On the quiet flight to Washington, Ethan closed his eyes, not to rest, but to study. He sifted through Harry Potter's memories, exploring the strange, chaotic landscape of magic. A funny, and slightly alarming, thought occurred to him: sometimes, messing up a spell seemed to have more interesting results than getting it right. He pictured some poor schmuck getting hit with a poorly cast Memory Charm and ending up a drooling simpleton. Effective, in its own way.
He chuckled to himself, remembering a story from one of Harry's first-year textbooks about a wizard named Baruffio. The man had been practicing a levitation charm, but said an 'f' sound where there should have been an 's'. Instead of a floating feather, he found himself flat on his back with a full-grown buffalo standing on his chest. Damn, Ethan thought with a grin, if you could control that, you'd never have to pay for steak again.
But then the memory sobered. He recalled the stern warnings from professors like McGonagall about the dangers of sloppy spellcasting. The results of a failed spell were unpredictable. A buffalo was one thing, but what if you accidentally summoned a hungry lion? A venomous snake? A blue whale? Baruffio, the textbook had grimly noted, was crushed to death by his mispronounced buffalo. Okay, so maybe not a reliable combat strategy.
"Ethan," Professor X's quiet voice broke through his thoughts. "You know, you didn't have to come. Erik and I are more than capable of handling this negotiation." The Professor's face was etched with a genuine, fatherly concern. "You are still a child. You should be at home, studying, playing with your friends. This… this is a burden for adults to bear."
Before Ethan could formulate a reply, Magneto spoke from across the aisle, his voice a low, pragmatic rumble. "Don't be naive, Charles. The boy is our insurance policy. Charles is our mind, our voice. But what happens when our enemies find a way to silence that voice?" He gestured towards the Professor. "SHIELD has devices to block your telepathy. When we walk into their headquarters, you will be a man in a wheelchair. I will be bound by our truce to not simply tear their building apart. We will be vulnerable."
He then nodded towards Ethan. "But they have seen what he can become. His presence is a deterrent. A threat of mutually assured destruction that will keep them honest. He is the reason they will listen."
Ethan seized the opening, wanting to lighten the suddenly heavy mood. "See, Professor? I'm just doing my part for the school," he said with a cheeky grin. "As long as the cafeteria budget gets a serious upgrade when we get back, I'm happy to help."
Charles let out a soft laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing. "My dear boy, even if you did nothing, I would make sure you never go hungry." But he knew Erik was right. He felt a pang of guilt at using the boy's terrifying power as a bargaining chip, but it was a necessary evil. They don't know his transformation is tied to the moon, he reminded himself, or that his control is so new, so fragile. To them, he is a walking apocalypse. A useful fiction to have on our side.
Up front, in the pilot's seat, Mystique's blue fingers moved expertly over the controls, her expression one of calm competence. "Sit tight," she announced over the intercom. "Engaging stealth systems." The jet shimmered and vanished from sight, speeding towards the capital.
The quiet hum of the engines filled the cabin again. Ethan, his mind now buzzing with a new project, turned back to the Professor. "Professor," he asked, his tone now earnest and curious. "Do you know any… really great scientists?"
Xavier smiled, his eyes lighting up. "Of course, Ethan. One of the very best. His name is Doctor Hank McCoy. We call him Beast." He explained that Hank was a founding member of the X-Men, a brilliant geneticist, and the mind behind most of the school's advanced technology. "As it happens, he is not at the school at the moment. He's right here in Washington, D.C."
He went on to describe his long-term political project: lobbying for the creation of a government Department of Mutant Affairs. It was a slow, painstaking process of building alliances with the powerful parents of his students—senators, CEOs, and generals who, despite their public stance, privately wanted a safe future for their mutant children. Hank was his chief diplomat in this endeavor, his brilliant mind navigating the treacherous waters of politics. "He was making remarkable progress," Charles said with a sigh, "before this unfortunate business with Stryker."
From across the aisle, Magneto let out a single, derisive snort. He thought Charles's plan was a fool's errand, a beautiful house built on a foundation of quicksand. A 'Department of Mutant Affairs', in his eyes, would only ever be a gilded cage, a tool for humanity to register, control, and ultimately, neutralize them.
"Hank McCoy… Beast…" Ethan murmured, the name jogging a memory. A flash of blue fur, a pair of glasses perched on a wide, intelligent face, a laboratory filled with bubbling beakers. Right, he thought. The guy who was a scientist at the CIA. Another memory surfaced, this one making him smirk. And the one who had a massive crush on Mystique. He glanced at their blue-skinned pilot, then back at the Professor. This was getting interesting.