The Room of Requirement had outdone itself.
The second wave of students emerged from the changing alcoves, each clad in customized armor that blended Quidditch gear with battle-ready enhancements.
Harry gave a low whistle. "We are the hottest army Hogwarts has ever produced."
Cedric tossed a small spark of light from his gauntlet. "And the best armed."
Remus stepped forward, the room darkening slightly as the training protocols began humming to life. The faint scent of wet fur and blood filled the air. The simulation wasn't just magical—it was visceral.
Sirius grinned, clapping once. "Alright, kids. This isn't just about hexes and cool armor. You're about to train against Fenrir Greyback and his pack. Real feral, real fast, and very murdery."
Remus added, his voice calm but stern, "Normal spells won't do jack. You can stun them, delay them, trap them—but if you want to take one down permanently?"
He raised his wand. "You use silver."
With a flick and a muttered incantation—"Argentia Sagitta!"—Remus conjured a glowing silver arrow, shimmering in the air before him.
"Repeat after me," Remus said. "Ar-gen-tee-a Sa-gee-ta."
As everyone practiced the words, Sirius grinned. "It channels your intent into a single focused form. You can launch it from your wand, your gauntlet, or even transfigure part of your armor to create one—but it requires a steady aim, strong will, and a good supply of sass."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You made that last part up."
"Prove I didn't."
Hermione raised her hand. "How long does the spell take to cast?"
"Faster the more you practice," Remus said. "Right now? Three seconds. Eventually? You'll do it mid-duel."
Neville stepped up, aimed his wand, and whispered, "Argentia Sagitta!"
A shimmering bolt formed at the tip of his wand, then fizzled out like a disappointed firework.
Remus gave a kind nod. "Closer. But you need to focus on intent. Imagine protecting someone."
Neville tried again. This time, the arrow formed solid, humming with magic.
"Brilliant," Remus said. "Everyone else—get to work."
The room rang with murmured incantations and glowing silver bolts. Fred managed to shoot one that bounced off the ceiling and nearly took out George's hood.
"Oi! I just got this enchanted!"
"Call it crash testing!"
Ginny's arrow hit a conjured werewolf target dead center. Ron managed to summon two at once by accident and nearly impaled Percy, who only looked mildly annoyed. Hermione, of course, summoned a perfect arrow on her first try, then enchanted it to home in on moving targets. Because of course she did.
Once everyone had the basics down, Remus clapped again.
"Alright, into the simulation zone. These won't be holograms. They're magical constructs that fight back. They will try to bite, slash, and maul you. That's what werewolves do."
Sirius leaned in. "The goal isn't just survival—it's strategy. Cover each other. Use terrain. And if it all goes to hell?"
Harry raised a brow. "Run screaming?"
"Wrong!" Sirius shouted. "You run screaming while firing silver arrows and hurling insult-based hexes!"
The steel doors opened with a low hiss, revealing a dark forest under a full moon, howls echoing in the distance.
Jean stepped beside Harry. "Showtime?"
Harry nodded, flicked his wand, and conjured a silver arrow that gleamed like starlight.
"Let's hunt some monsters."
—
The moment the squad stepped into the simulation zone, the doors slammed shut behind them with a boom that was way too dramatic for anyone's emotional stability. Imagine a thunderclap crossed with a judge's gavel and the final buzzer of a Quidditch match. Yeah, that kind of ominous.
The forest ahead looked like it had been designed by someone who thought Fangorn was too cheerful. Twisted trees. Creepy mist. Moonlight that had clearly attended the "Evil Lighting 101" class at Villain Academy. And then came the howls.
One. Two. A dozen.
Ron yelped. "NOPE! Nope, nope—I'm allergic to werewolves! It's a real thing, ask Madam Pomfrey!"
The first werewolf didn't care. It launched itself at Ron like a nightmare furball. He screamed, tripped over his own boots, and tried casting a spell that sounded suspiciously like "Argentia... ARGENTINA? ARGH!"
Next to him, Neville's face did the thing where it forgot how to emotion. "That's too many teeth," he squeaked, dropping his wand. "That's way too many teeth!"
Angelina and Alicia, both with Quidditch reflexes and zero patience for nonsense, loosed enchanted arrows—only for them to spark out with a sad little fizzle.
"Oh COME ON," Alicia shouted. "I enchanted these myself!"
"Yeah, well, maybe next time skip the glitter charm," said Angelina, shoving her sideways to avoid getting mauled.
Percy, ever the professional, was mid-rant. "Form up! Maintain Ministry protocol!—ACK!" One werewolf tackled him like a linebacker.
Ginny Weasley did not have time for that. She launched herself into a flying kick that would've made Bruce Lee blink. "BACK OFF THE BUREAUCRAT!"
Tracey blinked out of sight—invisibility reflex, nice—only for a werewolf to sniff her out and chase her screaming around a boulder.
"I KNEW THIS CLOAK SMELLED TOO MUCH LIKE LAVENDER! THIS IS WHY I DON'T BUY FROM ETSY!"
Fred and George were panicking in stereo.
"Plan Zeta?!" Fred shouted.
"Left it in my other pants!"
"WHY DO YOU EVEN OWN OTHER PANTS?!"
Fred lobbed a smoke bomb. It exploded. Half the team choked.
"Smoke bombs are for EXIT STRATEGIES, genius!"
"That was the exit strategy!"
Hannah Abbott, bless her terrified Hufflepuff soul, was sobbing while firing shaky silver arrows.
"I don't like this! I want to go back to Herbology! I LIKE PLANTS!"
Katie Bell managed to transfigure a tree root into a whip and actually tripped a werewolf—which was kind of awesome—until another one tackled her mid-celebration.
Then—
BOOM.
A werewolf disintegrated into a burst of silver light.
Harry landed like a comet from Gryffindor heaven, red-and-gold cloak flaring dramatically behind him. His fist glowed with raw power, his hair tousled just enough to be unfair, and his smirk was the exact amount of cocky to drive werewolves and teenage girls equally insane.
"Seriously? This is your panic mode?"
He punched another werewolf mid-leap. It exploded.
Jean floated down beside him, calm as a goddess of war, with her signature red hair flaming in the moonlight and her eyes lit up like she was running on raw power and mild irritation. A werewolf lunged at her. She didn't even blink. It froze in mid-air like someone had hit pause. With a flick of her fingers, she yeeted it across the forest like a particularly ugly beach ball.
"You had one job," Jean said, not looking at anyone in particular.
Ron raised a shaky hand. "Survive?"
"Passable answer," Harry said, smirking. "Minus three points for pants-wetting."
Susan Bones appeared like a magical sniper, wand swirling like she was born to duel. Silver vines erupted from the ground and slung two more werewolves skyward.
"You're lucky I added the emergency anti-bleed charms," she muttered. "Otherwise, you'd be painting the dome with your internal organs."
"Charming," Percy wheezed, wiping werewolf drool off his lapels.
Then more werewolves showed up. Six of them. All bigger, meaner, and with worse breath.
Harry grinned. Jean raised an eyebrow. Susan sighed like she was grading a pop quiz.
Harry cracked his knuckles. "Tag in?"
Jean smirked. "Educational purposes only."
Susan conjured a glowing dome around the rest of the panicking students. "Lesson One: Don't panic."
Outside the dome, chaos had a name. Three of them, in fact.
Harry flew like a human missile, slamming werewolves into the ground hard enough to leave craters. One clawed his chest—and the wound healed before the others could blink. He picked up a tree. A TREE. And used it like a bat.
Jean hovered overhead, tossing werewolves around like they weighed nothing. One tried to bite her. It ended up telekinetically gagged and floating upside down.
"Focus! Breathe! You have the magic, USE IT!" Her voice echoed in their heads.
Susan moved like a ballet dancer with a death wish. Her spells were elegant, deadly, and delivered with a muttered sarcasm that even Fred admired.
"Silver Flames. Binding Chains. Severing Wind. Boom. Boom. Boom."
Inside the dome, the others were watching like Hogwarts had suddenly turned into a Marvel movie.
Fred whispered, "We are so out of our league."
Ginny, bruised but defiant, grinned. "Nah. We're just still in the prequel."
Neville, teary-eyed, clutched his wand. "I want to be that cool."
Ron groaned. "I want clean pants."
Then: Flash!
Simulation froze. Everything paused. A loud buzzer sounded.
Sirius's voice echoed above, equal parts snarky uncle and late-night radio host.
"CONGRATULATIONS, PANICKY PANTS! You have successfully reached the 'ABSOLUTE CHAOS' level of our simulation. Final Grade: H for Hysterical Screaming. Special mentions: Ginny, for the savage kick, and Percy, for keeping Ministry dignity alive through literal spit."
Remus's voice followed, calm and smooth like a velvet glove over a sword.
"Lesson One: Panic kills. Next time, breathe. Think. Work together. And maybe—just maybe—aim before you cast."
Harry floated down, brushing werewolf guts off his armor. "Ready for Round Two?"
Everyone groaned.
Jean landed beside him, eyes still glowing faintly. "This time," she said sweetly, "we turn off the safety dome."
Ron turned green. "WE HAD SAFETIES?!"
Sirius laughed like a man who definitely had no regrets.
"Oh yeah. Welcome to jungle school, kids."
—
The dome had dropped. The mist had cleared. And the werewolves—well, the nightmare-inducing illusions—faded like bad dreams after a triple-shot espresso. All that remained were some minor cuts, a couple of frayed nerves, and the kind of awkward silence you only get after completely wiping out in front of your crush.
Remus—tall, gorgeous, and vaguely tragic in a way that would've made Victorian poets cry—was at the far end of the room fiddling with the controls like the world's hottest IT guy. His long coat swirled as he muttered to himself: "Need to recalibrate the aggression matrix... or maybe disable the trauma response triggers. Who installed that? Sirius?"
From the shadows, Sirius Black—who looked like he'd just stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad for Battle-Worn But Still Smoking—grinned. "You're welcome."
Harry, now thirteen, and fully embracing his destiny as a sass-fueled, wand-slinging action hero, paced like a general about to deliver the speech of the century. In one hand, he held a broken werewolf fang. In the other, what might've been a demonic pinecone. His cloak billowed for dramatic effect, because of course it did.
Jean Grey—14, glowing with latent cosmic rage and hormones, stood by a conjured column like a queen surveying her realm. She wasn't glowing right now, but the way she stared could melt steel. Susan Bones, the literal embodiment of tea-sipping judgment, floated a delicate porcelain cup beside her like she was about to interview someone for crimes against common sense.
"Alright, team," Harry began, voice equal parts coach, warrior, and teen heartthrob. "Let's debrief. And by 'debrief,' I mean lovingly roast you for the utter chaos that was Round One."
Some scattered laughter. Mostly nervous.
"We're not here to shame anyone," Jean said smoothly, folding her arms. "Except Ron. We always shame Ron."
"Hey!" Ron protested. "I didn't even die this time!"
"Which is honestly a personal best," Hermione muttered.
Harry grinned. "Look, you all survived. That's the good news. The bad news? You fought like you just woke up from a nap and remembered halfway through that your wands were decorative."
Cue Cedric, Daphne, Neville, and Luna—the Magical Mutants. A.k.a. the Hogwarts X-Babies. They looked like they'd just been caught shoplifting from Honeydukes.
Harry started with Cedric. Tall, rugged, with the kind of jawline that could probably deflect spells.
"You've got claws, healing, enhanced senses, and abs that are frankly unfair for a sixteen-year-old. You could've body-slammed those werewolves. What happened?"
Cedric ran a hand through his hair. "The smell hit me like a Bludger to the face. Blood, sweat, wet fur... it was too much. I couldn't focus."
Jean nodded. "Sensory overload. Classic feral-type issue. We'll start training you to filter out the noise. You ever tried meditating?"
"With wolves around?"
"With chamomile tea. It's Logan's secret weapon. That, and Canadian beer. You get the tea."
Next: Daphne Greengrass. Ice princess incarnate. Literally.
"I panicked," she admitted, jaw clenched. "I was about to cast, but I was afraid I'd hit someone else. My sister always said—"
"Screw your sister," Susan interrupted sweetly. "She's not here. You are."
Harry stepped in. "This is the place to make mistakes, Daph. Here, a misfire means embarrassment. Out there, it means someone doesn't come back. So next round? Freeze everything. Trees. Wolves. Ron's eyebrows if you have to."
"I heard that!"
Neville was next. The plant whisperer. Currently wishing the floor would swallow him like a hungry Mandrake.
"I dropped my wand," he mumbled.
Susan blinked. "You command the raw essence of nature. Why do you need a stick to do it?"
"I panicked! My palms got sweaty, and all I could think was 'please don't let Luna start talking to the wallpaper again.'"
"Rude," Luna said serenely, from where she was hanging upside-down on a boulder.
Harry crouched next to Neville. "Your magic is primal, Nev. Ancient. Druid stuff. The kind of power that made the Romans rethink conquering Britain. I want to see roots tearing through the floor. Ivy on the ceiling. I want the plants to go full Jurassic Park next time."
Neville looked terrified. But also a little proud.
Then came Luna.
Oh, Luna.
Jean eyed her warily. "You didn't use your powers at all."
"I was communing," Luna said dreamily. "The wolves were loud. But the Unseen Mushrooms of Consciousness were louder. I asked them to shush, but they were in the middle of a concert."
"You were negotiating with hallucinated fungi while we were getting mauled?"
"Not hallucinated," Luna corrected. "Just very shy."
Harry nodded solemnly. "Cool. Just maybe throw a jinx or two next time while chatting with the ethereal mushroom choir."
Luna smiled. "I'll try. But Chronos still hasn't forgiven me for interrupting tea with the Temporal Foxes."
Hermione looked like she wanted to launch herself into the astral plane.
"Alright," Jean said, clapping her hands. "Take five. Breathe. Hydrate. Then we run it again. Only this time, try not to cry or summon sentient moss monsters."
Tracey Davis poked her head out from under a conjured rock. "Is it over?"
"Tracey," Sirius called. "You're invisible, not intangible. Next time, try not hiding under a boulder with a face like a scared puffskein."
"Also," Harry added helpfully, "your invisibility spell only covered your clothes. We could all see you."
Tracey shrieked and vanished again.
From the sidelines, Fred and George took notes.
"This is gold," Fred whispered.
"'Naked under the Invisibility Cloak'—great name for our next prank."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You two act like you're twelve."
"Emotionally," said George.
Alicia, Angelina, and Katie high-fived in the background while Percy loudly tried to explain how this was all a violation of magical protocol.
Jean glanced at Harry as the group slowly began to rally. "You handled that well."
Harry smirked. "You say that like you're surprised."
She leaned in. "I'm never surprised by you anymore."
Susan fake-coughed. "Get a room."
"Technically, this is a room," Sirius said.
Remus finally straightened up. "Simulation reset in thirty seconds. Are we ready?"
Harry looked at the team—bruised, embarrassed, and just the right amount of angry.
He smiled.
"Let's see what you've got."
Round two was about to begin.
And this time, they'd bring the chaos.
(Probably.)
—
"Round two," Harry said, cracking his knuckles like he was prepping for a rap battle and not, you know, fighting imaginary werewolves. "And this time… let's try not to suck."
The room dimmed like someone had just hit the 'dramatic lighting' setting, and the dome shimmered into place, giving everyone a split second to realize, oh joy, here we go again.
This time, the wolves were bigger. Scarier. Smelled like death and gym socks. Probably had abs. But the team? They weren't the same hot mess express from round one.
Cedric, a.k.a. Hufflepuff's answer to Wolverine, didn't even blink. He launched forward, ducking a leaping wolf, flipping it like it owed him money, and drove his claws into its side with a grunt that said I've watched every X-Men movie and I took notes.
"Much better," Jean's voice crackled through the comms. "You're actually terrifying now."
"Thanks," Cedric grunted, body-slamming another one like it was Monday and he hadn't had coffee.
Daphne Greengrass stepped onto the battlefield like she was on a runway in a blizzard. Frost trailed behind her, high heels clicking over newly formed ice. Three wolves got frozen mid-snarl.
Ron peeked from behind a boulder. "Did you just ice-skate into battle?!"
"Jealous much?" Daphne purred, conjuring a sleek spear of ice and flinging it with the flair of a Disney princess raised by assassins.
Neville? Oh, Neville. Sweet, sun-loving, formerly-horribly-anxious Neville slammed his palm to the ground. The earth answered. Roots exploded upward like caffeinated cobras, one wolf yelping as it was yanked underground.
"Yeah, baby!" Neville grinned, eyes glowing green. "We do not mess with Mother Nature."
"I told you," Harry said, smirking. "He's the angry grandson of Gaia."
Luna, ethereal as ever, wandered through the chaos like she was looking for seashells. She whispered something, maybe to the air, maybe to an invisible friend named Kevin.
Suddenly, the wolves… paused. Then started attacking each other. One began howling at its reflection. Another tried to court it.
"What did you do?" Jean asked, blinking.
"I told them love is an illusion," Luna said serenely. "Also, one of them now believes he's a fox named Reginald."
Susan groaned. "Okay, yeah. Witchcraft. Definitely witchcraft."
"Yes," Luna agreed.
Tracey Davis, now visible enough to be annoying, zipped between the wolves, muttering through comms.
"Dropped a stun trap behind the big guy. Ten seconds 'til kaboom."
"You still invisible?" Cedric asked.
"Still fabulous," Tracey shot back. "Now shut up, he's sniffing my soul."
The Twins and Ginny unleashed chaos. Fred created illusions—dragons, banshees, Snape in a tutu. George chucked paintballs that exploded into rainbow-colored goo and hardened like candy floss cement.
"Now you see 'em…" Fred said.
"…Now they disco," George finished, as a wolf slipped, flailed, and faceplanted.
Ginny cartwheeled off a wolf's back, twirling in midair as she blasted two more with Reductos. Her hair whipped dramatically like she was in a shampoo commercial directed by Michael Bay.
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie arrived like the Avengers, if the Avengers rode brooms and had killer aim. Katie buzzed the wolves with a shocking broom enchantment. Angelina picked off targets like a sniper with perfect hair. Alicia dropped barrier spells like glitter bombs.
And then there was Harry.
Phoenix fire curled in one hand, wand in the other. He roared, not just for the drama (okay, maybe a little for the drama), but because he meant it—and an explosion of white-gold flames burst out, clearing a swath of howling wolves.
Jean, watching him from the air, face flushed, eyes wide, said quietly, "Show-off."
"Only for you," Harry replied, smirking.
"Sirius," Remus murmured from the observation room. "Is it just me, or is your godson flirting with the scary telepath mid-battle?"
Sirius, sprawled on a floating lawn chair he conjured just because he could, grinned. "My boy's got taste."
"He's thirteen."
"He's magic."
Remus rolled his eyes with such dry sarcasm it could exfoliate skin.
Back inside the sim, the last wolf lunged—and got decked in the face by Susan Bones, who uppercut it with a glowing gauntlet spell she'd been quietly brewing for the past three minutes.
"Bones out," she said, blowing the magical dust off her knuckles.
Simulation: Complete.
Dome: Dropped.
Sweaty, panting, adrenaline-fueled chaos teens: Grinning.
Jean landed next to Harry, eyes locked with his. "Better?"
Harry looked around at his team, his chaos crew, his family, and smiled like the protagonist of every YA series right before the next catastrophe.
"Next time," he said, "we fight dragons."
There was a collective groan.
"Just kidding."
(He was definitely not kidding.)
—
Harry clapped his hands like he was about to lead a Hogwarts improv troupe called "Spellbound and Slightly Unhinged."
"Alright, before we hurl ourselves back into the magical equivalent of Jurassic Park: Full Moon Edition, let's talk strategy," he announced, pacing in front of the squad like he had a clipboard, a whistle, and zero chill. "Because while I deeply admire the chaos aesthetic—Neville, that vine whip? Ten outta ten—some of us are forgetting we have an actual spell that turns werewolves into sparkly mist."
Jean, leaning casually against a floating column of runes, raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You mean Argentia Sagitta?"
Harry pointed at her like she'd just named his favorite ice cream flavor. "Bingo. The Silver Arrow. The werewolf-stunning, sparkle-inducing, Remus-approved spell we literally learned an hour ago."
Susan, cradling a teacup like it was a wand of emotional support, muttered, "You mean the one we learned like a choir performance? Very Glee, that whole number."
"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed, grinning. "So let's try it again—together—for the people in the back."
"Argentia Sagitta!" the group chanted like a bunch of half-hearted backup singers.
Harry winced. "Try again, or I'm making you wrestle Hagrid. Blindfolded. In a swamp. While he sings Celestina Warbeck."
"ARGENTIA SAGITTA!" they shouted like their lives depended on it. (Spoiler: They kind of did.)
Jean stepped forward, red hair catching the simulation light like she was stepping out of a dream sequence. The magical column dissolved behind her with a satisfying shimmer. "The spell works best when you're calm, focused, and not shrieking like you found a Blast-Ended Skrewt in your sock drawer. Picture an arrow—not a squiggle, not a spaghetti noodle. And silver. It has to shimmer. Let it fly."
"Also," Susan added, raising her mug like it was a mic, "please aim. Whoever shot the ceiling last time, I felt that in my soul."
A small, ghost-like voice whispered, "That was me."
"We know, Tracey," Jean and Susan said in perfect unison.
Sirius, lounging upside down on a hovering couch like it was perfectly normal, gave Harry a sideways glance. "Are you sure you're not related to me? That whole speech was very... me."
"Pretty sure I got it from you by osmosis," Harry quipped, then mock-gasped. "Wait. Am I growing chest hair prematurely?!"
"Nah, you've got years before you match this majestic fluff," Sirius said, flipping his hair like a shampoo commercial.
Remus, still dignified and mysterious at the back of the room (because of course he was), sipped his tea like a morally conflicted elf prince. "Silver disrupts the werewolf's regenerative magic. It's not a kill spell—it's a stun, a disorient, a chance to run or strike. Use it wisely."
"Why do you think he taught it to us?" Susan chimed. "Remus is the hot werewolf professor with firsthand experience."
"Still here, Susan," Remus said mildly, not even looking up.
"Still true," Susan replied, without a trace of shame.
Jean rolled her eyes with a grin and added, "Think dodgeball, but make it magical warfare. Silver arrows, screaming beasts, and trauma. Lots of trauma."
Fred perked up. "Do we get points for flair?"
George elbowed him. "We always get points for flair."
Hermione stepped forward with her Planning Face on. (You know the one. Like she was about to rewrite the laws of physics for extra credit.) "Let's pair up. No solo acts. Luna with Daphne. Cedric with Neville. Susan with Tracey. Fred and George, do not blow anything up unless someone says the word 'pineapple.' That's your trigger word."
"Define 'blow up,'" Katie Bell asked.
"Define 'pineapple,'" George countered.
"Define sanity," Alicia muttered.
Ginny just cracked her knuckles. "I'm ready to punch a werewolf in the snout."
Ron groaned. "Just don't use Axe body spray again, mate. That Hugo Boss moment was tragic."
"Worse," moaned several voices.
Cedric sniffed himself. "Can I use scent blockers this time? Because that wet dog funk is like a crime against my nostrils."
"Approved," Jean said. "But no more cologne. One more 'masculine musk' moment and I'm hexing everyone."
Remus's voice carried over the chaos like a stage manager about to raise the curtain. "Simulation resetting in five… four…"
Harry twirled a broken werewolf fang between his fingers like it was a mic he was about to drop.
He grinned at the squad. "Alright, you beautiful disasters. You've got the spell. You've got the sass. Let's make Round Three the one where we stop being tragic."
Luna, ever the mystic, raised a hand. "What if we achieve enlightenment and evolve into beings of pure light and sass?"
"Bonus points," Jean deadpanned.
And then the dome shimmered back to life. The mist rolled in. The howls began again—closer this time. Hungrier.
Round Three had begun.
They had silver. They had teamwork. They had deeply questionable judgment.
And they had Harry.
Which meant things were about to get legendary.
—
A sleek black Quinjet sliced through the orange-pink horizon and touched down just beyond the tree line with the grace of a ninja ballerina. The ramp lowered with a hiss of compressed air and an unnecessarily dramatic whoosh.
Because of course it did.
Steve Rogers led the way down, looking every inch the all-American poster boy in his Captain America gear. If justice had a jawline, it would be his. Behind him, Natasha Romanoff stalked down the ramp like a panther in black leather, her face doing that thing where you couldn't tell if she was planning to hug you or break your neck. Clint Barton brought up the rear, spinning an arrow between his fingers and wearing the expression of a man who'd seen too much… and desperately wanted to keep it that way.
"Place looks quiet," Steve said, scanning the peaceful-looking mansion grounds with suspicion. He was a World War II vet, a super soldier, and a guy who didn't trust calm scenery unless someone was playing The Star-Spangled Banner in the background.
"For a school full of mutant teenagers?" Natasha said, arching an eyebrow. "That's never a good sign."
Clint snorted. "Five bucks says someone explodes in the next ten minutes. No offense, but mutant puberty sounds like an OSHA violation."
They approached the front steps, where a familiar gruff figure leaned against a porch column. Wolverine—yes, that Wolverine—stood in full X-suit glory, arms crossed, a cigar tucked behind one ear like it was the most normal thing in the world, and holding what looked suspiciously like a… tin can.
"Bout time you showed up," Logan growled. "I was starting to think you got lost at the Wizard of Oz's place."
Steve eyed the can warily. "Is that the Portkey?"
Logan raised an eyebrow. "No, Rogers, it's my grandmother's heirloom soup tureen. What do you think?"
Clint squinted. "Is that… a beans can? Like, Bush's Baked?"
"Was," Logan said with a shrug. "Emptied it, washed it, filled it with a little ancient British magic mumbo jumbo, and boom—instant express ticket to wizard boarding school."
Natasha crossed her arms. "And you're sure this is safe?"
"Nope," Logan replied cheerfully.
Steve sighed, because of course that was the answer. "Remind me why we're doing this again?"
Logan gave him a toothy grin. "Because Potter's throwing a magical war party, and apparently we're on the guest list. There'll be werewolves. Possibly dragons. Maybe a banshee or two if we're lucky."
Natasha blinked. "Wait. You're serious about the werewolves."
"Yup."
"Hogwarts," Clint muttered, "still sounds like a skin condition. 'Hey doc, I've got a weird rash.' 'Yup, classic case of Hogwarts.'"
"Just don't say that in front of the headmaster," Logan said. "Or the castle. It's alive. And it holds grudges."
The front door creaked open, and Charles Xavier rolled out in his hoverchair, looking as elegant and composed as a Shakespearean actor giving a TED Talk.
"Gentlemen. Lady," Xavier said, nodding to each of them in turn. "Try not to break time and space, will you? We just had the roof repaired. Again."
Steve stepped forward and shook the Professor's hand. "Thanks for letting us use your… facilities."
"It's not every day one gets to assist in an interdimensional magical extraction mission," Xavier said with a twinkle in his eye. "Besides, Logan insisted."
"I'm very persuasive," Logan added, not even bothering to hide his smirk.
Natasha leaned toward Clint and whispered, "Is it just me, or is this place even weirder than the Helicarrier's third sublevel?"
"Definitely weirder," Clint whispered back. "At least on the Helicarrier we didn't have to worry about psychic detention."
At that moment, a large blue figure padded out of the doorway with the grace of a Broadway cat and the vocabulary of a literature professor. Hank McCoy, aka Beast, nodded politely to the newcomers while sipping from a cup of tea that smelled like bergamot and centuries of academic snobbery.
"So," he said in his deep, theatrical voice. "You're the SHIELD agents. Fascinating. I've read your files."
"Same," Natasha replied coolly. "Yours were redacted. That usually means fun."
"Oh, we're just a barrel of laughs around here," Hank said, then turned to Logan. "You're sure this tin can will take them to Hogwarts and not… say, the middle of the Bermuda Triangle?"
"Fifty-fifty," Logan replied. "But that's half the fun."
"Comforting," Clint muttered. "You sure Fury signed off on this?"
Steve didn't meet their eyes. "Technically… he doesn't know. And let's keep it that way."
Clint groaned. "Oh great. You pulled a Rogers. 'Don't tell Fury,' he says. Next thing you know, we're fighting enchanted squirrels and a sentient chessboard."
"Actually," Hank said thoughtfully, "the chessboard only animates during exams."
Steve took the can, adjusted his shield, and nodded. "You all ready?"
"Do I have a choice?" Clint asked.
"Nope," Logan said cheerfully.
"I hate magic," Clint muttered.
"Get in line," Natasha said.
They circled up, each placing a hand on the can.
"On three?" Steve asked.
"Why is it always on three?" Clint said.
"Because saying 'two and a half' feels silly," Logan answered. "Ready?"
"One—"
"Wait," Clint said. "What if I get motion sick during magical travel?"
"You paint the inside of your mask, Legolas," Logan deadpanned.
"Two—"
"This is a terrible idea," Natasha muttered.
"Three."
There was a sudden yank, like a magical vacuum cleaner had decided their collective ankles looked tasty. With a flash of blue-white light and a sound like someone apparating a freight train, the four Avengers vanished from the Xavier lawn, leaving only the tin can behind.
It hit the porch with a plink and rolled to a stop.
Xavier turned to Hank. "Did I remember to tell them time moves differently at Hogwarts?"
Hank sipped his tea. "You did not."
"They're probably arriving in the middle of the chaos, then."
"Logan does love a dramatic entrance," Hank said.
Xavier smiled faintly. "He really, really does."
---
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