Chapter 3

Harry drifted through the air like he'd just won a gold medal in the "Most Epic Flight" competition. It was the sort of feeling that made you want to shout, "Look, Ma, no broom!" The wind roared past him, and the ground seemed like it was miles away, which, given his height, it probably was. It was one of those moments that made him wonder if he'd accidentally stepped into a superhero movie.

As he floated effortlessly, Harry couldn't help but flash a grin. He'd been trying to get the hang of this whole flying thing with his mutation, but this was next-level stuff. Professor Xavier and Miss Munroe were clapping, and even Logan had this rare smile tugging at his lips. Their cheers felt like a personal victory anthem, and Harry realized just how incredible it was to be capable of such feats. It was like discovering a hidden level in his life's game.

But it wasn't just the flying that had Harry buzzing. It was the pure joy that had surged through him. It was like a magical high-five from the universe, saying, "Hey, kid, you're awesome!"

Now that he had a taste of what his abilities could do, Harry's mind was racing with possibilities. The idea of absorbing the powers of his family's invisibility cloak was like the ultimate cheat code. Just imagining becoming invisible at will made his brain do cartwheels. Sneaking past enemies, eavesdropping on top-secret conversations, and exploring forbidden places were just the beginning.

Of course, Harry wasn't about to rush headlong into this. He'd learned the hard way that magical power, while super cool, came with its own set of rules and responsibilities. He knew the cloak's invisibility could be a double-edged sword. After all, with great power came not just great responsibility, but also potential pitfalls.

So, as much as he was itching to try it out, Harry decided he needed some sage advice. He'd already seen enough of the "Dumbledore knows best" approach to last a lifetime. But Professor Xavier was a different story. He was like the wise mentor you actually wanted to listen to, not the one who thought leaving you in the middle of a circus tent with a bunch of clowns was a great idea.

Determined to get some real guidance, Harry made his way back to Hogwarts, his mind a whirlwind of excitement and curiosity. He knew this meeting with Xavier and Dumbledore would be crucial. After all, understanding the full scope of his new powers was no joke, and he needed to make sure he wasn't just flying blind—pun totally intended.

As he approached the castle, Harry felt a mix of anticipation and wariness. He was ready to dive into the conversation, but he also knew that he'd have to keep his wits about him. After all, navigating the world of magical advice was a bit like riding a broomstick for the first time—thrilling, but potentially disastrous if you weren't careful.

—

Harry walked into Dumbledore's office with the kind of calm that only comes from knowing he wasn't about to face a giant snake or a rampaging dragon. He felt like he was in good hands, sandwiched between the sage wisdom of Dumbledore and the cool-headed clarity of Professor Xavier. It was like having Gandalf and Yoda on his side, which made him feel a lot better about navigating whatever life threw at him next.

As everyone settled into their respective chairs, Dumbledore looked more serious than a professor who'd just caught a student using the Imperius Curse on the house-elf. He cleared his throat, signaling the kind of lecture that usually involved a lot of "life-changing revelations" and "we need to talk" moments.

"Before we continue," Dumbledore began, his voice steady and as grave as a midnight showdown with a dragon, "there are some truths that need to be laid bare. Harry's past is not just filled with the usual woes but with events that are, to put it mildly, both extraordinary and deeply unsettling."

And so, Dumbledore launched into Harry's backstory, which sounded like the plot of a tragic soap opera. He recounted the night Harry's parents were taken down by Voldemort, then segued into the glamorous life Harry had lived with the Dursleys—if by glamorous you meant being treated like a houseplant that had accidentally survived too many waterings.

Harry's emotions did a triple somersault as he listened. But when Dumbledore finally admitted that he was the one who had left Harry with the Dursleys, Harry's feelings shifted from rollercoaster to full-blown "loop-de-loop" mode.

"You left me with them?" Harry's voice cracked, like a glass vase in an earthquake. "You knew how awful they were, and you still thought it was a good idea?"

Dumbledore met his gaze with what could only be described as "deeply pained grandpa" eyes. "I believed it was the safest option," he said, his voice as heavy as a potion cauldron. "By leaving you with your relatives, I thought the blood wards from your mother's sacrifice would keep you protected."

"Protected?" Harry practically exploded. "I was treated like a walking inconvenience! And now I find out it was your call?"

Dumbledore's expression was a masterclass in regret. "I understand your anger, Harry. I'm truly sorry. I thought keeping you close to your mother's bloodline would shield you."

Harry wasn't buying it. "You kept me in the dark and made decisions for me like I was a chess piece. You didn't even think to ask what I wanted or needed."

Dumbledore looked like he was having a very hard day at the office. "You're right, Harry. I should have been more upfront, more honest. For that, I am deeply sorry."

It was clear that Dumbledore's charm offensive had hit a speed bump. He was still a good guy in Harry's eyes, but Harry was getting tired of the "I know what's best" routine. He was beginning to see that even the wisest wizards and the most powerful mentors had their fair share of flaws. Sometimes, the best intentions could land you in a whole heap of trouble.

—

As the air in Dumbledore's office grew thicker than a jar of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Harry was barely holding it together. Dumbledore had just unveiled the shocking reason behind why Harry had been dumped with the Dursleys—something about a prophecy that Harry was supposed to fulfill. Yep, apparently, Harry was destined to be the "Chosen One," which sounded like it came straight out of a dramatic fantasy novel.

"So it was all about the prophecy," Harry snapped, his anger bubbling like a cauldron on high heat. "You thought it was more important to stick to some ancient prediction than to actually think about what I needed?"

Dumbledore met Harry's fiery gaze with his usual mix of solemnity and grandfatherly wisdom. "I understand this is difficult to hear, Harry," he said, his tone like a calm breeze trying to cool off an erupting volcano. "But prophecies are not just fanciful words. They foretell a future that could shape the very fabric of history. I believed it was my duty to prepare you for this crucial role."

"But what about my happiness?" Harry's voice was practically vibrating with frustration. "Did you ever think about how dumping me with the Dursleys would affect me? Or how it might shape who I became?"

Dumbledore's expression softened, as if he was trying to perform an emotional version of a complicated spell. "I can't fully grasp the extent of your pain, Harry," he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd just been hit with a particularly tricky piece of news. "But know that every decision was made with the intention of protecting you and preparing you for what lay ahead."

Harry wasn't having any of it. "Protecting me?" he repeated, almost spitting the words out. "You left me to rot with those awful people, suffering through abuse and neglect. And all for what? To fulfill a prophecy?"

Dumbledore hung his head, looking like someone who'd just lost their favorite wand. "I can't undo the past, Harry," he said softly. "But I promise to support you and guide you from here on out. Your happiness and well-being mean more to me than you know, and I will do everything in my power to make things right."

Despite Dumbledore's heartfelt apology, Harry's feelings were still a stormy sea. He was starting to see the cracks in the pedestal he'd put Dumbledore on. The man was still a good guy, no doubt, but Harry was beginning to realize that not all wise mentors had all the answers. Sometimes, the most well-intentioned plans could lead to the most catastrophic results.

When Xavier declared, "Under no circumstances will Harry return to the Dursleys," it was like someone had finally turned off the fog machine at a bad concert. The relief hit Harry like a tidal wave of cool, fresh air. 

"I suggest that Harry's guardianship in the Muggle world be transferred to me," Xavier continued, the kind of statement that would've made a dramatic entrance in a superhero movie.

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit like he'd just been handed the last slice of pizza after a long, hungry day. "Thank you, Professor," he said, his voice wobbling slightly. "I… I don't know what to say."

Xavier's smile was the kind of warm and reassuring you'd want from someone who was basically going to be your new guardian angel. "You don't have to say anything, Harry," he said, his tone as gentle as a summer breeze. "You deserve to be in a safe and supportive environment, and I'm more than willing to provide that for you."

Logan, who looked like he'd just rolled out of a comic book, gave a gruff nod. His cigar was smoking away like it had its own personal vendetta. "You're one of us now, kid," he said, his voice rougher than a rock concert. "So, no more Dursleys. Got it, bub?"

Storm, who had that whole 'graceful and powerful' vibe going on, nodded in agreement. "We will do everything in our power to ensure your safety and happiness, Harry," she said, her voice warm and steady, like a favorite lullaby.

Even with their support, Harry couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease. The whole Dumbledore revelation had left him with more questions than answers. Trust was a tricky thing, like trying to pet a dragon without getting singed. But for now, seeing these genuine faces of support, Harry felt a small spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, with Xavier, Wolverine, and Storm in his corner, he could start to piece together a new path forward.

—

Dumbledore watched the exchange between Harry and Xavier with a look that might as well have been a sappy movie scene—sad eyes, slow-motion tears, the works. He cleared his throat, a gesture that suggested he was about to deliver a heartfelt monologue.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, his tone as warm and gentle as a cozy blanket. "I want you to know that my support for this decision comes from a place of love and concern. You deserve a home where you feel safe and valued, and if transferring your guardianship to Professor Xavier can provide that, then I'm fully behind it."

Harry met Dumbledore's gaze, trying to keep his feelings neatly packed away. Sure, he was grateful for Dumbledore's support, but he was also fully aware that the man was no longer the unassailable guru he once believed him to be. His face was a mix of gratitude and a pinch of restrained skepticism, like he was nodding politely while mentally rolling his eyes. "Thank you, Professor," he said quietly. "I appreciate everything you've done for me."

Dumbledore offered a sad, knowing smile that seemed to say, "I'm the wise old sage, but I'm also just as capable of messing things up as anyone else." "You will always have a place in my heart, Harry," he said softly. "No matter where life takes you, remember that I'm here for you, always."

Harry nodded, keeping up appearances with the best of them. It was like being in a soap opera where he had to keep his emotions in check while everyone around him believed Dumbledore's every word was gospel. He felt a pang of sadness for the mentor he once revered, but he was no longer buying into the mythos. The Wizarding World might think the sun shone out of Dumbledore's robes, but Harry knew better now. 

With a deep breath, he steeled himself for the next chapter of his life. Xavier, Wolverine, and Storm were offering him a new beginning, and Harry was ready to embrace it—while keeping up the pretense of reverence for Dumbledore, just to avoid any awkward encounters with the fan club back at Hogwarts.

—

Dumbledore took a deep breath, clearly about to drop another bombshell. Harry, Xavier, Wolverine, and Storm braced themselves, knowing that Dumbledore had a knack for making simple revelations feel like epic plot twists.

"Before we wrap this up," Dumbledore began, his voice taking on that serious, 'I-have-a-big-secret' tone, "there's one more crucial detail you need to know."

"Great," Wolverine muttered, flicking the ash off his cigar. "Another cosmic revelation. Just what we needed."

Dumbledore's gaze swept over the group, his face as somber as a Shakespearean tragedy. "The diary Harry destroyed wasn't just a diary," he said, pausing for dramatic effect. "It was a Horcrux."

Storm raised an eyebrow. "A Horcrux? And that is…?"

Dumbledore's face grew even more serious—if that was even possible. "A Horcrux is a dark and twisted form of magic," he explained, his voice like a deep, echoing cave. "It allows a wizard to split their soul and hide pieces of it in objects or living beings. This dark magic ensures that even if their physical body is destroyed, they remain tethered to the mortal world through these fragments."

The room fell silent as everyone absorbed the gravity of the news. Harry felt a shiver down his spine, trying to wrap his head around the idea of splitting souls like a twisted version of a jigsaw puzzle.

"Wait, so the diary was one of these… Horcruxes?" Xavier asked, his voice edged with concern.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes, Charles. The diary contained a fragment of Voldemort's soul."

Harry's mind spun. "So, when I destroyed the diary, I actually… destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a hint of something that might have been pride. "Yes, Harry. By destroying the diary, you took out one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. It weakened him and moved us closer to his eventual defeat."

Harry was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Dumbledore dropped another bomb. "But there's more. I've long suspected that there's a piece of Voldemort's soul inside your scar."

Harry's eyes widened. "A piece of Voldemort's soul… inside me?" The idea was so horrifying it felt like someone had turned the volume up on his internal dread.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Yes, Harry. The scar you bear is not merely a physical mark; it's a remnant of Voldemort's dark magic. It's a piece of his soul that lingers within you."

The realization was like a sledgehammer to Harry's chest. The notion that he carried a fragment of Voldemort's darkness was a heavy weight to bear, one that made him want to curl up in a corner and hide.

Dumbledore must have seen the turmoil on Harry's face because he added softly, "But there's some good news. The scar has faded."

Harry's hand flew to his forehead, and to his shock, the scar was barely visible. It felt like a part of him had been lifted away. Relief washed over him, almost making him dizzy.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "I believe you absorbed the soul shard from the diary as well as the fragment from your scar."

Harry's thoughts raced. "So, you're saying I absorbed both fragments? What does that even mean?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a mix of curiosity and reassurance. "It's possible, Harry. Given your unique abilities, you may have absorbed both fragments without the usual negative effects. The Sword's power to 'take what makes you stronger' might have allowed you to do this."

Harry was torn between excitement and trepidation. The idea of gaining powers from Voldemort's Horcruxes was thrilling but also terrifying. What if he couldn't handle it?

Dumbledore's tone softened. "The powers you've gained are extraordinary. They might grant you great strength and resilience. But remember, you're not alone. With support from your friends and guidance, you can learn to control and use these powers for good."

Harry nodded, feeling a surge of determination. Even though the path ahead was uncertain, he knew he wasn't alone. He was ready to face whatever came next, armed with newfound abilities and the support of his allies. 

And despite the fact that the Wizarding World still worshipped Dumbledore like a walking, talking legend, Harry knew he had to navigate his own path. He would embrace his destiny, not as the "Chosen One" but as Harry Potter—determined, courageous, and ready to face whatever twists and turns life threw his way.

---

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