Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“ Hero Society. Corrupt, damning… Evil? A fragile structure built upon oppression, harming those who don’t fit the bill of “special”. The world is inexplicably cruel- and not even heroes will try to fix it. In today’s analysis, we will be—” 

The soft sounds from the television stopped. Heavy breaths sounded from the living room, coming from a large man sitting on a far too small couch. His eyes narrowed, and from across the room, he stared at the young teenager scrubbing the kitchen floors.

Harry Potter, a small thirteen year old, sat in the middle of the kitchen on his hands and knees, and rag in hand. While he had been paying attention to the job he was assigned, he had also been trying to observe the television. Harry rarely had access to any source of outside information, other than the usual texts he got from his friends. His old rickety phone could only send a few texts per week, therefore it was all the news he received. Hearing about the world from a television was a privilege he was only granted while he cleaned.

The fat man stared daggers at Harry, and he turned around, intently scrubbing at the connections between each tile. Uncle Vernon, the man, never liked it when Harry listened to the news. He preferred to have the boy isolated, hidden away in his cup- his bedroom, or cleaning the bathrooms, or weeding the garden. Truly, Harry knew, he would’ve preferred to never have to see Harry’s face at all.

The Dursley’s— Harry’s… “family”— were a bunch of quirkless people who truly despised Heroes. His uncle was bitter and angry about his lack of a quirk, as was his aunt Petunia. They were both vicious and cruel, and took that hatred out on Harry. Dudley, their son, was also quirkless, though far less bitter about it. He enjoyed using Harry as a punching bag, simply because he could.

The first time Harry had used his quirk, it had been before he knew what heroes even were. Dudley had been ready to hurt him, give him a black eye or something, when he instead flew backwards and cried out in pain. Harry had looked around, fearful, only to notice a red barrier surrounding him. Dudley had hit it and been instantly bounced back. While it protected Harry from his meaty cousin, he hadn’t been as lucky when it had come to Vernon’s wrath. He hadn’t eaten much that week.

Now, Harry knew what his quirk was. At his school, Hogwarts, his headmaster had given him a quirk assessment. It was complicated, a series of tests to see how his quirk worked and how much control he had over it. By that point, it had been very little. Still though, Dumbledore— the headmaster— had managed to figure it out. 

His quirk was dubbed “Crimson Shinsei”. According to Dumbledore, it was a manifestation of Harry’s spirit that could be formed into a red energy. This energy could be manipulated in a variety of ways, such as the shield that had formed around him to protect him from Dudley. While it was a strong quirk, Harry would have a hard time controlling it, and it would be a while before it could reach its full potential.

Dumbledore had told Harry these facts almost two years ago. Two years! Harry secretly wondered if he would ever reach his full potential. While he had gained more control over his quirk within his time at Hogwarts, he felt nowhere closer to being ready for the Hero Course. Fifth year was closer than anyone thought, and Harry felt great stress at the thought of failing his exams that would allow him into the intensive course.

Hours later, Harry finally finished his jobs, and returned to his room. While in bed, he sent a quick text to Ron— his best friend— saying that everything was mostly fine. The red headed boy replied with a smiley and a screenshot from a news website. Harry was grateful for Ron, even if the article was about football.

Hermione was next, and since it was his last text for today, he made sure to detail the analysis he had seen on the news. Hermione only replied with a worried, almost essay length message, and a picture of her and Ron from the weekend. Harry giggled and smiled. No matter what, his friends never failed to make him happy.

Sleep came easy to Harry that night, dragging his eyelids down and leaving his mind blissfully empty. Somehow, it was the first night he slept peacefully since the beginning of the week when he arrived at the Dursley’s.

Chapter Text

Aunt Marge’s arrival to the Dursley’s residence wasn’t one that surprised Harry, but it certainly wasn’t something that made him jump for joy. The old, fat, quirkless woman hated Harry more than the Dursley’s did, and for no reason at all. He was polite, and stayed out of the way of her while she was present, but she simply resented him with all of her very… large being. 

This time was no different, as was apparent when Marge shoved Harry into the wall once he opened the door for her. She waddled in, instantly moving over to Dudley, coddling him and squealing about how much he had grown. Harry secretly thought he still looked eleven, and had only grown wider in the years that had passed.

That instance had been two days ago, and Harry didn’t believe that aunt Marge would be jumping for joy at his presence any time soon. She had continued to belittle him and his entire existence, all the while hating on people with quirks. Harry, for once, was glad that Marge didn’t know about his quirk.

As the Dursley’s sat at the kitchen table, Harry paced near the counter, praying the timer for the meal he was cooking would go off. Marge would not stop blabbering. She went on and on about whatever she could, whether it was how worthless she thought quirks were, or how bad the weather had been back in her neighborhood. It was agonizing, listening to her high pitched, nasty voice for so long.

Harry zoned out for a bit, and eventually he was collecting plates from the ungrateful bunch. Marge was allowing her god awful dog to drink some wine, and it took every bone in Harry’s body not to laugh. She looked up at him with angry eyes, glaring daggers into his soul.

“What are you smirking at, boy?” Harry only shrugged in response. Marge’s lip curled.

“Where did you send him again, Vernon?”

“Ah, St. Brutus’. It’s a perfect school for lost causes like him. ”

“And… do they have a cane at St. Brutus’?” Vernon stared at Harry in response. Harry smiled, hoping it wasn’t obvious how sarcastic he was being, and replied.

“Oh yeah, yeah. I’ve been beaten loads of times,” he tried not to roll his eyes. For a moment, he wondered if the school actually did beat students… could they even do that?

Harry turned around as aunt Marge continued to go on about whatever she could. He was almost successful in tuning her out, when she began on a tirade about… his parents. His dead parents. His dead, hero parents.

He couldn’t really hold back, not anymore. Not when his “family” was bashing the people who had given up their lives to protect him. He couldn’t tell what was happening, really, only that he was yelling, and his quirk was acting out in a very intense way. 

Marge… well. Marge was sort of in the air. In a bubble. A bubble of red energy. Floating her away. And honestly, Harry couldn’t care less. It served her right, being so awful about his parents. He wished that his quirk would’ve attacked everyone else, too.

The next few minutes went by in a blur. Harry had gone to grab his school stuff, and was properly ready to leave the house, when Vernon stood in his way. The fat man threatened everything he could think of, but really, what could a quirkless fuck like him do against Harry?

“You can’t use your quirk outside of school!” Vernon taunted. Harry could laugh.

“Oh yeah? Try me.”

Vernon did not, in fact, try him. The sight of red surrounding the teen was enough to get him out of the way, and Harry was out of the door in a flash.

And now, here he was. Sitting on the ground near a random park. Harry couldn’t help but feel hopeless… he hadn’t meant to use his quirk, and yet he had caused such a scene in the Dursley’s home. He couldn’t go back, and he had no idea how to get to Hogwarts from here. The express train wouldn’t even be coming for another month or so.

In the shadows of the bushes near Harry, he could see some movement from the corner of his eyes. He stood, unsteady on his feet, and watched as a… dog? Maybe? A dog-like creature emerged from the dark. It didn’t do much, just looked at Harry, and he felt frozen in place as it stared. It seemed almost to be staring through him, not just at him.

Just when Harry was about to approach it, a large bus sped towards him. He gasped, and fell backwards as the vehicle pulled up beside him. From the ground, the brunet watched as a scrawny man, maybe the driver, appeared from behind the door. He looked at Harry, and Harry looked back. 

“Why’re ya’ on th’ ground, bud?” He questioned. Harry was nearly speechless.

“Well, I’m not down here on purpose .” He snapped. The man just chuckled lightheartedly.

“Come on, then. You need a ride, don’t cha?”

When the only reply he received was an empty look, the man explained. The bus was known as the “night bus”, and travelled London to assist people with quirks in getting to their destinations that weren’t easily accessible. Harry had no idea where he wanted to go, and so he suggested the Leaky. While it was a pub, it accepted kids, and Harry really didn’t know where else to go.

If only Harry had good luck!

The driver looked at him a little closer when they began the journey, and gasped out. Before he had noticed the scar on his forehead, he had explained to Harry who Sirius Black was. An escaped convict, supposedly one of Voldemort’s followers. The most well known villain, who was surfacing once more, had followers literally breaking out of high security prisons!

“You- You’re Harry Potter, aren’t ya?” Harry stared at the man. One glance at his scar, and suddenly people were ready to bow down to him? Honestly, he believed it was quite ridiculous. Still, he nodded and smiled awkwardly, praying that the man wasn’t going to turn out to be a villain. Harry did not have the energy to cope with that.

Instead of getting on his knees or attacking Harry, the man instead told him to wait where he was. Turning at moving towards the front of the bud and heading up the stairs, the driver quickly disappeared from view.

A few muffled noises could be heard from above, and Harry was filled with sudden dread as the man returned with a taller figure behind him. 

“Potter. Of course. Albus informed me of your… untimely escape. I’m guessing you were feeling far too ungrateful to stay with your relatives. Were they not polishing your shoes nicely?” The familiar, low, nasally voice spoke. All of the hair on Harry’s neck stood up.

“Professor Snape, sir… what a pleasant surprise…”

Chapter Text

Walking behind Snape into the leaky, Harry felt sorely compelled to use his quirk on the man. He could feel his irritation sparking, and he knew that Crimson Shinsei was on the verge of forming. He took a few deep breaths as his professor sat down, eyeing him warily and sitting across from him.

“Uhm… Sir? What are we doing here?” Harry questioned, only to earn a glare in reply. Snape turned away from him, and for a brief moment, Harry felt tempted to stick his tongue out at the older man. Snape wouldn’t have appreciated that, though, so he stayed still and glanced around the pub.

The Leaky at night was quite gorgeous, in Harry’s opinion. The lights provided a nice, warm glow, and the open windows allowed a sweet breeze to flow throughout. The gentle scent of smoke from the city and butterbeer from the bar surrounded them, and Harry felt himself sink a bit into his chair.

“Listen Potter. I don’t know what you were thinking, leaving your home the way you did, but it’s unacceptable,” Snape sneered. “Perhaps your family didn’t pamper you enough, or polish your nice shoes well enough, but whatever it was… you have broken the biggest rule of Hogwarts by using your quirk outside of school. You will not be expelled, much to my chagrin, but I will be taking you home.”

Harry’s eyes widened in response to Snape’s speech. For a moment, he wondered how Snape couldn’t see that he wasn’t pampered. Really, it was quite obvious from Harry’s perspective. His ratty trainers and oversized hand-me-downs all pointed towards… well. Not a pampered child, that’s for sure.

“N-No. Professor, sir, I can’t go back. You can’t send me back!” Harry pleaded desperately. Snape grimaced at his loud protest, and made a gesture to signal him to be quiet. Harry allowed himself to be silenced for a moment, awaiting the reply from his professor.

“Oh, yes you can. You can, and you will. ” His voice was quite angry, and Harry couldn’t for the life of him figure out a good reason why. Sure, he hated Harry, but normally he was so… composed. While the younger pondered his professor's mood, Snape suddenly reached out and grasped his arm.

Harry gasped out, and recognized the feeling immediately. Snape was using his quirk on him. Snape, the professor who’s quirk manifested people’s fears. Snape, who was now holding onto a belt— apparently, Vernon was Harry’s biggest fear. That thought was quite distant, though, and he jumped out of his seat and dove towards his professor’s hands.

When he found himself paralyzed, Harry inwardly sobbed. How could he have let himself be touched by Snape? How had he managed to let his guard down so harshly? For one brief moment, he considered fighting the paralysis, but he knew that it wouldn’t wear off until Snape touched him again. He was almost reluctant for that to happen.

Snape didn’t react harshly, not really. He grunted slightly, and his eyes narrowed, but otherwise his face remained the same. Perhaps his body language was stiffer, but Harry hardly wanted to find out. How pathetic must his professor find him, knowing that Harry Potter was terribly afraid of… well. Snape probably assumed it was just belts. The man would never consider that Harry was abused… either way. Harry wasn’t abused. Mistreated, but not abused.

“What. Is. This? ” Snape questioned him, and somehow unfroze only his mouth. Harry hardly knew how to respond, so he stated the obvious.

“It’s… it’s a belt, sir?” His tone was questioning, and Harry prayed that this confused act would pay off. Knowing his rotten luck, it wouldn’t.

“ Mr Potter.” Was the only response Harry received. 

“Okay, it’s… I think it’s meant to represent my uncle. He… well, when I use my quirk on accident, he’ll use the belt on me. It’s not too bad, professor, really. You’ll be glad to know that I probably deserved it, actually…” Harry trailed off at the end of his explanation, hoping Snape would just drop the topic. The professor stared at him instead, analyzing him like he would a potion.

“Your uncle, you say? Does he use the belt often, Potter?” Snape questioned him. Harry attempted to nod, and remembered he couldn’t move, so instead resolved for a weak ‘yes’. Maybe Snape would finally let this go… perhaps he would be joyful of the fact that they hurt him. Really, Harry just wished this torment would be over.

“You… do realize, Potter, that what your uncle does is considered abuse?” Harry gasped at the question. Quickly, he stated that it wasn’t abuse at all. The cupboard was actually worse than the belt, really. That statement hadn’t helped his case.

“You… you are to come with me. You will follow my steps, and when I order you to hold onto me, you will do so. Is that understood, Potter?” Harry whimpered in response.

“I can’t go back there, professor. Please don’t send me back, please …” 

“You won’t be going back, Potter. Now follow me. We’re going to Spinners End.”