Midoriya Izuku knew the sound of trouble before he even turned the corner.
The mocking laughter, the thud of fists against flesh, the jeers that curdled his stomach.
Bakugo.
And sure enough, there they were—Bakugo and his crew, circling Harry like vultures.
Harry wasn't fighting back. He rarely did. He stood with his notebook clutched tight, jaw set, taking the blows as though sheer stubbornness could shield him.
"Still scribbling like some kind of freak?" Bakugo snarled, sparks dancing in his palms. "Writing fairy tales won't make you less pathetic, Scarface."
The others laughed, one snatching at Harry's notebook. Harry ripped it back, clutching it to his chest.
Midoriya's nails bit into his palms. He hated this. Every day, the same scene.
Something snapped inside him.
"Stop it, Kacchan!" Midoriya shouted, his voice breaking but ringing down the alley.
The gang turned.
Bakugo's grin stretched wolfish. "Well, well. Deku the hero. Come to save your boyfriend?"
Laughter. Cruel. Cutting.
Midoriya's knees shook, but he stepped forward anyway. "L-leave him alone!"
Bakugo cracked his knuckles, explosions popping. "Two for one. Boys, let's go."
The first punch doubled Midoriya over, knocking air from his lungs.
Another boy shoved him down, knee pressing into his back. Pain jolted through his ribs.
Harry tried to push back, but Bakugo's fist cracked against his jaw. Harry staggered, but didn't fall. His grip on the notebook was iron.
"You're both trash!" Bakugo spat, sparks spraying dangerously close to Harry's face.
Midoriya coughed, vision swimming. He wanted to crawl away—but then he saw Harry, fumbling in his jacket with trembling hands.
A slip of paper. Faintly stained, symbols scrawled across it.
Harry's eyes locked on Midoriya's. His voice rasped, urgent: "Cover your ears. Shut your eyes."
Midoriya blinked, dazed. "Wh—"
"Do it!" Harry barked, fiercer than Midoriya had ever heard.
Instinct overrode hesitation. Midoriya clamped his hands over his ears, squeezed his eyes shut.
The world detonated.
White light burned even through Midoriya's eyelids, painting everything blood red. A deafening crack ripped the air, shaking his bones.
Screams. Panicked, raw.
When he dared open his eyes, the bullies were staggering blind, clutching their ears, shrieking. Sparks sputtered from Bakugo's hands as he swore furiously, stumbling sightless.
Harry stood at the center, the scroll's ashes drifting from his hand.
Power radiated off him, alien and sharp.
And then his fury broke loose.
Harry's scar glowed faintly, angry red under the skin. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath ragged.
He lunged at the nearest boy, foot slamming up between his legs. The scream was high and sharp.
Another turned to flee, but Harry's hand hooked his collar and yanked him down. He stomped, heel grinding into ribs with brutal force.
"How do you like it now, huh?!" Harry snarled, voice raw. He kicked another in the gut, sent him sprawling into the dirt. "Not so funny anymore, is it?"
His movements were fast, vicious—less fighting, more animal rage unleashed.
Midoriya froze, horrified. He doesn't look like himself… he looks savage.
The remaining bullies scrambled, stumbling away in panic. Even Bakugo retreated, eyes streaming, shouting curses he couldn't aim.
But Harry wasn't done.
He snarled something sharp, guttural, in a language Midoriya had never heard before. A hiss, coiled and alien:
"Ssseth'thar!"
The sound made Midoriya's skin crawl. It wasn't Japanese. It wasn't anything he knew.
Then, just as suddenly, Harry stopped.
He stood trembling, fists clenched, chest heaving like he'd run miles. The faint glow of his scar dimmed. His eyes slowly lost their feral edge.
Midoriya forced himself to his feet, heart pounding.
"Harry…" His voice shook. "That was… too much."
Harry blinked, dazed, like waking from a dream. He wiped sweat from his brow, smearing dirt across his face.
"Maybe," he admitted, voice hoarse. "But they needed it. If we never push back, they'll never stop."
Midoriya shook his head. "Hurting people like that… that's not what heroes do."
Harry gave a hollow laugh. "You've got a heart of gold, Izuku. Maybe you can endure it forever. But me? I've got limits."
Silence stretched. Then Midoriya whispered, almost afraid: "That thing you said. Before. What language was that?"
Harry stiffened, eyes flicking away. "What thing?"
"You hissed something. It didn't sound human."
For a heartbeat, Harry's face twisted—panic, then control sliding back into place. He forced a smirk. "Must've been nonsense. Heat of the moment."
Midoriya frowned, unsettled. But Harry's tone brooked no further questions.
They limped home side by side, bruised and silent. Midoriya finally asked what had been gnawing at him.
"How… how did you do that? That light, that sound? You're quirkless. Aren't you?"
Harry's expression shuttered. Then, carefully:
"Late bloomer. My quirk… is complicated. Hard to use, hard to control. That's why I've been studying so much."
Midoriya's eyes widened. "So that's why—your notebooks…"
Harry nodded once. "Exactly."
It made sense. Sort of. Enough that Midoriya didn't push.
At the fork in the road, Midoriya stopped. His chest still ached, but his words spilled out anyway.
"I just… I don't think you should hurt people like that. Even if they deserve it. Heroes are supposed to protect. Not… not get revenge."
Harry studied him, quiet. Then, to Midoriya's surprise, he smiled—not cruel, not bitter, but soft.
"You really believe that," Harry murmured. "You'll make a good hero someday."
Midoriya flushed, embarrassed. "I-I don't even have a quirk—"
"You've got something better," Harry interrupted. "That heart of yours. People like you are rare."
Midoriya's throat tightened. For once, he didn't feel like useless Deku.
But as they parted ways, he couldn't shake the image of Harry under the streetlight: scar faintly glowing, eyes wild with rage, whispering in a tongue that didn't sound human.
Midoriya shivered.
Harry was strong in ways he couldn't understand.
But that strength… scared him too.