Steve Rogers had seen a lot of strange things in his time—aliens, gods, billionaires in flying metal suits. At this point, you'd think nothing would surprise him.
And yet, here he was, standing in front of a literal mutant Hogwarts, feeling like he'd stepped into the X-Men version of a Wes Anderson movie.
The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters was a sprawling mansion, all ivy-covered walls and old-money aesthetic. The kind of place that probably had hidden passages and at least one ghost who spent his afterlife dramatically sighing in a Victorian accent.
But Steve knew better. Behind these fancy doors, kids were learning how to throw fireballs, walk through walls, and—if the kid who just accidentally teleported out of his sneakers was any indication—make physics cry.
The gates had already opened for him (big thank you to prearranged meetings), but he still glanced up at the security cameras. Yeah, the place looked all polished and proper, but considering that half the student body could level a city block on a bad day, he figured security here was probably a little tighter than the average prep school.
He strode up the driveway, taking in the scene. Kids milled about—some reading, some practicing their powers in ways that ranged from "mildly impressive" to "this is definitely a fire hazard." A girl hovered three feet in the air, completely unfazed as she flipped through a book. A boy shot an accidental jolt of electricity at his friend, who yelped loud enough to scare a flock of birds.
Steve smirked. Reminds me of Brooklyn.
Before he could knock, the massive front doors swung open. And there, framed by the grand hallway like she was posing for the cover of a magazine, stood Ororo Munroe—Storm.
Now, Steve had met a lot of intimidating people. He'd gone toe-to-toe with the Hulk. He'd seen Nick Fury glare a man into retirement. He'd been on the receiving end of the patented Natasha Romanoff Death Glare™ enough times to know true terror.
But Ororo?
Ororo had a presence. She didn't just stand in the doorway; she owned the doorway. Her piercing eyes said, I control the weather, what do you do, Captain? and Steve, despite all his super-soldier confidence, had the distinct feeling that this was her school and he was just a guest.
"Captain Rogers," she greeted, smooth as silk.
Steve nodded. "Hope I'm not too early."
Her lips twitched, the smallest ghost of a smile. "Logan didn't specify a time. Which means any time is too early for him."
Steve chuckled. "Sounds about right."
She stepped aside, letting him in.
The mansion's interior was even grander than he expected—towering bookshelves, sweeping staircases, the kind of place that made you want to talk in a hushed British accent.
"Nice place," he said, scanning the halls.
Ororo smirked. "It's a lot bigger than it looks."
Steve raised an eyebrow. "Bigger on the inside?"
She just smiled knowingly. He had a feeling that this place had way more secrets than it let on.
"Where's Logan?" he asked, though he already had a pretty solid guess.
Ororo exhaled, the ghost of a laugh. "Where do you think?"
Right. So that meant one of two things:
Logan was in the Danger Room, throwing himself into a definitely-not-OSHA-approved training session.
Logan was outside, aggressively pretending to be a lone wolf while smoking a cigar, despite very much being part of a pack.
Steve turned toward the nearest exit.
"Let me guess," he said. "He's brooding somewhere."
Ororo's smirk deepened. "You do know him well."
As they walked through the mansion, students did a very bad job of pretending they weren't staring at Captain America. One kid, barely ten, whispered, "Dude, he fought Red Skull!"
Steve did his best to ignore it because, honestly? That was still a sore subject.
Finally, they stepped outside. The backyard stretched wide, leading down to a lake. And, of course, under a lone tree, wearing his signature leather jacket and "I don't care" attitude, was Logan.
Cigar in hand. Arms crossed. Peak brooding achieved.
Logan didn't even look up.
"You're late, bub."
Steve crossed his arms. "Didn't know we set a time."
Logan took a long drag of his cigar. Exhaled. "You should've known to get here earlier, then."
Ororo sighed like a woman who had witnessed this exact interaction at least a hundred times.
"I'll leave you two to it," she said. "Try not to destroy the mansion."
"No promises," Logan muttered.
Steve smirked. "She's got a point. Last time we sparred, you took a chunk out of the gym floor."
Logan finally looked at him, eyes gleaming. "Then I guess we better take this somewhere sturdier."
Steve cracked his knuckles.
"Lead the way."
—
Logan cracked his neck with all the enthusiasm of a man deciding between a bar fight and a nap. Honestly, with him, it could go either way. He took one last drag of his cigar before flicking it away with casual disrespect for both school rules and Ororo's patience. Somewhere, the sky rumbled ominously, because apparently, Mother Nature herself had an opinion on Logan's bad habits.
Steve crossed his arms. "One day, she's going to fry you for that."
Logan smirked. "She can try."
A gust of wind swept past them, definitely not a coincidence. Steve wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.
Instead, he focused on the matter at hand. "Alright, where are the kids? I thought we were training them here."
Logan didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. Steve half-expected him to pull out another cigar, or maybe a flask of questionable legality. But instead, Logan pulled out…
A rope.
An old, frayed length of rope, the kind Steve's mom used to hang laundry back in Brooklyn. The kind that screamed nothing good comes from this.
Steve squinted at it, then at Logan. "That's not a training schedule."
Logan held it out. "Hold this."
Steve didn't move. "Why?"
Logan just kept staring.
Steve sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Logan, when someone tells me to grab an old piece of rope without explanation, it usually means I'm about to get punched in the face."
Logan's smirk widened. "Not this time."
"…That doesn't make me feel better."
Logan just gave the rope a little shake. "C'mon, Cap. Live a little."
Steve muttered something about bad ideas and worse decisions, but against his better judgment, he grabbed the rope. It felt normal. Rough. Suspiciously innocent. Which meant it was probably about to ruin his day.
Logan's grin turned downright wicked. "Atta boy."
Then, before Steve could ask what fresh nonsense he'd just signed up for—
Logan said, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."
Steve blinked. "You solemnly what—?"
And then—
A violent, stomach-lurching yank at his navel. Like something hooked him from the inside and decided up was a suggestion.
His feet left the ground. The world twisted, blurred, and before he could even shout what the hell, Logan?!, everything was spinning.
Steve had fought actual Nazis.
But this?
Yeah. This was new.
—
Scottish Highlands, Surprise Teleportation, and an Overabundance of Snark
Steve Rogers had been through a lot in his time—war, super-serum experiments, time travel, being frozen in ice for seventy years. But somehow, none of that quite compared to the uniquely disorienting sensation of being yeeted across the planet with zero warning.
One second, he was in New York. The next, he was face-planting into the soggy grass of what looked like the actual Scottish Highlands.
Steve groaned, rolling onto his back. His muscles protested every movement, like they'd just run a marathon without his permission. The cold air smelled like pine and rain, the sky was an unsettling shade of gray and brooding, and there was a castle in the distance because, of course, there was.
He pushed himself to his feet, muttering under his breath. Logan, naturally, was standing there looking completely unfazed, like he'd just stepped out for a morning stroll instead of dragging Steve across continents.
"How in the world—" Steve started, then stopped. He took a deep breath, recalibrating his brain to accept the absurdity of his current situation. "Where are we?"
Logan smirked, the kind of smirk that made Steve want to throw something at him. "Scottish Highlands."
Steve gave him a flat look. "Yes, thank you, I can see that. I meant how did we get here?"
Logan just shrugged like this was the most normal thing in the world. "Got connections."
Steve took another slow, steady breath, the way Sam had taught him when he felt an overwhelming urge to lecture someone into submission. "Connections."
"Yep."
"To teleport."
"Yep."
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "Logan."
Logan grinned, looking way too pleased with himself. "Rogers."
"Did we at least technically take a plane, or did we just break the laws of physics?"
Logan chuckled, lighting a cigar like they weren't standing in the middle of a vast, windswept moor. "Magic, bub. You get used to it."
Steve did not get used to it. He was still adjusting to Stark tech, and that at least pretended to follow scientific laws.
Before Steve could argue further, Logan nodded toward the castle. "Look sharp, Cap. We're about to have company."
Steve turned just in time to see a man striding toward them.
Tall. Messy black hair. Sharp, aristocratic features that suggested he had an opinion on everything and wasn't afraid to share it. The guy moved with a lazy sort of confidence, like he was used to being the most interesting person in the room, and he knew it.
Something about him itched at the back of Steve's brain, like a half-remembered dream.
"Steve Rogers," Logan said, tilting his head toward the newcomer. "Meet Sirius Black."
Sirius grinned, the kind of grin that belonged on someone who had definitely committed at least one felony but had somehow charmed his way out of it. "Pleasure." His voice was deep, rich, with a hint of amusement—like the whole world was just one long, elaborate joke he was in on.
Steve shook his hand, ignoring the nagging why do I know this guy? feeling gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. "Nice to meet you."
Sirius gave him a once-over, eyes sharp with interest. "So, you're the famous Captain America."
Steve sighed. "I don't call myself that."
"Yeah, but everyone else does, so at this point, it's just your problem."
Steve opened his mouth, then closed it. He did not have a good argument against that.
Then, suddenly, something clicked. The familiarity, the features, the name—his brain finally supplied a missing puzzle piece, and it hit him like a punch to the gut.
"Wait a second," Steve said, narrowing his eyes. "Are you related to Arcturus Black?"
Sirius froze.
Not in an obvious way, but in the way a person freezes when someone just casually drops a piece of information they should not have. His easy smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered.
"Arcturus?" Sirius echoed, tilting his head like he was trying to read Steve's mind. "Yeah, he was my grandfather."
Steve nodded, arms crossing over his chest. "Thought so."
Logan let out a low whistle, eyeing Steve with something like amusement. "Didn't think Captain America knew about the magical side of things."
Sirius, still watching Steve carefully, let out a chuckle. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to agree with Logan on this one. How exactly do you know my grandfather?"
Steve shrugged. "I mean, I wasn't friends with him or anything, but the name came up a couple times during the war." He hesitated, watching Sirius's reaction. "You'd be surprised what you pick up when you're running around fighting Nazis."
Sirius arched an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "I would be surprised, actually. You do know he was a wizard, right?"
Steve shot him a dry look. "I do."
Sirius laughed, a full, rich sound. "Okay, you might actually be more interesting than I thought."
Steve sighed, glancing at Logan. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?"
Logan smirked around his cigar. "Figured I'd let you have your moment."
"Gee, thanks," Steve muttered.
Sirius crossed his arms, regarding Steve with new interest. "You, Captain Rogers, are definitely not your average Muggle."
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I've been told that before."
Sirius grinned. "I think I'm gonna like you, Cap."
Steve raised an eyebrow. "We'll see about that."
There was something in the way Sirius looked at him now—like he was re-evaluating everything he thought he knew. Steve wasn't sure what exactly he'd just stepped into, but one thing was clear:
This was not going to be a normal day.
—
As Steve and Logan walked toward the castle, Steve couldn't shake the feeling that they were heading straight into a place that belonged to the kind of story you only told around a campfire—one where the punchline was always "and then everything changed."
Logan, however, seemed as unbothered as ever. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, his face as unreadable as a brick wall. He could've been heading into a bar instead of some ancient, mystical fortress. Steve figured that's just how the guy rolled. Either that, or he was secretly part mountain.
"Alright, Captain America," Sirius said, breaking the silence in his usual mischievous tone. "Ever heard of Hogwarts?"
Steve blinked, the name sounding more like a punchline than a place. "Hogwarts?" he repeated, his mind momentarily lost. "What, like, some kind of school?"
Sirius, clearly relishing this, shot Steve a grin that could've rivaled a Cheshire cat's. "Yeah, the castle over there," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the looming stone structure that looked more like it belonged in a fantasy novel than the real world. "Was just wondering if Arcturus Black ever mentioned it to you."
Steve's boots crunched on the gravel as he came to a stop, looking at Sirius like he had just asked him if he'd met a wizard named Gandalf. "Arcturus Black?" he repeated, scrunching his nose. "I don't think so. But—" he paused, tapping his chin. "Charlus Potter did mention something about it once."
Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, and if Steve wasn't mistaken, the guy looked like he'd just been hit with a full-force patronus. "Charlus Potter?" he echoed, his tone a mix of disbelief and… something else Steve couldn't quite place.
Logan, who had been quietly observing the exchange like it was the latest episode of a soap opera, finally spoke up. "Charlus Potter? You know that name?"
Sirius snapped out of his stupor, throwing a glance at Logan before turning back to Steve. "How do you know Charlus Potter, Rogers?" There was a glint in his eye now, like he was trying to figure out if Steve was playing some kind of prank.
Steve let out an awkward laugh, but there was no hiding the truth now. "Uh, well, long story. You know, the war and all that... OSS—before it became SHIELD—teamed up with a group called the Black Dragon Legion. It was a team of witches and wizards, led by Arcturus Black and, you guessed it, Charlus Potter. They were fighting against the Knights of Walpurgis—Grindelwald's followers, the really nasty ones."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, and Logan just stared at him, taking this all in. Steve kept going, feeling the weight of the past tugging at him.
"Anyway," Steve continued, "we stormed this underground bunker, where Red Skull and Grindelwald were supposed to meet. We busted up their plans—mission was a success—but both of them managed to escape. Grindelwald threw out some fancy spell called 'Protego Diabolica.' It was bad news. We couldn't catch them, but the mission was a win."
Sirius whistled under his breath, his eyes wide. "That sounds like something out of an old spy novel," he remarked, obviously impressed. "You were part of that?"
Steve scratched the back of his head, trying to dismiss the gravity of it all with a forced grin. "Yeah, well, we had our hands full. And, uh, the intel was all classified. 'Need-to-know' only." He gave a sideways glance at Logan. "And you didn't need to know, buddy."
Logan, who had been chewing on something invisible in his mind, stopped and let out a low grunt. "Never heard of that mission," he muttered, the edges of his voice dripping with suspicion. "Always keeping secrets."
Steve's grin didn't falter. "Yeah, well, not everything's for you to know, Logan."
Sirius watched the exchange, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. He didn't waste a second before leaning in with his trademark grin. "Funny you should mention Charlus Potter," he said, clearly relishing the moment. "Because one of the kids you're here to train? He's Charlus' grandson."
Steve blinked. Then blinked again. "You've got to be kidding me." He looked over at Sirius like the man had just sprouted a second head. "Charlus Potter's grandson? Is this some kind of joke?"
Sirius shrugged, his grin turning devilish. "Nope, not at all. His name's Harry Potter. And he's quite the... legend in the making."
Steve felt his jaw go a little slack. "Harry Potter?" The name had a ring to it—familiar and strange all at once. But what hit him harder was the look in Sirius' eyes. The man wasn't pulling his leg.
Logan, who had been unusually quiet up until now, ran a hand through his hair and groaned. "Don't remind me," he muttered under his breath. "The kid's a menace."
Sirius laughed, giving Logan a playful slap on the back. "Oh, he's not that bad. I'm sure Steve'll be able to handle him."
Steve was trying to wrap his head around all of this—Charlus Potter's grandson, Hogwarts, wizards and witches teaming up with spies. But before he could voice his confusion, Sirius dropped another bombshell.
"Oh, and by the way," Sirius said, his eyes gleaming with amusement, "you're gonna need more than coffee to handle today."
Steve shot him a wry smile. "I was planning on it," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know what I've gotten myself into, but it's too late now."
Logan grinned like he had just heard the punchline of a very bad joke. "Too late? Buddy, you've already stepped into a world of crazy. Welcome to the club."
The wind whipped around them, and the castle loomed ever closer. Steve's mind was racing with questions, but one thing was clear: he wasn't in Kansas anymore. And Hogwarts? It was just the beginning.
—
As the trio approached the towering doors of the Great Hall, Steve Rogers was starting to feel like he had stepped into a whole new world—a world that felt way too magical for his taste. His instincts were on high alert, as they usually were when he was about to walk into some sort of giant "I'm here to save the day" moment. But this? This felt different. The place had an energy about it, something ancient and deeply unsettling. And that wasn't just the massive door creaking open like it was about to swallow them whole.
Sirius, who was practically bouncing with excitement, gave Steve a grin that said, Oh, you have no idea what's about to happen. He was clearly enjoying the spectacle of Steve trying to make sense of it all. Logan, on the other hand, just had that look on his face—the one that said, I'm here for one reason only: to punch something if it gets in my way.
"Ready to meet the big boss?" Sirius asked, his voice laced with mischievous amusement.
Steve raised an eyebrow, his arms crossing over his chest. "Big boss? You're not telling me I'm about to meet another 'mysterious leader' type, are you? I've had my fill of those."
Logan snorted from behind him. "Yeah, well, this one's got a different flavor than Fury. Not sure it's any better, but at least he's not trying to put a leash on us."
Sirius grinned even wider. "Albus Dumbledore, Steve. You'll either love him or wonder if you've gone insane. Probably both."
Steve wasn't sure what to make of that. But before he could ask more questions, the Great Hall doors creaked open with a sound that could've been pulled straight out of a haunted house movie. Inside, the flicker of countless candles illuminated a long, grand table, and at the far end of the hall, there stood Albus Dumbledore—tall, regal, and dressed in robes that seemed to shimmer and swirl like they were woven from the night sky.
Steve's first instinct was to stand up straighter, his military training kicking in without him even thinking about it. He'd met leaders before, but this guy… this guy had presence. His piercing blue eyes twinkled, and his smile was the kind of warm that made you feel like you'd just been welcomed into a giant hug—and then maybe that hug would throw you off a cliff just for fun. The man had vibes.
"Ah, Sirius Black," Dumbledore said, his voice like warm honey and ancient secrets. "Logan Howlett. And—ah, Steve Rogers." His gaze flicked over Steve with a knowing look, like he already knew all about him—everything, from the super soldier serum to the battles to his never-ending struggle with gluten.
Steve straightened, his hands instinctively finding their way to his sides, trying to keep it professional. "I'm guessing this isn't the kind of thing you put on your holiday card, huh?" he said with a small, wry smile, trying to figure this guy out.
Sirius slapped him on the back like he was some long-lost friend. "Don't let Dumbledore's calmness fool you, mate. The guy can drop a speech that'll make you question everything, and then take your shoes off just to see if you can dance in your own brain."
Logan, who had been silently sizing up Dumbledore this whole time, finally spoke up. "So you're the one running the circus?" His voice was gravelly, like a boulder had decided to talk. His eyes never left Dumbledore's face. "I've seen my fair share of 'leaders,' but if you start handing out pamphlets about fate, destiny, and all that nonsense, I might have to start a rebellion."
Dumbledore didn't flinch. He just smiled. "I suppose that depends on how you define the word 'rebellion,' Logan. After all, some would call it the beginning of change."
Steve's face twisted slightly. Oh, here we go, he thought. But before he could voice that, Dumbledore continued, his voice full of amusement. "I've heard much about you, Steve. But you know, sometimes hearing is not quite the same as experiencing."
Sirius gave Steve a nudge. "He's got a way with words. Just wait until you hear his explanation of 'doing the right thing' in an ethically grey world."
Steve raised his eyebrow again. "I'm starting to get the sense that all of you have... interesting ways of looking at the world."
"Oh, you'll get used to it," Dumbledore chimed in, and then turned to lead them through a door at the back of the hall. "Shall we move on? There's much to discuss."
With that, they followed Dumbledore down winding corridors, their footsteps echoing in the stone halls. Steve couldn't help but feel like he was being led into some kind of big reveal. He wanted to crack a joke, maybe throw in a this place looks like it's ready for a haunted house attraction line, but then Logan muttered something about being "ready to spill blood if it came to it," and Steve decided it was better to just follow along.
Sirius, clearly the one with all the answers, leaned toward Steve with that grin again. "You know, I'd say we're probably a bit too sane for the people we're about to meet."
"Who are we meeting, anyway?" Steve asked.
Sirius chuckled. "Just a bunch of kids who think they're the next generation of heroes. The kinds of kids who'll make you rethink everything you thought you knew about your own moral compass."
Logan snorted. "That's saying something."
The group finally reached the Seventh Floor, the air in the hallway growing a little more charged, like it had absorbed the energy of the people who walked it. Steve felt like they were heading toward some sort of final showdown, but he knew better than to assume anything.
Then, around the corner, they saw them. A small group of teenagers, standing together, whispering among themselves—until they caught sight of Dumbledore. Instantly, they straightened up like soldiers at attention.
"Ah," Dumbledore's voice rang out, full of warmth as always, "Allow me to introduce you all to the young heroes you'll be training. Children, meet Steve Rogers, Logan Howlett, and Sirius Black."
Steve's stomach did a little flip as the kids turned toward them. Each one had a look of quiet curiosity—and Steve immediately recognized that there was something special about them. These were the next generation, the ones who would carry the torch of heroism and responsibility. And somehow, he was about to get roped into shaping their future.
"Well," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "I have a feeling this will be quite the interesting day." He gave them all a knowing look, as though the mystery had just begun.
And that, was when Steve Rogers finally realized he might have gotten in way over his head.
—
The room was packed with MageX members, all of them buzzing with that strange mix of excitement and nervous energy that Harry had come to recognize. He was used to being the center of attention by now—being the guy with the Mutant powers, the guy who could lift a tank with his pinky finger (or, at least, he liked to pretend he could)—but today? Today was different. Today, he was trying to figure out why Captain America, the iconic symbol of World War II and spandex suits, was standing in front of him looking perfectly at home in a room full of teenage magic users.
"Uh... guys, am I hallucinating, or is that really Captain America standing in the same room as us?" Harry muttered, mostly to Jean and Susan, though he was pretty sure everyone heard him. His voice was tinged with confusion, but mostly just a hint of disbelief. He wasn't the most normal guy in the room, but Steve Rogers? That was next level weird.
Jean, with her usual mix of intrigue and skepticism (if you could call it that—honestly, her face was like a vault), raised a brow and shrugged. "I thought we invited Logan. I'm pretty sure we invited Logan."
"I thought so too," Harry said, trying to piece together this mess of a situation. "But instead, we've got... this." He gestured toward Steve, who was standing next to Logan, both of them looking ready to ruin Harry's whole existence by proving that he was a real hero in a way Harry had never been.
Susan, ever the voice of reason (and, in this case, snarky commentary), crossed her arms and shot Harry a sidelong glance. "So... we have two legendary heroes now? Does that mean we're all getting matching shields, or is this a 'you just need a wand' kind of deal?"
Before Harry could formulate a snarky response, the ever-charismatic Sirius Black—who was far too pleased with himself—clapped his hands and stepped forward, clearly ready to announce something.
"Surprise!" Sirius declared, spreading his arms like he was revealing a massive, glittering treasure chest. He was clearly loving the moment. "We figured you lot could use a little extra muscle. Not every day you get to have a training session with Captain America himself. Besides, I think he's got a thing or two to teach you all."
Harry blinked, staring at Sirius as if he'd just announced the arrival of the Loch Ness Monster. "Wait. You're telling me, you decided, 'Nah, let's throw Captain America into the mix'?"
Logan, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, smirked in that annoyingly sarcastic way that only he could pull off. "Yep, that was the idea," he said, voice dripping with mild amusement. "Turns out, Steve here wants to get his hands dirty. What do you think, kid? You ready to learn how to throw a punch without breaking your wrist?"
Steve shot Logan a look that would have frozen a lesser man. "I can handle more than a punch, Logan," Steve said, his voice steady as always, like he'd been in a hundred life-or-death situations and had seen everything. "Don't assume just because I wear a star-spangled suit that I'm soft."
"Oh, I don't assume," Logan said, raising an eyebrow. "I've just seen a lot of people wear shiny suits and get real surprised when things get messy."
Before the argument could go any further, Jean, clearly having had enough, cut in. "This is not what I signed up for," she muttered, and Harry couldn't help but laugh. Jean Grey was, well, Jean—impressive and all, but occasionally, even her patience had limits. She looked between Steve and Harry with a mixture of curiosity and slight confusion. "So... we're getting combat lessons? From him?" she said, jerking a thumb toward Steve.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Yes, exactly. You think we're going to train a bunch of super-powered teenagers in magic, combat, and the whole 'saving the world' routine with just a few lessons from me and a bunch of spells? No way. Some of you might need to know how to punch something without using magic."
Cedric, who had been unusually quiet for a change, cleared his throat. "I think it's a good idea," he said, looking at Steve with that signature brooding intensity of his. He did tend to brood—Cedric wasn't always the chirpy guy he had been in the past. He wasn't one to brood (though Harry suspected it was only a matter of time), but he certainly wasn't just the cheerful Hogwarts champ either.
"Yeah, man's right. You know how to throw a punch?" Cedric added, looking over at Steve like he could actually learn something. "No one's been able to teach me that without magic."
"That's the point," Harry said with a slight chuckle, trying to push past the mental image of Captain America throwing punches in a room full of wizards. "But, uh, Steve... what's the real deal here? Are we going full-on superhero training or something? Because—no offense—my whole 'rescue my godfather from a veiled dimension' thing didn't involve any shielding."
Steve just gave him a grin that Harry didn't know how to process. "Well, Potter, it's not just about the shield," Steve said, his smile warm but deadly serious underneath. "It's about knowing when to stand your ground. And when to run—because sometimes running is the best thing you can do."
"Great," Harry muttered, "now I have to worry about running too much."
Sirius, who clearly loved dragging out his dramatic moments, slapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You'll thank us later, kid. Trust me."
And before Harry could object, Logan stepped up to the center of the room, crossing his arms. "Alright," he said, voice full of gruff authority, "Let's see what you've got. You all are about to get the lesson of a lifetime. So, if you can't handle a little pain, now's the time to bail."
Harry shot a glance at Jean, who was still looking mildly bewildered, and then at Susan, who just sighed and muttered, "Honestly, at this point, I'll just be glad if we don't end up in the hospital wing by the end of the day."
Harry, however, couldn't help but grin. "Well," he said, as he squared his shoulders, looking straight at Steve. "Let's see if you can teach me something worth remembering."
Jean shot Harry a quick, conspiratorial glance. "Something tells me this isn't going to be a normal day," she muttered under her breath.
And with that, the training officially began.
---
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