Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Marvel.

A/N: Pinch me... I don't believe it...

Yup, we're finally at Hogwarts! The reason for this being a Harry Potter crossover is finally made clear. But first, reviews!

ddsurvivor: I don't know about splitting the two, though it sounds like an interesting idea. As for sane... eh? Saner, maybe. Sane? Probably not. As for your examples, I do not know what was being explained - I personally do not watch or enjoy anime, though I can see why others do.

Chapter 15: Welcome To Hogwarts

"Run through it one last time."

Tom rolled his eyes as he pulled on his suit, attaching his armaments to the graphene weave. "I will infiltrate the Bulgarian contingent. I will wait till everyone is in the hall, and then I will shoot the target. I will escape afterwards."

"And what do you do first?" Daken checked.

"I will walk you over the boundary, since you can't get through the wards on your own," Tom drawled. "Honestly, I don't even know why you're coming. I got this."

"This is Hogwarts," Daken stressed. "Albus Dumbledore will be there. If you miss…"

"I won't miss Crouch," Tom scoffed. "He's an old politician, only a threat to our employer." He shook his head. "I still say we shouldn't have taken this job."

"We needed the money after Budapest," Daken snapped. "You had to chat up the Black Widow."

"I wasn't paying attention to her," Tom defended. "Besides, it's not like it was serious - you know me. Emotions are Harry's thing, not that we've ever figured out sexual attraction. Mine is logic. If it had been anyone else, it would have been a good disguise."

"You got sloppy," Daken huffed.

"Still don't think we should have taken this," Tom scowled, pulling his messy black hair into a ponytail, his preferred hair style as opposed to Harry's preference to leave the shoulder length hair loose, a mass of tangles framing his pale skin. "Honestly, no employer contact and legal signatures? Seems a bit sketchy."

"As long as you actually pull it off, we'll be fine," Daken sighed. "So make sure you do it."

"I told you," Tom smirked, pulling the Durmstrang cloak over his suit. "I got this."

"Don't get cocky, kid," Daken sighed.

"Relax," Tom said. "And make sure you don't scratch my swords - I want them back at the end."

"They're vibranium, I doubt I could damage them," Daken grumbled.

If he had a choice, Harry would take them with him. They were some of his strongest tools, providing reach that his claws couldn't, and were just as strong. But this was an undercover mission, and so he had lent them to his mentor for the course of the mission, just as he left his helm behind at the safehouse.

The helm was an even greater loss than the lack of his swords. Not only did it provide armour, but the HUD was indispensable, and the ability to scan the electromagnetic spectrum was incredibly useful. Besides, it was his signature look.

Since his reappearance in the mercenary sphere four years ago, Weapon M had become notorious among the right circles. The biologically seventeen year old was an enigma, an unpredictable tool for those who could afford his services. None could decipher his identity - his mental maturity (if lacking in emotional development) threw many off, as did the fact that he was technically only fourteen years old. To top it off was his reduced ageing - he theorised that by the time he reached his thirties, he would be closer to seventy.

By the time his nom de guerre had become well known, few seemed to care. He was a killer and a thief, a spy and a seducer. Whatever the job, he excelled. Assassinations, investigations, sabotage… it didn't matter. He would get the job done.

That wasn't to say he was perfect. Those who had extended interactions with him quickly deduced his unpredictability. Sometimes he was a cold and sadistic killer, an emotionless artist who acted with finesse, casually fulfilling even the most dubious of assignments, with an infuriating tendency for sarcasm and cocky arrogance.

Other times, he was brutal, full of rage, a feral beast that would slaughter all in his way, yet more restrained by morals and emotions. Yet those who had interacted with him further knew not to hold that against the mercenary - he always seemed to be in the right frame of mind for whatever mission he was on. A covert mission? You would get the sadistic killer. An extermination? The wild man. Both were capable of both - though the beast notably struggled with restraining his emotions or feigning affection. And even if he failed, more often than not he was accompanied by Daken, a combination that would allow the pair to salvage the operation

Those with connections in the underworld - including many of the intelligence agencies of the world - had learnt to fear him, his appearance becoming quite well known in certain spheres. The man with he black guns, with a smooth, black suit, complete with coattails and a hood. They would recognise the red stripe running down the centre of the hood, branching off into crude tendrils stretching across his body. They would recognise the crimson plates forming body armour, small titanium pieces attached to the graphene weave below. They would recognise his arsenal, packed compactly all over his body. And of course, they would recognise the crimson helm, stamped with the letter of his name, a single emerald eye gleaming out of the sole eye hole.

They made it over the ward line without a hitch, at which point the parted ways, Daken heading to the outskirts of the castle, preparing to scale the walls of the Great Hall, while Tom snuck into the group of Durmstrang students, his cloak's hood raised so as to cover his face and his suits own hood, entering the very same Hall.

His single eye darted around, analysing the area. The most important rule when it came to magical operations was not to rely on appearances. Even the most decrepit of men could prove to be a problem - as proven by the three most powerful magical combatants in the room, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and Alastor Moody. Not that it'd really matter if he got caught - the sheer amount of magicals in the room would necessitate a quick escape.

He sat down on the bench, eye following Dumbledore as he stood at the front of the room.

"Today!" he cried. "Is a special day! Today, on Halloween, we remember the fall of the Dark Lord, and the martyrdom of the Potter family. Where the Potter heir is, we do not know, but we must remember the day he survived the impossible, and the future that he is prophesied to bring!"

Tom rolled his eyes. He, along with Daken, had found out a bit about his magical history, much to their joint amusement. It was likely his mutation that allowed him to survive the killing curse, integrating the energies into his body, but even if it wasn't, it would be more likely to be the actions of his parents. Plus, there was their stubborn insistence on his survival, despite all evidence to the contrary. He was alive, technically, but they couldn't possibly know that.

"Yet it is special in another way!" the headmaster continued. "For today, the Triwizard Tournament shall begin!"

Tom gave a derisive snort. Wizards were like any other human - they just had to show off. At least it gave him an easy shot at Crouch. Speaking of, he drew his pistol under the table, and began to load it, one bullet at a time. He would only need one, but back ups were always useful.

"There have been many of you who have thrown parchment in this cup, signed with your own name," Dumbledore smiled. "But only three shall come out. And what a sight it shall be!"

That was what Tom was counting on. The distraction of the crowds would prove a fitting cover. He began to screw a silencer on the end of the gun. It would help hide him in the crowd.

"Now, we shall begin!" he cried. He tapped the goblet with his wand, and a burst of flame gushed out of it, a singed piece of parchment landing in his hands. He pulled out a pair of spectacles, before opening it. "For Beauxbatons Academy, Fleur Delacour!"

There was polite clapping as a golden aura surrounded the girl in question, as she made her way up to the front, collecting the parchment, before she exited into an atrium.

Tom aimed his pistol below the table, now knowing the effect. He would have to rely on the popularity of the person, rather than the magical effect in order to conceal his actions.

Dumbledore tapped the goblet again, receiving another piece of parchment. "For Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory!"

The applause was louder, yet still not sufficient.

Dumbledore tapped the goblet for the final time. "For Durmstrang Institute, Viktor Krum!"

Tom cursed as the boy in front of him stood up, obscuring his aim. The applause was perfect, but the opportunity was gone.

"Yes, thank you everybody," Dumbledore smiled. "Now, before we eat-"

Whatever it was he was going to say, Tom never found out, for at that moment, the goblet spat out another gout of flame, and a piece of lined paper fluttered into the Headmaster's hands. The silence was deafening as the man stared at it in shock.

Tom shrugged. Now was as good as any.

"For Department K… Harry Potter?" Dumbledore barked in shock, just as Tom pulled the trigger, the bullet silently striking his target as an aura of golden energy flowed around his form.

Tom froze in his seat, gun smoking beneath the table, as the target collapsed on the table, a bleeding hole in his chest, ignored by the masses, who instead chose to turn their attention to him.

"Harry Potter?" Dumbledore whispered. "Is… is it really you?"

"Fuck," Tom growled, mentally reviewing the brief overview of the tournament in his head. Deadly challenges… international cooperation… magically binding contract… he was stuck. He had to compete.

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore blinked.

"I said fuck," Tom repeated, standing up as he holstered his gun. He'd remove the silencer later. "As in, what the fuck?"

"You were at Durmstrang? This whole time?" the Hogwarts deputy, McGonagall asked.

"Outrageous!" The Durmstrang Headmaster, Karkaroff barked. "We have seen no more of the boy than you have! He has no right to wear that robe!"

Tom shrugged, removing the cloak, his arsenal now on full display. "Now, I repeat. What the fuck is going on?"

"Language," McGonagall barked, seemingly automatically.

"My boy," Dumbledore simpered. "If you could come to the atrium, perhaps we could have this conversation in private."

Tom nodded. "Daken! Come on!"

Daken dropped down from his perch, eliciting several shrieks from nearby students, before stalking after his partner, growling threateningly at the students.

X

Dumbledore was in shock as he wandered into the atrium. Harry Potter was alive. He was at Hogwarts. Yet… he looked nothing like he should. The eyepatch alone was shocking, as was the wiry hair pulled back into a ponytail. His clothing was almost militaristic, made of some strange material, and covered with all manner of weaponry.

"Ah, Bagman," he greeted vaguely. He frowned at the sight of the man. "Why are you carrying Mr Crouch?"

"Ah, well," Bagman spluttered. "It appears that Barty has suffered a somewhat strong heart attack at the news of Mr Potter's return."

Harry let out a snort as Snape levelled Bagman with a glare. "You utter buffoon," Severus drawled. "Can you not even tell the difference between a heart attack and a gunshot wound?"

"Well," Bagman blustered. "A gun is a muggle weapon. There wouldn't be one in the building."

"Mr Potter has a pair on him just there," Snape drawled. "And this other… man has one as well."

"Ah, yes, Mr Potter," Dumbledore turned. "We must talk to you, before we move onto the tournament."

"I don't go by that name," not-Harry drawled. "To me, that is a dead man. He died with the Dursleys. My counterpart disagrees, but you can take that up with him."

"Counterpart?" Dumbledore queried.

"Curiosity killed the fucking cat," the older man growled, the one with a sleek mohawk.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Dumbledore asked.

"Daken," he growled. "Mutant."

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded. "I assume Mr. Potter led you onto the premises?"

Daken nodded. "Yeah. And he doesn't go by Potter."

Dumbledore turned back to not-Harry. "If not Harry, what do you go by?"

"Tom," the boy replied coldly.

"Tom!" he yelped in alarm. It couldn't be… could it?"

"Where, perchance, did you get that name?" he asked.

Tom shrugged. "Somewhere or other. Kinney made me pick a name, so I just said the first one on the top of my head."

Dumbledore nodded, slightly reassured. "Where have you been all this time?" he asked, preparing to legilimise the boy.

"Don't go peeking in there," Tom growled. "You won't like what you see."

Dumbledore blinked in alarm. "I am sorry, but I have to - we need to know how you are… like this."

Tom snorted. "A one-eyed killer three years older than I should be?"

Dumbledore blinked in alarm. "A killer!"

"Well, duh," Tom drawled. "Who else do you think killed Crouch?"

"But why?"

"I'm on a job," Tom drawled, before turning to his mentor. "You received payment?"

Daken pulled out a tablet, checking it briefly. "Yeah, all four million. Even threw in a grand bonus."

Snape blinked. "Four million?"

"Sterling," Tom smirked. "I wouldn't risk coming here for any less."

"Risk?" Dumbledore blinked again. He was blinking a lot today. "There is no risk. We are glad to have you here!"

"You can shove your welcome up your wrinkled ass," Tom snarked. "I'll be sticking around long enough to fulfil this contract, and then I'll be off."

"My boy, I must insist," Dumbledore continued. "You must stay, to learn to control your magic."

"I learn what I need, when I need it," Tom drawled. "And so far, I haven't needed much."

Snape raised his wand. "I suggest you do what he says."

Tom snapped into a defensive stance, three blades extending from each hand as his mentor did the same. "And I suggest you back off."

Snape stumbled back. "You… you're a freak!"

"No," Dumbledore murmured. "But that's impossible."

"Speak up, Albus," Moody barked. "What secrets lie in your mind?"

"He is a mutant, like Daken," he murmured. "But that is impossible - the two states are incompatible!" He turned back to Tom. "What happened to you?"

"Since you asked so nicely," Tom snarled. "I'll give you a brief overview. I'm, as you said, impossible. Certain people found that very intriguing. Harry Potter was tortured over and over and over and experimented on more and more and more until there was no more Potter to be found, only the Weapon, the perfect killer." He growled. "And then we met her, and we rose from the mindless husk, the only price being this eye, and perhaps a teensy amount of our sanity." He grinned a sarcastic smile. "Do you really want to challenge the perfect killer?"

Bagman shuffled nervously forward. "Well, before we all depart, I suppose I should let you know what the first challenge is."

"Si vous plait," Delacour drawled, obviously irritated at having been side-lined.

"Well, it is important for a wizard to be brave in the face of the unknown, so you will be facing a secret beast with naught but your wits and your wand."

"It's dragons," Tom drawled.

Bagman blinked. "What? How can you know?"

Tom smirked. "You stink of the lizards."

Bagman frowned, sniffing his clothing. "Do I?"

Tom shook his head, leaving the room, Daken following close after.

X

Tom scowled as he walked through the halls, to his temporary lodgings. "Damn bastards."

"Told you I needed to be there," Daken grinned. "If I wasn't there, they might have tried something."

"They would have regretted it," Tom spat.

"Yeah, but this way we avoided a fight," Daken argued.

Tom sighed. "Nobody likes a cocky bastard, Daken."

"That's not true," Daken protested. "I like you, even with all your personality flaws."

Tom shook his head, mirth evident in his smirk. "Daken?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"As you wish." There was silence for a moment. "But I told you so."

"I said shut up."

X

Dumbledore stood in shock as he was left alone. Harry Potter was back. Harry Potter was a mutant. Harry Potter was a killer. And he wasn't Harry Potter.

He sighed, moving over to his one electronic device, an ancient rotary phone. "One… eight hundred… three hundred and twelve… ninety nine, fifty one." He said aloud, as he dialled the one number he knew. The number of an old friend - the friend who had given him the phone, in fact - and his go to mutant liaison.

"Hello?"

"Hello Charles," he greeted solemnly.

"Albus!" Charles Xavier replied. "It has been a long time. What has it been, ten years?"

"Nineteen eighty four," Albus agreed. "When I asked you to find Harry with Cerebro."

"I am sorry I failed. There are some people who have managed to hide from Cerebro, but I tell you, I believe him to be dead," Xavier said.

"He's not," Dumbledore said. "He's here."

There was crackly silence for a moment. "Did you just say you found him?"

"I did," Dumbledore said. "And he's a mutant."

Silence reigned again. "Impossible."

"It's true," Albus said. "Though he no longer goes by Harry. He's a killer. Worryingly, he calls himself Tom."

"Ah," Xavier said. "That Harry."

"You have heard of him since?" Dumbledore blinked.

"I have a student, Laura," Charles said slowly. "Four years ago, she was rescued by a friend of mine - her father, actually - from a military experiment. She had been raised there all her life, as a beast. A weapon."

Albus winced. "It seems that Harry has gone through something similar."

"At the same facility," Charles agreed. "Department K. Laura has mentioned him, her fellow weapon. Her friend. That's why he is a killer. Though how he is magical, I do not know."

"He mentioned a counterpart," Albus said. "This would be Laura?"

"No," Xavier said. "He seems to be a damaged young boy, with two distinct personalities. Tom, and Harry."

"So Harry is still there?" Dumbledore asked hopefully.

"Not how you think," Xavier said. "He is more like Laura, feral and prone to rage."

"What will you do?" Dumbledore asked. "I understand if you want him to attend the Institute, but we will have to split his time - he is here under contract."

"I will bring an envoy," Xavier sighed. He paused. "Is he… with anyone?"

"A man named Daken," Dumbledore answered. "Why?"

"I feared as much," Xavier sighed. "Daken was a former victim of the same institute, and whereas Laura is on the path to good, Daken turned to his darker impulses. He is by no means evil, just… driven more by anger and rage than by his morals." He sighed. "He is perhaps the last person who should have been guiding Harry through his recovery."

Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately, it seems that you seem to be correct in the impact Daken has had on the boy."

Xavier sighed. "I will bring my envoy tomorrow. Goodbye, Albus."

"Goodbye, Charles," Albus finished, placing the phone back in its cradle.

He placed his head in his hands. Where had it all gone so wrong?

A/N: So how was that? I don't want to bash Dumbledore or any other faculty/students, but Harry/Tom is clearly not going to get on with the majority of them. As for Tom, how'd you like him in action as a sassy little merc? Let me know!

As always, please favourite, follow and review! Also, if you have any minor marvel characters that you'd like to see - or others, as I intend to feature characters from franchises such as Torchwood - let me know, and I'll see what I can do!

Next week, Harry encounters the mutants, and sees Laura for the first time in four years. Exciting, isn't it?

Quick plug for my YouTube channel, currently with two XDefiant videos: JaguarAJG Gaming. Links on my profile.

Until next time, this is JaguarAJG, signing off.