The next morning, Harry strolled into the training hall with the kind of smug confidence that practically had its own gravitational field. He stretched his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders like he was about to casually drop the most brilliant idea in the history of ideas. Spoiler alert: the girls were about to hate him.
"All right, ladies," he announced, flashing his best troublemaker grin. "I have a proposition for you."
Jean, sitting cross-legged on a floating cushion (because apparently, chairs were too mainstream for her telekinesis), took a slow sip of her tea and raised a suspicious eyebrow. "This isn't going to involve another snowstorm, is it?"
"Or lava?" Ororo asked, already mentally preparing a thundercloud, just in case.
"Or a pack of magically enhanced rabid ferrets?" Tonks muttered, absently rubbing a faint scratch on her forearm—the last, traumatizing memory of last week's 'training accident.'
Harry pressed a hand to his chest, looking deeply wounded. "Ladies, please. That was one time."
Tonks snorted. "One time too many, Potter."
Jean sighed, setting her cup down with a deliberate click. "All right, fine. Hit us with your latest nonsense."
Harry's grin widened like a cat that just found out the canary was legally required to stand still. "A duel. You three against me."
Tonks blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, that's precious. You think we need three people to kick your arse?"
"Ah, but here's the twist," Harry said, waggling his eyebrows. "I'll only use portals. No magic, no physical attacks. Just my brilliant tactical mind and absurdly good reflexes."
Jean arched a skeptical brow. "So, basically, you're just going to run away the whole time?"
"Strategically reposition," Harry corrected. "Like a majestic, highly intelligent combatant."
Tonks crossed her arms. "Like a coward."
"Like Batman with magic."
Ororo rolled her eyes. "I hate that I understood that reference."
Harry held up a finger. "Oh, and if you win…" He let the tension build because he was a showman, after all. "You get a week off chores."
That got their attention.
Jean leaned forward. "A whole week?"
Harry smirked. "Already cleared it with the Ancient One. You beat me, and for seven glorious days, no sweeping, no washing dishes, no scrubbing cauldrons, no night patrol duty."
Tonks gasped. "A full week of freedom?" She grabbed Ororo's arm. "Do you know what this means? We can finally catch up on all those movies!"
Jean nodded slowly, eyes gleaming. "And I can sleep in. Actually sleep."
Ororo just cracked her knuckles, lightning flickering at her fingertips. "You are making a mistake, Potter."
Harry spread his arms. "Am I? Or am I just giving you the illusion of hope before dashing it against the rocks of reality?"
Jean drummed her fingers on her knee. "There's a catch."
"No catch," Harry said, grinning. "Just one condition: you actually have to beat me."
Tonks clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh, Potter. You are so done."
"Sure, sure," Harry said, turning on his heel and whistling as he strolled toward the courtyard. "Meet me outside in ten minutes. Try not to cry when you lose."
Ororo stood, adjusting her gloves. "I hope you know, Potter, that I will enjoy this."
Jean cracked her neck. "And I hope you know, Potter, that when we win, I am making you clean my room."
Harry's grin never wavered. "Big words for someone who's about to lose in the most humiliating way possible."
Ororo lifted her chin, already plotting. "We'll see."
Tonks just cackled. "This is gonna be fun."
As they left, Harry leaned against the doorframe, watching them go. Then, under his breath, he murmured, "Yeah. For me."
—
Ten minutes later, the courtyard was set. Jean, Ororo, and Tonks stood together, a united front of determination, mischief, and barely restrained violence. Across from them, Harry lounged with the kind of infuriating ease that suggested he either had a death wish or a plan so ridiculous it might actually work.
"Rules are simple," he called, stretching like he was about to take a nap instead of fight three powerful witches. "You tag me, you win."
Jean crossed her arms, skeptical as ever. "And you can only use portals?"
Harry nodded. "No magic, no punches, no unnecessary monologues about how I'm the greatest duelist of all time—just pure, tactical portal mastery."
Tonks rolled her shoulders, cracking her knuckles with a devious grin. "Let's wipe that smug look off his face, yeah?"
Jean nodded. "Agreed."
Ororo simply smirked, the kind of smirk that promised an incoming storm—both figuratively and literally. "This will be fun."
Harry waggled his fingers at them like a villain in a Saturday morning cartoon. "Then come get me."
Jean was the first to move, her telekinetic blast rushing toward him—only for a portal to swallow it whole. A second later, it reappeared behind her, forcing Jean into a desperate roll to avoid getting smacked by her own attack.
Ororo wasn't far behind, a gust of wind meant to knock him off balance. Another portal shimmered into existence, redirecting the wind straight into Tonks, who was thrown backward with a very undignified yelp.
"OI! That's cheating!" she shouted, flailing mid-air before crashing into a bush.
Harry cackled. "Nope! Just strategy!"
Jean gritted her teeth and lifted several nearby stones, sending them flying at him in a flurry of jagged projectiles. Harry responded by opening a series of rapid-fire portals, making the stones pop in and out of existence like a demonic game of Whack-A-Mole.
Ororo narrowed her eyes. This time, she adjusted the air pressure just right before sending a crackling bolt of lightning his way.
Harry smirked. "Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this."
A portal snapped open, redirecting the bolt straight at Ororo.
She barely dodged in time, flipping backwards with a look that said, "Okay, now I'm actually impressed."
Tonks, meanwhile, had vanished entirely.
Harry frowned. "Hiding won't help, Tonks—"
He was cut off as she dropped from above, aiming to tackle him from the air.
Too late.
A portal materialized mid-air, swallowing her whole.
With a mighty SPLASH, she reappeared in the koi pond.
She emerged, dripping wet and radiating murder. "POTTER!"
Harry was laughing so hard he nearly lost balance. Nearly.
And that's when Jean tried to catch him. Her eyes flared as she yanked him forward with her telekinesis—but instead of resisting, Harry grinned and opened another portal beneath him, redirecting the force so that Jean was the one sent hurtling forward instead.
She barely had time to swear before she smacked face-first into Ororo.
"Oh, I like this game," Harry mused, dodging another attack with a well-placed step into a portal. "It's like dodgeball, but I never get hit."
Jean groaned from where she lay on top of Ororo. "I hate him. I hate him so much."
Tonks stomped out of the koi pond, still soaked, her hair flashing between colors as she tried to get her rage under control. "Why won't you just LET US WIN?!"
Harry smirked. "Because you haven't earned it."
Ororo rose to her feet, brushing herself off with the grace of a queen. "We'll see about that."
And then it became a war of attrition.
Jean hurled objects. Ororo manipulated the weather. Tonks shapeshifted, feinted, and generally tried every trick in the book to catch him.
None of it worked.
Every attack was met with a portal. Every plan was countered before it could even be fully executed. Harry wasn't just dodging—he was controlling the battlefield, bending reality in ways that made it clear he wasn't just a Mystic Arts prodigy, but also a Super-Soldier with reflexes that bordered on unfair.
Minutes stretched into a grueling, frustrating eternity, and eventually, the girls started slowing down. Not because they weren't skilled—but because Harry was making them waste energy with every misdirect, every redirection, every perfectly timed dodge.
Jean's breathing was labored. Ororo's usually effortless movements had become sluggish. Even Tonks, always the wildcard, was panting from exertion.
And Harry? He barely looked winded.
Finally, Jean dropped to one knee, wiping sweat from her forehead. "I hate to say it…" she panted. "But I think we lost."
Ororo sighed, straightening up with what dignity she had left. "Agreed."
Tonks groaned dramatically and flopped onto her back. "I hate everything."
Harry walked over, hands in his pockets, smirking like he'd just won the Super Bowl. "Aww, done already? And here I thought you lot had stamina."
Jean glared at him. "Say one more word and I'll levitate you into orbit."
Harry held up his hands, grinning. "Relax, relax. You all did great. Buuuut…" He paused, stretching lazily. "I guess that means no week off chores."
Tonks let out an inhuman wail.
Ororo shook her head, though there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. "One day, Potter. One day we will defeat you."
Harry's grin widened. "Oh, I'm counting on it."
Jean, still catching her breath, eyed him suspiciously. "You're planning something, aren't you?"
"Oh, absolutely." Harry turned on his heel, whistling as he walked away. "See you all at dish duty!"
Tonks groaned. "I hate him so much."
Ororo sighed. "And yet, somehow, I respect him."
Jean just glared at his retreating figure. "Next time, Potter. Next time."
—
Dish duty was supposed to be a punishment. A consequence. A well-earned price for losing a bet with the single most aggravating person in existence.
Instead, it was somehow turning into a masterclass in magical efficiency, physics-defying trickery, and, most infuriatingly, life lessons.
"You see," Harry said, lounging against the counter like he hadn't just run them ragged in the courtyard. "Chores, much like battle, are all about strategy."
Tonks, who was currently elbow-deep in soapy water, scowled. "I hate you so much right now."
"You love me," Harry corrected, undeterred. "But more importantly, you should be asking yourself: How can I make this task easier?"
Jean, scrubbing a particularly stubborn plate, shot him a glare hot enough to melt vibranium. "By making you do it."
"Now, see, that's delegation!" Harry pointed at her approvingly. "Very important skill. But you have to know who to delegate to. Ancient One? Not a fan of housework. Wong? Probably banish you to another dimension for asking. Me?" He gestured to himself. "I won the bet. You see where I'm going with this?"
Jean did, in fact, see exactly where he was going with it, and she did not like it.
Ororo, drying off a plate with what was definitely a bit more force than necessary, exhaled sharply. "If you're not going to help, at least shut up."
"But if I shut up, how will you learn?" Harry spread his hands, as if this was a tragic misunderstanding. "Now, dish duty is all about pacing. If you burn out too quickly, you end up exhausted before the real fight even begins. Much like you did earlier in the duel."
Tonks groaned. "You have to stop making everything a lesson, Potter."
"But I'm a teacher," he said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. "It's my sacred duty."
Jean, moving purely on instinct, whipped a wet sponge at his face. He caught it mid-air, without even looking.
"Reflexes," he said smugly. "Another important skill. Especially when your students try to murder you for being too good at my job."
Jean grabbed another sponge. "You are so lucky I can't just fling you into another dimension right now."
"Oh, you could, but then who would remind you that you need to scrub both sides of the plate?"
Jean let out a slow, controlled breath. "I swear to every cosmic entity, Potter—"
"Relax, Red," Harry said, waving a hand. "Here, let me show you something."
He snapped his fingers, and a series of small portals opened above the sink. The dirty dishes levitated, passing through each one in a perfect cycle of washing, rinsing, and drying before stacking themselves neatly back in the cabinet.
The girls stared.
Tonks' eye twitched. "Are you serious?"
"See? It's all about working smarter, not harder." Harry leaned against the counter, watching the last plate settle into place. "That, ladies, is what you call tactical superiority."
Ororo massaged her temples. "You made us do all that just so you could prove a point, didn't you?"
Harry beamed. "Lesson retention is highest when paired with hands-on experience!"
Jean picked up another sponge.
Harry took that as his cue to exit.
"Welp, gotta go! Got some important—ah—teacher things to do! Great work, team!" He dashed out of the kitchen just as the sponge flew past where his head had been.
Jean turned to Ororo and Tonks. "Next time, we make him do the dishes."
Ororo nodded. "Agreed."
Tonks cracked her knuckles. "And if he tries to turn it into a lesson again, we portal him into the koi pond."
That, they all agreed, was an excellent plan.
—
The next morning, the courtyard had transformed into their personal battleground once again. But this time? It wasn't about dodging Harry through a labyrinth of portals or discovering that washing dishes was somehow a metaphor for combat readiness.
No, this was about something far more important.
Learning how to fight like absolute legends.
Harry stood at the center, arms crossed, looking infuriatingly well-rested despite the chaos he'd inflicted on them the day before. Meanwhile, Jean, Ororo, and Tonks were attempting to function like normal human beings while dealing with sore muscles, lingering bruises, and the quiet existential crisis that came from knowing their instructor was an unholy combination of a war mage, a super-soldier, and the single most annoying person they had ever met.
Jean rolled her shoulders, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight. "Alright, Professor Potter," she said, eyes sharp. "We've read the books, we've got the theory down. Let's see if you can actually teach."
Harry smirked. "Oh, Red. I don't teach. I inspire."
Tonks groaned. "If you inspire me any harder, I'm gonna hex you."
"Attagirl," Harry said approvingly. "Channel that aggression. Now, let's talk energy constructs."
With a flick of his wrist, golden energy flared to life, shaping itself into a longsword so perfect it looked like it had been forged by the gods. It gleamed under the morning sun, humming with raw power.
"Magic is all about intent," he said, spinning the sword lazily before letting it dissolve into nothing. "Energy constructs? That's where control comes in. Shape them wrong, and you end up with something flimsy. Pour in too much power and—"
A new construct formed in his palm, this time an unstable dagger that immediately exploded in a harmless shower of sparks.
"Boom."
Ororo arched an eyebrow. "And you're supposed to be the expert?"
Harry smirked. "I did that on purpose. Demonstration, you know?"
Jean crossed her arms. "Uh-huh."
"Alright, smartasses, show me what you've got."
Jean went first. Power flared at her fingertips, crackling crimson as she focused. Slowly, a shimmering spear took shape, its surface rippling like molten metal.
Harry nodded. "Not bad. Now throw it."
Jean smirked and hurled the spear straight at his head.
Harry flicked his fingers, and a portal swallowed it whole before spitting it right back at her.
Jean yelped, throwing herself to the ground as the spear embedded itself into the wall behind her. She glared at him. "Really?"
Harry shrugged. "Lesson one: Always be ready for a counter."
Ororo was next. She exhaled, stretching out her hands. A sleek, sky-blue javelin formed between them, crackling with electricity. The moment it solidified, she spun it effortlessly before slamming it into the ground, sending a controlled shockwave rippling outward.
Harry whistled. "See, now that's showing off."
Ororo smirked. "Just following my teacher's example."
Tonks bounced on her toes. "Alright, my turn!"
Magic flared around her hands. Slowly, painstakingly, a glowing construct took shape. A pair of—
"Socks?" Harry blinked.
Tonks scowled. "They're fists!"
Harry squinted. "Nope. Definitely socks."
Tonks groaned and tried again. This time, the construct wavered, flickered… and turned into what was undeniably a very sad-looking boot.
Harry clapped. "Excellent. You're officially the first person in history to weaponize bad fashion choices."
Tonks chucked the boot at his head. It bounced off harmlessly.
Harry smirked. "Ten points for creativity, though."
Jean sighed, rubbing her temples. "Are we actually going to learn anything, or is this just an elaborate excuse for you to be a menace?"
"Why can't it be both?" Harry asked. Then, without warning, he conjured a massive, intricate golden shield and slammed it into the ground. "Lesson two: Constructs aren't just for offense. Defense is just as important."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "And let me guess—"
She lunged, forming a glowing blade mid-motion and swinging it straight at him.
Harry caught it effortlessly on his shield. "Boom. Now you're getting it."
Ororo nodded. "So it's not just power—it's control."
"Bingo," Harry said, grinning.
Tonks huffed. "Alright, well, I'm gonna keep trying until I make something that isn't footwear."
Harry took a step back, watching them refine their techniques, each attempt better than the last. Then he clapped his hands together.
"Good," he said. "Now, let's kick it up a notch."
A massive, flaming broadsword materialized in his grip.
Jean groaned. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"
"Because," Harry said, rolling his shoulders, "now we fight."
And then he proceeded to wipe the floor with them.
Not in a brutal, merciless way—more in the way a seasoned warrior effortlessly dismantles three talented but vastly less experienced opponents while dodging their best attacks and firing back with savage one-liners.
Jean hurled another spear. Harry sidestepped. "Telegraphed that one, Red."
Ororo tried a lightning-infused strike. He caught it on his shield with a bored expression. "Shocking, truly."
Tonks finally managed a proper construct—a pair of glowing gauntlets—and went for a punch. Harry vanished in a swirl of golden light and reappeared behind her. "Solid effort, but you left yourself wide open."
One by one, they fell—not because they weren't improving, but because Harry's stamina was absurd. They tried everything. Traps. Fake-outs. Attacking all at once. It didn't matter. He was faster, stronger, and just plain meaner when it came to combat.
After an hour of this, Jean collapsed onto the ground, panting. "Alright, I take back everything I said. You're an evil genius."
Ororo flopped beside her. "I hate how much sense he makes."
Tonks lay sprawled on her back, gasping. "Did… we at least… get better?"
Harry grinned, twirling his sword before dismissing it. "Oh, definitely. You're, like, half as terrible as before."
Jean threw a rock at him.
Harry dodged. "See? Progress."
Ororo sighed. "Are we done?"
Harry considered. "Hmm. Yeah, I think you've suffered enough for today."
Tonks groaned. "Oh, thank Merlin."
Harry clapped his hands. "Great. Same time tomorrow."
Three identical groans filled the courtyard.
Harry smirked.
This was going to be fun.
—
The next few days were like boot camp, if boot camp was a hellish blend of high-stakes magic, superpowers, and Harry Potter's never-ending supply of sarcasm. Every morning, the courtyard turned into an arena where they trained, worked, and occasionally broke things. By night, they were sore, sleep-deprived, and bruised in places they didn't know could bruise. And yet, the next morning—surprise!—they were expected to do it all over again. If Harry's smirk wasn't a permanent fixture on his face, they'd probably hate him. But that smirk was practically a challenge. He was pushing them beyond their limits, like some kind of sadistic drill sergeant who also happened to be a genius in combat tactics.
They were getting stronger, though. They had to admit it. The constant testing—combined with Harry's interesting (and by "interesting," they meant "torturous") methods—was turning them into something... well, not great yet, but definitely better than when they started. It was a process. And Jean Grey? She was already starting to show real progress.
By the third day, Jean had fully embraced the concept of doing exactly what Harry told her, even if she would throw him side-eye like it was a hobby. She was working on her telekinesis, a power she already had a ridiculous amount of control over. But Harry? Harry wanted more. He pushed her to experiment, to manipulate the very frequencies of her power, turning them into something more. Something extra.
"You're just using a hammer when you could be wielding a scalpel," he'd told her, his voice dripping with mock-sincerity.
Jean wasn't having it at first, but Harry was unrelenting. "Push it. You've got the raw power. Let's see if you can actually control it with finesse."
So, naturally, Jean went for it. The results? A shimmering, intricate blade of telekinetic energy that looked like it could slice through anything. And I do mean anything.
"Whoa," Tonks muttered, leaning on her elbow against the wall, "Does that come in a size for chopping veggies? Because I could use that for dinner."
"Focus, Tonks," Harry said, clearly not interested in Tonks' culinary aspirations. "Jean, throw it at me."
Jean's eyes narrowed. "You want me to—?"
"Yep," Harry grinned, "Let's see if you've got the guts to make it count. You control it, right? Prove it."
She hesitated. Of course she did. Because who in their right mind would want to throw a sharp, glowing blade of telekinetic energy at Harry Potter, the only man in the room who could make you feel like a less-than-amazing superhero with just a glance?
But, after a few seconds of Harry practically daring her with that infuriatingly smug look of his, Jean tossed the blade in a smooth, practiced arc.
The result? Harry didn't even flinch. A shield of shimmering blue energy appeared between him and the blade. It collided with a loud crack, sending a shockwave through the courtyard.
"Better," Harry said, casually brushing a speck of dirt off his shoulder. "But you're still holding back. You hesitated for a split second. That's your weak spot. And when you hesitate, you get killed. Remember that."
Jean crossed her arms, looking like she wanted to roast Harry alive with her mind. "You're insufferable, you know that?"
"I know," Harry grinned, "But I'm also right, so suck it up. Next!"
Tonks stepped forward, winking as she straightened her already-wild hair. "Oh, now I get to have a turn, right?" she asked, already sliding into her trademark chaotic mood.
"Sure, but do me a favor and don't turn me into a giant pumpkin again. I'm still recovering from that one."
"Oh, come on! It wasn't that bad," she said, winking. "Besides, who wouldn't want to see Harry Potter as the Great Pumpkin?"
"Shut it, Tonks," Harry groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Ororo, your turn."
And just like that, Ororo Munroe—storm goddess extraordinaire—stepped forward. Her white hair rippled in the breeze like some kind of wind-whipped goddess, and when she looked at Harry, her gaze was intense, but her lips curled into a knowing smile.
Ororo had been quietly watching the whole time. She didn't need Harry's help to be an absolute powerhouse; she was already a force of nature in her own right. But Harry being Harry—he couldn't resist the temptation of pushing her too.
She raised her arms slowly, calling the elements to her command. The air crackled with the storm she was about to unleash, and even the trees seemed to lean back in respectful fear. A lightning bolt arced across the sky—fast, precise, and deadly—then disappeared into the ground with a rumble of thunder.
"Not bad," Harry said, rubbing his chin like he was contemplating a particularly tough riddle. "But could you, I don't know... maybe not try to burn everyone alive? That'd be great."
Ororo chuckled, her expression still calm despite the electricity crackling through her fingertips. "I'm not the one making us run drills that involve blades of energy, Harry."
"Yeah, well," Harry shrugged, "You know me. I prefer to make things fun."
With a roll of her eyes, Ororo dropped her hands, and the storm subsided.
"All right, enough with the lightning show," Harry said. "I'm pretty sure even the local wildlife is considering moving to another dimension. Let's get back to work."
And just like that, they were back at it again. Every day, a little stronger, a little smarter, and a lot more likely to kill each other in the name of pushing the limits. But Harry's smirk was always there. A reminder that, no matter how brutal the training got, he wasn't going to stop until they reached that next level.
After all, that's what made him Harry Potter.
—
By Day 5, it was starting to feel like a regular circus with Harry Potter as the ringleader, except the "clowns" were powered-up mutants and the "animals" were, well, really good at throwing lightning. The courtyard had turned into their battle ground and it was beginning to look less like a training zone and more like a mad scientist's lab after a caffeine binge. Jean was getting the hang of her telekinetic blades (to Harry's immense satisfaction), Tonks was already asking if they could switch to something more fun (which, knowing Tonks, was a terrifying idea), and Ororo was just out here casually turning her powers into a walking natural disaster.
But today? Today was Ororo's day.
She stood in the center of the courtyard, her eyes narrowed in that way that told you something spectacular was coming. Jean leaned against a column, sipping from a water bottle and giving her a look that said, I'm waiting for you to blow up the world so I can look mildly concerned about it. Ororo wasn't fazed. She never was.
"I'm telling you, this is gonna be epic," Tonks murmured to Harry, her voice bubbling with excitement, "She's practically a walking lightning rod. If she actually hits something this time, we're gonna need new walls."
"Uh-huh," Harry said, looking entirely too smug for someone who had spent the last five days pushing them beyond sanity. "But the real question is: will she hit something?"
Before Tonks could respond with some snarky comment, Ororo raised her arms. The atmosphere shifted, and I swear, even the air seemed to bend around her. A low hum vibrated from the sky above, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. Then, bam. A dark thundercloud formed above her, crackling with wild energy, looking like the very embodiment of a storm waiting to happen.
"Alright," Harry muttered, putting his hands on his hips, "Let's see if you've learned anything."
At first, the familiar chaotic spark of Ororo's lightning flared out of control—random bolts shot off, narrowly missing trees and Tonks, who was pretending not to be nervous (but definitely flinching every time a bolt went zipping by her ear).
"No, no, focus, Storm," Harry barked, "Don't let the storm control you. You are the storm. Shape it."
Ororo's jaw tightened as she closed her eyes for a beat. I swear, you could almost see the storm inside her, a maelstrom of raw power swirling just beneath her calm surface. She adjusted her stance, narrowing her focus.
And that's when it happened. With a flick of her wrists, the cloud above her swirled, the lightning crackling into a perfect tornado of electrical energy that twisted with precision. It shot from the sky like a serpent of pure fury, spinning with intent before launching down in a controlled strike. The bolt tore through the air, slicing through the courtyard with the kind of accuracy that made you think twice about getting on her bad side.
Harry blinked. Once. Twice. And then his lips curled into that signature smirk. The one that said, Yeah, I totally expected that.
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" he cheered, throwing his hands up like he was watching a sports team win a championship. "That was perfect! You didn't just strike—you aimed."
Ororo's smile was slow and satisfied. "Finally getting the hang of it," she said, lowering her arms with that quiet pride of someone who knew they had just done something incredible.
"Yeah, well," Harry said, waving a hand dismissively, "Don't get too cocky. You can do better."
"Wait, what?" Jean cut in from the sidelines, her eyebrows shooting up. "You're telling me that was good, and now you're like, 'Eh, you can do better'?"
Harry just shot her a grin. "Jean, honey, if she can hit me in the head with that? Then we'll talk about perfecting it."
Ororo's expression shifted to one of mild amusement. "You really think I'm going to aim for your head, Potter?"
"Why not? It's a pretty big target." Harry raised an eyebrow, and the banter between them was electric—pun absolutely intended.
"Alright, enough with the ego trip," Harry said, rubbing his hands together, clearly eager to move on to the next lesson. "Ororo, don't just strike with raw power. Think about where you strike. Lightning is more than just destruction—it's a message. It's sudden, unpredictable, and when it hits, it hits with purpose."
Ororo glanced at him like she was about to ask something, but then her gaze flicked over to the horizon. The challenge in her eyes was clear. She didn't just want to hit. She wanted to make a statement.
"I think I understand," Ororo said, her voice soft but unwavering. "You don't just strike to destroy. You strike to send a message."
"Exactly," Harry said, crossing his arms, looking way too pleased with himself. "When you're in the middle of battle, every move is a message to your enemy. Think about it. Predict what they'll do next and hit them where it hurts. If they're expecting the storm, you give them the calm before the fury."
Tonks' eyes glimmered as she interjected, "So like, you're the storm... and the message? Damn, that's deep."
"Yeah," Harry said with a wry smile. "It's like I've been saying. If you can't make your enemy fear you, what's the point of having the power?"
Ororo's eyes sparkled with the fire of a new realization. She nodded slowly, adjusting the storm within her, focusing it like an arrow aimed at its target.
"Let's see if I can send that message, then." And with that, the storm inside her shifted—calm before the storm, but the crackle of lightning promised a deadly strike was coming.
It was clear that they weren't just training to be stronger. They were training to become masters of their powers, each one weaving their unique abilities into something that would hit hard, fast, and with intention. And with Harry Potter at the helm, it was only going to get more insane from here.
---
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