A Wizard Among Mutants

Chapter Two

Harry's eyes opened. It was day time. He was on the ground. Cold ground. Hard and bumpy ground. There was screaming around him. Such loud screaming. Sitting up, Harry winced and glanced down at his body. Thankfully, he was clothed. Unthankfully, he was much smaller than he had just been. He was also much younger. He looked up. As he gazed around his surroundings, he took in the dust and the rubble and the fire and the people. Something was going on right now. He should probably get up.

Carefully, Harry pushed himself off the ground and stumbled towards the direction everyone else was running. Blinking, Harry steadied himself and breathed in and out calmly. He began walking with the running crowd. They glanced back at him in worry, but not enough worry for them to urge him to hurry.

He heard a woman's voice booming behind him. He turned around, smiling. After all, he'd like to be known as polite.

A lady with flaming red hair was shouting at him, running towards him. She looked concerned, she looked scared.

Harry waved, his eyes still adjusting to this new world.

"Mum?"

He felt something knock against his head. His eyes closed again as his ear met with the cold, broken floor.

A beeping noise welcomed Harry into the presumed hospital room. The walls were white and he had lain down upon a clean bed. Various metal medical equipment was unprofessionally strung around the room. His eyes felt less stinging now that he wasn't surrounded by smoke. A quiet gasp was heard off to his side.

"You're awake? Can you say anything or blink three times for me?" asked the red-haired lady he saw before his faint. He smiled to himself as he labeled the accent American.

Harry, feeling no pain at all, sat up (much to the lady's chagrin, as she immediately rushed forward to try and slow him.)

"I'm fine, thank you," Harry spoke softly. He was confused. Was this his next great adventure? A spindly teen in America?

She seemed surprised that he wasn't groaning or crying or whatever.

"What's your name miss?" Harry asked, his British lilt coming through like a jackhammer.

The lady looked flustered for a moment and looked around. As if she was searching for someone to help her with him. She turned back to him and kindly smiled,

"My name is Jean, and what is yours?"

Harry grinned back but frowned a little at the returned question. Should he keep his name? He didn't want to. Too much sorrow attached to his name. He's decided on changing it.

"My name is-" Harry's throat clenched and unclenched, "-Harry Potter"

Angrily, Harry knocked at his chest. Why had he said that? He was pretty sure he was about to change his name why-

'You will forever be Harry Potter, my lord' Death's voice whispered through his ears.

Harry hit his chest harder, making himself cough. Jean quickly reached over and grabbed his wrists. He was heavily breathing and he felt so mad and disappointed and so undeniably upset.

"Are you alright? Do you need a cough drop? Did you breathe in a lot back at the fire?"

Harry shook his head no, and willed himself to relax and calm. When his wrists fell limp, Jean let them go. Jean moved Harry's hair back away from his face and worriedly looked into his eyes.

"There's a professor I think you should meet, you look like you need a good talk," she said.

Harry shrugged and nodded.