still lived. Even though all his searches came up empty, he still couldn't quite bring himself to admit their hope had died.
In the years between then and now, he'd penned all his hopes on one final stroke. The enchanted pen which addressed all the Hogwarts letters. Unfortunately, no letter was written for Harry Potter, and the last flickering hope in his ancient chest died.
It was easy enough to fire-call Cornelius and express concern over the lack of a Hogwarts letter, thus allowing the Aurors to be the ones to uncover the tragic tale. The Minister was, reasonably for once, furious. He demanded to know why Dumbledore hadn't known that The-Boy-Who-Lived had died.
The answer was simple. Dumbledore hadn't checked on the child for fear of leading any stray Death Eaters straight to the boy's home. While this answer hadn't satisfied the man one bit, there wasn't any evidence left that the fire had been unnatural in any way. All the records showed it was a perfectly normal, if tragic, house fire, which killed all the living residents.
Sighing, and pulling his thoughts away from the past, Dumbledore gave his normal start of the year speech before sitting down to the feast. His hand strayed to a small, emerald green pouch laced around his neck. Fingering the stone through the velvety cloth, he sighed again.
The death of Harry made things all the more complicated. He believed in the prophesy, but knew there was no way Neville Longbottom could fulfill it. After Harry's death, he'd taken a good long look at the second child and knew the boy would be dead in seconds if he ever encountered a lone Death Eater, let alone the Dark Lord himself.
No. Neville simply wasn't going to be the key to this evil little box. Dumbledore knew he'd have to do all he could to rid the world of his one-time student and hope for the best. Again, his fingers stroked over the velvet. The Stone. That was another complication he'd been forced to deal with. Had the boy survived, it - and the traps he and the other professors would have devised - would have been the perfect testing ground to not only lure what was left of Voldemort out of hiding, but to see what he had to work with.
Dumbledore would never wish harm on Harry, but he knew if the child had lived, he would have had a hand in shaping the future hero. The Stone would have been a marvelous first test. He could have gauged the boy's willingness and ability to innovate as well as getting a measure on the boy's moral fiber. Plus, he was certain if he advertised that both the Stone and Harry Potter were at Hogwarts at the same time, Voldemort would come.
Then he could expose Harry to Voldemort in a controlled environment, allowing the two foes to meet and help instill the sense that Voldemort had to be defeated for the good of all into Harry at the tender age of 11.
Now that was impossible.
Turning his attention to the meal, the Professor gave a small bitter smile. He still had the Stone, but he wasn't going to hide it away behind a few easily breached protections. No, he'd keep it with him. Perhaps after 10 years of life as a wraith, Voldemort would be desperate enough to try and steal it from him. If so, Dumbledore would remind the boy why he'd always feared him.
The rusted iron door clanged open at the end of the long, dreary stone hall. A shaggy black dog lifted his head off his paws and listened. He recognized the heavy clomp of guard boots and shifted minutes before they paused in front of his cell.
"Oi, Black! Looks like your Master should have waited a couple years," the guard gave a dark laugh as he threw the paper into Sirius's cell.
Only when the sound of boot steps retreated and the door clanged shut again, did Sirius move. His muscles fought each other as he uncurled, not wanting to obey. Not because of atrophy from years spent in this nightmarish place, but out of fear of what the guard meant. Surely he can't mean...
Swallowing, he reached for the paper with shaking hands before he threw back his head and screaming.
The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Die
All round him, madmen and women added their howling voices to his shattered one.
Hours or maybe days later, a black dog plunged into the ocean.
"I am in position." IX's voice crackled over the radio.
"Position confirmed. Roof top left." Came the reply. The earbuds in each team member's ear relayed the conversation, enabling them to get into position with ease.
"Roof top right."
"Creed, flush the prey."
Zero was on his stomach, watching through his scope while Creed entered the dingy bar. IX was across the street, also playing eyes for the operation.
They'd gotten the message half an hour ago that a person of interest had surfaced. The target wasn't one Stryker wanted, but the team had been gathered anyway. Apparently, the Government had come up with a new containment concept, and needed a few mutants to test it on. Their subject happened to be on the list of acceptable guinea pigs.
Suddenly, Creed exited the bar. The door shattered, sending the feral flying over twenty feet to land ass first in the windshield of a small blue Chevrolet. Zero could hear the muffled swearing all the way up here but didn't waste time staring at the downed mutant.
His eyes were all for the nine foot giant who came storming out of the shattered remains of the door. "Ridiculous," Zero muttered under his breath. Juggernaut was a very difficult man not to recognize, considering he was nine feet tall and weighed nearly two tons, he was an easy guy to spot.
As if that wasn't enough of a giveaway, the idiot was wearing his giant metal helmet. If he was trying to keep a low profile, he failed miserably. Zero had no idea what brought the mutant out to such a public place, but it was in their favor so he wouldn't complain.
Moving smoothly into the void at the larger mutant's back, X struck. His claws tore the metal helmet like it was a cap of Paper Mache. The strike was so precise that when the pieces fell away, there wasn't a drop of blood spilled.
Zero couldn't help but feel impressed with the display. There had been a time when those claws tore through anything put in front of them. They had to use IX to teach the feral better control after they'd lost their third catch to the deadly weapons.
With a roar of mindless rage, Juggernaut turned and slammed his fist into the top of X's head. The feral slammed face first into to the ground hard enough to splinter the cement, and went still.
"Hey asshole, don't forget about me," Creed had managed to extract himself from the car in time to slam into Juggernaut's middle, sending them both to the ground.
Gripping Juggernaut's head, Creed slammed it into the ground half a dozen times before the much larger man stopped moving.
After making sure that the monster of a man was down for the count, Creed stood, kicked X in the back and growled, "Get up lazy ass, I'm not carrying this bastard to the truck all by myself."
X blinked, shook his head and stood. Together the pair of ferals wrestled the massive man into the back of the semi before they strapped him into the restraints designed to contain him.
"Mission accomplished, return to base," Zero commanded. On the street, Creed was snapping at the civilians who'd stopped to watch the show to get on with their day unless they'd like to join the big guy in the truck.
Outside the building, winter winds howled, pulled at hats, and created tiny snow devils to dance around parked cars.
Inside the Senate Hearing Room, people were beginning to regret having bundled up so well against the cold. The room was packed to capacity, not only with the politicians, but with the press and a large swath of everyday folks who'd come to observe the proceedings. The teaming mass of people, coupled with the radiating heat of the television lights had forced the temperature in the room high enough to make even TV conscious senators remove their jackets. A number of observers in the balcony had been reduced to using folded papers or notebooks as fans to try and alleviate the heat.
Near the center of the room sat Professor Charles Xavier. His wheel chair afforded him a little extra space from the crush of people, but not much. Closing his eyes, he could feel the hostility of the crowed nibbling away at his mental shields and knew it would be like the roaring of the ocean at the height of a storm if he dropped them completely.
He couldn't blame them for their fear. After all, it was the tradition of humans the world over to hate and fear anything different from themselves.
An encouraging smile danced across his lips when Dr. Jean Grey took her place at the front of the hot room. She had a commanding presence, one that the senators responded to by falling silent to listen. She was a powerful and beautiful woman in her early thirties, and it was her duty to educate the Senate about the basic science of mutation prior to their vote on the Mutant Registration Act.
Over the past couple of weeks, the Professor helped craft the presentation she was about to give. They had practiced it extensively so it would be clear to both the senators and the common people in the audience and on the other side of the television cameras that Registration was not the answer.
It was their hope that by providing facts about mutation, they would be able to sway public opinion back to their side. Bigots like Senator Kelly and his ilk would fold like paper tigers if the public no longer backed their anti-mutant position.
"Lights, please?" Jean said.
A low mumble of relief echoed around the room as the lights were cut and people hoped the darkness would ease the heat.
Once the room dimmed enough for the presentation to begin, Charles closed his eyes instead of shifting to watch. He cracked his shields to get a feel for the crowd. Not enough to read thoughts, but just enough to let the feelings of others wash over his mind to gauge their reaction to the presentation.
Hostility wafted through his mind like the scent of something burning in the kitchen, and under that emotion was boredom. Jean would have to work hard to win this crowd. They would all have to work together to sway public opinion enough to defeat the registration law.
"DNA," Jean's clear voice cut through the darkness as she began her presentation. "It is the basic building block of evolution. Changes in our DNA are the reason we've evolved from single-celled organisms to Homo sapiens." On the screen, an animation fast forwarded through the various stages of evolution. Next to the animation, a graph showed a diagonal line demonstrating the ascension of the human animal; charting the evolution of man.
The two images vanished, to be replaced by a single graphic of the earliest form of man: Homo habilis. It was an apelike humanoid covered in thick hair.
Some of the hostility faded, replaced by a small spike of mingled curiosity and revulsion as people were confronted with images of what they were descended from.
"Within in our DNA," Jean explained, "are the genes that deiced our physical characteristics. It is when these active genes mutate that we observe changes in the body."
On the screen, the image began to mutate into a more recognizable human form.
As the presentation continued, the crowd became more fascinated and started to lose the edge of hostility. Perfect, the Professor thought. That's exactly what they'd been hoping for.
"These evolutionary changes are often subtle, and normally take thousands of years to occur."
The human image on the screen froze and became transparent. Twenty percent of the figure was marked with blue, while the rest was marked in red, showing the dormant genes.
Smiling, the Professor felt the people around him get caught up in the information being presented. The room was silent, save a few small clusters of senators who were determined not to pay attention, and whispered among themselves. One such member was the chairman, Senator Kelly.
"Within each of us are millions of genes that dictate our physical makeup. But that's not all, there are millions upon millions of genes whose purpose is unknown to us. These genes have traditionally been referred to as 'junk DNA.' The truth is, over eighty percent of our genetic structure is made up of this so-called junk DNA."
The words PRESENT DAY appeared on the screen and a number of the dormant genes in the image began to move. They moved slowly at first, before speeding up.
"In recent years, and for reasons that are still unknown, we have seen the latent DNA in or bodies start to mutate. In general, these mutations manifest at puberty, and are often triggered by periods of heightened emotional stress," she explained.
Pride filled Charles when he realized that at this moment, Jean had won over the audience, save a few close minded senators. In spite of the heat, they were giving her their undivided attention.
"These new DNA strands caused by mutation have produced some startling results. In other words, this previously unused DNA is not junk DNA at all, but rather a vast storehouse which contains an almost unlimited potential for human evolution."
Suddenly the graph vanished, and was replaced by a man performing amazing feats. First he grew in size; then moved objects with his mind before his skin changed to a deep violet.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are now living in the beginning of a new stage in human evolution. Mutants are not a new race of creatures to be feared, but rather the opportunity to find advancement within us all."
Slowly the dimness was dispelled as the lights came back up.
Scanning the room again, Charles knew they'd accomplished what they'd set out to do. The new understanding of the facts behind mutation had slightly shifted the perceptions of the people assembled.
An odd mark on the back of someone's neck caught his eye. He frowned as he studied the single straight line, followed by an X forming the roman numeral for 9. The lines weren't made by ink, he knew, but they didn't look like the scar from a blade either. The frown deepened as he tried to figure out what made it, and why someone would want such a thing. Then again, some of today's fads were beyond bizarre to him, so perhaps this was the start of yet a new form of body modification.
Before he could focus enough to dip into the stranger's mind and sate his curiosity, Senator Kelly stood. Now came the hard part. Jean would have to defend her position against the man, and Charles could tell it wouldn't be easy.
The senator gave Jean a patronizing smile, as if she were a child who'd performed a cute trick and he wanted to pat her on the head and send her off with a treat while the grown-ups dealt with important matters. "Why thank you for the wonderful cartoon, Ms. Grey. It was quite – how should I say? – educational."
A few muffled chuckles drifted up from the crowd.
"However, you failed to address the real matter, which I might add is the focus of this hearing. Three words: Are mutants dangerous?"
There was a low rumble in response to those words, and the professor felt new anxiety enter the group.
"Well, Senator Kelly, don't you think that's an unfair question? In the wrong hands, a car can be dangerous."
"Indeed, Ms. Grey. That's why we license people to drive," Kelly shot back. One of the man's aids, Henry Guyrich, handed the senator a black folder stuffed with documents.
"But we don't license people to live, Senator," Jean insisted.
Kelly didn't respond.
"It is a fact, Senator, that mutants who reveal themselves to the public are met with fear, hostility, and at times, violence."
The feel of the crowd shifted again, once more turning against Jean. While he skimmed over the surface impressions of the crowd, Charles felt a new presence enter the room. Turning his wheelchair enough to observe the back of the room, he spotted a dark figure dressed in an expensive suit by the rear door.
It was his old friend Eric, but what was he doing here? The pair exchanged a single nod before the Professor returned his attention to the crowd.
"It is because of the hostility that I'm urging the Senate to vote No to Mutant Registration. By forcing mutants to expose themselves, we will only increase the instances of violence and expose them to unnecessary prejudice," Jean said.
After wiping a drop of sweat from his brow, Senator Kelly offered Jean another shark-like smile and the Professor knew he was about to launch his attack.
"Expose themselves?" Kelly asked in a mock-innocent voice. "What exactly is the mutant community trying to hide?"
"I didn't say they had anything to hide. What I said was-"
"Let me show you what's being hidden," the Senator said, easily talking over Jean. He held up an enlarged photo of a half melted car on the freeway. "You see? This was taken by a state police officer in Secaucus, New Jersey. Apparently, a man in a minor altercation literally melted the car in front of him."
Professor Xavier gritted his teeth as fear once more infected the crowd, causing the hostility to spike. More fans had been brought in to combat the heat, but even their dull roar wasn't enough to distract from the drama playing out.
"May I see that photo, Senator?" Jean asked calmly.
Ignoring her question, Kelly spoke directly to the cameras. "This is not an isolated incident, Ms. Grey."
He held up the folder. "Here I have a list of known mutants, living among us."
"Senator Kelly!" Jean said with more force.
Still, he ignored her. "There is a girl in Illinois who can walk through walls. What's to stop her from waltzing into a bank vault? Or the White House," he paused, a look of deep concern on his face as he pointed to one of the cameras. "Or your house?"
With that line, the Professor knew they'd lost. Anger ripped through the crowd as headed discussions and side debates exploded around the chamber. Senator Kelly had succeeded in getting them to ignore facts in favor of emotion.
"You are not being-" Jean tried to shout over the noise, but was interrupted again.
"There is even a rumor, Ms. Grey," he said as he turned to stare directly at her, "that there are mutants so powerful that they can enter our minds and control our thoughts, taking away our God-given free will."
More than one person actually gasped in shock at that statement.
"Ms. Grey, don't you agree that Americans have the right to decide if they want their children to be in school with mutants, to be taught by mutants?" Kelly leaned forward, "After all, you are a school teacher. I would think the rights of parents and students alike should be of paramount importance to someone like you."
"They are," Jean replied firmly. "But this is not the way to help them. I would like to see that folder."
"Why?" Kelly asked before waving it in front of the crowd. "All I'm saying is that parents' have the right to know what sort of dangers their children might face at school. That's the whole point of the Mutant Registration Act."
"It's not the point, and you know it," Jean shouted, furious now. "Your purpose is to discriminate and torture a group of citizens, just because you are afraid of them. Now I would like to see your so-called list."
She held out her hand, and the folder suddenly flew from the senator's grasp toward Jean's open hand.
Realization flashed over her face, and Jean closed her and before letting her arm fall to her side. But the damage was done. Pages of documents and photos fluttered like the feathers of a shot bird as the folder fell limply to the ground.
Uncertainty formed an undercurrent in the crowd. They weren't sure what just happened, but they knew something unseen had come into play during this hearing. Uncertainty heightened their fear.
A low sigh escaped the Professor as he shut down his mind, blocking the sensations of the people around him. They'd lost this battle, and nothing would change that.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," Senator Kelly said while playing for all he was worth to the cameras. "The simple fact is that mutants are very real and that they are among us. We have to know who they are, and above all, we must know what they can do."
Cheers erupted from the crowd at this declaration, and the Professor turned his chair to move up the ramp towards the exit. They had both known this was a long shot, but he'd hoped they could make a difference. Clearly, that hope had been in vain.
The debate continued behind him as he entered the near empty hallway outside the Hearing Room. There were a few friendly voices raised in an attempt to support Jean, but they were easily overwhelmed. The bill would be presented to the main floor of the Senate, and that would be the next time they'd have a chance to try and stop it. But they would have to do better if they wanted to succeed.
A man walked ahead of the Professor on his way towards the main entrance, Eric Lehnsherr. "What are you doing here?" Charles asked.
Eric turned and offered a small smile. "Why do you always ask questions when you know the answers?"
Moving forward, Charles stopped once the pair faced each other. "Please don't give up on them, Eric."
"And what would you have me do? You must remember, I've heard all these arguments before. They were used very well," he said, as one hand drifted subconsciously to the hidden tattoo on his arm.
"That was a long time ago. Mankind has evolved since thing."
"Yes," Eric replied. "Into us."
Frowning slightly, the Professor decided to reach out and search for what he wished to know. With delicate care, he sought his answers.
Eric reached up and rubbed at one temple, then smiled. "Are you sneaking around in my mind?"
He clinched his fist, causing the Professor's chair to bow inward ever so slightly even as it began to lift off the ground in subtle warning. "Whatever are you looking for?" Eric asked, the smile remained, but held an edge now.
"Hope, Eric. I'm searching for hope."
The chair eased around him before returning with a light thump to the ground.
"I will bring you hope, my friend. I only ask one thing in return: Don't get in my way," he said as he turned and walked away. "We are the future, Charles. Not them. They no longer matter."
Charles didn't respond to Eric's final comment because it was a useless endeavor. He didn't agree with Eric's philosophy, and Eric know it.
Regular people mattered. Now more than ever.
Behind him the doors opened as the assembly broke up. People began to flow around him as if he was a rock in the middle of a river.
"I understand how you feel, Senator, the thought of children as something dangerous is difficult to grasp. But I've witnessed how dangerous mutants in school can be, and we need to think about the safety of the children." The youthful voice, so like any one of his students, drew the Professor's eye and he recognized the dark, slightly messy hair belonging to the person with the strange mark on his neck. He was walking next to one of the older women of the senate, one of the ones Charles knew was on the fence about the whole matter.
"I don't know," she replied, and he offered a charming smile.
"Just think about the average teenage male, and picture him with the ability to wish people dead. He might not even mean to do so, but in a moment of testosterone driven anger, it would happen."
There was something about the young man that stirred unease in the Professor, something slightly off about the voice, or the eyes. He narrowed his gaze, but the pair vanished into the crowed and Jean's voice broke into his thoughts before he could dig deeper.
IX kept a slight smile on lips more accustomed to no expression at all. Missions that required him to blend into the crowd were his least favorite. At least this one would be quick. Unlike the mission to whisper poisoned words into the ears of Senators who hadn't yet made up their mind about Mutant Registration. His youthful appearance, coupled with his compelling eyes made him the perfect choice for the task, and he'd managed to talk around a fair number.
Still, it was mildly awkward to remain conscious of the expression on his face and he was aware that his smile tended to creep people out if he wasn't careful. While he could fake emotion up to a point, the truth was that he still felt almost nothing. He could mimic the facial expressions of normal people, but it was pure analytical thinking for him, and his expressions, no matter how perfect, mirrored the fact that he was always slightly off with the timing.
"Next," the teller said, and IX made his move. The man in front of him had just pulled out a gun and was about to make his demand when he cried out in pain.
With a clatter, the gun fell to the floor, and the would be bank robber dropped to his knees after IX applied enough force to his shoulder joint to nearly pop it from the socket. "Hey!" The thief cried out indignantly, only to freeze when IX bent into him and whispered, "Make your multiples come to you."
"I don't know-ouch!" IX jerked the arm up a little higher.
"There are six other robberies in progress at this moment. You are committing them all, and you will bring them here to merge."
"Look, this is crazy. I don't know what-" The words came to an abrupt halt when he felt the prick of a knife at his back.
"What happens if one of the multiples dies, I wonder?" IX asked. His monotone words caused goosebumps to erupt down Dominc's arms when he realized that the guy behind him meant it. Insane, but he suddenly didn't doubt that the stranger would kill him, here and now in front of witnesses if he refused again.
"A-all right, chill. Just put the knife away. They're coming." With that, IX forced him back to his feet and out the door. A guard attempted to get in the way, but one look into IX's poisoned green gaze made the man realize that his job wasn't worth more than his life.
A semi had pulled into the parking lot. Dominic thought about trying to run, but the back door slid open, revealing more men inside. The sort of men who wouldn't mind a good chase. I could make enough of me to fight them.
What happens if one of your multiples dies?
He swallowed and dismissed the thought. None of his multiplies had ever died before, but Dominic had a good idea that it would end badly for him if they did. As it was, if one got hurt, the injury would appear on his body when he reabsorbed it, though it would only be half as bad as the original damage. He nearly gaged at the thought of trying to merge with a corpse. Would he be able to survive half a death? He didn't think so.
Once the rest of him made an appearance, and he was once more a single man, the one who'd captured him forced him into the back of the semi. There he found what appeared to be a mobile prison of sorts.
"Come on! Don't I get a phone call?"
"No."
"This is bullshit."
"Indeed."
"Troll – in the dungeons - thought you out to know."
Professor Dumbledore stood just as Quirrell fell to the ground in a dead faint. Before the shocked silence could be broken by panicking students he spoke.
"Prefects," he bellowed, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!" As the students were ushered out of the room he turned to the remaining professors. "The rest of you split up and search for the Troll. If you find it, send a Patronus to let the rest of us know where the creature is."
The Headmaster kept his now un-twinkling gaze on the unconscious Professor while the teachers shuffled out after the students.
Once the Great Hall was empty save for the two of them, Dumbledore spoke. "So, you've found the courage to face me after all, haven't you Tom?"
Giving up on the ruse, Quirrell stood and dusted off his robes. The man frightened of his own shadow was gone, but something was wrong. Quirrell gave him an eerie smile before he pulled his wand and fired the first bone shattering curse. Dumbledore moved with the agility of a man a quarter his age as he dodged. The chair behind him exploded.
For the next several minutes, the pair exchanged a multitude of curses, but Quirrell was too easily out classed. Again the sense that he was missing something plagued Dumbledore as his opponent hit the ground, caught by a simple leg locking curse. His want flew from his grip causing the smaller man to curse in a most un-Quirrell like manner.
"What are you playing at?" Dumbledore demanded as he moved to stand over his fallen foe. Blue eyes widened in shock when Quirrell pulled a small vial out of his pocket and swallowed the contents before he could react. He had just enough time to throw one arm over his eyes before a nightmarish shriek ripped from the man's throat and his body exploded, a bomb of body parts and bone shrapnel.
The force of the blast threw the old man across the room and burned most of his beard and hair away.
Pain woke Dumbledore from his stupor, and he couldn't help but feel shocked he was waking at all. He'd been able to half form a shield in the seconds before the blast, but it hadn't been able to save him from the worst of the damage. Though it did keep him from being ripped apart by the explosion.
Something moved on his chest, and he felt a small tug around his neck. Blinking, he was finally able to bring the black rat into focus. Beady-blood red eyes bored into his as sharp incisors bit through the last bit of string holding the bag around his neck. Dumbledore tried to move, to snatch the bag away from the creature even as he mentally cursed himself for forgetting that it wasn't just Defense Against the Dark Arts professors that the wraith could possess. He hated to admit it, but Voldemort had gotten the best of him this round.
His arms refused to move, still too hurt to obey his silent commands. While he watched, the rat got a good grip on the bag before it leapt from his chest and started to run towards the wall. Arrogant old man, you should have destroyed the Stone while you had the chance, he lamented as he watched his enemy escape.
"Sectumsempra." The rat's front half continued to run a few extra steps, dragging his innards behind him before the brain was silenced by death. Severus stood in the doorway, his wand pointed at the dead rodent. He couldn't stop the cringe when he saw black smoke pour out of the dead beast and seem to look at him for a long moment before vanishing. If the Dark Lord returned, he knew there would be hell to pay for this day's work. Even if he could use the excuse that he had to maintain his cover, he knew he would be punished harshly for thwarting His return.
"Ah, Severus, perfect timing as always. Do help an old man up, won't you?" Dumbledore said. Sorrow filled his normally cheerful face as he patted at the place where his once luxurious beard had been. It was a mark of pride for any wizard his age to grow his own beard. Using a growth potion would be cheating, and he wasn't looking forward to the awkward stage where the whiskers were in between long and short.
As his potions master helped him regain his feet, he couldn't help but look over at the mess that had been his DADA professor. "Well, the curse was rather brutal this year. Don't you think? We should get this cleaned up before one of the students stumbles in here and has nightmares. By the by, did anyone find the Troll?"
Severus frowned as he turned to banish the mess Quirrell had left behind. While he'd hated the man for taking the post he'd wanted and for being an inept boob to boot, he still wouldn't have wished that fate on him. "No, the beast is still loose."
"Oh Dear. Well, we'd better join the search then."
Author's Note: The reason Harry didn't get the letter is because magically speaking, he's an adult. The letter is only sent to witches and wizards who are 11 year old children, not adults who've already had their magical inheritance.
Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, alerted and added this story to their favorites, I'm always glad to hear from you.