Harry Potter: MageX

Harry's footsteps rang through the hallways of Xavier's mansion, each step more confident than the last. The place was like a blend of Hogwarts and some high-tech superhero lair—a little bit of magic mixed with a whole lot of high-tech wizardry. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, lighting up the collection of bookshelves and mysterious artifacts on the walls like they were part of some secret treasure trove. If the mansion had a theme song, it'd probably be Eye of the Tiger—except with a few more magical chimes and sound effects.

His mind was still buzzing from last night. Not about any grand existential discoveries, though. No, last night had been all about Donkey Kong. Yep, the classic arcade game. Harry had totally wiped the floor with Scott. Like, it wasn't even close. Harry was basically the Donkey Kong champion of the universe, and Scott's face when he lost? It was like watching a dog try to figure out what just happened after it'd been caught stealing a sandwich. Hilarious.

Harry couldn't help but grin to himself. It had been the first time in forever he'd been able to just be—no worries about dark wizards or prophecy drama, just him and Scott and a bunch of video games. They'd even gotten into some weird debate about who would win in a fight: Hulk or Thanos, which had quickly devolved into a full-blown Marvel showdown (because why not?).

But it wasn't just Scott he'd been hanging with. Jean had been a surprise. She had this way of making everything feel... normal. Like he didn't have to be some world-saving, magic-wielding, soul-pierced freak—just a guy talking to someone who actually listened. The kind of person who made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you didn't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Plus, her smile? Definitely top-tier. It was like sunshine with a dash of mischief, which, Harry had learned, was a dangerous combination.

And then there was Kitty. If anyone had been born to live in the digital age, it was her. She could hack into anything, like, probably anything. Harry had watched her do it, and it was honestly like witnessing a wizard cast a spell with just a few keystrokes. They spent hours talking about their favorite sci-fi shows, totally geeking out, like the dorky fan club he never realized he needed. He could practically hear her geek out over her favorite show, Doctor Who, and her explanations of time travel had somehow made total sense—even though Harry was 99% sure they didn't.

Oh, and Rogue? Rogue was like a walking hurricane wrapped in a southern drawl. There was something kind of magnetic about her, like she could take over any conversation, no matter how dull, and turn it into something ten times more exciting. Her sarcasm? A work of art. It wasn't that she was mean—it was more like a friendly fight where everyone's weapons were words. And let's not even get into that accent. Every time she said "sugar," Harry swore a little piece of his soul melted.

It was... nice. Weirdly nice. For the first time in ages, Harry had a little group of friends who didn't care about his scars or his history. They saw him for him, not some tragic figure destined to defeat evil. Maybe he didn't need to save the world alone, after all.

Harry shook the thoughts away as he approached the door to Xavier's office, his heart doing a weird little skip of nervousness. He wasn't sure what to expect from Professor Xavier. He'd heard the rumors, of course—everyone had. The guy was practically a legend. But Harry had met his fair share of wise mentors, and let's just say those experiences hadn't always been the highlight of his day.

Xavier, as a mentor type, had the potential to be either totally amazing or incredibly preachy. And let's face it, Harry wasn't exactly looking for a Dumbledore 2.0, complete with cryptic words and "you're the chosen one" speeches. He just wanted... well, a conversation. Some real talk. Maybe a little advice, sure. But mostly just someone who wasn't about to toss him into the deep end of some destiny nonsense.

-–

Harry knocked on the door, the sound of his knuckles tapping lightly against the wooden frame echoing in the air. For a moment, he just stood there, eyes scanning the familiar sight of Xavier's office—a strange hybrid of Hogwarts' library and an ultra-modern tech lab. The shelves were lined with ancient tomes, while the walls held artifacts that looked like they belonged in a wizard's vault. The sun streamed through the windows, casting warm beams that made everything feel a little bit magical... even the way the chairs looked more comfortable than they had any right to be.

"Good morning, Professor," Harry said, stepping inside and trying to sound like he wasn't completely nervous. His attempt at casualness came off a little like a guy trying to act chill in a room full of extremely powerful mutants. "Hope I'm not barging in on anything top-secret."

Xavier looked up from his desk, his smile as warm as the sunlight pouring in. "Not at all, Harry. Come in and have a seat."

As Harry sat down, he couldn't help but notice the way the chair seemed to welcome him, like it was saying, Yeah, you've had a long day. Take a load off. He tried to push the butterflies in his stomach aside—Xavier might be a walking, talking cliché of the wise, all-knowing mentor, but Harry wasn't going to let himself get caught up in that again. No sir. Not with a guy who could probably read his mind.

Xavier leaned forward slightly, his expression a mix of curiosity and genuine concern. "So, how's everything going with the adjustment to the mansion?"

Harry flashed a grin, hoping to sound more confident than he felt. "Pretty great, actually. Everyone's been awesome. Made some fantastic friends. It's starting to feel like home. Except for the fact that I can't stop tripping over the rugs." He shot Xavier a half-serious, half-joking glance. "You think someone would've warned me about the hallway's traps by now."

Xavier chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that made Harry feel like he could probably spill all his secrets and Xavier wouldn't judge him. "I'm glad to hear it. Adjusting to a new place is never easy, especially when you're also learning how to control abilities you didn't even know you had. But from what I've seen, you've been handling everything quite well. Almost like you were born for this."

Harry chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "If I was born for this, I might've actually gotten the memo about my superpowers before I almost blew up the kitchen last week."

Xavier's smile didn't fade, but there was a quiet seriousness behind his next words. "You're not alone in this, Harry. This mansion is home to a community of people who care about you. Friends, mentors—everyone here is willing to help you grow and explore your potential. Together, we'll figure out how to help you harness your abilities."

Harry nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. Friends, mentors. It was weird to hear that from someone who had only just met him. But something in Xavier's voice made him believe it. Harry wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt like this was the first time in a long time he wasn't completely alone.

Xavier's expression shifted from reassuring to deeply focused. "There's one thing we need to address, though," he said, leaning forward slightly. "Your connection to Voldemort. The bond you share with him is... complex. When he tried to kill you, part of his soul—something darker than just magic—latched onto you. It's not just a physical link, but something far deeper. The ramifications of that bond are still unfolding, but we need to understand it fully, for your safety and the safety of others."

Harry wasn't exactly shocked to hear that. After all, the whole Voldemort situation wasn't the kind of thing you just shrugged off. "Yeah," he said, his voice steady. "I get that. And... I'm ready. Whatever it takes."

Xavier's gaze softened. "I believe you are. But there's another piece to this puzzle. Voldemort is skilled in Legilimency—magical telepathy, essentially. Jean and I have similar abilities, and it's crucial that you receive proper training in that area. It's not just about learning how to control your thoughts; it's about understanding the ethics of using such power."

Harry blinked, surprised by the seriousness in Xavier's tone. It was like he was talking about something really big, something that could potentially change everything. "Legilimency, huh?" he muttered. "Great. I'll just add that to my list of 'things I never thought I'd have to deal with.'"

Xavier's smile was understanding, like he'd heard this exact same comment a hundred times before. "It's a lot to take in, I know. But it's important. Once we begin your training, you'll be able to control not just what others can see of your thoughts but also what you see of theirs. The connection between you and Voldemort could be volatile. We need to ensure that you are equipped to handle it."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to steel himself for whatever was coming next. "Alright, I'll do whatever it takes. I'm not letting some dark wizard mess with my mind."

Xavier's voice softened, like a gentle mentor guiding a student through a tricky lesson. "You're not in this alone, Harry. There are others here who have gone through similar experiences. We'll get through it together. Speaking of which," he continued, as if switching gears, "you'll also need to practice controlling your teleportation abilities. Phoenixes have a unique form of teleportation, and Kurt—Nightcrawler—can be an invaluable resource for you. His experiences will help you understand the nuances of your abilities."

Harry leaned forward in his seat, suddenly feeling more eager than he had in a while. "Teleportation, huh? That sounds way cooler than it has any right to. And Kurt? I've hung around with him—guy with the, uh, bamf thing, right?"

Xavier nodded, his smile a little more playful now. "That's the one. I'm sure he'll be happy to give you a few pointers. He's very enthusiastic about sharing his abilities with others."

Harry grinned. "I'll take all the help I can get."

Xavier's gaze softened, his voice full of that calm wisdom he carried. "Remember, Harry. You're not here by accident. You have a purpose, and we're here to help you find it."

And just like that, Harry felt like a huge weight had lifted off his shoulders. Maybe he didn't have it all figured out, but for the first time, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.

—

Just as Harry was getting comfortable in the quiet lull of the conversation, a polite tap-tap-tap on the door broke the moment. The Professor's head turned, and he gestured toward the door, his voice calm yet authoritative—definitely the kind of tone that made you feel like you'd just been invited to a party you didn't know you were cool enough for.

"Come in," Xavier called, his voice warm, but that underlying you're-being-watched-at-all-times vibe that screamed "telepath."

The door creaked open, revealing Dr. Hank McCoy. Or, as most people around here called him, Beast. He looked like someone had decided to combine a gorilla with a very well-read librarian—blue fur, massive arms, and glasses that screamed, "I've got a PhD and a secret lab in my basement." Honestly, he looked like he could bench press an entire building while quoting Shakespeare. Not someone you'd want mad at you.

"Professor Xavier," Hank greeted with a deep, rumbling voice that could have been a bear's growl but sounded so refined it could have been a recital at the opera. "I trust I'm not interrupting anything too... crucial?"

Xavier offered a smile, the kind that told you, Oh, I know you're about to be important in this conversation. "Not at all, Hank. Please, join us."

Harry gave a nod, trying not to seem too impressed—because let's be real, the dude was huge, and with all the fur, it kind of felt like he was staring at an anthropomorphic teddy bear. Who could bench press things. Very friendly things, probably.

Hank took his seat next to the Professor, and Harry couldn't help but be a little... intimidated. Maybe it was the fact that Hank McCoy looked like he could solve world hunger and, at the same time, fight a mutant rhinoceros if the need arose. Casual Thursday, you know?

Xavier's tone shifted from casual to focused. "Hank, we need to assess Harry's abilities in the Danger Room. It's crucial that we understand the full extent of his powers, so we can proceed with a proper evaluation. Please make sure to coordinate with Logan and Ororo to set this up."

Hank's response was immediate, his voice steady and professional. "Of course, Professor. I'll ensure the equipment is calibrated accordingly and make certain that Logan and Ororo are prepped." Then, he added with a little grin, "I'm sure Logan will enjoy the company."

Harry couldn't help but smirk at that. "Yeah, I'm sure Logan's thrilled at the idea of me potentially trying to blow up the entire room. Real happy about it." He raised an eyebrow, giving Hank a look that said, Can you hear me, or should I spell it out?

Hank chuckled, the sound surprisingly gentle for someone built like an action figure on steroids. "It's always interesting to see what new abilities people bring to the table, Mr. Potter. Consider it a... learning experience." He turned to Xavier. "I'll have everything set up within the hour. Will you be joining us for the session, Professor?"

Xavier's smile was a little more knowing now, that glimmer of a man who'd seen and felt things before most people ever even thought about them. "I'll be monitoring the session, but I'll leave the details to you, Hank. I trust your judgment."

As Hank stood up to leave, he gave Harry a knowing glance. "Don't worry, Mr. Potter. It's not all bad. The Danger Room can be... enlightening. Just don't break anything important."

Harry made a mental note to ask about "important" later, but for now, he was already looking forward to what the Danger Room might throw at him. If it was anything like the latest round of gaming with Scott—he was ready. Maybe.

As Hank left, Harry turned to Xavier, his grin widening. "So, Professor, what exactly does this Danger Room thing entail? And is there a way to win? Or should I just expect to be obliterated by the end of it?"

Xavier's eyes twinkled with that calm, knowing expression. "The Danger Room is designed to push you to your limits, Harry. But whether you win or lose depends entirely on your ability to adapt. And... I must say, it seems you've had quite a knack for that so far."

Harry's grin slipped into a more genuine smile, his heart lifting just a little. Maybe this was going to be the kind of challenge he was looking for. At least no one had yet thrown him into the lion's den without a guidebook.

—

"Harry," Xavier said, his voice smooth like the calm before a storm. "This evaluation will give us a clearer picture of your abilities and how best to harness them. It's a crucial step in your journey as a mutant, and I trust Hank, Logan, and Ororo to guide you through it."

The way he said "journey" made it sound like Harry was about to take a cross-country road trip—just with a lot more danger and a little less vacationing. But hey, at least it wasn't going to be another destiny-laden prophecy. Harry could handle that.

"Got it," Harry replied, trying his best to sound confident even though the thought of an evaluation made his stomach do a weird little flip. There were a million things he didn't know about his powers, and no doubt the Danger Room would have a field day with that. But with the X-Men backing him up? He wasn't about to back down. Not when he'd spent years dodging prophecies and dark wizards. A training exercise? Pfft, easy.

He followed Hank out of the office, with Logan and Ororo right behind him. Ororo gave him a look—like she was mentally checking him for any obvious signs of panic—and he shot her a half-grin. Honestly, it was hard to be nervous with people like Logan and Ororo leading the charge. Ororo looked like she could summon a hurricane at will, and Logan? Well, the guy was the walking, talking definition of "don't mess with me." So yeah, Harry was definitely in good hands.

But as they made their way down the corridor, Harry couldn't help but get lost in his thoughts. It was still weird to think about everything that had changed. The Wizarding World? Yeah, that had been his life for as long as he could remember, but now... well, now he wasn't under Dumbledore's thumb anymore. No more secret meetings, no more being treated like the Boy Who Lived (and constantly being told he had to save everyone).

He didn't miss that part, but it was odd. Old habits die hard, Harry thought. He was still stuck on the idea that Dumbledore was some kind of magical messiah—the guy who was supposed to have all the answers. But then... well, life came crashing down in the form of betrayal and secrets, and Harry realized that the man wasn't exactly the all-knowing sage he'd been led to believe.

Still, you couldn't just unlearn habits that deeply ingrained.

He glanced over at Hank, who was practically bounding ahead with his massive arms and blue fur like he was ready to take on a horde of wild animals. Maybe this was the part where Harry could finally stop looking over his shoulder for some hidden agenda. This wasn't Hogwarts. These weren't his classmates. These were people who were actually fighting on the same side, not hiding their motives behind layers of "we need you for this" speeches.

"You alright there, Harry?" Logan's voice broke through Harry's thoughts, low and gruff. The guy didn't exactly look concerned, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that made Harry suspect he wasn't as detached as he liked to seem.

"Yeah, just... thinking," Harry said, a little too fast. "You know, about... stuff."

Ororo raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that thinking too much can be hazardous to your health, right?"

Harry shrugged, trying to hide his sudden nervousness behind a playful grin. "Eh, I've survived worse. Usually involves an angry professor and some questionable life choices."

Hank let out a quiet chuckle as they reached a large metal door that looked like it could handle the Hulk's bad day without breaking a sweat. "It's good to have a sense of humor about these things, Mr. Potter. Humor and flexibility tend to make the Danger Room... more enjoyable."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, eyeing the door like it might eat him. "Enjoyable." He shot a glance at Logan. "Are you sure it's not just the world's most intense game of laser tag?"

Logan smirked. "I'll let you be the judge of that." He motioned for the door to open, and with a hiss of hydraulic pressure, it slid aside to reveal a dark room with the faintest hum of energy in the air.

"Here we go," Ororo said, stepping forward confidently. "Don't worry, Harry. The Danger Room isn't out to get you... well, not on purpose."

"Right," Harry said, rolling his eyes as they all filed in. "Sure, just a friendly little simulation. Totally not designed to make me wish I'd stayed in bed this morning."

Xavier's voice seemed to echo in his mind, a reminder that this was a test. A chance to figure out exactly what he was capable of. "Remember, Harry," the Professor's words rang with that calm, steady tone of his, "this is for you, not against you."

And with that, the doors slid shut behind them, and the world around him started to shift. Whatever came next, Harry was ready. Right? Probably. Maybe. Okay, he'd take it one step at a time. One very cautious step at a time.

As the room transformed into what could only be described as an alien battleground, Harry gave a dry chuckle. "I'm really gonna miss Donkey Kong after this, aren't I?"

—

As Harry stepped into the Danger Room, his excitement collided with a tinge of nervousness. It was like stepping into the virtual battlefield of his dreams—only this one felt too real to be a dream. The room was an insane mix of high-tech wizardry and mutant power that could transform into anything at a moment's notice. One second, it was a dark alley filled with holographic goons, the next it was a neon-lit futuristic cityscape complete with robotic enemies. It was like playing Call of Duty, except instead of respawning after every "death," you'd probably be picking pieces of yourself off the floor.

Hank McCoy, all blue fur and scientist vibes, took charge with a speech that would make Shakespeare blush. "Harry, my boy," he said, adjusting his glasses, "this is not just any ordinary exercise—no, no, this is a comprehensive audit of your abilities. Think of it as a test, but one that might just have the stakes a little... higher than average. Do try not to, as they say, 'make an ass of yourself,' though that might be a tad difficult given the circumstances."

Harry gave a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, no pressure, right?"

Logan, still managing to look like he just rolled out of bed and could still kick everyone's ass, lit up a cigar with the casualness of a guy who'd survived a lot worse than this. "You hear that, kid? He said 'don't make an ass of yourself.' Which, trust me, is gonna be way harder than you think. This isn't a fun house. It's more like a minefield... only with more explosions and fewer rules. Good luck."

Ororo Munroe, standing just a few feet away, was the calm in the storm. The way she carried herself, so graceful and confident, made Harry wonder if the world might actually stop turning if she ever lost her cool. But then again, she'd been known to summon a literal storm when she did, so... yeah, better not poke that bear. Her eyes were sharp as she studied him, her voice soft, but it still carried a weight to it that made him pay attention. "Remember, Harry," she said, her tone smooth as silk, "the Danger Room is here to push you to your limits. Stay focused, and you'll find your strength."

"Got it," Harry replied, swallowing a lump in his throat. He didn't know if it was the room's mood lighting or just the sheer pressure of the moment, but he wasn't sure if he was more nervous about the simulation or about the fact that he might accidentally embarrass himself in front of people who'd been saving the world since he was still figuring out how to pronounce "Expelliarmus."

The simulation began with a dramatic whoosh, and Harry's surroundings shifted like he'd stepped into one of those VR games you see in sketchy arcades. First, it was a blazing desert with what appeared to be giant mutant scorpions charging at him. The heat was so intense, it felt like standing inside an oven that had been left on high for about three hours.

And then came the real fun.

A laser blast nearly took Harry's head off. No joke, if he hadn't ducked when he did, he would've been a crispy critter. As he dropped to the ground, he almost forgot to breathe, but then his instincts kicked in. Heat sparked, zipping out of his hand, and zapping the attacking robot straight in the chest. It fell with a satisfying thud.

"Oh, wow, that's new," Harry muttered under his breath, a little too pleased with himself for blasting something into a pile of smoke and wires.

"Impressive, Mr. Potter," Hank called out from the sidelines, clapping with exaggerated gusto. "A fine demonstration of what one might call operational efficacy. Or, as the less educated might say, 'That was awesome, kid.'" He was practically beaming.

But Harry wasn't letting himself get distracted. The next wave of enemies appeared out of nowhere, and suddenly, Harry was knee-deep in laser-slinging cyborgs. He darted and dodged, feeling like he was in a game of Pac-Man—except instead of ghosts, there were explosive robots trying to obliterate him. He used his flight to hover, dodging blasts while retaliating with his own heat vision, feeling the burn of power surge through him.

Logan, leaning against a wall, puffed his cigar. "Look at you, kid. You're doing alright. Just don't get too cocky, alright? The real world's a lot messier than this room. You gotta learn to stay on your toes."

Harry shot him a grin, dodging a particularly close blast. "You know, it's not easy being awesome."

"Oh, I know," Logan deadpanned. "You just keep proving that."

Meanwhile, Ororo stood like a statue, watching everything unfold with a quiet intensity. She didn't say a word, but Harry could feel her eyes on him, assessing, calculating. Every move he made, she was soaking it in, like she was preparing a report in her mind, weighing each decision.

The simulation shifted again—this time, they were in a dense jungle, complete with oversized mutant creatures. One of them—seriously big and with teeth that looked like they belonged to something out of a nightmare—came charging at Harry. No time for finesse. He punched the air with a sharp whoosh of wind, sending the creature flying backward.

Ororo gave a single nod of approval. "Well done, Harry. You've shown control and focus."

By the time the simulation wrapped up, Harry was exhausted, drenched in sweat, and frankly, feeling like a superhero. Sure, he was probably more likely to explode his own face off than actually save the world right now, but for the first time, it didn't feel so impossible.

"You did great," Hank said, pushing up his glasses. "For a beginner, that was quite impressive. You might just become a legend. Or, at the very least, a very competent superhero."

Logan gave a rare, approving grunt, flicking his cigar into a nearby trashcan. "You've got guts, kid. But remember, the world doesn't hand out medals for just surviving. It's about making the tough calls. About putting your neck out for the people who need you."

Ororo smiled, soft but genuine. "You've proven your strength today. Keep working on that focus, and you'll only grow stronger."

Harry stood there for a moment, catching his breath, his heart still pounding in his chest. He didn't feel like the "Boy Who Lived" anymore. No, today, he was just Harry. Harry, who might not have had all the answers, but sure as hell wasn't going to stop trying to find them.

"Thanks, everyone," Harry said, his voice hoarse but filled with a new kind of determination. "I'll be ready for whatever comes next."

And with that, he was ready.

—

Harry stepped into the shower with the kind of relief that could only come after a full-on superhero boot camp. Seriously, if the Danger Room had been a movie, it would've been called Superheroes vs. Everything—and there was no way he would've gotten an Oscar nomination for his performance. But hey, at least he'd survived. Barely.

The warm water hit him like a gentle wave, washing away the sweat, the grime, and probably a few shattered pieces of his dignity. But he wasn't complaining. This was the kind of refreshing reset he needed after being pushed to his limits by a series of seemingly impossible challenges. As he scrubbed at his arms, he couldn't help but think of that last obstacle—a virtual giant robot that had tried to make him its personal chew toy. He'd barely scraped through, but he'd scraped through, and that's what mattered. No one said heroing was easy, right?

Harry closed his eyes and let the water pour over his face, trying to forget the fact that he'd probably look like a professional wrestler on the next Danger Room test. Seriously, there were times he wondered if he was in the right universe. Magic, mutants, and a super-powered training room—it all felt like one big comic book with his name written in bold letters across the front.

When he finally stepped out, drying off with the towel like he was preparing for some post-battle victory speech, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. And yeah, for a second, he thought maybe his shampoo had gone a little too far and was messing with his head. His reflection was… different. Like, really different. Not the usual post-shower damp hair or puffy face that came from the stress of mutant training. No, Harry was taller. His arms were more defined—muscles he didn't remember being there suddenly looked like they had a backstory, one that involved a lot of protein shakes and "gym selfies."

He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. But no, it wasn't the shower steam messing with him. He was actually growing. From that skinny kid who'd been more likely to skip gym class than max out on push-ups, to someone who might just get mistaken for a member of an Avengers recruitment ad.

A grin tugged at Harry's lips as he twisted his torso to get a good look at himself. "Well, I'll be…" he muttered, flexing his arms like he was trying to land a spot on a Marvel movie poster. "Guess this is the superhero body upgrade I wasn't expecting. Good thing I didn't blow all my cash on a gym membership."

He couldn't help but laugh at himself. The mutant life had its perks, huh? Super strength, flying, saving the world… and apparently now, abs. Superhero abs.

Harry twisted, flexing in every direction like he was auditioning for some ridiculous commercial about How to Be a Mutant Model 101. It was probably a good thing nobody else was in the bathroom because he was definitely rocking some poses that could've been straight out of an over-the-top action flick. "Oh, hey, look at me. From zero to hero—literally—minus the whole 'getting bit by a radioactive spider' part. Maybe I should start wearing a cape. Just to complete the look."

The voice in his head—the one that usually liked to keep him grounded—reminded him that training wasn't over. In fact, it was far from over. He wasn't ready to leap buildings in a single bound or defeat aliens with a snap of his fingers. There was more to being a hero than flexing in mirrors.

But for now, Harry wasn't listening. He had earned this moment. So he stood there, towel wrapped around his waist, staring at his reflection. A guy with superhero muscles, a guy who could probably bench press a bus if he tried. And honestly? It felt good. Maybe even a little better than good.

"I've got the whole 'I'm ready to take on the world' thing down. Now I just need to figure out how to use it without accidentally blowing up a building or, you know, causing an international incident."

With a final check in the mirror and a laugh to himself, Harry tossed his towel aside and began getting dressed. Sure, there was a lot left to learn, but hey, who wouldn't be a little pumped after a power-up like that?

If nothing else, he was definitely ready to tackle whatever the X-Men threw at him next. Superpower upgrade or not, at least now he looked good doing it.

---

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