Like Father, Like Son

Harry woke with a scream. He was drenched in sweat and his heart was racing. He'd had the dream again. The one that took him back to the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Voldemort and his Deatheaters were there. Voldemort's first act upon getting a new body had been to take Harry's wand and kill poor Cedric Diggory. That was when Harry lost it. He remembered the bloodlust; the pain as his physical body changed, grew more than a foot, put on nearly two hundred pounds of muscle and claws . . . and teeth, and tore free of his bonds like they were tissue paper.

He killed three Deatheaters before the others even knew what happened; starting with Peter Pettigrew whose throat he ripped out with a massive bite. He remembered the taste; like raw pork; the blood sweet and warm. He barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. The Dursley's wouldn't be happy. It was the third time in as many nights since he returned to their home that he'd woken up violently.

"Blast it, boy!" Vernon bellowed. "As if it wasn't bad enough when you were just a damned wizard. I won't have this in my house."

For the first time in his life, Harry turned on his uncle in full rage, realizing that he now towered over the man and even outweighed him. "You think I like this, fat man? You think I enjoy waking up screaming? You think I'm doing it just to cause you grief? Get it through your thick head. The world doesn't revolve around you."

"How dare you?" For all his fluster, Harry could smell the fear on Vernon; on all of them.

"Just leave me alone!" he screamed, returning to his room and slamming the door behind him, shaking the walls and nearly breaking the doorjamb.

Any response from the Dursley's was interrupted by an insistent knock at the door. It was as much as Vernon could take. First the boy and now visitors at this ungodly hour. It simply wasn't proper; then again, nothing about his sister-in-law's brat was proper.

Stomping down the stairs in his robe, he swung the door open with more force than he intended. "What do you want? What's so important it couldn't wait until a decent hour?"

Five people were at the door. Four of them were strange enough; a bald man in a wheelchair, a tall black woman with platinum hair and blue eyes, a red head who looked disturbingly familiar and a tall man who was wearing sunglasses despite the fact that the sun would be rising for at least two more hours. It was the fifth, a short, stocky, ugly fellow with wild hair who looked like a reject from one of those old spaghetti westerns, who was the most disturbing of all.

"Mornin', Vernon," the man growled with familiarity, distaste and a promise of violence. "We're here f'r my son."

The short man forced his way past Vernon and stared at Petunia and Dudley, then ignored them, sniffing the air as if he was following a scent and headed upstairs like he owned the place as the bald man considered Petunia and Vernon with a gaze that laid their very souls bare. "You're treatment of Harry has been nothing short of criminal."

Vernon tried to bluster. "What business is that of yours? We gave the brat a roof over his head. Better 'n he deserved if you ask me. And how does he repays us . . . ?"

The redhead gestured and an invisible hand pushed Vernon back and down to the floor. "I wouldn't say another word, if I were you. Professor Xavier might be reluctant to use his powers to give you the justice you deserve. I'm not inclined to be so . . . restrained."

The woman turned to Petunia. "Hello, Petunia. I'd say it was nice to see you, but I'd be lying."

Petunia turned white as a sheet. "Jean?"

It was the man in the sunglasses who stepped forward to calm things down however, as the four entered the house and he closed the door behind them. "Before things get out of hand, it's probably time for some introductions. I'm Scott Summers. My wife is Dr. Jean Grey. She introduced the Professor, Professor Charles Xavier. Our friend here is Ororo Monroe. The angry man who just stormed up your stairs is Logan, but nearly fifteen years ago, you knew him as James Potter. How that happened is a story in itself and one we're just beginning to unravel, so you'll have to forgive us if we're a little short on explanations."

"They don't deserve explanations, Scott." Jean stared daggers through her cousin. "A cupboard, Petunia? You made your own nephew sleep in a cupboard for most of his childhood? Criminal neglect and child abuse barely begin to describe your crimes."

Petunia shrunk back from her cousin. As much as she'd been jealous of Lily, she was terrified of Jean. Lily may have been a witch, but Jean was a mutant; and worse, a mutant telepath. Years before, when they were only eleven and twelve, she'd used her mutant powers to lay Petunia's soul bare; exposing her as the petty, small, worthless wretch she wanted to deny being.

She frowned. "If Logan finds out what you did to his son, your own kid is likely to find out what it's like to be an orphan."

"How dare you threaten us!" Vernon, showing some uncharacteristic back bone stepped between Jean and his wife. "Get out of my house before I call the constable."

"Go ahead." Jean stared him down. "Call the police. I know Harry hasn't had to live under your damned stairs since he started at Hogwarts, but there's still likely to be more than enough evidence for forensic experts to confirm our claims that you forced him to live there for nearly ten years. Yes, I'd love you to call the police. I'd even be happy to call them for you."

His face became even redder as he huffed and sputtered, but he still backed down. He had no choice. Deep down he knew their treatment of Harry had been nothing short of criminal. He honestly didn't believe the brat deserved better, but the British government wasn't likely to agree with him. The last thing he wanted was for them to get involved.

"Damn right that's the last thing you want, Dursley." Jean looked at him like he was something disgusting that she just stepped in. "If I had my way, I'd make you crawl to the nearest police office and confess every single crime and sin you ever committed. You'd better hope Harry's a lot more forgiving than I am because he's going to be the one deciding your fate. It's his right."

Upstairs, Logan followed his son's scent to a room at the end of the hall. The whole idea of having a completely forgotten life; one with a wife and a son, no less, was disturbing in ways he couldn't even describe. When Harry's eruption less than a week ago spiked Cerebro, the Professor detected strong similarities between the teen's DNA signature and Logan's; similarities that could only be shared between father and son. The path from that realization and this hallway had been a circuitous one, but he was finally here.

Harry's response when Logan knocked was almost predictable. "Go away. Just leave me alone."

"Not gonna happen, kid," Logan responded. "It's time we got reacquainted . . . long past time, an' that's a fact."

The door opened. The young man who stood there was seven feet tall and at least three hundred fifty pounds of muscle. His hair was long and shaggy, hanging down to his shoulders. He wasn't ugly, but he had a very primal appearance. His mouth was full of razor sharp teeth. His eyes resembled those of a cat. His fingers ended in vicious looking claws. There was no question, however, that this was James Potter's son; his son.

"Who are you?" Something was familiar about this man, but Harry couldn't put a finger on it.

"I could soften this a bit," Logan told him, "but that ain't my style. My name's Logan. I was born James Howlett, but f'r twenty some years I was someone else. I was James Potter. I didn't remember any of it 'til you spiked a mutant detectin' machine some friends o' mine have, but I'm y'r father, I ain't dead an' I'm here t' help ya learn how t' control y'r new powers; mebbe get t' know ya while I'm at it."

Harry blinked several times. This man didn't look much like the pictures he'd seen of his father, but there were similarities. The very possibility should have freaked him out, but given the path his life had taken the past four years, somehow it didn't seem nearly as farfetched as some of the other things he'd learned about himself.

"My father." It wasn't a question, but several did follow. "Where have you been all my life? How are you not dead? Why don't you look like your pictures? You're shorter and way stockier. How's that possible?"

"Good questions." Logan smirked. "Wish I had a lot better answers, but I'm just startin' t' piece th' story t'gether myself. As f'r where I've been; all over, but been based outta a school in upstate New York f'r th' past few years. A while back, some folks did a lotta crap to my head; messed up my memories somethin' fierce. Completely erasin' all memory o' my life as James Potter was just part of it. I ain't dead 'cuz I'm too tough t' kill an' too damn stubborn t' quit. I don't look like James Potter 'cuz th' bastard that turned me into him in th' first place turned me back after y'r mother was killed. He's a jerk calls himself the High Evolutionary. I don't remember any of it, but seems I ran into him about thirty odd years back."

Logan shook his head. "F'r reasons all his own, an' he ain't talkin', he turned me into an embryo an' implanted me in this childless couple from the magical world who came to him lookin' f'r help havin' a baby. Yeah, he's got that kinda power; scientific, not magical. Seems he thought I'd make an interestin' test subject. Figured you'd make an even more interestin' one after y'r ma was killed. I made him restore my an' some other folks' memories when I found him after you popped up on Cerebro, then disappeared again. I'da killed him if I coulda, but he's even harder t' kill 'n I am."

"What did you do to him?" Harry asked with near clinical detachment.

"Let's just say he's gonna be nursin' his wounds f'r a bit an' leave it at that."

Harry shook his head, then stepped back and slumped onto the bed that was now much too small for him. "My life just keeps getting stranger and stranger."

"Look, Harry," Logan suggested. "This ain't any place we wanna be right now. I got some friends downstairs I'd like ya t' meet, then I'd like t' take ya back t' America with me . . . at least f'r th' rest o' th' summer. We can decide what t' do 'bout Hogwarts an' Voldemort later. Right now, ya just came into y'r mutant powers . . . ya get that from me, by th' way, but also from y'r mother's side o' th' family. Th' folks I've been hangin' with lately run this school where we teach kids like you t' learn how t' control their powers."

Harry shrugged and started packing, which wouldn't take long since he hadn't exactly unpacked since arriving. "Anything to get away from my aunt and uncle."

Less than twenty minutes after waking so violently, Harry found himself strapped into a seat in the single most advanced plane he'd ever seen, much less been on. His father was seated across the aisle from him. The two women, including the redhead who introduced herself as his mother's cousin, were seated behind them. Jean's husband, Scott was seated at the controls and the Professor's chair was locked in place at the co-pilot position. If he hadn't been so shell shocked, he would have found the whole thing wonderful. As it was, however, he could barely think.

"What do you want to do about Petunia and her husband, Harry?" Jean asked him at one point. "The way they treated you was downright criminal. If you want to press charges, we know a lawyer who would love to take the case. Her name's Vange Whedon and she turns into a very big red dragon."

"As long as I never have to see them again, I couldn't care less." He sighed.

"That much I c'n promise ya, Harry." Logan wasn't happy that Jean and the others hadn't told him about Harry's treatment until they were already in the air and out of British airspace. "I may not have much place t' be makin' decisions f'r ya, but ain't no way I'm lettin' ya go back t' that place."

Harry nodded and there was a small surge on the astral plane. Harry sensed it, but didn't understand it. The same was true for the Professor and Jean. The only other person to sense it was one Albus Dumbledore and it woke him from a sound sleep. The blood wards he'd set up to protect Harry had just fallen. He needed to get to the Dursley home immediately. Rising, he took his wand and silently changed his bed gown into his normal robes, then apported to the living room of the home he'd been forced to place Harry into fifteen years earlier.

Dudley had gone back to bed, but he found Vernon and Petunia sitting in the dining room sipping tea laced with brandy. They looked up at Dumbledore angrily and Vernon bolted from his chair. One glare from Dumbledore sat the large bellicose man down.

"What happened?" Dumbledore demanded.

"His father . . . ." Petunia began.

Dumbledore blinked several times. "James is dead."

"No," Petunia responded bitterly. "No, he isn't. He's changed, but it was him."

Dumbledore considered the preposterous possibility. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"The brat woke us all with his nightmares and screaming for the third night in a row," Vernon told the hated professor. "Then there was a knock at the front door. James was there with four others; Jean Grey, Petunia's cousin, and her husband; a bald man in a wheelchair they introduced as Professor Charles Xavier; and a strange looking black woman with white hair named Ororo Monroe. Mutant freaks all of them if you ask me. We know the Grey woman is one and that professor used telepathic powers to invade our minds."

"James was shorter," Petunia took over, "and extremely stocky; almost as wide as he was tall. He was weathered and no longer as damnably handsome. His hair was longer and wilder and he wasn't wearing glasses. His voice was gruff and gravelly, but I'd stake my life on it being him. As if I'd ever forget the monster who stole my sister's heart."

"They said he was going by the name Logan now," Vernon interjected. "They stayed down here and tried to threaten us while he went up alone to get the boy. Then they all left together and good riddance, if you ask me."

"Charles Xavier, you say?" Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"You know him?" Vernon demanded.

"By reputation only," Dumbledore admitted. "He runs a school in upstate New York and has written extensively on subjects like genetics. He's a leading advocate for mutant rights. I was unaware that he was a mutant himself, but I'm not surprised. Did they explain how James could have survived the killing curse and where he's been for the past fifteen years?"

"Not to us they didn't," Vernon told him bitterly.

Dumbledore sighed. "Well, it would appear that your responsibilities are at an end. The wards I erected fifteen years ago have fallen as Harry no longer considers this place home and has no intention of ever returning here."

Now it was Vernon and Petunia's turn to be surprised, but it was Petunia who found her voice first. "That's it? We never have to put up with him again?"

"As far as your responsibility to Harry is concerned, it's over," Dumbledore warned them. "That doesn't mean you're safe. Voldemort is back and his Deatheaters remain a constant threat; one the Ministry of Magic refuses to recognize. It's possible they could come after you in hopes of getting to Harry, but it's not likely. Just in case, I'll put some new wards on your house before I leave. Beyond that, I can only recommend that you be careful who you invite inside."

With that, Dumbledore vanished, leaving the husband and wife feeling a mix of emotions that ran the gamut from relief to dread.

Elsewhere, the drone of the plane's engines slowly lulled an exhausted fifteen year old to sleep; a sleep that Jean made sure was undisturbed by nightmares. "Poor kid. He's been through hell, but he's strong."

Logan smiled and brushed a hair from his son's forehead. "He gets it from his mother. She was th' strong one. Even as James, I was fulla spit an' vinegar; more likely t' think with my wand or fists 'n with my head. Lily was th' best thing t' ever happen t' me in any lifetime."

"Are we sure the High Evolutionary is finished with him?" Scott addressed the elephant in the cabin. "He went to a lot of trouble to study the boy. We know he altered your memories, Logan, and Jean's and even yours, Professor; along with Jean's family and who knows how many others. For all we know, he could have been manipulating this Professor Dumbledore. That's an awful lot of effort to just give up on so easily."

Logan's smile vanished without a trace. "I told him what t' expect if he stuck his nose in me or my son's lives again. He wasn't all that afraid o' me, but I told him I'd be bringin' th' X-Men, th' Avengers an' th' flamin' Fantastic Four down on him if he did an' we'd level his damn mountain if that's what it took t' take him out. Made sure he knew I wasn't bluffin', too."

Scott nodded; impressed, but not admitting it, leaving Ororo to ask the next question. "Given he's your son, Logan, and given his connection to the Grey family, one has to wonder what kinds of powers he'll develop."

Xavier answered that. "Believe it or not, I'm convinced that his powers are primarily psychokinetic in nature, but focused internally rather than externally like Jean. Even his physical changes could be explained by some kind of extremely high end psychokinetic gene manipulation. He needed physical power to survive whatever threat he faced, so he altered his genetic structure to give himself that power."

Logan nodded, not willing to argue with Charles when it came to the science behind mutations. "If that's so, an' I ain't sayin' it ain't, why hasn't he changed back? Th' threat's over."

"Is it?" Xavier turned his chair to face the others. "Whatever threat he faced may still be out there. There's also the fact that he knew he was going to have to go back to the Dursley home. I doubt this poor boy has felt safe in a very long time, if ever."

Logan nodded. "Then our first job's gotta be t' change that."

"I agree." Jean smiled. "Just being away from Great Britain and learning to use his new powers should be a good start, but we all need to make every effort to make him feel welcomed and safe."

Xavier agreed as well. "Peter, Kitty, Bobby, Rogue and the other students closer to his age will help, but we all need to make the effort as well. In time, though, young Harry has the potential to become as formidable as a mutant as he's likely to become as a wizard; probably not Omega class, but definitely high Beta to low Alpha; potentially even higher. I'll have Sage to take a moment to study him when we get back to the mansion, but given his apparent ability to manipulate his genetic structure, enhanced strength, teeth and claws are likely to be only a few of the abilities he develops."

Back in Great Britain, Dumbledore prepared for a trip. Checking a clock, he calculated the time difference between Greenwich Mean Time and Eastern Standard Time, nodded and threw some powder into the fireplace in his office. "Dr. Stephen Strange."

"Well." Strange's visage appeared in the now green flames. "Good morning, Albus. What causes you to call at what must be an ungodly hour in Britain?"

"It's been a peculiar night, Stephen." Dumbledore actually laughed in spite of himself. "And that's an understatement. I'm going to be making an unexpected trip to New York for a few days to a week and was wondering if I could impose on you."

"No imposition," Strange assured his old friend and sometime mentor. "I'd welcome the company. What's up?"

Dumbledore sighed. "A matter involving a student of mine, I'm afraid. You're familiar with the legend of the 'Boy That Lived'?"

Strange nodded. "Harry Potter, if I remember correctly. Killed that dark sorcerer you were dealing with a decade ago. I'd have liked to have been able to help you, but I had my hands more than full in the Dark Dimension, battling Dormammu when it all came to a head."

Albus more than understood. "Well, he was just taken from his home by a man claiming to be his father, who was supposedly killed by Voldemort fourteen years ago come All Hallows Eve. The man was accompanied by one Professor Charles Xavier and they took the boy to Xavier's school in your area."

"The boy's a mutant in addition to being a wizard?"

Dumbledore told Strange the story of what happened at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. "I wasn't certain before, but little else would properly explain the changes Harry went through in that fight."

"I know Xavier and his staff well," Stephen said. "Do you know which of them his father is?"

"I believe he's using the name Logan, but I'm not sure if it's his first name or last."

Strange blinked several times. "Only, at least as far as I know."

"You know him." Being aware of Strange's connections to the meta community of America, Dumbledore wasn't exactly surprised."

"You've probably heard of him," Strange responded, projecting an image of Logan without his cowl. "He's a member of two teams of heroes; both the Avengers and the X-Men. He calls him Wolverine."

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to blink several times. "He's changed a great deal, but I can see the similarities. This could explain a great deal about Harry's survival. Can you make an introduction for me?"

"I'll arrange it for this evening our time," Strange promised. "How do you intend to get here?"

"I've been considering that," Dumbledore mused as he closed his trunk. "It's a bit far to fly or apport, and even if I wasn't likely to make too much of a stir on muggle transportation, I lack the time or leisure for such a flight. As much as I dislike doing so, I suppose I'll have to take the international floo network."

Strange understood. "You can come straight here. I'll leave the connection open, which should ease your transport. I'll be in the next room making the arrangements for your introduction when you arrive."

As he felt the surge of magic of Dumbledore's transport a few minutes later, Stephen was greeted by a female voice on the phone. "Xavier's School, this is Tessa, how can I help you?"

"Ah, greetings." Stephen didn't recognize either voice or name, but wasn't surprised. "I'm Dr. Stephen Strange, an old acquaintance of your headmaster and much of his staff."

"I know who you are, Dr. Strange," Tessa responded. "The Professor and the others are out at the moment, but how can we help you?"

"Yes," Strange nodded as Dumbledore joined him, brushing dust and ash off his robes. "They would still be on their way back from Great Britain, wouldn't they? No matter, a friend is in town and has requested an introduction. If possible, I'd like to bring him by this evening. His name is Albus Dumbledore. He's a fellow educator and headmaster of the school the young man they went to England to contact has been attending the past four years."

"Really?" Tessa wasn't sure why she was surprised. "You people out there move fast. Is there a problem?"

"Unlikely," Strange assured her. "He's merely concerned for the boy and an old friend of his father's. He'd like to see both of them and see how they're doing."

Tessa considered that. "Why don't you bring him by this evening and you can all talk over dinner? I'll call the others on the plane and let them know to expect you."

"Excellent." Strange almost smiled. "We'll see you then."

Hanging up the phone, Strange turned to Dumbledore. "It's all arranged. Given the setting on you biological clock, why don't I show you to one of my guest rooms so you can settle in and maybe get at least a nap before we leave."

Dumbledore smiled. "That would be a relief. I'm no longer as young as I once was."

In Westchester, Sage went to the communications room down in the complex beneath the school and contacted the X-Jet. "Dr. Strange just called. He'd like to bring a friend by for dinner. The man's name is Albus Dumbledore and he's . . . ."

"I know who he is," Logan interrupted. "He's a man with a whole helluva lotta explainin' t' do. I can't wait t' see him."

"Should I set the Danger Room up as a dining room to reduce the collateral damage to the school?" She asked only half in jest.

"I doubt that will be necessary, Tessa," Xavier smiled; a longsuffering expression. "It's likely that if the High Evolutionary manipulated you and Jean and her family, he wouldn't have much of a problem manipulating key members of the Wizarding Community of Britain."

"Ya got a point," Logan admitted almost reluctantly. "Th' Dumbledore James Potter remembers woulda never put a helpless child in such a situation without good reason, an' certainly wouldn'ta left the kid there once he discovered how he was bein' treated . . . an' he woulda discovered it, too. He'da made it his job t' keep an eye on th' boy."

He sighed. "It'll be good t' see th' old man again; find out what happened t' th' other Marauders; Padfoot, Moonie an' Wormtail. Even then I was into nicknames an' codenames an' th' like. Strange how little things've changed. Even in that life I was still a warrior. Just a different battle."