Chapter 7

A sudden, gut-wrenching yell shattered the silence of the night, its echo reverberating off the mansion's ornate walls. It was a voice Harry knew all too well — Logan's. The urgency in his voice was enough to send adrenaline coursing through Harry's veins, rousing him from his slumber. Without a second thought, he leaped out of bed, his heart pounding in sync with his rapid footsteps.

As Harry raced down the corridor, other doors along the hallway burst open as well, releasing a wave of equally bewildered students into the dimly lit passage. They all moved as one, an odd assembly of sleep-tousled heads and wide, startled eyes. There was an unsaid agreement among them as they trailed after Harry, each one hoping they had misheard the desperate cry for help.

Turning a corner, the scene that greeted Harry was one that could have been ripped straight from a nightmare. In the heart of the atrium, under the haunting glow of the chandeliers, lay Logan, his normally vibrant eyes dull and listless. Rogue was by his side, her hands hanging limply as if she had just dropped something precious.

"I didn't mean to," she whimpered, her voice hardly more than a whisper against the harsh reality that had befallen them. "It was an accident..."

Scott, Jean, and Ororo stood a short distance away, their expressions a mirror of the shock and horror that was rapidly spreading through the gathered crowd. The sight of Logan, the man who seemed to be indestructible, lying motionless on the cold marble floor was enough to rob anyone of their speech.

Suddenly, like a frightened deer, Rogue bolted. Her footsteps echoed throughout the silent mansion as she ran past the crowd of onlookers, her sobs growing fainter with each passing second. No one moved to stop her; they were all too shocked by the events that had just unfolded, too focused on the unmoving form of Wolverine on the floor.

Harry's gaze followed her until she disappeared around a corner. The emptiness that she left in her wake seemed to linger, a chilling reminder of the danger that had unfolded so suddenly and unexpectedly.

Turning his attention back to the crowd, Harry found himself meeting Bobby's eyes. There was something different about them - a hint of yellow, perhaps, that he hadn't noticed before. But then again, he had just been abruptly woken from a deep sleep. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. He shook his head slightly, ridding himself of the thought. There were more pressing matters at hand.

"Bobby, what happened?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the low murmur of hushed conversations around him. Bobby seemed to hesitate for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as if he was struggling to find the right words. The yellow flicker in his eyes momentarily intensified, causing Harry to frown.

Before he could say anything, however, Jean stepped forward, her expression somber. "We should move Logan to the infirmary," she said quietly, effectively shifting the focus from Rogue's dramatic exit to the urgent task at hand.

"Everyone back to bed", Scott shouted.

Harry retreated back to the sanctuary of his room. He closed the door softly behind him, plunging the room back into darkness. His heart still pounded in his chest, the adrenaline from the sudden wakeup call refusing to subside.

He moved to his bed, sitting on the edge with his mind swirling like a storm. The faint echo of Rogue's distressed sobs still rang in his ears, the image of Wolverine's lifeless form seared into his memory. But amidst all the chaos and confusion, it was Bobby's strangely colored eyes that were imprinted in his mind.

"You were right to be cautious of Bobby," a soft voice echoed in his head. Harry paused, recognizing the voice as his own inner voice. It was an odd sensation, feeling as if he were having a conversation with himself, yet it somehow felt natural given the unusual circumstances he found himself in.

"Why?" Harry questioned aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper in the silence of his room.

"You know," the voice returned, calm yet insistent. "You could feel something different about him. Something isn't right."

Flashback

As a young boy surrounded by mutants - beings capable of extraordinary feats and gifted with remarkable abilities - Harry began noticing an unusual sensation. Whenever he deeply connected with someone, whether it was through a shared secret, a high-stake battle, or a candid conversation, he would feel a whisper of their thoughts and emotions - an echo of their essence.

It was most evident during the intense training sessions with Jean Grey, where Harry learned to control his powers while Jean, with her telepathic abilities, kept a close watch on his mental state. During one of these sessions, a surge of energy had coursed through Harry's body, momentarily linking his mind with Jean's. It was then that he first felt it - an echo of her thoughts, a reflection of her mind, lingering even after their mental connection was severed.

This was more than telepathy; it was an intimate, profound connection that went beyond the comprehension of mind reading. It felt as though he'd dipped his fingers into the cosmic energy of life itself, tracing the unique patterns that every being left in the universe.

It took time for Harry to understand and harness this power. He would retreat to a quiet corner of the mansion, immersing himself in a meditative state. Slowly, he began to discern the intricate process of reaching out with his senses, almost like extending tendrils of consciousness into the world, gently brushing against the lingering traces of thoughts and feelings.

In the safety of his mental sanctuary, which he named his "cosmic hideaway", he could explore this power without fear or interruption. The hideaway was a realm of his own creation, shaped from cosmic energy and bathed in the soft glow of interstellar constellations.

In the solitude of the Xavier Institute's library, enveloped by the gentle whisper of turning pages and the quiet hum of the crackling fireplace, Harry found solace in Jean's company. He cherished these moments, the rare instances where he could let down his guard, revealing the raw and tender emotions that he kept hidden from the world.

One evening, as they sat in the comforting semi-darkness, Harry felt an overwhelming sense of longing for his parents, a homesickness that seemed to tug at his heart. Jean, her emerald eyes radiating understanding and sympathy, gently took his hand.

Harry ventured into territory he hadn't tread before. A sense of trepidation prickled his skin as he met Jean's gaze, his voice barely a whisper.

"Jean, there's something else," he started, his heart pounding in his chest. He clenched his hands into fists, the tension coiling within him. "I need your help."

Jean looked at him, her emerald eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the fireplace. The crackling of the fire was the only sound breaking the silence. "Of course, Harry. You know I would do anything in my power to help you."

He nodded, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "There's this new... power I've been trying to understand," he confessed, his words hanging heavy in the air.

Jean's eyes widened, curiosity twinkling in her gaze. "A new power? Harry, you should tell Charles about this. He could guide you—"

"No," he interrupted, the intensity of his reaction surprising even himself. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his unruly black hair. "I don't want Charles to know. Not yet. I need to understand it first... before I can explain it to him."

Jean looked at him, her eyes filled with concern but understanding. "Alright, Harry," she acquiesced, her tone steady and comforting.

Harry nodded, a wave of relief washing over him. He began to detail his experiences, the feeling of reaching out, connecting with others on a deeper level, feeling their essences. Jean listened intently, her brow furrowing in concentration as she attempted to understand this newfound ability.

A myriad of emotions danced across Jean's face as Harry spoke - surprise, concern, fear, intrigue - and finally, a steely resolve settled in her gaze. Her hand reached out, resting gently atop Harry's.

Harry looked at Jean, her sincere eyes brimming with compassion. He felt a wave of trust and gratitude wash over him. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves before he started speaking. "I've been trying to... to use this new ability to find my mum. To feel her essence. But it's like reaching out into a void."

He paused, his voice choking on the words. Jean squeezed his hand encouragingly, waiting patiently for him to continue. "I miss them, Jean. So much. It feels like this hole in my heart is growing every day."

The words poured out of him like a torrent, raw and painful. Jean's gaze remained unwavering, her empathy a warm embrace around Harry's sorrow. "I wish I could do something to help, Harry," she said gently. "Your parents... they loved you. And they would be so proud of you."

"Harry, I understand why you want to keep this secret," she began, her voice soft yet firm. "We all have our secrets, things we're not ready to share with others, not even Charles. I won't tell him about this, not until you're ready."

A sigh escaped Harry's lips, his tense shoulders slumping. Her words were a balm, soothing his anxieties. He nodded, his eyes meeting Jean's in silent gratitude.

"But, Harry," she continued, her eyes holding his gaze, "this doesn't mean you're alone in this. I'm here with you. We'll figure this out together."

End of Flashback

Harry drifted deeper into the cosmic hideaway within himself, his essence stood amidst the whirling nebulae of mystic colors, a spectral projection in this realm of cosmic energy. In the distance, he discerned what he believed to be Bobby's echo, an ethereal imprint that seemed strangely out of place.

Reaching out with invisible fingers, Harry touched the echo gently, sending a ripple through the cosmic tides. "Bobby," he called out in this spectral realm, his voice resonating with the surrounding cosmic waves, "What's wrong?"

In response, a storm of images and emotions flooded over him. Confusion, fear, but underneath it all, a smoky veil of deception. A sudden realization hit Harry like a bolt of lightning. He could sense something different, something that wasn't Bobby at all.

A haunting image took shape - a distinctive, chameleon-like eyes. The realization that Bobby wasn't Bobby, but a woman, using her shape-shifting abilities to disguise herself, sent a shiver of alarm through Harry. The duplicity echoed in her thoughts like a discordant note in an otherwise harmonious symphony, chilling Harry to the bone.

He retreated hastily, pulling his consciousness away from the echo, as if burnt by the truth it held. He found himself back in his body, lying on his bed, his heart pounding in his chest like a trapped bird. It was disquieting, knowing someone had infiltrated their midst, using Bobby's form as her camouflage.

Sleep seemed to elude him now as he lay there, his mind whirring with questions and fears. The silence of the night felt heavier, his room much colder. All he could think about was Mystique, her ability to become anyone, to deceive even the keenest eyes, and the danger it represented.

Resolved to reveal the guise, Harry closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for the forthcoming confrontation. The golden strands of dawn were beginning to peek through the curtains as he finally fell into a fitful slumber.

The morning sun seeped through the large windows of the dining hall as Harry found a secluded corner to have his breakfast. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, the echoes of last night's conversation with Jean still ringing in his ears.

His solitude didn't last long. Kitty and Piotr slid into the seats opposite him, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. They exchanged a glance before Kitty took a deep breath and began.

"Harry," she started, her voice firm, "We noticed you've been distant since...well, since the incident. You've been avoiding everyone, even us."

Harry looked down at his barely touched food, his fingers playing with the fork aimlessly. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid them specifically; he was simply trying to process everything.

Piotr leaned forward, his steel blue eyes meeting Harry's. "We understand you might need time, Harry," he said in his deep, accented voice. "But we are your friends. You do not have to deal with everything alone."

Harry took a deep breath, raising his gaze to meet his friends' concerned ones. He forced a smile, a pitiful attempt to ease their worry. "I know, guys," he said, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry I've been distant. I just...needed some time to think."

Kitty reached over the table, her hand resting on Harry's in a comforting manner. "Harry, you don't have to apologize. We just want you to know we're here for you, okay?"

Harry nodded, squeezing Kitty's hand gratefully. "Thanks, guys."

Taking another bite of his toast, Harry brought up the elephant in the room. "About Rogue…" he started, stirring the two into attentive silence. "I was thinking maybe we could talk to her? I mean, she must feel horrible after what happened."

Kitty's eyes softened. "I've been thinking about that too," she admitted. "Rogue didn't mean for any of it to happen. She's probably blaming herself."

"We should remind her that it was an accident, and accidents happen," Piotr chimed in looking at Harry.

"But there's something else," Harry hesitated, casting a brief glance around to ensure no one else was in earshot. "I...I noticed something off about Bobby yesterday."

Both of them blinked, surprised. "Bobby?" Kitty asked, her brows knitted together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Harry admitted, his voice wavering slightly. "He...he just didn't feel like himself. Like he was different somehow."

Piotr's face hardened. "Different how?"

"I can't explain it," Harry said, shrugging helplessly. "I just...felt it. I can't shake off this feeling that something's not right."

Kitty exchanged a look with Piotr. "We'll keep an eye on him," she said, offering Harry a supportive nod. "And talk to Rogue."

Harry sighed in relief, grateful for their understanding. "Thanks, guys. I just hope I'm wrong about Bobby."

Just as Harry was about to reach for another piece of toast, Ororo walked into the room, her gaze scanning the students until they settled on him. She approached their table, a calm, unassuming presence amidst the morning hubbub.

"Harry," she started, her voice almost drowned by the clatter of dishes. "You have a visitor."

Harry frowned, a puzzled look crossing his face. "A visitor?" he echoed, his mind suddenly filled with a dozen questions. He wasn't expecting anyone, after all.

Ororo nodded, her cornflower-blue eyes serious. "He says he's from the Ministry of Magic."

Harry's fork clattered against his plate, the sudden sound silencing the table. Kitty and Piotr exchanged glances, while Harry gaped at Ororo, surprise etched on his face.

"The Ministry of Magic?" he asked, trying to conceal the sudden knot in his stomach. The Ministry rarely visited without reason, and Harry couldn't think of what he could've possibly done to warrant a personal visit.

Ororo offered a slight nod, her gaze unwavering. "He's waiting for you in Charles' office."

Pushing back his chair, Harry stood. "Okay, I'll go see him now."

He spared a glance at Kitty and Piotr before he walked away, their looks of concern and curiosity echoing his own. As he walked down the hallway towards Charles' office, his mind raced with questions about this unexpected visitor, and what news from the Ministry they brought with them.

Ororo and Harry made their way towards Charles' office, their footsteps echoing in the quiet halls of the institute. As they walked, Ororo seemed to sense Harry's unease, casting him a sympathetic glance.

"Harry," she began, her voice softer now, a gentle comfort amidst his anxiety. "It's understandable you're feeling anxious, but it's important to remember that the Ministry wouldn't be here without a reason."

Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He had countless reasons to be wary of the Ministry, but Ororo was right. "I know," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's just... unexpected, you know?"

Ororo nodded, her eyes softening with understanding. "Indeed, Harry. But remember, you're not alone here. We're here to support you, no matter what the Ministry wants."

Harry managed a small smile, feeling a little reassured by Ororo's words. Her calm presence was a steadying force, grounding him amidst the waves of anxiety washing over him. "Thank you, Ororo," he murmured.

They continued their walk in silence, each lost in their thoughts. When they reached Charles' office, Ororo placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it gently before she knocked on the door. As they waited for the response from inside.

Upon entering Charles' office, Harry was greeted by the sight of a middle-aged man, dressed in deep emerald robes adorned with silver thread. He stood tall and dignified, his silver hair swept back, and a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. His piercing blue eyes held an inherent warmth, a twinkle of wisdom that contradicted the rigid bureaucracy of the Ministry. He held himself with a confidence that suggested he was used to navigating the political landscapes of the magical world. This was Gilbert Crane, the head of the Department of Magical Education, a man known for his progressive views and tireless advocacy for better integration of muggle-born wizards into the magical community.

"Mr. Potter," Gilbert greeted, extending a hand out to Harry, "it's an honor to finally meet you."

"The honor is mine, sir," Harry replied, shaking the man's hand.

"I am here on behalf of the Ministry, and specifically, the Department of Magical Education," Gilbert began. "I wanted to personally discuss with you some matters concerning your future education."

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. "My future education?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Gilbert confirmed, the serious tone in his voice not escaping Harry. "There have been many discussions about the unique situation you find yourself in. We understand that the transition back to Hogwarts might be a bit challenging, especially given your recent circumstances.Therefore, we are proposing a tailored plan to accommodate your needs."Crane paused for a moment before revealing, "We would like to offer you a full scholarship, effective from your second year at Hogwarts. This will cover all your tuition, textbooks, potion ingredients, even your broomstick for Quidditch, if you choose to partake. Furthermore, you will be provided with the best tutors Hogwarts and the Ministry can offer to ensure that your magical education is nothing but the finest."

His piercing blue eyes focused intently on Harry, gauging his reaction. "This scholarship isn't merely about the financial aspect, Harry. It's about giving you the resources, support, and opportunities you need to thrive in the magical world. We want to make sure you're not overwhelmed, but rather empowered by your potential."

Harry, taken aback, took a moment to process the offer. The magnitude of what was being proposed was immense.Harry's voice, when it finally emerged, was laced with gratitude yet underscored with confusion. "Thank you, Mr. Crane, for the generous offer," he began, glancing around at the encouraging faces of Jean, Scott, and Charles. "But I don't understand why... why me?"

Mr. Crane leaned back in his chair, steeping his fingers. "Harry, your parents were incredibly talented wizards. They were renowned for their exceptional magical abilities and for their work in the wizarding world. You've inherited not only their magic but their legacy. We believe you have the potential to shape the future of our world."

Harry looked from Crane to the others, their expressions conveying a mix of compassion and understanding. Jean gave him an encouraging smile, while Scott offered a small nod of support. Charles, behind his steepled fingers, watched him carefully, his wise gaze seeing much more than the obvious.

"I don't want to be known for my parents' legacy," Harry found himself saying, "I want to be known for my own."

"And you will be, Harry," Charles finally spoke up, his voice as calming as ever. "This is not about riding on the coattails of your parents' fame. It's about forging your own path, making your own legacy. The Ministry sees potential in you, as do we. This scholarship is a stepping stone towards that future, your future."

Harry nodded slowly, the wheels in his head turning as he processed their words. Yes, he had a legacy to build, his own path to carve. But, he would do it his way. It was a future that seemed a bit more tangible now, a bit more reachable. "Thank you," Harry said again, this time more firmly, a small, resolute smile lighting up his face. "I'll...I'll think about it."

"Good, dear boy," Crane said warmly, rising from his seat. "Once you've made a decision, do drop by my office in the Ministry before you begin your journey at Hogwarts. I'm looking forward to working with you." He gave Harry a respectful nod before turning to leave the room.

The silence following Crane's departure was palpable, filled only by the soft ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. Finally, Scott broke the stillness. "I don't understand," he confessed, a frown pulling at his lips. "Why are they only offering this now?"

All eyes turned to Charles, who was still sitting serenely behind his desk, his hands folded on top of it. His eyes bore into Scott's, the steeliness behind them only adding to the growing tension in the room. His gaze then moved to Jean and finally rested on Harry. He seemed to be contemplating his next words carefully.

"Intriguing," Charles mused. "Despite my abilities, I was unable to delve into Crane's thoughts. It's as if there was a... barrier of some sort." He raised his hand, gesturing towards his temple, the way he always did when attempting to use his telepathy.

Jean, who had been quiet until now, chimed in. "I tried as well, Charles. I encountered the same thing," she confessed. "It felt like a sort of... I don't know how to explain it...?" Her voice was filled with uncertainty, a rare thing given her usually confident demeanor.

"But why would they do that?" Scott interjected. "And why offer Harry such a prestigious scholarship?"

A contemplative silence fell over the room. Harry, still processing the bewildering offer and the inability of Charles and Jean to read Crane's mind, felt a shiver run down his spine.

"I'm not particularly fond of this magic either," Scott admitted, his face scrunching slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. "No offense, Harry," he added quickly, shooting a glance at the young wizard. "It's just... people who use magic have always made me a little uneasy."

"None taken," Harry responded with a small smile, having already heard enough opinions about wizards and magic to not take any of it personally.

Charles turned his wheelchair to face Harry, the faint smile on his face softening the seriousness of his gaze. "Harry," he began, his voice carrying a weight that hushed the room. "I understand that all of this may be overwhelming for you. And I won't pretend to understand the intricacies of the magical world. But I am here to help you, in any way I can. So, tell me, what do you think?"

Harry took a deep breath, grappling with the enormity of the situation. Being a part of the wizarding world wasn't just about wands and spells. There were layers upon layers of politics, traditions, and hidden agendas. And now, he was right in the middle of it, trying to discern what felt right from what felt off. The scholarship, the sudden attention... It was all too much.

"I... I don't know," he finally admitted.

Charles' reassuring tone brought some comfort to Harry. "I'm certain, Harry, that this is nothing more than a sincere offer," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "I've come to understand that those within the magical world often have a knack for last-minute decisions. But it never hurts to stay vigilant."

Their conversation was abruptly cut short by the abrupt opening of the office door. Logan stormed in, his usually calm demeanor replaced with agitation. His eyes were sharp, searching each face in the room with an intense urgency.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his gruff voice filling the room. His fists were clenched at his sides, his body tense.

"Rogue she's...gone," Charles confirmed, elongating the last word, lending it a weight that seemed to resonate in the silence of the room. His voice was low, sorrow tingeing the edges of his words. "Rogue... she's no longer here at the mansion."

Harry felt as if the room spun around him. His mind grappled with the sudden reality, disbelief tugging at the corners of his consciousness. His gaze darted from the intense stare of Logan to the solemn visage of Charles. His voice came out as a strangled whisper, "But...why? Why would she leave?"

A heavy silence fell over the room, all the occupants holding their collective breaths. The tension was palpable, the air thick with it. Charles, who always seemed to maintain an unflappable calm, looked visibly pained.

Charles led the way out of the office, and they followed him into the long hallway. The group moved in silence, the air heavy with questions that yearned for answers. Jean, Scott, Logan, and Ororo each lost in their thoughts.

Walking along the corridors, Charles and the group seemed to be in their thoughts, an air of unease hanging around them. Logan, his rough features hardened with worry, broke the silence first, the gruffness in his voice more pronounced.

"Why is Magneto after me?" Logan asked, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Harry. His question rang in the sterile environment, catching Harry off guard.

Harry looked at Logan, his emerald eyes wide with surprise. "Magneto... is after you?" His voice was full of disbelief. Charles, his usually calm eyes held a hint of concern. "This isn't as straightforward as it appears, Logan.

As they descended into the bowels of the mansion, Harry felt the atmosphere growing cooler, an invisible chill seeping into his bones. Once inside, Charles moved to the center of the room, a metallic helmet resting on its stand.

Harry watched in fascination as Charles donned the large, sleek metallic helmet that was hooked up to the rest of the machine. The vastness of the chamber, the high-tech appearance, and the faintly humming machinery filled Harry with a sense of awe and apprehension.

"This, Harry, is Cerebro," Charles began, his voice echoing in the expansive chamber. "It's a machine that amplifies the powers of a telepath, like me, allowing us to connect with every mutant on the planet. It magnifies the psychic energy, enabling me to locate and observe any mutant I choose."

Charles gestured towards the console, his wheelchair gliding smoothly on the metallic surface of the chamber. "The helmet," he continued, pointing to the metal device now encasing his head, "protects me from the overwhelming influx of thoughts and sensations that would otherwise flood my mind."

"You may leave now Logan, Harry you can stay" As the door to the chamber closed behind, Charles placed his gloved hands on the smooth metallic hemisphere of Cerebro's control panel. Suddenly, the room pulsed with a blue light, and the air hummed with a charged energy that made the hair on Harry's arms stand on end.

"Now, observe, Harry," Charles said, his voice echoing softly in the vast, dome-like space.

The room transformed before Harry's eyes. It was as though they were no longer within the confines of the chamber, but floating in a cosmic ocean of light and shadow. Harry could see thousands, no, millions of pinpricks of light, each one flickering like a distant star in a clear night sky. Each light, Charles explained, represented a unique mutant signature.

Harry's breath hitched in awe as he realized the magnitude of what he was witnessing - the pulsating life force of every mutant on Earth. Some lights shone brighter than others, some flickers intermittently, while others pulsated rhythmically - a surreal, celestial symphony of life forces.

Charles's brow furrowed in concentration, and one light amongst the myriad became brighter. It pulsed a unique rhythm, and a visage formed before them, ethereal and spectral. It was Rogue, standing alone at a bustling train station, her face a picture of uncertainty and fear.

"There she is," Charles murmured, his voice threaded with concern. Harry felt a lump in his throat, an empathetic ache for the fear and solitude Rogue must be feeling. The whole experience was overwhelming, yet fascinating; a strange dichotomy that left Harry in quiet contemplation about the scale and potential of mutant abilities.

The vision of Rogue faded, and Charles and Harry were once again in the physical confines of the Cerebro chamber. As they emerged, the rest of the team waited with bated breath.

"Rogue is at the train station," Charles announced, a gravity in his tone. "Suit up and prepare for departure. We need to bring her back."

Logan immediately stood, but Charles raised a hand to stop him. "Logan," he said, meeting the grizzled mutant's eyes, "I need you to stay here. We don't fully understand what Magneto wants with you. Until we do, it's safer for you - and for Rogue - if you remain here."

Logan grumbled, clearly dissatisfied, but he nodded, understanding the weight of Charles' words. As the X-Men dispersed to ready themselves, Charles turned to Harry. His blue eyes held a solemn weight as he placed a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Harry, I need you to return to your room. Reflect on Mr. Crane's offer from the Ministry," Charles advised gently. "You are standing at the crossroads of your future, and the decision you make will have far-reaching implications. Remember, no decision is right or wrong as long as it aligns with your truth."

With those profound words, Charles left Harry standing alone in the corridor. The echo of the wheelchair's wheels on the floor seemed to reverberate with the monumental choices Harry was left to ponder.

The walls of the mansion seemed to close in around Harry as he made his way back to his room. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, weighing the offer from the Ministry against his responsibilities towards his newfound friends at the Institute. It was a dilemma, one that made his head throb and his heart heavy.

As he walked, lost in thought, he spotted Bobby down the hall. A familiar face in the sea of uncertainty that Harry was swimming in.

"Bobby," Harry called out, trying to keep his voice casual despite the storm inside him. But Bobby barely acknowledged him, just a slight nod and a mumbled 'hey' before he continued walking. Harry frowned, that wasn't like Bobby, who was always cheerful and warm towards him.

Harry watched Bobby as he continued down the hallway, his gait uneven, as if he was in a hurry, but trying not to show it. Harry felt a pang of unease. Following his gut, he decided to follow Bobby, maintaining a discrete distance. As he walked, the world around him seemed to blur. It wasn't just the Ministry offer or the looming threat of Magneto that was overwhelming; it was also the unpredictable currents of everyday life at the Xavier Institute that kept him on his toes. But he was resolute; he would navigate these currents, not just for his sake, but for the sake of those who had given him a new home.

Bobby - or the person who seemed to be Bobby - stopped abruptly at the entrance of Cerebro, causing Harry to stiffen. He knew something wasn't right. The sense of unease that had pricked at him before turned into a thorny dread.

"Bobby!" Harry's call echoed through the vast corridors. Bobby turned, a smile not quite fitting his usually cheerful face.

"Erik told me to watch out for you." His voice was all wrong, too smooth, too controlled. And then in a blink of an eye, 'Bobby' was no longer Bobby. His form shifted, rippled, and reshaped into a woman. She was completely blue, with crimson hair and golden eyes that held a certain feral quality.

"Mystique," Harry breathed out, recognizing the shape-shifter from the descriptions he'd heard. A shiver of apprehension snaked down his spine. He'd walked into a lion's den without realizing it.

"What do you want?" Harry's voice, although steady, couldn't hide the undercurrent of tension. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum, yet he remained unflinching. The instincts that he had honed under the watchful eyes of Logan and Jean came alive, preparing him for whatever the enemy in front of him had in store.

Mystique moved with a predatory grace, her golden eyes never leaving Harry. "Let's just say I have my reasons," she purred, her tone filled with veiled threats. Harry knew, however, that he wouldn't back down, not when the safety of his home was at stake.

Mystique launched at him, her form a blur of cobalt and red. Every muscle in Harry's body sprung into action. His right hand extended, and a vibrant beam of cosmic energy shot forth, illuminating the corridor. It struck Mystique squarely in the chest, and she stumbled back, her shape shifting and twisting with the impact.

"You're not the only one with tricks," Harry gritted out, his voice echoing through the hallway.

Mystique recovered quickly, morphing her hands into long, sharp blades. She rushed forward, slicing the air between them with deadly precision. Harry, however, was faster. With a burst of speed, he sidestepped her attacks, his movements fluid and sure. But he was aware that Mystique was a seasoned combatant, and he was still a novice.

Unfazed by Harry's agility, Mystique swung her blade-hand, and Harry narrowly ducked under the lethal swipe. He responded with another burst of energy, this time shaping it into a cosmic shield to defend himself. The hallway echoed with the sounds of their struggle - the hiss of Mystique's blades slicing the air, the crackle of Harry's cosmic energy, their heavy breaths echoing off the walls.

Despite the danger, a part of Harry's mind was fascinated by the application of his power. He'd never used it like this before, not in combat, not in a life-or-death situation. It was wild and exhilarating, and it made him feel more alive than he ever had.

Drawing upon this adrenaline, he pushed back against Mystique. He formed a ball of pulsating cosmic energy and hurled it at her. She attempted to dodge but wasn't quick enough, and the energy ball struck her in the side, sending her crashing into the wall.

Determined, she rose again, lunging at Harry. They clashed, a dance of energy and skill. Harry twisted away from her strikes, using his cosmic power to enhance his movements. However, he was getting tired, his energy gradually ebbing away with each strike he made. Mystique, on the other hand, seemed tireless, relentless.

Harry knew he had to end this soon, or he would be at her mercy. Gathering every bit of his strength, he focused on his cosmic energy, pulling it to the surface, then released it in a blinding flash. The ensuing shockwave knocked Mystique off her feet, her form shifting uncontrollably from the force of the blast.

As the dust settled, Harry stood panting heavily, his body aching from the fight. But he had won. His gaze fixed on the unconscious shape-shifter, he allowed himself a moment of relief.

A thunderous sound echoed through the halls as half the side of the building was ripped away, debris scattered everywhere. Harry, adrenaline still pumping in his veins, stood with the taste of dust in his mouth and the sound of his own racing heartbeat in his ears.

Through the gaping hole in the wall, a new figure appeared, gliding smoothly into the hallway. The silver helmet, the cape billowing around him, the magnetic aura of pure, raw power that seemed to hum in the air, leaving no doubt about his identity. It was Magneto.

"Wh-what do you want?" Harry stammered, his eyes locked onto the man in front of him, his heart pounding in his chest.

A sad smile crossed Magneto's face as he met Harry's gaze. The elder mutant's eyes were hard and full of purpose, yet there was a gentleness there that confused Harry.

Harry tightened his grip on his cosmic energy, bringing it to the forefront, ready to defend himself. But he was already drained from his fight with Mystique, and he knew Magneto was a far more formidable opponent.

"Why, dear boy," Magneto began, his voice resonating in the now silent hallway. "It's you."