# Xavier's Institute - Jean and Hermione's Room - Later That Evening
The room Jean shared with Hermione was considerably more lived-in than the space Harry and Piotr occupied. Jean's side showed years of comfortable habitation—photographs pinned to a corkboard showing smiling students in various configurations, a collection of psychology textbooks that would have made Hermione's academic heart sing, and small personal touches that spoke of someone who had made this space genuinely home. Hermione's side was still mostly empty, her luggage only partially unpacked, but already her books were beginning to claim available surfaces with the inexorable advance of scholarly material asserting territorial dominance.
What had started as a quiet evening of unpacking and settling in had evolved into something considerably more social when Emma had appeared in the doorway with an expression that suggested she had Important Opinions to share and was not taking no for an answer.
"Right then," she'd announced with the kind of aristocratic authority that made disagreement seem vaguely impolite, "we're having a proper girls' night to welcome Hermione appropriately. Jean, clear some floor space. I'll gather the others."
Twenty minutes later, the room had been transformed into something resembling a teenage sleepover party—if such parties were typically attended by young women who could manipulate matter, read minds, absorb life force through touch, phase through solid objects, and generate explosive plasma bursts. Sleeping bags and pillows had been conjured from various rooms, snacks had materialized with suspicious efficiency, and the five young women now occupied every available surface with the comfortable sprawl of people who knew each other well and felt no need for formal posturing.
Emma had claimed the prime position on Jean's bed with the casual entitlement of someone who expected the best spot and saw no reason to apologize for taking it. She wore silk pajamas that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, her blonde hair was pulled back in a style that was both practical and somehow still elegant, and her blue eyes held the sharp intelligence of someone who was always three steps ahead of everyone else in any conversation.
Jean sat cross-legged on her own bed beside Emma, wearing considerably more modest sleepwear that still managed to be both comfortable and attractive. Her copper hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her emerald eyes held warmth mixed with obvious amusement at the situation she'd somehow found herself hosting.
Rogue had claimed a corner position near the window, maintaining her usual careful distance but clearly comfortable with the group. She wore long sleeves and gloves even for sleeping, the necessary precautions of someone whose abilities made casual physical contact potentially dangerous. Her brown and white hair caught the lamplight, and her sharp eyes tracked the conversation with obvious intelligence despite her usual reserve.
Kitty had sprawled across a sleeping bag on the floor with the kind of casual comfort that suggested extensive experience with impromptu sleepovers. Her short brown hair was still damp from a recent shower, and she wore an oversized t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm not short, I'm fun-sized" in bold letters that spoke of someone comfortable with self-deprecating humor.
Jubilee occupied the space between Kitty and Jean's desk with barely contained energy that made even sitting still seem like an active endeavor. Her yellow jacket had been replaced by bright pink pajamas that somehow seemed entirely appropriate for someone whose abilities involved generating colorful explosive bursts. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail that emphasized her expressive features.
Hermione sat on her own bed—still made with hospital-corner precision despite the late hour—wearing practical cotton pajamas and looking simultaneously grateful for the welcome and slightly overwhelmed by the social complexity she'd suddenly found herself navigating. Her wild hair had been released from its usual constraints, creating a halo of curls that caught the soft lighting.
The conversation had meandered through standard getting-to-know-you topics—classes, training schedules, faculty personalities—before inevitably arriving at the subject that teenage girls throughout history had somehow always managed to discuss regardless of era or circumstance.
Boys.
More specifically, attractive boys who had recently arrived at the Institute and were apparently causing considerable discussion among the female student population.
"So," Emma said with the kind of calculated casualness that suggested she'd been steering the conversation toward this topic since the gathering began, "we should probably address the elephant in the room. Or rather, the devastatingly attractive new student who apparently decided that standard teenage awkwardness was beneath him and opted instead for 'walking Michelangelo sculpture with personality.'"
Jean laughed despite herself. "Emma, you can't just—"
"I absolutely can," Emma interrupted with aristocratic certainty. "We're all thinking it. I'm simply brave enough to say it out loud. Harry Potter is objectively, empirically, aggressively attractive in ways that defy rational explanation. The boy looks like he was personally designed by Renaissance masters and brought to life through some combination of divine intervention and genetic lottery victory."
Jubilee bounced slightly with the enthusiasm of someone who had been waiting for permission to discuss this exact topic. "Right? I mean, I saw him in the common room and my brain just sort of... stopped processing other information for several seconds. Those eyes! The cheekbones! The way he moves like every casual gesture belongs in a choreographed dance sequence!"
"The accent helps," Kitty observed with the kind of analytical precision usually reserved for tactical assessments. "British aristocratic polish combined with genuine warmth rather than cold formality. It's devastatingly effective."
Rogue's contribution was characteristically understated but no less appreciative. "Boy's got bone structure that could cut glass and apparently doesn't realize it, which somehow makes it worse. Or better. Depending on your perspective and self-control levels."
Hermione felt heat crawling up her neck despite her best efforts at maintaining scholarly detachment. She focused very intently on the book in her lap—'Advanced Theoretical Applications of Temporal Manipulation'—as though its contents were suddenly the most fascinating material she'd ever encountered.
Jean's empathic abilities, however, had apparently registered the emotional spike, and her expression shifted to one of gentle curiosity mixed with knowing amusement. "Hermione, you're being awfully quiet about this discussion. Any thoughts you'd like to share about Harry's... attributes?"
"He's my best friend," Hermione said carefully, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal. "I don't really think about him in those terms. We have a very close platonic relationship built on years of mutual respect and shared experiences."
The statement was delivered with admirable conviction and would have been entirely convincing if Hermione's face hadn't simultaneously turned approximately the color of Gryffindor common room upholstery.
Emma's smile could have powered a small city with its knowing satisfaction. "Darling, your face is literally the color of fresh strawberries. Either you're running a concerning fever or that 'platonic relationship' claim is somewhat more complicated than you're suggesting."
"I'm not—it's just warm in here," Hermione protested weakly, though she was fairly certain no one was buying it.
"Hermione," Jean said gently, her empathic abilities apparently providing information that made subtlety unnecessary, "I can feel the emotional resonance when Harry's name comes up in conversation. That's not platonic friend energy. That's something considerably more... complicated."
Her green eyes held understanding rather than judgment. "Are you and Harry dating? Because if you are, that's wonderful and we're absolutely supportive. And if you're not but you want to be, that's also fine and we can help with strategic planning."
Hermione buried her face in her hands with a groan that seemed to come from her very soul. "We're not dating. We're not even... I mean, we had a conversation on the Blackbird about feelings and possibilities and taking things slowly, but we haven't actually done anything about it yet because we've been here for less than twelve hours and I've been trying not to think about it because thinking about it makes me want to organize comprehensive strategic plans and analyze every variable."
"Aha!" Emma declared with the satisfaction of someone whose suspicions had been vindicated. "So there are feelings. Mutual feelings, if I'm interpreting 'conversation about possibilities' correctly. How delightfully complicated."
"When you say 'conversation about possibilities,'" Kitty said with obvious curiosity, "do you mean the kind of vague 'maybe someday' discussion, or the kind of specific 'here are my actual feelings, let's figure this out together' conversation?"
Hermione peeked through her fingers, her amber eyes showing a mixture of embarrassment and growing need to discuss this with people who might actually understand. "The second kind. Harry told me he's been attracted to me for a while, that his feelings have developed into something beyond friendship, and that he wanted me to know before we started this new chapter so I wouldn't have to wonder or guess or worry about his intentions."
"That's actually remarkably mature," Jean observed with obvious approval. "A lot of teenage boys would have either avoided the conversation entirely or made it awkward and unclear. Direct communication about feelings is genuinely impressive."
"It was terrifying," Hermione admitted, her voice slightly muffled by her hands. "He was so honest, so vulnerable, just laying out his feelings without expectation of reciprocation. And then he said we could go as slowly as I wanted, that nothing had to change if I wasn't comfortable, that my wellbeing mattered more than his feelings."
"Alpha male energy," Emma declared with satisfaction, as though this confirmed some personal theory she'd been developing. "That kind of emotional confidence combined with genuine consideration for others—that's the mark of someone who understands power dynamics and chooses consideration anyway. Very attractive quality in a partner."
She leaned forward with the kind of focused intensity that suggested she was about to make a pronouncement of Great Importance. "People like that—genuinely powerful individuals who combine strength with consideration—they deserve their pick of partners. They've earned the right to be selective, to expect excellence from people who want to be close to them."
Her blue eyes settled on Hermione with assessment that felt uncomfortably penetrating. "And I think you, Hermione Granger, are exactly the kind of excellence someone like Harry Potter should be selective enough to choose. You're brilliant, determined, morally courageous, and apparently capable of manipulating the fundamental structure of temporal reality. That's the kind of partnership that could be genuinely extraordinary rather than merely convenient."
"Though," Emma continued with a smile that held promise and mischief in equal measure, "I should mention for the sake of complete honesty that I find both of you quite compelling. If you two do decide to pursue a relationship, and if that relationship ever evolves in ways that might accommodate additional participants, I would be entirely amenable to discussions about expanded arrangements."
The casual announcement of Emma's bisexuality and her potential interest in a polyamorous dynamic created a moment of surprised silence before Jubilee burst out laughing.
"Emma Frost, did you just proposition our new student and her not-quite-boyfriend-yet within twelve hours of their arrival? That has to be some kind of record even for you."
Emma's expression remained serene despite the teasing. "I prefer to think of it as expressing interest early enough to be considered should circumstances align appropriately. Besides, powerful people often function better in relationship structures that acknowledge reality rather than pretending conventional monogamy is the only valid option."
"Emma's not wrong about powerful people sometimes preferring non-traditional arrangements," Jean observed with the kind of diplomatic precision that suggested she'd had this conversation before, "though I think expressing that interest within the first day is perhaps slightly aggressive timing."
"Better to be clear about intentions than create confusion later," Emma replied with unshakeable aristocratic confidence. "Besides, Hermione strikes me as someone who appreciates honesty even when it's complicated. Am I wrong?"
Hermione found herself genuinely considering the question despite her continued embarrassment. "I do appreciate honesty," she admitted slowly. "And I... I'm not opposed to non-traditional relationship structures in principle, though I'd need considerable time and discussion before considering anything that complicated. Harry and I haven't even figured out the basic relationship dynamics yet."
"Fair enough," Emma said with obvious satisfaction at Hermione's thoughtful response rather than automatic rejection. "I'm simply establishing that when you do figure things out, expanded possibilities exist if you're both interested. No pressure, no expectations, just... awareness of options."
Rogue, who had been listening to this exchange with obvious amusement, finally spoke up. "Emma, darlin', you realize you're basically trying to arrange a throuple with people who arrived today? That's advanced relationship planning even for you."
"I prefer to think long-term," Emma replied with dignity. "And besides, someone has to be honest about finding them both attractive. Everyone else is just thinking it quietly while I'm brave enough to say it out loud."
"She's not wrong about that," Kitty admitted with a laugh. "We were all thinking it. Emma's just the only one tactless enough—or confident enough, depending on your perspective—to actually voice it within earshot of Hermione."
Jean turned to Hermione with genuine sympathy. "I apologize for Emma's rather direct approach. She means well, she's genuinely attracted to both of you rather than just being provocative, but her timing could use some work."
"It's fine," Hermione said, though her face was still several shades darker than normal. "I mean, it's overwhelming and I'll probably need several hours to process everything that's been said in this conversation, but it's not... unwelcome? Just unexpected."
"Welcome to Xavier's," Jubilee said cheerfully. "Where the romantic dynamics are as complicated as the power interactions and everyone's trying to figure out feelings while also learning not to accidentally blow things up or phase through furniture during emotionally intense moments."
"Speaking of which," Kitty said with obvious curiosity, "Hermione, what did you say when Harry told you about his feelings? Because his side of the conversation sounds very mature and considerate, but we're missing your response."
Hermione's expression softened as she remembered the moment on the aircraft, the vulnerability in Harry's eyes, the careful hope in his voice. "I told him I'd been feeling the same way. That I'd been terrified I was imagining things, reading too much into moments that might not mean what I hoped they meant. That I wanted everything he was offering but I was scared about timing and complications."
Her voice grew stronger as she continued. "And then he promised that we could take everything as slowly as I needed, that his feelings weren't conditional on any particular timeline or progression. That whatever pace felt right for me would be perfect for him."
"That's genuinely lovely," Jean said with obvious sincerity. "A lot of people claim they'll go slowly but then pressure their partners through subtle expectations or obvious impatience. The fact that Harry made that promise without conditions—that's worth something significant."
"It is," Hermione agreed, her amber eyes bright with emotion she was no longer trying to hide. "He's been my best friend for years, and the idea of changing that dynamic is terrifying. But he made it feel safe somehow. Like we could explore these new feelings without risking everything we've already built."
Emma studied Hermione with the kind of analytical attention she typically reserved for complex strategic problems. "You're in love with him."
It wasn't a question, but Hermione answered anyway. "I don't know. Maybe? Probably? I've never been in love before, so I don't have comparison points. But I care about him in ways that go beyond friendship. I think about him constantly. I notice things about him that probably shouldn't matter—the way he moves, the way his voice changes when he's being sincere, the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention."
"That's love," Rogue said with surprising certainty for someone who typically avoided discussing emotional topics. "Or at least the beginning stages. That awareness of another person, that constant thinking about them, that noticing details that wouldn't matter if you didn't care so much—that's what falling in love feels like."
"And he feels the same way," Jean added gently, her empathic abilities apparently providing information that supplemented their conversation. "I felt it when he talked about you earlier—this wave of affection and protectiveness and genuine admiration that goes way beyond standard friendship feelings."
Hermione felt tears prick at her eyes despite her best efforts at maintaining composure. "This is so complicated. We're starting at a new school, developing abilities that could be dangerous if not properly controlled, facing academic pressures and training requirements, and somehow also trying to figure out romantic feelings and relationship dynamics."
"Welcome to being a teenager with extraordinary abilities," Kitty said with warm sympathy. "Everything is complicated all the time, and you're just trying to figure out how to navigate it without causing disasters or missing out on things that could be wonderful."
"Though in your case," Emma observed with characteristic bluntness, "you're also dealing with time manipulation abilities, which adds fascinating layers to the 'taking things slowly' promise. Theoretically, you could give yourselves extra time to navigate relationship development without external pressure."
The implications of that statement settled over the group like a revelation, and several faces showed surprise at the strategic possibilities Emma had just identified.
"That's... actually brilliant," Jubilee said with obvious admiration. "Time manipulation for relationship purposes. Giving yourselves space to figure things out without the rest of the world watching and commenting."
"Though I'd be careful about using abilities for personal advantage too extensively," Jean cautioned with the voice of experience. "Professor Xavier has strong opinions about maintaining boundaries between ability usage and personal life. Using time manipulation to extend private conversations occasionally would probably be fine, but using it constantly to avoid normal relationship progression could create problems."
"Fair point," Hermione agreed, though she was clearly filing away Emma's suggestion for future consideration. "Though I have to admit, the idea of having extra time to process everything without external pressure is appealing."
"Just don't get so caught up in processing that you forget to actually experience things," Rogue advised with surprising wisdom. "Sometimes you gotta just feel instead of analyze. Let things happen without trying to understand every variable first."
"That's... that's very difficult for me," Hermione admitted. "My instinct is always to research, analyze, understand before acting. The idea of just feeling without comprehensive understanding of implications and consequences—that's terrifying."
"But that's where the real growth happens," Jean said gently. "In those moments when you choose to trust your feelings instead of your analysis. When you let yourself be vulnerable without having all the answers first."
Emma's expression held something that might have been genuine kindness beneath her usual sophisticated polish. "Hermione, I'm going to give you some advice that might sound manipulative but is actually quite sincere: stop trying to figure everything out before you let yourself feel it. Harry is attracted to you, you're attracted to him, you both care about each other deeply. Those are the relevant variables. Everything else is just noise and complications that will work themselves out as you go."
She leaned forward with unusual earnestness. "And if you decide you want to explore non-traditional arrangements eventually—either with me or with someone else—that's fine too. But start with the basics first. Let yourself have the conversations, the moments, the simple pleasure of discovering romantic feelings with someone who genuinely cares about your wellbeing."
"That's actually really good advice," Kitty observed with surprise. "Emma, are you being helpful without ulterior motives? Should we check you for telepathic manipulation?"
"I contain multitudes," Emma replied with dignity. "I can be calculating and manipulative and genuinely supportive simultaneously. It's one of my many talents."
The conversation drifted toward lighter topics after that—classes they were looking forward to, training exercises they found challenging, faculty members with amusing quirks. But Hermione felt something fundamental settle in her chest, a sense of being genuinely welcomed not just to the Institute but into a community of young women who understood complexity, who navigated their own extraordinary circumstances while still finding space for normal teenage concerns about relationships and feelings.
As the evening wore on and students began drifting back to their own rooms, Hermione found herself genuinely grateful for this rather overwhelming introduction to Xavier's social dynamics. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she would face them with people who understood not just what it meant to be powerful, but what it meant to be human—complicated, emotional, occasionally overwhelming human.
And tomorrow, she would see Harry again, would navigate this new dynamic they'd created, would figure out what "taking things slowly" actually meant in practical terms.
But for tonight, she had new friends, honest conversations, and the comfortable certainty that she'd found somewhere she could genuinely belong.
—
# Xavier's Institute - Piotr and Harry's Room - Later That Evening
The gaming setup that had materialized in their shared room was considerably more elaborate than Harry had expected when Piotr had casually mentioned "showing you some entertainment options popular with American teenagers." What appeared to be a high-end gaming console occupied pride of place on the entertainment center, connected to a television screen that seemed unnecessarily large for a dormitory room but was apparently standard issue for Xavier's residential wing.
Piotr sat on his bed with a wireless controller in his massive hands, demonstrating the kind of careful precision with the delicate device that suggested years of learning to manage his considerable strength around fragile electronics. Kurt had claimed the desk chair and was perched on it with his tail wrapped around the base for stability, his golden eyes bright with enthusiasm. Evan occupied a beanbag chair near the window, his scaled features showing equal parts excitement and friendly competitiveness. Remy leaned against the wall near the door with characteristic swagger, shuffling a deck of cards between his fingers with unconscious skill while he watched the proceedings with obvious amusement.
Harry sat cross-legged on his own bed, holding a controller with the kind of cautious respect he typically reserved for potentially dangerous magical artifacts. The device felt foreign in his hands—lightweight plastic with too many buttons and joysticks that seemed to demand coordination his brain wasn't entirely prepared to provide.
"Right then," he said with the careful optimism of someone about to attempt something they suspected they would be terrible at, "explain this to me like I'm five years old and have never seen technology more advanced than a radio."
Kurt's laugh was warm and entirely without judgment. "You really have not played video games before? Not even simple ones?"
"My relatives believed that video games rotted children's brains and encouraged violence," Harry replied with the dry tone of someone reciting opinions they found ridiculous. "They had a television, but Dudley's gaming equipment was strictly off-limits to me on the grounds that I might 'contaminate it with my freakishness.' Also, Hogwarts doesn't exactly have electrical outlets or compatible technology."
"That's criminal," Evan declared with genuine outrage. "Gaming is like... essential teenage experience. How did you survive without it?"
"Books, mostly," Harry said with a slight grin. "And occasionally fighting for my life against dark wizards and enormous magical creatures. That provided adequate entertainment value."
Remy's red-on-black eyes held amusement mixed with approval. "Fair enough, mon ami. Though I think you'll find gaming provides similar adrenaline rush without the actual mortal danger component."
Piotr shifted on his bed to face Harry more directly, his accented English taking on the patient tone of someone who had taught this lesson before. "We start with basic mechanics. This controller has two joysticks—left one controls movement, right one controls camera or aim, depending on game. Face buttons here," he gestured to the right side of the controller, "are for actions—jump, attack, interact, dodge. Shoulder buttons are for additional functions."
Harry studied the controller with the same analytical intensity he brought to learning new spells. "So it's like learning wandwork, except instead of one implement with straightforward applications, I've got approximately seventeen different inputs that need to be coordinated simultaneously while processing visual information and making tactical decisions?"
"Da, essentially," Piotr agreed. "Though once muscle memory develops, becomes automatic like casting familiar spell."
"What he's trying to say diplomatically," Kurt interjected with cheerful honesty, "is that for the first several hours you will be terrible. Embarrassingly, hilariously terrible. You will run into walls, fall off ledges, attack empty air while enemies murder you. This is normal beginner experience."
"Comforting," Harry replied dryly. "What game are we starting with? Something simple and gentle that won't completely destroy my fragile ego?"
"Absolutely not," Remy said with a grin that promised chaos. "We're throwing you straight into competitive fighting game. Trial by fire, as they say. You learn faster when stakes feel real."
Evan nodded enthusiastically. "Plus, watching new players button-mash their way through fighting games is peak entertainment. No offense, Harry, but you're about to provide us with quality comedy."
"None taken," Harry assured him, though his expression suggested he was already preparing himself for humiliation. "I've faced down Dark Lords and basilisks. I can handle being terrible at video games for your entertainment."
Piotr navigated the game's menu system with practiced ease, selecting what appeared to be a fighting game with colorful characters and improbably proportioned avatars. "We start with practice mode—just you against computer opponent set to easiest difficulty. Learn basic controls before we humiliate you properly in actual matches."
The game loaded with impressive visual flair—bright colors, dramatic music, and a character selection screen that featured what appeared to be several dozen options ranging from realistic martial artists to fantastical creatures that definitely violated several laws of physics.
"Pick character that appeals to you," Kurt advised. "They all have different movesets and playstyles, but for learning basic controls, doesn't matter too much which you choose."
Harry studied the options with genuine curiosity, his green-gold eyes tracking across the diverse roster. His attention settled on a character that appeared to be wreathed in flames with distinctly phoenix-like design elements—elegant wings of fire, attacks that involved dramatic aerial maneuvers, and an overall aesthetic that felt somehow personally relevant.
"This one," he said, selecting the character with only minor fumbling over which button actually confirmed selection.
"Phoenix," Remy observed with obvious amusement. "Of course you pick the fire-based character with dramatic special effects. Very on-brand, mon ami."
"Seemed appropriate," Harry replied with dignity. "Besides, if I'm going to be terrible at this, I might as well be terrible with style."
The match began with dramatic fanfare, and Harry immediately demonstrated the fundamental truth of Kurt's earlier prediction: he was, indeed, spectacularly terrible.
His character stood perfectly still while the computer opponent—a massive armored warrior wielding an enormous sword—approached with obvious hostile intent. Harry stared at the controller in his hands as though it might provide helpful guidance through sheer force of will.
"The left stick!" Piotr called out. "Move the left stick to walk!"
Harry pushed the left stick forward, and his character lurched into movement with all the grace of a drunken giraffe attempting ballet. He collided with the opponent, who responded by executing a devastating combo that depleted approximately thirty percent of Harry's health bar in three seconds.
"Right, dodging would be good," Harry muttered, his face showing the intense concentration of someone trying to remember which button did what while also processing visual information and attempting to formulate strategy. "Which button was dodge again?"
"Circle!" Kurt shouted helpfully. "Or was it X? Maybe triangle?"
"That's three different buttons, Kurt," Harry replied with admirable calm considering his character was being systematically dismantled by the computer opponent. "Your guidance is somewhat less helpful than you might think."
"Try pressing all the buttons at once!" Evan suggested with the enthusiasm of someone who had definitely employed this strategy himself. "Something useful will probably happen!"
Harry did exactly that, and his character executed what appeared to be a random series of actions—a jump, a weak punch, a special move that required proper setup he definitely hadn't provided, and a dramatic pose that left him completely vulnerable to the opponent's next attack.
"That was beautiful," Remy said with genuine appreciation for the chaos. "Absolutely no strategy, pure panic response. This is exactly what gaming should look like for beginners."
"I'm providing quality entertainment, then," Harry observed as his character took another devastating hit. "How comforting. My health bar appears to be approaching zero with remarkable efficiency."
"Defense might be strategic choice," Piotr suggested gently. "Try blocking—hold back on the left stick."
Harry attempted this, though coordinating "hold the stick in a specific direction while also pressing buttons for attacks" proved to be beyond his current capabilities. His character alternated between blocking, randomly attacking empty air, and standing perfectly still while the opponent landed hits with depressing regularity.
The match ended approximately ninety seconds after it began, with Harry's character lying dramatically defeated on the arena floor while triumphant music played and the victory screen displayed the opponent's stats with unnecessarily flashy graphics.
"Well," Harry said with remarkable composure considering he'd just been thoroughly demolished by a computer program, "that was humiliating. Shall we try again so I can discover new and creative ways to be terrible?"
"That's the spirit!" Kurt declared with genuine enthusiasm. "The key is learning from mistakes and gradually developing coordination. Also accepting that you will lose approximately one hundred matches before you win your first one."
"One hundred?" Harry repeated with mock horror. "Kurt, that's optimistic. I'm estimating closer to three hundred given my current performance."
"Maybe just two hundred if you're naturally talented," Evan said with encouraging optimism that was only slightly undermined by his obvious amusement.
The second match began, and while Harry's performance was marginally improved by virtue of now understanding which stick controlled movement, he was still fundamentally terrible. His character lurched around the arena with spastic energy, occasionally landing hits through pure coincidence rather than strategic intent, and generally providing exactly the kind of entertainment value his audience had hoped for.
"You're getting better!" Piotr encouraged as Harry managed to execute what might have been an actual combo by pure accident. "That was three hits in sequence—that's combo!"
"I have absolutely no idea how I did that," Harry admitted, his face showing the intense concentration of someone trying to parse visual information, hand-eye coordination, and tactical decision-making simultaneously. "My thumbs just sort of... moved, and something useful happened. Can't guarantee replication."
"That's how it starts," Remy observed with satisfaction. "Random button pressing eventually becomes muscle memory, and muscle memory eventually becomes actual skill. You're witnessing the birth of gaming competence in real time."
The third match showed actual marginal improvement—Harry's character moved with slightly more purpose, his blocks were occasionally timed correctly, and he managed to win a single round through what appeared to be determination and the computer opponent's programmed tendency to occasionally make mistakes.
"Progress!" Kurt announced as though Harry had achieved something genuinely impressive. "You won a round! That's significant milestone!"
"I won a round through sheer stubbornness and the computer taking pity on me," Harry corrected, though his grin suggested genuine pleasure at the small victory. "But I'll take it."
By the fifth match, something remarkable was happening—Harry's learning curve, which had started at "completely hopeless," was accelerating with the kind of rapid improvement that would have seemed impossible without either previous gaming experience or genuinely supernatural learning capabilities.
His movement became more fluid, his attacks more purposeful, his defense actually strategic rather than panic response. He was still losing matches, but the margins were narrowing, and occasionally he would execute combinations that suggested actual understanding of game mechanics rather than random button pressing.
"Wait," Evan said slowly, leaning forward with obvious interest, "are you... are you actually getting good? Like, genuinely good rather than 'good for a complete beginner' good?"
"I'm developing pattern recognition," Harry replied absently, his attention focused entirely on the screen as his character executed a complex aerial combo that definitely shouldn't have been possible for someone with less than an hour of experience. "The opponent has consistent behavioral patterns—specific responses to specific situations. Once you recognize the patterns, you can exploit them."
He paused the game briefly to look at his friends with genuine curiosity. "Is that not how everyone learns this? Identify patterns, exploit weaknesses, adapt strategy based on opponent response?"
The four other young men exchanged glances that suggested they were processing something unexpected.
"That's... that's exactly how you should approach fighting games," Remy said slowly, his red-on-black eyes showing new respect. "But most people take weeks to develop that analytical approach. You're doing it in less than an hour."
"Combat experience probably translates," Harry replied with a shrug, unpausing the game and immediately executing a defensive counter that caught the opponent mid-attack. "When you've spent years fighting things that actually want to kill you, video game pattern recognition seems relatively straightforward."
By the tenth match, Harry won—not through luck or computer error, but through what appeared to be genuine tactical superiority and mechanical execution that shouldn't have been possible for a beginner. His character moved with purpose, his combos were deliberate rather than accidental, and his defense showed actual strategic thinking.
The victory screen appeared, and four jaws dropped in synchronized surprise.
"That's impossible," Kurt said flatly. "You've been playing for less than an hour. Nobody gets good that fast. It violates all natural laws of skill development."
"Maybe he's a natural prodigy?" Evan suggested, though his tone suggested he didn't quite believe it himself. "Some people just have innate talent for games?"
"Natural talent doesn't look like this," Piotr said, his expression showing professional assessment of Harry's rapidly developing capabilities. "This is pattern recognition and strategic adaptation at speeds that suggest either previous experience or genuinely supernatural learning ability."
Remy's grin was sharp with competitive interest. "Right then, mon ami. Time to test you against actual human opponent instead of predictable computer patterns. Let's see how you handle someone who adapts to your strategy."
"That sounds ominous," Harry observed, though his expression showed eager anticipation rather than concern. "Who's volunteering to be my first victim?"
"I'll take that challenge," Remy replied, claiming a second controller and settling into position with obvious relish. "Fair warning—I'm actually good at this game. You won't be able to rely on pattern exploitation when your opponent is actively changing patterns to counter your strategy."
"Excellent," Harry said with genuine enthusiasm. "Predictable opponents were getting boring anyway."
The match that followed was genuinely impressive to witness—not because Harry won (he lost, decisively, though not as badly as a beginner should have), but because he adapted in real-time to Remy's changing tactics, learning from each mistake and implementing corrections within the same match.
By the third match against Remy, Harry actually won a round through what appeared to be genuine tactical superiority rather than luck. By the fifth match, he was winning consistently despite Remy's obvious skill advantage.
"This is absurd," Remy declared, though his tone held admiration rather than frustration. "You're learning faster than anyone I've ever played against. It's like your brain just... processes new information at accelerated speeds and implements it immediately."
"Enhanced cognition might be part of my mutation package," Harry mused, considering this possibility for the first time. "I haven't really tested cognitive processing speeds systematically, but rapid pattern recognition would make tactical sense alongside enhanced physical abilities."
"We should test this," Kurt said with scientific enthusiasm. "Try you on different game types—racing, puzzle solving, strategy games. See if the rapid learning curve applies universally or just to combat-related scenarios."
"Tomorrow," Piotr said firmly, noting the late hour with practical concern. "Tonight has been excellent demonstration of Harry's gaming potential, but we all have training at oh-eight-hundred, and Storm is unforgiving about students who arrive sleep-deprived."
"Fair point," Harry agreed, though his expression showed genuine reluctance to stop playing. "Though I have to say, this was significantly more entertaining than I expected. I understand why people enjoy this."
"Welcome to gaming culture," Evan said with satisfaction. "You're one of us now. Tomorrow we'll introduce you to cooperative play and discover whether your rapid learning curve translates to team coordination."
As the group began dispersing to their respective rooms, Remy paused at the door to look back at Harry with genuine respect. "Mon ami, that was impressive. You got something special going on with that brain of yours—way you process information and implement strategy. That's gonna serve you very well here."
After everyone had left and the room had settled into quiet, Harry lay in his bed staring at the ceiling while his mind processed the evening's discoveries. Enhanced learning capabilities, rapid pattern recognition, accelerated skill acquisition—these were valuable assets that could complement his other abilities in ways he hadn't fully considered.
But more than the tactical advantages, he found himself genuinely grateful for the easy camaraderie, the lack of judgment about his complete inexperience, the obvious pleasure his friends took in introducing him to something they loved.
This was what community felt like—people who accepted you, taught you things, found joy in your growth rather than threatening competition.
Tomorrow would bring training, classes, whatever challenges Xavier's had prepared for new students learning to control dangerous abilities. But tonight had been something simpler and somehow just as important: friends, games, and the comfortable certainty that he'd found somewhere he could actually belong.
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Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
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