The gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office looked like it was in the middle of a grumpy existential crisis. Maybe it knew something. Maybe it just hated teenagers.
"Fizzing Whizzbee," Remus said, because obviously, the password to a high-security magical war room should be named after a fizzy candy.
The gargoyle groaned like it had a hangover and had just been asked to DJ a rave. Still, it moved, revealing the spiraling staircase that led up to Dumbledore's office. You know—the place where all really bad conversations happened.
Fawkes gave a soft trill as they entered. If phoenixes could frown, this was Fawkes frowning. And when a literal immortal firebird looked worried, that was the universal sign for get your wand, your armor, and possibly a backup wand.
The room was packed. Not with cozy magical gadgets or whimsical nonsense—nope. This was war table energy. Strategic. Somber. Slightly singed.
Sirius Black was leaning against the fireplace like he was posing for a magical bad-boy calendar—arms crossed, hair messy in a very "accidental rockstar" way, and looking like he'd punched death in the face and lived to smirk about it.
"About time," Sirius drawled, eyes flicking to Harry. "Thought you'd stop for snacks on the way. You usually do when there's mortal peril."
Harry gave him a half-hearted wave. "We were gonna, but the shop was out of 'survive-the-night' specials."
Tonks was perched backwards on a chair like a teenager who'd hijacked a teacher's desk. Her electric blue hair was tied up in a messy combat bun that said I came to fight, but I'll still look cooler than you.
"Well, well, if it isn't the trouble trio," she said with a grin. "And here I thought Hogwarts was quiet this year."
Susan lit up slightly. "Hey, Tonks."
Amelia Bones stood near the desk, regal and composed and looking like she could win a duel and a legal case in the same breath. Her monocle glinted ominously. She gave Susan a nod that translated to: I'm proud of you. But also, don't screw this up. But also, I love you. But seriously, don't screw this up.
And then there were two unfamiliar faces—except, of course, they weren't unfamiliar at all.
"Harry, Jean, Susan," said Dumbledore, calm as always, like he hadn't just invited three kids to a secret war council. "Meet Aurors Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt."
Moody looked like someone had carved a grizzly bear out of bad decisions and wartime trauma. His magical eye was spinning in its socket like a roulette wheel of paranoia, currently locking on Harry's sneakers.
"Boy needs better boots," Moody growled. "Can't outrun a werewolf in Muggle trainers. Might as well put bells on."
Kingsley Shacklebolt was the complete opposite: tall, smooth, composed, dressed like wizard James Bond and probably twice as deadly. He gave the trio a nod, voice as calm as still water. "Welcome."
Moody muttered, "Skip the pleasantries, Albus. We're here to kill monsters, not knit scarves."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Of course. As some of you are not aware… I must inform you that Lucius Malfoy arrived at Hogwarts tonight."
Harry made a face like someone had offered him a jellybean flavored like betrayal. "Why? Did he finally decide his cheekbones weren't getting enough lighting at home?"
Dumbledore didn't smile, but the corners of his eyes twitched. "He claimed his wife Narcissa was ill. A sudden flu. Requested Draco return home for Halloween."
Sirius snorted so hard he nearly dropped the mug of whatever he was pretending wasn't firewhisky. "Narcissa? Catch a flu? That woman thinks sneezing is a sign of weak bloodlines. Last time I coughed at a dinner, she summoned a house-elf to burn the chair I was sitting on."
Jean raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought my family reunions were awkward."
Remus chuckled dryly, arms folded, eyes scanning everyone like he was trying to predict who would break down first. His energy was pure calm-professor-with-repressed-trauma. "Let's be fair. The Malfoys make dysfunction an Olympic sport."
"Anyway," Dumbledore continued, "Lucius didn't want to notify me. He went directly to Professor Snape."
"That's a red flag wearing a Slytherin tie," Jean muttered.
"Exactly," said Amelia, her tone sharp as a slap. "Snape followed protocol?"
"Miraculously," Dumbledore said. "He brought Lucius to me. And then promptly stunned him."
Harry blinked. "Wait—Snape stunned Malfoy? Did I hit my head? Is this a coma dream? Are we sure that wasn't soem other guy on Polyjuice?"
Sirius smirked. "Nope. That happened. And I'm buying him a drink later. Never thought I'd say that without a wand pointed at me."
Moody growled, "We interrogated Lucius. Legilimency."
Amelia's monocle gleamed dangerously. "Illegal."
"Effective," Moody barked. "Would you rather we wait till the corpses start piling up?"
That shut everyone up.
Dumbledore looked at Remus, and the temperature in the room dropped like the bottom of a Gringotts vault.
"Lucius was coordinating with Fenrir Greyback."
Remus didn't move, but something in him fractured. His jaw tensed. Jean instinctively stepped closer, red hair brushing his sleeve. Protective. Steady.
"They've landed," Dumbledore said. "Greyback and his pack. British coastline. Their destination is the Forbidden Forest. Estimated arrival—Halloween."
Harry exhaled slowly. "Of course it's Halloween. Every year with this cursed holiday. What is it with dark wizards and seasonal drama?"
Jean didn't even look at him. "You said the same thing about Tuesdays, soup, and algebra."
Harry shrugged. "Still stands."
Kingsley frowned. "Why Hogwarts?"
"Symbolism," Amelia answered grimly. "And because it's full of targets who can't fight back."
Harry's fist clenched. "They think this is easy. They think this is safe. They think wrong."
"I'm guessing that Portkeys were set up by Yaxley," Moody added. "And Macnair would be pulling strings to get the Department of Magical Creatures to look the other way. All hush-hush."
Sirius was already pacing like a caged Grim. "They're not attacking Hogwarts. They're attacking the future. The students. The next generation."
"And they want it to hurt," Remus said softly.
"Full moon is tomorrow," Moody growled. "Classic Greyback. Sick, smart, and suicidal."
Susan swallowed. "That's… Halloween night."
Dumbledore turned to the trio, his gaze soft but urgent. "I would never ask children to fight in a war. But you are no ordinary students. And this is no ordinary threat."
He looked at each of them. One by one. Like he was memorizing who they were before everything changed.
"I need to know—are you, and MageX, ready?"
Moody blinked. "Mage-what?"
Sirius answered, deadpan: "Magical Mutants. Teen superheroes. Hogwarts meets X-Men. Minus the jet."
Tonks perked up. "Wait, you guys have decided on a team name? That's adorable. Can I be like… your morally gray cool aunt who brings snacks and knives?"
"I like them," Moody said, grudgingly.
Harry looked at Jean. She gave him a look that said if you say 'I'm Batman' again, I'm throwing you into the fireplace. Then she smiled, and he forgot how to breathe for a second.
Susan nodded firmly. "We're in."
Harry turned to Sirius. "Gear?"
Sirius grinned like Christmas had come early. "Waiting for you at my flat in London. Enchanted armor, comms, the works. Kreacher's organizing it now. Goblins owed me a favor."
"And since we're up against werewolves," Harry said, eyes sharp as a cursed blade, "I say we call in a Feral of our own."
Jean's lips curled. "Logan."
Susan added, "A shield wouldn't hurt either. Cap's due for another Hogwarts tour."
"They'll come," Harry said, voice unwavering. "They trained us. They won't let us face this alone."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled—but this time, it wasn't amusement. It was fire. "Then send the call."
He turned toward the window, where the wind howled like it already knew what was coming.
"At Halloween… the hunt begins."
—
The door to Dumbledore's office creaked shut behind them, the gargoyle grinding back into place with all the enthusiasm of a pensioner dragged to a dance party. It gave what could only be described as a sigh, like even it knew that things were about to spiral into the kind of chaos that made even Hogwarts' portraits whisper, "Not again."
The corridor beyond was stone-cold, dim, and echoey—basically, the kind of setting where you half-expect a ghost to pop out and say, "Surprise! You failed your Defense Against the Dark Arts exam and now you're cursed forever!"
Harry walked like he was late for a duel and deeply offended about it. Jaw tight. Eyes stormy. Shoulders squared with all the weight of being thirteen and somehow more emotionally damaged than half the wizarding world combined.
Silence stretched like taffy. And then—
"Jean," he said without looking back. "Call the others. Everyone."
Jean's eyes flared gold, and for a second she looked like some kind of war goddess in disguise. A very annoyed, red-haired war goddess who was really tired of people using her brain like the Marauder's Map.
She nodded once. Her voice echoed in the minds of the castle like a psychic intercom.
Room of Requirement. Emergency meeting. Now. Bring everything. No excuses unless you're literally on fire—and even then, stop-drop-roll and get your butt here.
The responses came in waves—surprise, confusion, the mental equivalent of someone tripping over a rug, and then a collective pulse of readiness.
Remus, walking just behind them, blinked and whistled low. "Still weird watching you do that."
"Still weird doing it," Jean muttered, rubbing her temple. "Pretty sure I just tuned into Peeves' thoughts. I'm scarred forever."
Harry smirked, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Sirius, as always, looked like trouble in leather form—messy hair, long coat, a smirk that had broken hearts and started duels. He twirled a coin between his fingers, half-winking at Susan as she trotted up beside them in her Hufflepuff robes and combat boots.
"Hey, pup," Sirius said. "You sure your girlfriend can handle that much power without exploding a toilet?"
Jean raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Harry didn't miss a beat. "She exploded two last week."
"Three," Jean corrected.
Sirius whistled. "That's my future daughter-in-law."
"Sirius," Harry said through gritted teeth.
"Don't worry," Sirius grinned, clapping him on the back. "You'll have time to elope after we fight the apocalypse."
Harry sighed. Loudly.
Susan grinned and elbowed Jean. "You two are so married already."
Jean blushed, but didn't deny it. "Shut up, Bones."
They reached the corridor's edge. Harry stepped aside, pulling a sleek, enchanted mirror from his jacket. It shimmered like moonlight poured into glass.
He looked into it and said, "Logan."
The mirror shimmered again—and there he was. Wolverine himself, looking like someone had just interrupted his nap. He had a cigar clenched between his teeth and a permanent growl in his voice.
"Took you long enough, bub," Logan said. "Thought maybe you'd finally realized calling me always ends with bloodstains and therapy."
"Good guess," Harry said. "Werewolves. Forbidden Forest. Halloween. Full pack. Greyback leading."
Logan's smirk vanished like someone had flipped a switch.
"That rabid son of a—" He stood, already reaching for his gear. "Alright. I'm in. Gimme ten minutes."
"Make it an hour," Harry replied. "Sirius will coordinate Portkeys with his American contact."
Logan grunted. "Fine. But the place better have scotch. None of that elf wine garbage."
Harry didn't answer. He just flipped the mirror again. "Steve Rogers."
This time, the image resolved to a SHIELD facility that looked like it had been designed by people who really liked glass and hated comfort. Steve was standing by a tactical display, blue eyes narrowing as he registered Harry's face.
"Harry. What's going on?"
"Werewolves," Harry said. "Not the cool, misunderstood kind. The bite-you-and-suddenly-you're-howling-at-the-moon kind."
Steve's jaw tightened. "How many?"
"Whole pack. Led by a bastard named Fenrir Greyback."
Steve didn't ask more. He didn't need to.
"I'll come," he said. "And I'm bringing backup. People I trust. They won't talk."
"If you vouch for them," Harry said, "they're in. Just get here fast. It's going to be chaos."
Steve nodded. "I'll coordinate with Logan. See you soon."
The mirror dimmed. Harry slipped it back into his jacket and let out a breath like he'd just wrestled a mountain troll.
Jean stepped beside him, brushing her fingers against his briefly—just enough for comfort, not enough for distraction. "They're coming?"
He nodded. "Both. Cap's bringing friends."
Remus, who had been quiet long enough that everyone forgot he was there, smiled faintly. "Good. We'll need more than wands and hope this time."
Sirius cracked his knuckles. "Time to see if those American supers can keep up with British chaos."
Harry looked out toward the castle—Hogwarts, his home, his sanctuary, his personal magnet for magical disasters.
Behind him stood his friend, his godfather, his werewolf mentor, and a girl who could read his mind better than he could read his own.
Ahead? War.
"Let's find out," he said.
And Hogwarts, ancient and knowing, whispered back with the sound of a hundred staircases shifting—
Bring it on.
—
Sirius vanished down a side corridor like a bat out of magical hell, his leather jacket swishing behind him as he muttered under his breath about portkeys, lost artifacts, and, if Harry's ears weren't deceiving him, something about "bloody wands." Harry's only response was a smirk—he could already hear Sirius grumbling, likely getting distracted by some cursed object he'd found and forgetting about the actual mission at hand.
"Alright, team," Harry said, taking the lead up the spiral staircase. He was trying to move with purpose, but with a bunch of his friends in their pajamas trailing behind, it wasn't exactly the most dramatic entrance ever. Plus, he had an entire school year of pranking to think about—there was definitely a portrait on the fourth floor wearing bunny ears thanks to Fred and George. (Long story. Don't ask.)
Jean was by his side, her hand brushing his in that way that made Harry wonder if they were about to start some kind of telekinetic slow-dance. He could practically feel the electric charge between them, even if they weren't exactly holding hands. Her voice popped up in his head, soft and steady as always: You're stressed. Breathe.
"I am not stressed," Harry muttered, though the fact that he said it while exhaling like he was doing yoga probably proved her point. "I just need to find the right joke to make Lupin laugh."
Jean snorted. "That's your big problem? Lame jokes for the werewolf expert?"
"Absolutely," Harry said with a grin. "Plus, if I crack him up, he might go easy on me during the drills." He paused. "Or… you know… he might make me run the obstacle course with silver in my shoes. That's a fun thought."
"Silver? Really?" Jean rolled her eyes. "No one ever thinks about the telekinetic girl with the stilettos of doom."
"Did you just give me an attack name?" Harry said, eyebrow raised. "I'm gonna steal that."
She smirked, clearly not fazed. "You're welcome."
Meanwhile, Remus, looking every bit the tired, slightly scruffy professor who'd somehow mastered the haunted librarian aesthetic, shot them an amused glance from behind. "Children," he muttered, "Approaching a magical war room, not a night at the Yule Ball."
"Who says it can't be both?" Jean shot back.
Remus just chuckled. It was a tired, fond sound. "Alright, you lot, save the flirting for later. We have an army of werewolves to deal with."
"Ugh," Susan Bones, who was currently waddling behind them in a onesie covered in badger prints, groaned as she stifled a yawn. "I swear, if we have to fight werewolves in this, I'm asking for a hazard pay." She shot a glance at the front of the group. "Also, who's the fashion consultant for the whole sleepwear combat theme?"
"You're asking that in a badger onesie?" Harry shot back.
"I can't hear you over my cozy." Susan's eyes drooped as she plodded forward.
With a flicker of magic, the Room of Requirement shimmered open before them. Inside was... chaos. Pajama-clad chaos.
Fred had bedhead that was practically a weapon in itself, and George was rocking mismatched socks as if they were his signature. Neville, in a particularly uncoordinated ensemble that looked like it had been assembled in the dark, had his wand tucked behind his ear like it was a quill, and Luna? Luna was holding a mug of tea. Where it came from? No one knew, and no one dared to ask.
Ron, still half-asleep, shuffled over, a small leather pouch in his hands. "Here you go, mate. Your suit's all set."
"Legend," Harry said, accepting the pouch with a grin.
"Yeah, yeah, just don't ask me to do anything else until I've had at least five hours of sleep, alright?"
"Fair enough," Harry said, already distracted by Hermione, who was walking over, an identical pouch clutched in her hands. She looked mildly irritated—mildly as in a "I'm dressed in this robe over my pajamas and not even remotely happy about it" kind of way.
"You're wearing pajamas too, Hermione," Harry teased.
"I'm fine with it," she said, dropping the pouch into Jean's hands with a frown. "I've optimized everything as requested." Her voice was all business, which was a nice way of saying she had been up all night tweaking the gear with no sleep. "Added the psychic insulation and reinforced the heel stabilizers you wanted. Also," she said, eyes glinting mischievously, "I gave you retractable blades in your heels. You're welcome."
Jean blinked. "Did you just make me telekinetic combat stilettos?"
Hermione beamed. "With a sharp edge. Literally."
"Okay, I'm officially naming them 'Stabby Heels of Doom,'" Jean said, already envisioning her next fight.
"Approved," Hermione said.
Across the room, Hannah Abbott, who was somehow looking adorable in a bunny-themed nightshirt, handed Susan an identical pouch. "Yours is a little sparkly," she said, her smile warm. "But more stab-resistant than last time."
Susan blinked. "You're really that worried about me getting stabbed again?"
"You did ask for sparkly shoulder guards," Daphne chimed in dryly from across the room, her moon-and-stars nightshirt barely hiding the fact that she was already paying attention.
"Well, these are sparkly and stab-resistant," Tracey added, holding up a mug that read "Potions First, People Later." She sipped from it like she hadn't just implied that everyone should keep their distance until further notice.
"Alright, alright," Harry said, raising his voice to get everyone's attention. Instantly, the sleepy murmurs died down, everyone snapping to attention, ready to hear what he had to say. "Here's the short version. Tomorrow—Halloween night—we're expecting a werewolf ambush. Full moon. Fenrir Greyback's leading the pack, and they'll be coming for us."
The room collectively froze for a moment, and Harry could practically hear their thoughts all at once. Werewolves. Fenrir Greyback. Oh, that's comforting.
George was the first to speak up, his voice cracking in the eerie silence. "Yikes."
"Yeah, exactly," Harry replied, not missing a beat. "This is our first mission as MageX. We're not just protecting the castle, though. We're protecting everyone—the students, the staff, the surrounding areas. No screw-ups. No half-effort. And definitely—definitely—no exploding muffins this time, Fred."
Fred raised both hands in mock surrender. "One muffin. ONE!"
Neville shot a deadpan look at Fred. "Still has a crater."
"Moving on!" Harry said, taking charge again. "Sirius is getting the rest of the gear right now. By sunrise, you'll all be suited up. Today? Today we drill. We train. Werewolves aren't like Death Eaters or boggarts. You get bitten? You don't get better. You lose focus? Someone else pays for it."
The room went eerily quiet. Even Luna, who usually had the most otherworldly presence, had sobered up and was listening intently.
"So, we suit up now." Harry pointed to three shimmering doorways that had appeared out of thin air. "Twenty minutes. After that, we start drills. Professor Lupin's running them. He's got more experience with werewolves than all of us combined, so listen up. If you think this is all fun and games—remember the last time we faced a real danger. Let's not make it worse this time."
Remus, who had been quietly standing in the background, nodded, giving them a small wave. "Flattery's nice, but I'm not going easy on you. Obstacle course in ten minutes."
Susan groaned loudly. "Of course, there's an obstacle course."
"Oh, and there's silver in the simulation runes," Remus added, looking completely deadpan. "Don't touch anything that glows and looks angry. It'll bite."
Harry shot a grin over his shoulder. "Alright. You've got twenty minutes. Coffee's optional. Regret, however, is encouraged. See you on the mat."
As Harry, Jean, and Susan made their way to the changing rooms, Jean whispered to Harry, her voice low and teasing. "Nice speech, Commander Potter."
"Wasn't a speech," he said with a wink. "It was a battle cry. Also, I'm pretty sure Fred just got goosebumps."
"Shut up and get changed," Jean said, trying (and failing) to hide her smile.
"Gladly," Harry said, disappearing into his designated changing room.
Susan rolled her eyes, following Jean. "Just once I want to save the world in sweatpants."
Jean called over her shoulder as the door clicked shut behind them. "No such luck. But we'll look fabulous doing it."
And just like that, the room went silent, the sleepy chaos transformed into a battalion of teenage warriors.
Tomorrow was Halloween.
But tonight? Tonight, they prepared for war.
—
When Harry Potter—code name: Marauder, thank you very much—stepped out of the changing room, time sort of… paused.
Not dramatically, like a thunderclap or lightning bolt. More like the slow-mo moment in a movie when the hero walks out of the shadows and the soundtrack goes full orchestra. Which was impressive, considering this was a Hogwarts sublevel and the background music was mostly clanking armor and someone (probably Ron) swearing about lost socks.
Harry's red-and-gold armored bodysuit gleamed under torchlight. The gold "M" emblazoned across his chest looked like a shout-out to Magical Iron Man, which was completely unintentional, but still awesome. Black and brown dragonhide lined the underlayers, giving him a stealthy "I-will-sneak-up-on-you-and-hex-your-butt" vibe. His golden utility belt was stocked with potions, prank gear, chocolate frogs, and at least two things Remus would classify as "a violation of several school rules and international treaties."
The hood—deep crimson and charmed to obscure his face—slid up over his head like it had a mind of its own. Which, honestly, wasn't off the table.
He looked like the love child of a Gryffindor knight and a cursed Avenger.
And somehow… it worked.
Across the training room, Jean Grey—codename: Phoenix—stood with her arms folded and a smirk that could melt tungsten. Her emerald combat suit shimmered with gold detailing and the blazing silhouette of a Phoenix stretched across her chest like she'd dared fire itself to challenge her, and fire had just said, "Okay, boss."
Her long red hair practically glowed, like she'd threatened her hairstylist with telekinesis.
"Nice hood, Marauder," Jean said, pushing off the wall. "Very brooding hero meets dramatic flair. You practicing your smolder?"
Harry rolled a shoulder, trying to look nonchalant. "I don't smolder. I seethe. It's an important distinction."
Susan Bones—codename: Veritas—was adjusting her armor nearby. Hers was black and yellow, like a Quidditch uniform redesigned by a paranoid Auror with a flair for the theatrical. Protective plates covered her chest and shoulders. A black X stretched across her front, and a hood similar to Harry's flickered to life with a low hum of magic.
"Wait, do we all have hoods now?" she asked, raising it and watching her face vanish like she'd triggered stealth mode. "Because if so, I vote we form a band. 'The Hoodlums.'"
"Or a biker gang," Harry added. "Wizarding Hellions. Picture McGonagall's face."
Jean snorted. "She'd transfigure your broom into a mop and assign you to clean the entire Astronomy Tower."
"Again," Susan pointed out.
Before Harry could fire back with a snappy comeback about educational mop-based punishment, the door banged open.
Enter: Sirius Black—aka the man, the myth, the leather-clad chaos wizard. Looking like he'd just strolled off the cover of Hot Wizards Monthly, Sirius wore a long black coat, combat boots, fingerless gloves, and a grin so dangerous it should've come with its own Ministry warning label.
"Look at you lot!" he barked, striding across the mat like he owned the room. "You're like a cross between an action movie cast and a fashion disaster. I love it."
He tossed out leather supply pouches to the rest of Team MageX, who were emerging in various states of battle readiness and bedhead.
Fred Weasley caught his mid-air with a grin. "Wicked, thanks!"
George fumbled his and knocked over a training dummy.
Neville Longbottom opened his and immediately got glitterbombed in the face. His expression suggested betrayal. Possibly treason.
Luna Lovegood didn't blink.
Ron groaned. "It's too early for leather armor."
Hermione smacked him with hers. "Suck it up, Weasley. You're in a covert unit, not a Sunday brunch."
Sirius turned to Jean and slowed. His grin softened, just a fraction.
"No mask?" he asked, tilting his head.
Jean blinked. "Didn't really come with accessories."
Sirius made a face like that was personally offensive. He reached into his coat, rummaging like he was pulling out a cursed sword. What he produced instead was a golden and emerald circlet—shaped like Phoenix wings curling around the temples, center dipped just above the brow.
It looked ancient. Regal. A crown for a battle-born queen.
"It's enchanted," Sirius said. "Face glamor. Your team will see you, but enemies won't. Plus, it ups your dramatic entrance score by about twenty points."
Jean took it like it might vanish. "It's beautiful."
"So are you," Sirius said, winking. "But this'll keep that a secret from the baddies."
Harry made a strangled noise that might've been a cough. Or a jealous owl.
Jean smirked at him sideways. "Relax, Commander. He's old enough to be my magical dad."
Sirius clutched his chest. "Excuse you. Cool magical dad."
Susan muttered, "Remus is the cool one."
And like he'd been summoned by sarcasm, Remus Lupin entered the room. His long coat swished behind him like a moonlit professor of apocalypse studies. He looked like he had just stepped out of a gothic novel: salt-and-pepper hair, lean build, and that soft, dangerous calm of a man who could brew a sleeping draught and beat you at dueling with a teacup.
"You're all late," Remus said mildly. "I've already designed four new drills, fixed three runes, and brewed coffee that may be sentient."
Susan perked up. "Is it friendly?"
Remus tilted his head. "It growled."
Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "At least it didn't bite you this time."
Harry clapped his hands. "Alright, MageX, warm-up's over. You've got ten minutes to gear up and get your heads in the game. Because—"
"Obstacle course," Remus said cheerfully. "With silver rune traps. And two boggarts."
Fred paled. "I miss the muffins."
Jean slid the circlet into place. Her face shimmered and blurred, glowing faintly behind the spellwork like a goddess caught mid-ascension.
She turned to Harry. "How do I look?"
Harry blinked. Then blinked again, like his brain had short-circuited.
"Like the last thing Greyback's ever gonna see," he said honestly.
Jean smiled. "Perfect."
Behind them, Ginny and Tracey were arguing about wand holsters. Daphne and Hannah were doing synchronized stretching like it was the Wizarding Olympics. Percy was lecturing Angelina about protocol. Alicia and Katie were timing themselves on the climbing wall. Cedric was calmly sharpening a throwing knife while Luna fed a Niffler.
It was chaos. It was family.
And as the team lined up, Harry glanced at his reflection in a shattered mirror. Marauder stared back.
He looked ready.
Because tomorrow was Halloween.
And tonight… they were going to war.
—
The changing room doors swung open like dramatic stage curtains, and the energy shifted faster than you could say "Accio Fashion Statement." The casual chaos turned into something more intense—like Hogwarts just teamed up with the Avengers and hired a stylist with serious flare.
First to strut out?
Cedric Diggory.
This boy walked like confidence had personally sculpted his jawline and then asked for his autograph. His new armor was Hufflepuff meets Special Ops: black and yellow tactical gear that hugged his frame with just the right amount of respect. His gauntlets shimmered with rune-forged plating, his boots were straight-up dragonhide, and his hood flickered with golden mist that could make a Dementor do a double-take.
Harry Potter, 13 years old and already fluent in Savage Snark, stage-whispered to Jean, "Badger has entered the chat."
Cedric didn't miss a beat. "Still not calling myself Badger."
"Not yet," Harry said. "But give it time. You'll get a chocolate frog card: 'Cedric Diggory, aka Badger. Striking fear into Death Eaters and composting their bodies with style.'"
Jean, 14, red hair braided with charm-infused strands that glowed faintly, grinned. "I'd totally collect that."
Cedric gave a mock bow. "Only if you promise to trade me for a Phoenix."
"I don't trade," Jean said, eyes glinting. "I hoard."
Susan Bones nearly choked laughing. Harry looked at Jean like she'd just cast a Confundus on his heart. Which, let's be honest, she kind of had.
And then the room temperature dropped like someone summoned Elsa with bloodlust.
Daphne Greengrass entered. Or glided. Or conjured herself into existence. It was hard to tell. Her armor was winter reimagined as fashion-forward lethality: glacial blues, shimmering whites, and enchanted frost that clung to her like armor and art. Her gauntlets crackled with runes, and her wand sat neatly in her right gauntlet. Snowflakes literally formed around her as she walked.
Harry blinked. "Ten galleons says she's about to sass someone into therapy."
"Twenty says it's Ron," Jean whispered.
Daphne's gaze locked onto Harry. "You look like a Gryffindor cosplaying as Iron Man on laundry day."
Harry bowed. "And you look like Elsa if she decided murder was a winter sport."
Daphne gave a sugar-sweet smile. "Excellent. That was the goal."
Burn: Ice-type. Super effective.
Next came Neville Longbottom, aka Thorn. The boy had grown into his bones and then some. His armor looked like a forest had declared war and picked him as its champion. Green and brown, reinforced at the joints, with heavy boots that could flatten a troll. A vine-like pattern curled up his sleeves, pulsing with druidic energy.
Fred gave a nod. "Mate, you look like you're about to take root and uppercut a Whomping Willow."
Neville didn't even flinch. He pulled a tiny seed from his pouch. It sprouted mid-air into a plant with teeth.
George clapped. "Adorable. Terrifying. I'm in love."
Then came Luna Lovegood.
Floaty, radiant, dreamlike. Her armor was blue and gold, like a comet had a fashion crisis and decided to sparkle about it. Her radish earrings glowed with subtle runes, and her gauntlets shimmered with enchantments you probably weren't qualified to understand. Light literally followed her as she twirled.
"Hello," Luna said cheerfully. "I'm not late. Time is just early."
Hermione opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Let her have this one," Harry said. "That was poetry."
Luna turned to Neville. "Your plant says it's hungry."
Neville blinked. "It... talks to you?"
"It sings," Luna said seriously. "Mostly about compost."
Jean leaned toward Harry. "We need a team psychic."
Harry grinned. "We have one. She just prefers earrings over helmets."
Cedric, still adjusting his gauntlet, muttered, "So we've got Marauder, Phoenix, Veritas, Thorn, Halo, Ice Queen... and I'm Badger?"
"Temporary codename!" Harry shouted. "You can graduate to Badger Prime. Lord of the Burrows. The Burrow-nator. Sir Digs-a-Lot."
Cedric groaned. "I hate everything."
"That's fair," said Sirius, finally stepping forward from where he'd been leaning against the wall like a leather-jacket-wearing catastrophe. Joe Manganiello levels of disaster, with stubble that said "I've seen things" and a grin that said "I encouraged them."
"Alright, you magnificent nightmares," Sirius said, clapping. "You look fierce, fabulous, and only slightly less dangerous than a Blast-Ended Skrewt on espresso."
Remus drifted in behind him like a caffeinated cryptid, calm and elegant in a coat that billowed just a bit too dramatically to be an accident. Lee Pace in full mysterious mentor mode.
"The wards are up," Remus said. "The traps are live. And the sentient coffee has claimed a chair in the briefing room."
Luna perked up. "Did it bring biscuits?"
"It brought existential dread," Remus replied calmly.
Harry clapped his hands, grinning like a war god at a fireworks display. "MageX! This is it. Last prep night before the mission. Tomorrow: Halloween. Full moon. Costumes optional, danger guaranteed. We're not just fighting monsters. We are the monsters they fear."
Jean raised a fist. "Let's make them believe it."
The team stepped forward, boots thudding like a heartbeat.
War was coming.
And MageX was ready.
---
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