The training room was a chaos of noise, clanking metal, and a few choice curses (mostly from Ron, because of course). Captain America—Steve Rogers, if you wanted to be formal—stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, giving everyone the look. You know the look. The one that says, I'm about to make your life miserable in the best way possible. The kids were already bouncing with nervous energy, but Steve wasn't here to babysit. He was here to turn them into actual heroes.
"Alright, listen up!" Steve barked, and it wasn't like one of those friendly barks. It was the kind that made you want to drop everything and pay attention, fast. "I don't care if you've got magic or mutant powers or an endless supply of bubblegum, today's the day you find out just how much you don't know about being a hero. Got it?"
Ron looked like he was about to combust with excitement—or maybe it was the overwhelming terror. "Finally," he muttered, bouncing on his heels. "Something that doesn't involve running from danger."
Steve's eyes snapped to Ron. "Running away's an option, Weasley, but trust me, it's not the good kind. The kind you only use when you're sure you're about to die. And I'm not going to let you get comfortable thinking danger's going to wait for you to be ready. Now. Laps. You've got one minute to make it around the room. But, uh, I'll be throwing obstacles at you. Think you can handle it?"
There was an awkward pause, followed by Fred's grin. "Do we get extra points if we, you know, trip him up?"
"Definitely," George added, already scheming.
Steve shot a look over his shoulder as he took off at a sprint. "No tricks," he called back. "If I see any magic or pranks, I'll make you do double laps. And I'm not doing this for fun."
Fred and George groaned in perfect harmony, but their feet were already moving, and they weren't alone. The others scrambled to keep up. But the first lap? It was complete chaos.
Objects started sliding from the walls like they were auditioning for some sort of action movie. Fake walls popped up as if the room were having a midlife crisis. Concrete slabs appeared out of nowhere, all aimed at making sure they didn't get too comfortable.
Fred was the first to go down, tripping over one of the slabs and faceplanting into a wall. He bounced back up like some weird rubber doll. "This is not how I pictured today going," he grumbled.
George, trying to use magic to get ahead, was immediately met with Steve's booming voice.
"Save your spells for when it really counts!" Steve snapped. "I'm not here for fireworks, I'm here to see if you've got the stamina to not die the first time you're in real danger."
Luna, the ever-chill cool cat of the group, twirled through the obstacles like it was a casual stroll in a field of daisies, humming a tune to herself. She didn't even seem to notice the fake barrel that nearly nailed her knee. "Is this part of the test?" she called out, totally unbothered, while effortlessly avoiding a slab that fell right in front of her.
Steve barely spared her a glance. "Luna, stop the humming and run. Less magic and more sprinting, alright?"
Meanwhile, Hermione was on the far side of the room, her face scrunched in determination. She was dodging obstacles like a well-oiled machine. Her mind was like a calculator processing each move. "I knew running would be involved," she muttered, her legs still working even as she dodged another fake wall. "But this? I didn't expect this."
Steve's voice rang out again. "Granger! I said no slacking off. Push harder."
Hermione didn't even flinch. She just sped up, closing the gap between her and Luna, who was twirling through the mess like she had all the time in the world.
And then there was Ron. Poor, poor Ron. His feet felt like bricks, and every time he tried to move faster, his legs screamed, What the heck are you doing?! He dodged a couple of obstacles but mostly looked like he was struggling to keep it together.
"Thirty seconds left, Weasley!" Steve's voice was like a drill sergeant from hell. "Move it, or I'll make you do it again!"
"No breaks?" Ron gasped, as though Steve had just asked him to solve the entire mystery of the universe in fifteen seconds. "Why didn't I get the Captain America Handbook?!"
Steve's grin grew. "If I gave you a handbook, Weasley, you'd just sit there and read it while the rest of us finished the lap."
Ron gave a wheezing laugh, pushing through to finish the lap as the others were already catching their breath. Fred, George, and Hermione were lined up, panting like they'd just finished a marathon. Luna was practically hovering above the ground, her serene face unbothered by the chaos. Ron, meanwhile, looked like he'd just run through a sandstorm wearing a wool sweater.
Steve wasn't about to let them off easy. "Good," he said, clapping his hands together. "Now we move on to the next thing: push-ups. But not just any push-ups—weighted push-ups. I want you to give me as many as you can in twenty seconds. If you slow down, extra laps. I don't do 'extra' for fun."
George groaned so loudly you'd think Steve had sentenced him to a lifetime of grunt work. "Push-ups? Seriously?"
"Seriously," Steve said, with that grin that just spelled trouble. "If you can't even handle these, you're going to have a very rough time out there. This is what it feels like to be a hero."
With that, Steve dropped to the floor like it was nothing, pounding out the push-ups with military precision. The others, including Ron, followed suit, though not without some groaning. And of course, Steve called out corrections.
"Focus, Weasley! Tighten your core!"
Fred, struggling through his own set, gave Ron a sympathetic look. "Just pretend you're dodging a giant," he said, struggling to push through his own set.
George chimed in. "Or pretend you're escaping from Steve's wrath. That works too."
Luna, still looking completely at ease, was doing push-ups at a pace so smooth it was like watching someone in a meditation class. "I think the magic's in the posture," she commented, barely out of breath, as everyone else was still grunting through their sets.
"Are you all paying attention?" Steve's voice broke through the haze of effort. "This is nothing compared to what I've got planned next. So if you're ready to puke, do it after the next set. No mercy. Got it?"
By the end of the day, if they had any energy left, they'd have earned it—and learned exactly what it meant to push their limits. Because Steve Rogers wasn't here to make friends. He was here to make heroes. And if they didn't survive today, well, that's on them.
But hey, at least they'd have a great story to tell. Right?
—
Cedric Diggory was about ninety percent sure Logan was trying to kill him.
Not in a haha, let's have a friendly sparring session way. No, this was more of a let's see if you survive getting hit by a homicidal badger with adamantium claws kind of way.
His ribs felt like they'd been used as drumsticks in a particularly aggressive rock concert, and he was about eighty percent sure his left eye wasn't functioning properly anymore. Meanwhile, Logan—who, let's face it, had been around since the Jurassic period—was barely even sweating.
"You still breathing, bub?" Logan asked, rolling his shoulder. The pop it made was genuinely concerning.
Cedric wiped some blood—hopefully his own—off his chin and gave a thumbs-up. "Define breathing."
Logan grinned. "Good answer. Now, let's crank things up a notch."
"Wait—"
Too late.
Logan vanished.
Not in a smoke bomb, ninja-style way. More like a one second he's there, the next he's punched you into next Tuesday way.
Before Cedric's brain could catch up, something slammed into his side, sending him sprawling across the mat. He hit the ground so hard, his soul briefly considered leaving his body.
"What the actual—"
"Feral senses, Diggory," Logan said, crouching next to him like a smug Wolverine-shaped gargoyle. "Yours are waking up, but you're still thinking like a human. And if you keep doing that, you're gonna get gutted in a real fight."
Cedric groaned and rolled onto his side. "You keep saying that, but what does it actually mean?"
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose like he was debating whether or not to strangle Cedric. "Alright. Let's make this simple. Right now, you rely on your eyes too much." He pointed at Cedric's face like it personally offended him. "Your ears? Garbage. Your nose? Useless. Your instincts? Non-existent."
"Wow. Just say you hate me and go," Cedric muttered.
"But!" Logan continued, ignoring him, "your mutation's kicking in. Your body is picking up stuff you don't even know how to register yet. Changes in air movement. Scents. Sounds humans can't hear. Your brain just needs to trust it."
Cedric sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head. "And how exactly do I do that?"
Logan's grin was not encouraging. "Funny you should ask."
He reached into his pocket and tossed something at Cedric.
A blindfold.
Cedric stared at it like it was an active grenade. "You're joking."
"Put it on."
"You do realize my mutation doesn't come with echolocation, right? I'm not a bat."
Logan shrugged. "Then this is gonna be real fun for me."
With a deep, suffering sigh that he hoped conveyed just how much he hated this, Cedric tied the blindfold over his eyes.
Darkness.
"Alright," Logan said, circling him. "First thing—don't listen for me."
Cedric frowned. "That seems counterintuitive."
Logan flicked him on the forehead.
"Ow! What the hell?"
"You're thinking like a human again," Logan chided. "I told you—your senses are all working together now. Your instincts pick up on stuff before your brain does. You just don't trust it yet."
Cedric gritted his teeth. "Fine. So what do I do?"
Logan kept circling. Cedric focused.
No eyes. No clue where Logan was.
And yet... something shifted.
The air. The scent of sweat and cigar smoke moving in a certain direction. A faint creak of the floorboards—
Instinct kicked in.
Cedric ducked just in time to avoid Logan's fist swinging at his face.
"Hah!" Cedric grinned. "Did you see that?!"
"Yeah," Logan deadpanned. "Too slow."
Then Cedric's entire world exploded in pain as Logan swept his legs out from under him and bodyslammed him into the mat.
"OW—bloody—ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!"
Logan snorted. "Nah. If I was, you'd already be dead. Now, get up."
Cedric groaned, rubbing his head. "I swear, this is just an elaborate excuse for you to beat up teenagers."
"Only the dumb ones."
"Wow. Okay. Rude."
"Now, let's go again," Logan said. "And this time—feel before you react."
After the fifth time Logan knocked Cedric on his ass, he started noticing a pattern.
Every time Logan moved, there was something—a shift in air pressure, a scent, the sound of his boots scuffing the mat. Cedric's brain was registering it, but his instincts were still fighting his logic.
The sixth time Logan attacked, Cedric shut his mind off.
And he moved.
He sidestepped a fraction of a second before Logan struck, claws whistling through the air where Cedric's ribs had been.
Logan grunted. "Not bad."
Cedric smirked. "I'm amazing."
Logan immediately punched him in the stomach.
"GAH—" Cedric doubled over, wheezing.
"Stay humble, kid."
"Noted," Cedric wheezed.
Logan backed up, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, Diggory. Last test."
Cedric eyed him warily. "I swear, if you throw me into a bear pit—"
Logan grinned. "No bears. Just me."
"...That's worse."
Before Cedric could process that statement, Logan lunged.
This time, it wasn't a training exercise. It was full-speed, full-force, no-holding-back Wolverine.
Cedric didn't think.
He reacted.
Duck. Twist. Swipe.
He wasn't fighting Logan. He was flowing with him. His body moved on pure instinct—like he wasn't Cedric Diggory, Hogwarts' golden boy, anymore. He was something else. Something feral.
And then—without meaning to—Cedric lunged, claws flashing.
For the first time, Logan had to dodge.
Cedric landed in a crouch, chest heaving, claws extended. Logan glanced down at his shirt, where there was now a neat little tear.
A long pause.
Then Logan grinned. "Not bad, kid."
Cedric smirked. "Told you I'm amaz—"
Logan raised a fist.
"WAIT, WAIT—"
THUD.
Cedric hit the mat again.
"Stay humble," Logan reminded him.
From the floor, Cedric gave a weak thumbs-up. "Totally nailed it..."
Logan chuckled, offering a hand. "Lesson's over. For now."
As Cedric staggered to his feet, something dawned on him.
For the first time since this whole feral mutation thing started... he didn't feel like a lost cause anymore.
Painful? Yes. Humiliating? Absolutely.
But lost?
Not a chance.
—
Logan didn't coddle. Hell, Logan didn't even do empathy. But as he watched Cedric struggle to his feet—bruised, battered, but somehow still there—a tiny flicker of something shifted behind his eyes. He flicked his cigar and took a slow drag, like he was contemplating the mysteries of the universe instead of, you know, teaching a kid how not to get killed.
"Alright, kid," Logan grunted, his gravelly voice scraping against the air like sandpaper. "You did good. I'll admit, didn't think you had it in you."
Cedric, panting like a dog that had just run a marathon in a heatwave, shot him a lopsided grin. "Told you. I'm pretty amazing."
Logan arched an eyebrow, looking down at him like he was some sort of flea-ridden puppy that had decided to show off its tricks. "Yeah, well, you're still a pain in my ass. But you're getting there."
Cedric wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, wincing when the motion sent a wave of pain across his ribs. "Getting there? Dude, you knocked me out like a dozen times. If that's 'getting there,' I'm terrified of what 'being there' looks like."
Logan snorted, flicking the ash off his cigar like he didn't care about anything but the cool smoke swirling in the air. "That's 'cause you're still overthinking it. That's the thing about life, kid—whether it's magic, mutant powers, or just trying to survive in this crapshow of a world—you can't think too much. You gotta trust your instincts. Your body knows more than your brain half the time."
Cedric blinked, trying to wrap his head around the advice while still feeling like his brain was, quite literally, being pummeled by Logan's fists. "Wait, wait, wait. So, when I feel like my head's about to get knocked off, I just... do nothing?"
Logan chuckled, but it wasn't a friendly laugh. More like the kind someone makes when they're about to drop some truth bombs on you. "Nah. You gotta do something. But don't overthink it. That's the secret. You wanna fight like a beast, you gotta stop trying to outsmart yourself. You gotta act on instinct. It's about reaction, not overanalyzing every damn move."
Cedric frowned, looking more confused than ever. "So... like, just stop thinking entirely?"
Logan, crossing his arms like he was about to lecture a wayward schoolboy, gave him a hard stare. "Yeah. Stop second-guessing everything. When you're in the middle of a fight, and you freeze up 'cause your brain's overloading, that's when you get wrecked. You're still getting caught 'cause you're trying to plan out every damn thing. You don't have time for that."
Cedric's shoulders sagged, the exhaustion and bruises making him look like he might drop into unconsciousness any second. "Right, okay. So I stop thinking. Got it. What's next? More punches to the face?"
Logan's grin turned wicked. "Actually," he said, raising a finger like a bad teacher on a caffeine high, "you need to learn how to control that rage of yours. Use it. But don't let it control you."
Cedric blinked, his brain frying at the idea of controlling his rage. If Logan could control rage, then Cedric might need to rethink his entire life. "Control the rage? Dude, the only thing I've controlled in the last hour is my ability to not puke after you knocked the air out of me."
Logan shot him a sidelong glance, his eyes narrowing. "Rage ain't just about smashing things. It's a tool. A tool you can use to fuel yourself, but don't let it blind you. You control it, or it controls you. That's the difference between a feral animal and a warrior."
Cedric tried to picture himself as a warrior, but all he could see was some guy who couldn't even keep his lunch down after a few rounds with Logan. "So, like, Zen rage?"
Logan snorted, half-smiling at the absurdity. "Yeah. If Zen involved ripping someone's throat out with your bare hands."
Cedric paused, looking a little freaked out, and then shrugged. "Well, that's oddly reassuring."
Logan shot him a sideways glance. "If you can't control it, you're just gonna hurt the wrong people. I've been there. Done that. Believe me, you don't wanna go down that road."
There was a long silence, the weight of Logan's words sinking in, and Cedric chewed on them for a moment. Then, without missing a beat, he asked, "So... you hate yourself or something?"
Logan's eyes went cold. Like a lightbulb flicking off. "Ain't about me, kid. It's about you. You learn from my mistakes or you make your own. Either way, the world doesn't care. It'll keep spinning, and you'll be left in the dust if you're not careful."
Cedric took in the seriousness of Logan's tone and let out a low breath. "Right. Yeah. I get it now."
"Good. Now let's get back to you not dying," Logan growled, turning his back like he was done with the conversation.
Cedric groaned but managed to stand straighter, determined to try again. "Alright, no thinking. All animal instinct. Let's do this."
Before Cedric could even blink, Logan was on him again, moving faster than he could process. But this time, something inside Cedric clicked. He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He just reacted. He dodged Logan's first strike, feeling the air whizz past his face, and then jabbed.
It wasn't perfect. Hell, it wasn't even close. But Logan grunted, his surprise clear for just a split second, and Cedric felt a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as hopeless as he'd thought.
Logan straightened up, a bit more impressed than he wanted to admit. "Well, well. Look at you. Might just be dangerous after all."
Cedric wiped his forehead, still wincing with every movement. "Yeah, well, you still hit like a freight train."
Logan gave a gruff chuckle. "You've got a long way to go, but you're getting there. Just remember—stop overthinking it."
Cedric smirked, despite his sore muscles. "You're not as bad as I thought."
Logan shot him a smirk that was pure Logan. "Don't get used to it. You'll hate me again by the end of the week."
Cedric snorted, trying not to laugh too hard. "Sure. But right now? I think I might owe you one."
Logan raised an eyebrow, the same old cocky grin creeping across his face. "What? A thank-you?"
"Nah," Cedric said, grinning back. "But maybe... a cigar?"
Logan's expression froze for a second, before he pulled out the half-smoked stick and handed it over, a rare flicker of something soft in his eyes. "Alright, kid. Don't burn your damn lungs out. I'll see you later."
Cedric, feeling surprisingly grateful (and maybe a little bit of respect for the gruff mutant), took the cigar with a muttered "Thanks," and watched Logan walk off, his presence filling the air like a storm about to break.
As Cedric sank onto the mat, nursing his bruises, a thought occurred to him. Logan wasn't just some cranky guy with a cigar habit. He was a mentor. In the most messed-up way possible, he was teaching Cedric something.
"Yeah," Cedric muttered to himself, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "maybe I'm not a lost cause after all."
—
Steve Rogers clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the gym like a gunshot. "Alright, listen up!" His blue-eyed gaze swept over the group like a drill sergeant assessing fresh recruits—which, in his mind, they absolutely were. Magic? Mutant powers? Wands? Cool. But you know what's cooler? Not getting your teeth knocked out because you actually know how to fight.
"Today, we're focusing on hand-to-hand combat," Steve announced. "No magic, no powers—just skill. Because someday, you might find yourself without your fancy tricks. And if you don't know how to throw a proper punch, that day's gonna end badly for you."
There was a beat of silence. Then—
Ron groaned, looking personally betrayed. "Why do I feel like this is going to end with me on the floor?"
"Because it is," Hermione said, tying her hair back like she was prepping for war.
Steve smirked. "That's the spirit, Granger."
Harry, arms crossed, shot him a look that was half amusement, half challenge. "You really enjoy this, don't you?"
"I don't enjoy making kids suffer," Steve said, grinning. "I enjoy seeing them improve. Now, pair up."
Cue instant chaos. People scrambled to find partners, but Steve—because he was a menace—started calling them out himself.
The Pairs:
Ron vs. Neville – Because Steve figured pairing the two most equally disaster-prone students was a fair fight. (Ron groaned louder.)
Fred vs. George – Because they deserved it. (George: "Finally, I get to punch you." Fred: "Like you'll land a hit, mate.")
Ginny vs. Tracey – Ginny cracked her knuckles like a boxer about to enter the ring. Tracey sighed. "I'm going to get punched, aren't I?"
Luna vs. Hannah – Luna was humming, completely unbothered by the fact that she was about to be in a fistfight. Hannah was already planning her survival strategy.
Daphne vs. Percy – Percy looked deeply uncomfortable. Daphne looked like she was about to ruin his whole career.
Jean vs. Hermione – Hermione looked like she was about to take an exam. Jean looked like she was about to start a bar fight.
That left Harry and Susan unpaired.
Harry frowned. "Who's Susan fighting?"
Steve smirked. "She'll take on the winner of your match."
Harry blinked. "My match?"
"You're with me."
Instant, pin-drop silence.
Then—
"Oh, this is gonna be good," Fred whispered.
"Think we should get popcorn?" George muttered back.
Jean, standing next to Susan, grinned. "Finally, some action."
Susan crossed her arms, amused. "Should we start placing bets?"
Hermione looked alarmed. "This might be a bad idea."
Ron, ever the victim, groaned again. "Of course he gets to fight Captain America. Meanwhile, I have to fight Neville." He turned to his opponent. "No offense, mate."
Neville, who was already mentally preparing his will, gave him an apologetic shrug. "None taken."
Meanwhile, Steve was watching Harry like a scientist about to test a new theory. "I've heard things about you," he said. "Apparently, you can go toe-to-toe with me."
Harry smirked. "Depends. Are we talking pre-serum or post-serum?"
Steve's grin widened. "You tell me."
Harry exhaled, rolling his shoulders. This wasn't going to be easy. But hey, if Steve wanted a fight—
He'd get one.
Steve clapped his hands. "Alright! Start sparring! And don't hold back."
And thus, the worst training session of Ron's life officially began.
—
The second Steve Rogers and Harry squared up, every other fight in the training room suddenly became a lot less interesting.
It wasn't their fault. Really. It was basic human nature.
Because, on one side, you had Captain America—the Super Soldier, the Sentinel of Liberty, the guy who once punched Hitler in the face (in-universe and in comics).
And on the other, you had Harry Potter—the Marauder, the Boy Who Lived, the guy who made beating the odds his full-time job.
The result? The biggest, most dramatic, most inevitable showdown since Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.
And it had an audience.
Fred and George—who had just been on the verge of knocking each other senseless—stood frozen mid-motion, looking like two deer caught in very exciting headlights.
Hermione and Jean, who were supposed to be circling one another in their own match, simultaneously crossed their arms and stepped back, exchanging a look that clearly said, Yeah, this is more important.
Daphne and Tracey? Not even pretending to spar anymore.
Percy, ever the responsible prefect, sighed in frustration. "We are supposed to be training, not watching—"
"Shh!" Ginny hissed. "The fight's about to start!"
Across the room, Cedric Diggory—yes, Cedric—stood leaning against the wall, puffing on a cigar like he was the protagonist of a noir film.
And Harry hated it.
Not because Cedric looked bad—no, that was the problem. The bastard looked like he had just stepped out of an action movie, his hair perfectly tousled, his expression effortlessly cool. The kind of guy who didn't need to try to be attractive, which was honestly just rude.
And worse?
Logan was standing beside him, nodding approvingly.
Harry had joked for weeks that Cedric was one bad day away from chain-smoking cheap cigars, drinking cheap beer, and calling people 'bub' like Logan.
Apparently, the prophecy had been fulfilled.
Jean, standing beside Cedric, smirked. "You do realize this is how it starts, right?" She gestured to the cigar. "First, it's the smoking. Next, you're wearing a leather jacket and brooding in the rain. It's a slippery slope."
Cedric exhaled a slow puff of smoke, looking obnoxiously cool. "Depends. Am I the best there is at what I do?"
"You wish, bub," Logan grunted.
Susan—who was standing on Cedric's other side and had clearly had enough—rolled her eyes. "I hate to say this, but Harry was right," she muttered. "We'll never hear the end of this."
Harry, stretching across from Steve, called out, "Hey, Diggory! Let me know when you start drinking cheap beer so we can officially induct you into the Bub Club!"
Cedric—without missing a beat—blew out another plume of smoke. "You'll be the first to know, Potter."
Logan smirked. "Kid's got style."
Steve, completely ignoring the peanut gallery, focused on Harry. "You ready?"
Harry grinned. "Born ready."
And then Steve moved.
Fast. Really fast.
His first punch shot out like a bullet, aimed right at Harry's ribs. Most people wouldn't have even seen it coming.
Harry did.
He twisted at the last second, dodging by a hair, and immediately launched a counter-punch aimed for Steve's jaw.
Steve caught it.
The entire room winced.
"Uh-oh," Fred muttered.
"Bad move," George agreed.
Steve yanked Harry forward and swung at his gut. Harry barely managed to wrench himself free, flipping back just in time to avoid the hit.
Steve didn't let up.
He came in hard, moving with the calculated precision of a soldier, all sharp angles and efficiency. Every punch, every kick, every movement was designed to take Harry down as quickly as possible.
Harry, in contrast, was fluid. He ducked, weaved, and twisted around Steve's attacks with an almost casual ease, like he was born for chaos.
It was insane.
"Merlin," Hermione whispered, eyes wide.
Jean grinned. "Oh, finally."
Luna, who had somehow appeared next to her, tilted her head dreamily. "They move like dancing thunderbirds," she mused.
Logan, taking a slow drag from his cigar, nodded approvingly. "Not bad, bub. Not bad."
The twins had completely abandoned their match, watching the fight like it was the Quidditch World Cup.
Neville, in his distraction, accidentally clocked Ron in the face again.
Ron hit the floor.
"For Merlin's sake, Neville—"
But Neville wasn't listening. He was watching Harry and Steve, mouth slightly open.
Steve noticed.
And it pissed him off.
Right as Harry ducked a punch and went for an uppercut, Steve bellowed, in his best drill sergeant voice:
"IF YOU'RE NOT SPARRING, YOU'D BETTER START—OR DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!"
Instant panic.
Fred and George immediately turned back to each other and started swinging. Jean grabbed Hermione's wrist—"We are absolutely sparring, let's go!"—and Hermione, though clearly torn, jumped back in.
Ginny turned to Tracey, cracking her knuckles. "I'm so sorry for what's about to happen to you."
Tracey paled.
Neville, in his rush to obey, accidentally socked Ron in the face again.
Ron, still on the floor, groaned. "I hate everything."
Percy—who had been smugly watching the chaos unfold—suddenly realized Steve was still staring at him.
"Oh, bollocks."
And thus, the training resumed.
Meanwhile, in the middle of the room, Steve and Harry kept going.
Faster. Harder. Neither one willing to back down.
Harry grinned. "I've gotta say, Cap, you hit really hard for a guy in his nineties."
Steve smirked. "You're not bad yourself, kid."
Then he swept Harry's legs out from under him.
Harry hit the floor.
Hard.
"Oh, come on!" he groaned, staring up at the ceiling. "Every time I start feeling confident—"
Steve offered him a hand. "Lesson one, Potter—never get cocky."
Harry took the hand—then immediately yanked Steve down with him.
Steve hit the floor next to him.
Harry smirked. "Lesson two—always be prepared for payback."
The room went dead silent.
Then Logan burst out laughing. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about."
Jean beamed. "Potter, that was iconic."
Steve sighed, shaking his head. "You're trouble."
Harry grinned. "Oh, you have no idea."
---
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