Twenty minutes later, they were perched on the ledge of a sixty-story building overlooking Central Park like the world's most dangerous book club—if book clubs involved dragon hide armor, teenage superheroes, and enough magical firepower to level a small city block.
Harry Potter—code name Marauder—was pretty sure this wasn't what normal thirteen-year-olds did on Christmas Eve. Then again, normal thirteen-year-olds didn't wear Ukrainian Ironbelly dragon hide armor that cost more than most people's cars, and they definitely didn't fight crime with their three gorgeous, brilliant, and only occasionally terrifying fiancées who could freeze Manhattan, read minds, or convince you that up was actually down with nothing but logic and a really convincing argument.
Not that Harry was complaining. Much.
"You know," Jean Grey said, unwrapping what appeared to be the architectural marvel of fast food engineering that was her Big Mac, "I never thought I'd say this, but there's something deeply satisfying about eating McDonald's while wearing a superhero costume and sitting on a building ledge in the middle of the night."
Her red hair caught the city lights like liquid fire—the kind of fire that could literally burn you alive if Jean was having a bad day and her Phoenix powers decided to play up. When she looked at Harry with those expressive brown eyes that reminded him of melted chocolate and infinite possibilities, he felt his heart do something acrobatic that had nothing to do with his superhuman reflexes and everything to do with being hopelessly, ridiculously, catastrophically gone on Jean Grey.
Which was probably why his brain decided this was the perfect moment to say something smooth and romantic.
"Maybe it's because you look absolutely stunning in that emerald bodysuit," Harry said, his voice carrying just enough of that gravelly distortion from his magical disguise to make it sound mysterious instead of like he was a thirteen-year-old boy whose voice hadn't finished changing yet. "Or maybe it's because watching you eat fast food while casually defying several laws of physics with your telekinesis is the most attractive thing I've ever seen."
Jean's cheeks turned the exact same shade as her hair, which was both adorable and concerning since her pyrokinetic abilities were directly tied to her emotional state. The last time she'd blushed that hard, she'd accidentally melted a water fountain.
"Smooth, Potter," she said, but she was smiling as she said it, and her burger was now floating next to her head so she could eat hands-free. "Keep talking like that and I might actually start thinking you're mature enough for this whole superhero thing."
"I am devastatingly mature," Harry protested, taking a massive bite of what appeared to be three different sandwiches somehow combined into one architecturally impossible creation that defied both physics and good taste. "I'm also devastatingly handsome, devastatingly clever, and devastatingly modest about all my devastating qualities."
"Oh yes," Susan Bones said in that analytical way that made Harry want to kiss her brilliant brain and possibly propose marriage all over again, "you're practically the poster child for humility."
Susan's red hair was more copper than Jean's flame, and when she got into professor mode like this—delicately extracting french fries from a container that had somehow survived their aerial journey without spilling a single potato while simultaneously analyzing Harry's personality flaws—he was reminded all over again why he'd fallen for the smartest witch in their year. Well, one of the smartest witches. Daphne was right there too, after all, and she had her own brand of terrifying intelligence that mostly involved knowing exactly how to destroy someone's entire existence with a single perfectly timed insult.
"The mundane activity juxtaposed against the extraordinary circumstances creates a cognitive dissonance that our brains interpret as novelty and therefore pleasure," Susan continued, because Susan loved explaining things the way other people loved breathing. "Though I suspect Harry's right about the fast food tasting better when you're breaking approximately twenty-three federal regulations and at least fifteen local building codes."
"Only twenty-three federal regulations?" Daphne Greengrass asked, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in the way that made fashion photographers weep with professional envy. Even in her white and ice-blue costume, she looked like she'd stepped off the cover of a magazine dedicated to making other people feel inadequate about their life choices and genetic lottery results. "Harry, darling, I'm disappointed. I counted at least thirty-seven, and that's just the ones I could identify without consulting my law books."
Her ice powers were keeping her drink perfectly chilled despite the December air, and when she looked at Harry with those arctic blue eyes that could freeze a man's soul or melt it completely depending on her mood, he felt like he was standing at the edge of a glacier—beautiful, dangerous, and one wrong step away from hypothermia.
"My apologies, Ice Queen," Harry said with a grin that he knew made girls do stupid things like agree to marry him, apparently. "I clearly need to up my game if I want to keep impressing you with my comprehensive disregard for legal authority."
"You could start by not calling it 'comprehensive disregard for legal authority' while we're literally fighting crime," Jean pointed out, though she was still smiling as she said it. Her telekinetic powers made her drink hover beside her while she ate, which was both practical and ridiculously attractive. "It makes us sound like hypocrites."
"We're not hypocrites," Harry said, using his magic to conjure a small flame to warm his food because cold McDonald's was one of life's great tragedies. "We're selectively law-abiding citizens with flexible moral guidelines and excellent fashion sense."
"That's exactly what a hypocrite would say," Susan observed, but her tone was fond rather than critical. When she looked at him like that—like he was simultaneously the most brilliant and most infuriating person she'd ever met—Harry felt like he could take on the world and win.
"Technically," Susan continued, because Susan loved technicalities the way other people loved puppies, "we're not fighting crime right now. We're consuming processed food products of questionable nutritional value while engaging in aerial surveillance of potential criminal activity and discussing the philosophical implications of vigilante justice."
"Both can be true," Daphne pointed out, her ice crystals beginning to form decorative patterns in the air around them like frozen fireworks. "Though I have to say, the view makes up for the questionable nutritional choices and the existential crisis about our moral compass."
She wasn't wrong. Central Park spread out below them like a dark ocean dotted with islands of light, and at its heart stood the Christmas tree—a towering evergreen decorated with thousands of lights that turned it into something that belonged in fairy tales rather than Manhattan reality. The tree seemed to glow with its own inner light, casting everything around it in warm golden hues that made the winter night feel less like an endurance test and more like a celebration of everything good in the world.
"Every year," Jean said softly, her voice carrying the kind of wonder that survived despite everything she'd seen and done, "every year since I was little, my mom would bring me to see the Christmas tree. Even when everything else was chaos, even when my powers were first manifesting and I was accidentally setting things on fire just by thinking about them too hard, we'd come here on Christmas Eve and just... look at it."
Her voice went quiet at the end, the way it always did when she talked about her childhood. Growing up as a mutant wasn't exactly a party, especially when your powers included accidentally reading people's minds and occasionally setting things on fire when you got emotional. Harry had learned to recognize that particular tone—it meant Jean was remembering something that hurt, but also something that mattered.
"It's beautiful," he said, and for once his voice carried no trace of sarcasm or wit, just genuine appreciation for something that managed to be magical without involving actual magic. "There's something about it that makes the whole city feel more... hopeful, I suppose. Like maybe all the chaos and noise and problems are just temporary, and underneath it all there's still something worth protecting."
He reached over and took Jean's hand, squeezing gently. Her skin was warm—always warm, because of the Phoenix force that lived inside her like a sleeping dragon made of fire and starlight.
"That's disgustingly sentimental," Daphne said, but her tone was fond rather than mocking, and her ice crystals were forming patterns that looked suspiciously like snowflakes and stars and tiny frozen hearts. "I didn't know you had it in you, Potter."
"I contain multitudes," Harry replied, stealing a line from some dead poet he'd read in Literature class. "I'm sentimental, devastatingly attractive, occasionally capable of profound insights about the human condition, and modest to a fault."
"Don't forget 'delusional about his own modesty,'" Susan added dryly, though she was leaning against his shoulder in a way that made their magical auras flicker and dance together like visible music. "That's definitely one of your more prominent character traits."
"Modesty is overrated," Harry said, wrapping his free arm around Susan while Jean leaned into his other side and Daphne claimed the spot across from them, her legs dangling over the edge like she was sitting in a particularly dangerous but stylish chair. "Besides, false modesty is lying, and we have a strict no-lying policy in this relationship."
"Except when we're lying to authority figures," Jean pointed out, her telekinetic powers making her leftover fries dance in the air like tiny acrobats.
"Or villains," Susan added, because Susan loved being thorough about their moral guidelines.
"Or people who ask stupid questions," Daphne finished, her ice crystals now forming what appeared to be a frozen sculpture of the four of them sitting together. "Or anyone who works for the government, really."
"Or Logan when he asks if we've been practicing our combat training instead of making out in empty classrooms," Harry added helpfully.
"We don't make out in empty classrooms," Jean protested, though her blush suggested that maybe they had, in fact, made out in empty classrooms. "We engage in strategic planning sessions that occasionally involve... physical demonstrations of our emotional commitment."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Daphne asked, her grin sharp enough to cut glass. "I'll have to remember that for my diary. 'Dear Diary, today I engaged in a physical demonstration of emotional commitment with my devastatingly attractive fiancé in the Transfiguration classroom.'"
"You keep a diary?" Susan asked, because Susan's brain latched onto interesting details like a terrier with a particularly fascinating bone.
"I keep detailed records of everything," Daphne replied primly. "Including all of Harry's most embarrassing moments, which I plan to use as blackmail material for the next fifty years."
"Fifty years?" Harry asked, mock-wounded. "That's all? I was hoping our marriage would last longer than that."
"The marriage will last longer," Daphne said sweetly. "But after fifty years, your embarrassing moments will be so numerous that I'll need to start a filing system."
"How romantic," Harry said, and meant it. This—sitting on a building ledge with the three most important people in his life, eating terrible food and arguing about the proper documentation of his future embarrassing moments—this was what he fought for. This was what made everything else worth it.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, eating questionable fast food and watching the city breathe below them. It was the kind of moment that felt stolen from time itself—four teenagers suspended between earth and sky, between childhood and whatever came after, between the problems they'd left behind and the problems they hadn't met yet.
Harry was just thinking that maybe, just maybe, they might get through one patrol without something trying to kill them, when the universe decided to remind him that optimism was for people who hadn't read enough mythology to know how these stories ended.
Also, he really should have known better. Harry Potter and quiet evenings went together like gasoline and matches—theoretically possible, but usually ending in explosions.
The meteor—or what looked like a meteor—streaked across the sky like a falling star that had gotten confused about its trajectory and decided to take a more direct route to the ground. It blazed green and silver and something that wasn't quite a color but more like the visual representation of cosmic wrongness, and when it impacted in the wooded area of Central Park, the sound was less like an explosion and more like reality having a small nervous breakdown.
"Well," Harry said, already standing and brushing fast food crumbs off his armor with the casual grace of someone who had accepted that his life was basically one long string of increasingly weird emergencies punctuated by brief moments of happiness and fast food, "that's not ominous at all."
"Meteors don't usually glow green," Susan observed, her analytical mind already shifting into crisis mode as she cataloged the ways this situation could go wrong and the various methods they might need to employ to prevent catastrophic outcomes. "Green light in space-related phenomena typically indicates either copper compounds, which would be unusual in a natural meteor, or..."
"Or?" Daphne prompted, her ice armor already beginning to form as her powers responded to her rising tension. The temperature around her dropped several degrees, which would have been uncomfortable if Harry wasn't basically a walking space heater thanks to his magic and his natural ability to generate body heat through pure teenage metabolism and righteous indignation.
"Or it's not actually a meteor," Jean finished, her telekinetic senses reaching out to probe the impact site like invisible fingers testing the air for danger. Her expression shifted from curious to concerned to mildly terrified in the space of about three seconds, which was never a good sign when dealing with Jean Grey and her cosmic-level telepathic abilities.
"There's something wrong down there," she continued, her voice tight with the kind of tension that meant the Phoenix force was stirring restlessly inside her mind. "Something that feels... alive. And angry. And really, really hungry for something that I really don't think we want to give it."
"Of course there is," Harry sighed, his magic already beginning to coalesce around him like crimson and gold lightning that crackled with barely contained power. "Because apparently the universe has decided that our first patrol needs to include mysterious alien encounters along with regular street crime and moral philosophy debates about the nature of justice."
"Look on the bright side," Daphne said as they prepared to leap from the building, her ice crystals beginning to form the aerial pathway that would carry her toward whatever fresh nightmare was waiting for them in the park, "at least this time we know it's going to be weird from the beginning instead of discovering the weirdness halfway through when we're already committed to a course of action."
"You say that like it's a good thing," Jean muttered, but she was already lifting them into the air with her telekinesis, her powers creating ripples in the night sky that looked like visible music played by an orchestra made of starlight and determination.
"It is a good thing," Harry said, his flight magic kicking in as he matched her pace through the air, crimson and gold energy trailing behind him like the world's most dramatic cape. "Weird we can handle. We're practically experts at weird by now. It's the normal stuff that always catches us off guard."
"When was the last time we encountered anything actually normal?" Susan asked, her own flight powered by a combination of levitation charms and sheer stubborn refusal to let gravity win.
"Define normal," Daphne replied, skating through the sky on her ice pathway like she was participating in the Olympics of aerial winter sports. "Because if you mean 'not involving magic, mutant powers, or things that shouldn't exist according to conventional science,' then I think we're looking at... never. The answer is never."
"That's what I thought," Susan said cheerfully. "Just checking."
They descended toward the park like avenging angels with excellent timing and questionable life choices, their combined presence turning the peaceful Christmas Eve scene into something that belonged in a much more action-packed holiday movie—the kind where the heroes were young and beautiful and probably doomed to either save the world or die trying.
Harry was really hoping for the first option.
---
They were approximately halfway to the impact site when a familiar red and blue figure swung into their path with the kind of timing that suggested either excellent coincidence or really persistent bad luck.
"Okay, seriously," Spider-Man called out as he matched their pace through a series of web-swings that made physics professors everywhere weep with professional envy, "do you guys have some kind of supernatural trouble magnet? Because I've been patrolling this city for two years, and I've never seen this much weird stuff happen in one night."
Harry grinned, even though the magical obscurement meant Spider-Man probably couldn't see it. The kid sounded like he was maybe sixteen, which made him practically ancient compared to their little group of thirteen and fourteen-year-old vigilantes. Also, his voice had that particular quality that suggested he was from Queens and probably spent a lot of time making pop culture references that nobody understood.
"It's a gift," Harry replied, his flight path taking him through a series of aerial maneuvers that were probably showing off but looked really impressive anyway. "We're naturally talented at finding problems that need solving and situations that need our particular brand of intervention."
"By 'particular brand of intervention,' he means 'applying overwhelming magical force until the problem goes away or admits defeat,'" Susan clarified helpfully.
"That's not true," Harry protested. "Sometimes we also use sarcasm and superior tactics."
"What he means," Daphne said, skating alongside them on a pathway of ice that she was creating and dissolving in real-time like some kind of winter sports prodigy with control issues, "is that we're magnets for chaos and we've learned to embrace it rather than fighting the inevitable."
"Also," Jean added, her telekinetic flight creating ripples in the air that looked like visible music, "you're the one who followed us, Spider-Boy. So maybe the question isn't why we attract trouble, but why you're drawn to trouble magnets."
"It's Spider-MAN," he protested automatically, though his voice carried less irritation and more resignation, like someone who had accepted that this particular battle was already lost and he was just going through the motions.
Harry snorted, which probably wasn't very heroic but was definitely honest. "Spider-Boy, you sound like you're maybe sixteen. That makes you barely older than us, and we're thirteen and fourteen. You don't get to pull the age card until you're at least eighteen and have figured out how to do your own laundry without turning everything pink."
"I can do my own laundry just fine, thank you very much," Spider-Man replied with the kind of defensive tone that suggested he had, in fact, turned things pink at least once. "And I've been doing this superhero thing for two years, which is longer than... how long have you guys been doing this?"
"About six hours," Jean said cheerfully.
There was a moment of silence as Spider-Man processed this information.
"Six hours?" he repeated, his voice climbing several octaves. "You've been superheroing for six hours and you've already encountered three crimes, a desperate family situation, and an alien invasion?"
"Four crimes if you count whatever that thing in the park turns out to be," Daphne corrected. "And technically, it's only an alien invasion if there's more than one alien. Right now it's more like an alien... visitation. A very dramatic, possibly hostile alien visitation."
"That's not better," Spider-Man said weakly.
"I'll consider upgrading you to Spider-Man when you prove you can keep up," Daphne replied sweetly, her ice crystals catching the park's lighting like scattered diamonds. "Until then, Spider-Boy seems more accurate given your apparent lack of experience with proper alien encounter protocols."
"We have alien encounter protocols?" Susan asked, genuinely curious.
"We do now," Harry said. "Step one: identify the alien. Step two: determine if it's hostile. Step three: if it's hostile, apply overwhelming force until it's not hostile anymore. Step four: if that doesn't work, call for backup and/or start saying our prayers."
"That's a terrible protocol," Spider-Man said.
"You got a better one, Spider-Boy?" Harry asked.
"Well... no," Spider-Man admitted. "But I feel like there should be more steps. Like, maybe some negotiation? Or calling the Avengers?"
"The Avengers are busy," Jean said. "And from what I'm sensing down there, I don't think this is the kind of problem that responds well to negotiation."
"What kind of problem does it respond to?" Spider-Man asked.
"The kind that involves a lot of fire and loud noises," Jean replied grimly.
"I can do loud noises," Susan said helpfully. "I have a spell that sounds like every car alarm in Manhattan going off at once."
"And I can definitely do fire," Jean added, small flames beginning to dance around her fingers like tiny phoenixes.
"I can provide the ice for contrast," Daphne said. "You know, temperature shock. Very effective against most biological systems."
"And I can provide the devastating good looks and witty commentary," Harry finished. "It's a well-rounded team."
"Your egos are showing again," Spider-Man said, but his tone suggested he was starting to find them amusing rather than annoying.
"Good," all four of them said simultaneously.
The impact site, when they reached it, looked like someone had taken a perfectly normal section of Central Park and decided to redecorate it using a combination of science fiction special effects and pure nightmare fuel mixed with the kind of cosmic horror that made people question their life choices and the benevolence of the universe.
The crater was approximately fifteen feet across and glowed with the same green-silver light they'd seen during the meteor's descent. But more concerning than the crater itself was what was climbing out of it—a mass of liquid shadow that moved like oil but reflected light like metal, flowing and shifting and reaching out with pseudopods that seemed to be testing the air for something specific.
"That," Susan said with the kind of scientific fascination that usually preceded very bad decisions and breakthrough discoveries in equal measure, "is definitely not a meteor."
"No kidding, Nancy Drew," Spider-Man replied, his web-shooters already armed and his body language shifting into combat-ready positioning. "Any idea what it actually is?"
Harry bit back a laugh. Spider-Boy had sass. He could respect that, even if the kid's costume looked like it had been designed by someone who thought primary colors were the height of fashion sophistication.
"Some kind of symbiotic organism," Jean said, her telepathic senses recoiling from contact with whatever passed for the creature's mind like she'd touched something made of pure hunger and malevolence. "It's... hungry. And looking for a host. Something that can provide it with the specific kind of biochemical energy it needs to survive."
"Wonderful," Daphne said, her ice armor thickening as she prepared for combat. The temperature around her dropped another ten degrees, and frost began forming on the nearby trees in patterns that looked like abstract art designed by someone with serious control issues and an advanced degree in making winter look beautiful and terrifying at the same time. "Alien parasites. Just what our Christmas Eve was missing."
"I thought you said it was an alien visitation," Susan pointed out.
"It was an alien visitation," Daphne replied. "Now it's an alien parasite situation. The classification changed when it started looking for hosts."
"Does anyone else feel like we should have studied more xenobiology?" Harry asked.
"We're thirteen and fourteen years old," Jean pointed out. "I don't think xenobiology is usually part of the curriculum until graduate school."
"Maybe it should be," Harry muttered. "Seems like the kind of thing that would be useful in our line of work."
As if summoned by their discussion of its biological classification, a bat fluttered down from the trees above—probably curious about the unusual light source, or possibly just having really terrible timing when it came to choosing safe places to investigate strange glowing craters that had appeared out of nowhere.
The symbiote moved like liquid lightning, flowing up from the crater to envelop the bat before any of them could react. The transformation was immediate and horrifying—the small, harmless creature expanded and twisted, growing to the size of a small aircraft while maintaining the basic bat anatomy but adding features that belonged in paleontological nightmares rather than modern New York.
"Well," Harry said, magic already crackling around his hands like crimson and gold electricity that tasted like cinnamon and smelled like ozone, "that's significantly worse than a regular meteor would have been."
"You think?" Spider-Man asked sarcastically.
The creature—it was definitely a creature now, rather than just a bat with unusual size issues—let out a shriek that sounded like metal tearing combined with the death screams of every horror movie victim who had ever made poor life choices in abandoned buildings.
"Right," Spider-Man said, his voice carrying the kind of grim determination that came from dealing with situations that were way above his pay grade on a regular basis, "standard protocol for giant monster encounters: keep it away from civilians, find its weakness, exploit that weakness until it stops being a problem."
"See?" Harry said to the others. "He does have some useful protocols."
"Don't let it go to your head, Spider-Boy," Daphne said sweetly.
"Sounds like a plan," Harry agreed, his magical aura flaring brighter as he prepared for combat. "Any particular weaknesses we should be looking for?"
"With symbiotes," Jean said, her telekinetic shields flaring to life as the creature turned its attention toward them, "it's usually sound or heat. Sometimes both. The symbiotic bond is maintained through specific biochemical processes that can be disrupted by—"
Her explanation was cut off by the creature launching itself directly at them with the kind of speed that suggested it had excellent hearing and didn't appreciate being analyzed like a science project in front of its face.
Harry moved to intercept it with the fluid grace of someone who had been training in combat since he could walk, his superhuman strength and reflexes allowing him to match the creature's speed while his agility let him twist away from claws that could have shredded steel like tissue paper. His fighting style was a combination of magical enhancement and physical training that flowed like a deadly dance, each movement precise and purposeful and absolutely beautiful to watch—if you were into that sort of thing and weren't currently worried about being eaten by an alien parasite.
Spider-Man joined the aerial battle with his own brand of physics-defying acrobatics, his web-shooters allowing him to swing and pivot around the creature while delivering strikes that would have incapacitated normal opponents. His spider-sense or whatever it was called gave him reflexes that almost matched Harry's magically enhanced ones, and his web-shooters were surprisingly effective at controlling the creature's movement.
"Not bad, Spider-Boy!" Harry called out as he ducked under a swipe that would have decapitated him, then came up with an uppercut enhanced by enough magic to send the creature staggering backward into Daphne's waiting ice trap. "You might actually be useful after all!"
"Thanks for the ringing endorsement!" Spider-Man shot back, using his webs to swing around the creature's head and deliver a kick that sent it stumbling toward where Jean was building up what appeared to be enough fire to melt a small building. "Really feeling the team spirit here!"
"That's because we're bonding through combat," Harry explained, dodging another swipe and retaliating with a blast of magical energy that lit up the park like a fireworks display. "It's very therapeutic. Really builds trust and camaraderie."
"Is this really the time for psychological analysis?" Susan called out, her wand already working on what sounded like the world's most complicated sonic spell.
"There's always time for psychological analysis," Harry replied cheerfully, grabbing the creature by what might have been its wing and using his superhuman strength to slam it into the frozen ground hard enough to crack the ice. "Multi-tasking is a valuable life skill."
"You're insane," Spider-Man said, but his tone suggested he was starting to enjoy himself despite the mortal peril and alien parasite situation.
"Thank you," Harry said. "I try."
Together, Harry and Spider-Man created a whirlwind of motion that kept the creature's attention focused on them while the others positioned themselves for more strategic attacks. Harry had to admit, the kid was good—his combat instincts were solid, his acrobatic skills were impressive, and his ability to maintain a running commentary while fighting for his life was almost as developed as Harry's own.
"Now would be good!" Harry called out as he twisted away from claws that missed his head by inches, his voice carrying the kind of calm focus that came from being comfortable in situations where one wrong move meant becoming monster food.
Jean's pyrokinetic abilities flared to life, sending waves of intense heat toward the creature that made the air shimmer like a mirage in the middle of a desert. The Phoenix force stirred inside her, lending its cosmic power to her flames until they burned hot enough to melt steel. The effect was immediate and dramatic—the creature let out another metal-tearing shriek and recoiled from the flames like they were made of pure agony and existential dread.
"Heat works!" she announced, her flames dancing around her like she was conducting an orchestra made of fire and fury and cosmic justice. Harry's heart did that acrobatic thing again, because Jean Grey wielding cosmic fire with perfect control was basically the most attractive thing he'd ever seen, and he'd seen some pretty attractive things in his thirteen years of life.
"Sound too!" Susan added, her wand producing a noise-making spell that sounded like every alarm, siren, and emergency broadcast ever created had been combined into one auditory nightmare designed by someone who hated ears and the concept of peaceful silence. The creature writhed and twisted, its form becoming less solid and more liquid as the combination of heat and sound disrupted whatever biochemical processes held it together.
"Keep it up!" Spider-Man shouted, his webs allowing him to swing in close enough to deliver physical strikes while staying mobile enough to avoid retaliation. "It's working! Whatever you're doing, keep doing it!"
"We're being awesome," Harry called back. "It's what we do."
The creature made one last desperate lunge toward Jean, probably recognizing her as the primary threat to its continued existence, but Harry intercepted it with a tackle that sent both of them tumbling across the frozen ground. His strength allowed him to grapple with something that could have torn apart a small building, while his speed kept him ahead of claws and teeth that were designed to turn living creatures into easily digestible nutrients.
"Marauder!" Jean's voice was sharp with concern, and her flames flared brighter in response to her emotional state. The Phoenix force stirred restlessly inside her mind, ready to emerge if Harry was in serious danger.
"I'm fine!" he called back, using his magic to bind the creature's limbs while Daphne's ice began to coat its extremities in layers of frozen armor that probably weighed more than a small car. "Just keep doing what you're doing! And maybe hurry up a little!"
"Hurry up?" Susan asked incredulously, her sonic spell reaching frequencies that made windows vibrate three blocks away. "I'm literally producing sound waves that could shatter glass, and you want me to hurry up?"
"I want you to produce sound waves that could shatter this thing!" Harry replied, wrestling with what felt like a very large, very angry, very slimy octopus made of pure hostility and bad intentions. "Preferably before it decides to eat my face!"
"Working on it!" Susan called back.
Daphne's cryokinetic powers flash-froze the creature's extremities, limiting its mobility while Jean's flames and Susan's sound barrage continued their assault on its biochemical integrity. The combination was devastating—within minutes, the creature had dissolved back into the liquid shadow state, then further into what appeared to be harmless puddles of metallic goo scattered across the crater site like spilled motor oil with delusions of grandeur.
"Is it dead?" Spider-Man asked, his breathing heavy from the combination of aerial combat and adrenaline and probably the realization that he'd just helped four teenagers defeat an alien parasite on Christmas Eve.
"It's dispersed," Jean said, her telepathic senses probing the remains like a cosmic-level metal detector looking for signs of hostile consciousness. "I can't sense any coherent consciousness or unified life force. The symbiotic bond has been completely disrupted."
"Good," Harry said, dusting off his armor and checking for damage to both his costume and his pride. "Because that was significantly more excitement than I was expecting from our Christmas Eve patrol."
"At least it's over," Daphne said, her ice powers beginning to melt the frozen battlefield back to something that resembled normal park landscaping instead of the aftermath of a winter sports competition designed by people with anger management issues.
"Yeah," Spider-Man agreed, though his posture suggested he was still on high alert and probably would be for the next several hours. "Well, thanks for the backup. That could have gotten ugly if I'd tried to handle it alone."
"Could have gotten ugly anyway," Susan pointed out practically. "Teamwork makes everything easier, even interdimensional monster fighting and alien parasite disposal."
"Speaking of which," Harry said, "you're not terrible at this, Spider-Boy. Consider yourself provisionally approved as non-annoying backup when we inevitably encounter more situations like this."
"It's Spider-MAN," he protested, but his tone carried more humor than irritation and maybe just a little bit of pride. "And thanks, I think."
"Don't let it go to your head," Daphne said sweetly. "Marauder's standards are remarkably low when it comes to approving new team members."
"Hey!" Harry protested. "My standards are perfectly reasonable. I just believe in giving people a chance to prove themselves before I write them off as completely useless."
"How magnanimous of you," Jean said, but she was smiling as she said it, and the Phoenix force had settled back into dormancy now that the immediate threat was over.
"I am magnanimous," Harry agreed. "Also devastatingly handsome, remarkably humble, and surprisingly good at alien parasite disposal. I'm basically the complete package."
"The complete package of what?" Susan asked innocently.
"Awesomeness," Harry replied without missing a beat. "Pure, concentrated awesomeness in a thirteen-year-old package with excellent hair and superior combat reflexes."
"And such modesty," Daphne added.
"I'm practically a saint," Harry said.
They parted ways at the edge of the park, Spider-Man swinging off toward whatever other criminal activities might require his attention, while the four members of MageX made their way back to their building ledge to finish their interrupted Christmas Eve meal and probably process the fact that they'd just fought an alien parasite after eating McDonald's.
"You know," Jean said as they settled back into their positions overlooking the Christmas tree, "for our first patrol, that went pretty well. Three successful crime interventions, one life saved, one alien symbiote defeated, and minimal property damage."
"Plus we made a new ally," Susan added, unwrapping the remainder of her food and discovering that it was now completely cold. "Spider-Man seems like he could be useful in future encounters."
"Spider-Boy," Daphne corrected with a grin that suggested she had no intention of letting that particular nickname die anytime soon.
"I think we can officially call this a successful evening," Harry declared, raising his drink in a mock toast. "To MageX, to fighting crime, and to Christmas Eve adventures that don't end with anyone getting eaten by alien parasites."
They clinked their drinks together and settled back to enjoy the view, the adrenaline from their encounter beginning to fade into the kind of satisfied exhaustion that came from a job well done and problems successfully solved.
None of them noticed the tiny drops of metallic goo that had somehow attached themselves to their costumes during the battle—drops so small they were invisible against the complex patterns of their armor and clothing, drops that were already beginning to burrow through fabric and into skin with the patience of organisms that had evolved specifically to be undetectable until it was far too late to stop them.
The Christmas tree continued to glow in the distance, its lights reflecting off the ice crystals in the air and the magical auras that surrounded the four young heroes. It was a perfect moment, peaceful and beautiful and full of hope for the future.
Which, of course, was exactly when the real trouble was just beginning.
But Harry Potter had never been one to worry about trouble that hadn't arrived yet. He had three gorgeous fiancées, superpowers, and a city full of problems that needed solving.
Life was good.
Even when it was about to get very, very complicated.
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Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!