An old grandfather clock chimed so loudly that it echoed throughout the Room of Requirement like an earthquake. Harry's eyes were open and he was up in bed in a heartbeat. With his chest being hammered from the inside out and his hair sticking straight up from his skull, his eyes scanned his surroundings like a hunter looking for its prey.

He half expected to be back in his hotel room, nothing but a scatter of his belongings and low furniture against light walls and flooring—or expected to see All Might posters and memorabilia stretch from wall to wall. Instead he only had a darkened room filled with furniture that was covered by white sheets.

It was midnight, he realized, picking up his glasses from the bedside table and placing them on his face. His eyes squinted at the arms on the clock before falling back on his lap. He didn't even remember falling asleep. One moment he was laying down on his bed, and the next half of the day had already past. His legs swung over the edge of the bed and he prepared for another part of the day.

As he put on his shoes and fixed the state of his hair, one sentence repeated throughout his mind.

I'm going to see Professor Dumbledore again.

The halls were dark and the castle was silent.

It was curfew, the prefects and didn't make their rounds through here, and the paintings were asleep.

His wand was lit at the tip with Lumos and his Marauder's Map and his eyes carefully roamed the halls that he used to know so well. They went up and down every corner and crevice like he was scanning spines of books in a library.

His heart felt full.

There certainly wasn't any eye-opening moment, an ache in his chest, but it felt like he had finally returned home after a long vacation. All those doubts he had while he was in Japan seemingly didn't exist anymore. Hogwarts really was his home after all.

Then again, so were the Midoriyas.

Ignoring the guilt bubbling under his ribcage, he finally tuned to the gargoyle guarding the gates and muttered out the password into the silence of the halls.

With a whisper of "chocoballs" the gargoyle's granite eyes finally landed on his small form before it stepped aside.

He made it up the staircase without looking back.

The office hadn't changed a bit. Magical items still covered every visible space on tabletops, and the room was covered floor to ceiling with leather-bound books. Despite being late in the night, the office was still lit with a bright golden glow, but the sunroof was dotted with bright stars above.

"Professor Dumbledore?" he finally whispered, his voice raspy after saying that name after what seemed like forever. When no one answered, he echoed it again, casting a nervous glance at the snoozing portraits of the previous headmasters.

No response.

A rustle was heard from around the corner and Harry dove for it at quick speed, like a child running after their parent, but when those lips opened up again to echo Dumbledore's name again, he was only met with the sight of Fawkes, the phoenix.

Tall, and bright red with thick and rich plumage, the phoenix was obviously well into another rebirth at his prime. The bird let out a soft cry before twirling his body on the bird's perch and ruffling his feathers back into place.

When those dark eyes landed on him, he resisted the urge to flinch under the heavy gaze.

"Hello, Fawkes," he whispered, eyes lit with awe. In a second, Fawkes spread his wings far and wide, and Harry knew that look of a bird taking flight. On instinct he held out his arm as a perch and those heavy talons were gripping his sleeve in a blink of an eye. Gently raising a finger, he carefully stroked the bird's breast feathers. "It's good to see you again," he stated, voice soft and sincere.

Fawkes shook off his finger and he dropped his free hand. His head tilted in confusion as the phoenix curiously poked and prodded at his chest and his neck with the bird's own head and beak.

"H-Hey…!" he exclaimed softly when Fawkes gave a particularly hard nudge on his chest. He stumbled back from the headbutt and held the bird further away from his body.

"I've been away for awhile," he eventually said. "Japan. Musutafu," the wizard stated. "Have you been there before?"

The phoenix only stared into his eyes curiously.

It felt strange, talking to a bird like this, especially to one unresponsive unlike Hedwig, who always wanted to let her opinion have a place, but he was a kid in a candy store. Surrounded by all the magic that he loved and grew up with, he was taking it all in with a greediness he didn't know he had.

"You probably did, with someone as old as you," he finally said. Apparently done with the one-sided conversation, Fawkes raised his wings again and Harry dropped his arm, watching once more as the phoenix swooped around the room before disappearing into another corner.

He continued his snooping.

He slowly crept along the office, one foot in front of the other with careful ease that came from years of sneaking into the Dursley's kitchen after dark. A book of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them on the desk, a Sneakoscope underneath weathered parchment, Dumbledore's famous Deluminator on the table.

And finally, a gentle blue glow that rippled like moonlight on a lake. He stepped closer, stood alongside it and peered down.

An inkling feeling settled on the bottom of his stomach, staying idle like a lion in a cage. He got closer, close enough for that blue light to reflect along his glasses and then he saw that foggy swirl churning without liquid. He inched closer, and closer and—

An elderly man, oddly proportioned; broad shoulders and overlong arms.

"Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh? Don't you go talking to us as if we're dirt on your shoes! Generations of pure-bloods, wizards all—more than you can say, I don't doubt!"

. . .

"She likes looking at that Muggle. Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge at him, isn't she? And last night—hanging out of the window waiting for him to ride home, wasn't she?"

"I got him as he went by and he didn't look so pretty with hives all over him, did he, Merope?"

. . .

"The Quirk things are appearing left and right—but that Tom—" The nanny at Wool's orphanage leaned closer to the younger Dumbledore, craning her head to look up at him, her nose was inches away from his orange spotted tie. "There has been incidents with the other children…"

. . .

"That's quite a peculiar Quirk you have there, Tom—"

"It's not a Quirk," the boy insisted, face souring at the mention of his name. He was small, skinny, dark haired with dark eyes, but despite his state of dress and the hollowness of his cheeks, the traces of the boy's handsomeness lingered.

This was Tom Riddle.

"Oh?" Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "What makes you say that?"

Tom Riddle peered back at him with dark brown eyes, nearly coals in the light. "That glowing baby from China… The boy with the night vision… I'm not one of them." Tom straightened up but never took his eyes off the headmaster. There was a flush on his skinny cheeks and those coals gleamed. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt if I want to... I can speak to snakes too. They find me, they whisper to me."

His leg trembled with excitement. He leaned forward, head bent until it nearly looked like he was in a prayer.

"I'm different from those Quirk kids."

"Yes," Dumbledore eventually said, "you're a wizard."

A hand grasped Harry's shoulder and yanked him out of the memory, and he gasped like he was without air, but his hair wasn't wet, nor was his skin or his clothes from the dive in the Pensieve.

He whipped around, and itching for his wand, but he was face to face with those star-patterned robes, that long, white beard and he stopped himself.

"P-Professor…!" he asked, glasses askew. His jaw falling at the sight of the most powerful wizard.

"Harry, my boy." Professor Dumbledore stood in front of him and folded his arms in front of him. His voice was laced with sincerity and familiarity.

"Young Harry!"

Harry nearly fell back and knocked into the Pensieve. The bowl rattled and tipped precariously and he would've fallen completely if it weren't for the iron-tight grip of his arm, holding him like a puppet on a string. Dumbledore carefully pulled him back upright and he stood there.

"You—you knew about this?" he gasped out, chest rising and falling, eyes blinking over glassy orbs, mouth opening and closing—he looked as if he just drowned. There wasn't a moment to lose. No hugs, no exclamations, no eyes filled with love for his professor—not like how things used to be. He gestured helplessly to the pensive. "You knew about this...and you didn't tell me…?" His voice raised in pitch, but lowered in volume, hitting those inflictions that expressed his disbelief—his betrayal.

Something like this was monumental. Tom Riddle—Voldemort's—past was something that Harry always knew that Dumbledore knew, but it never crossed his mind. The Slytherin's horrific downfall, Tom Riddle's mother and his absent father, a life inside the orphanage. Harry couldn't understand why something this significant was held back from him. Seeing it now, on his own accord, struck something with him. Maybe it was the absence, or Harry had it in him this entire time.

"Harry—" Dumbledore's voice was kind. Harry imagined seeing his professor again multiple times in his head. In some daydreams, Dumbledore was disappointed, in others he was understanding—as Dumbledore always was, and in scarcer quantities, Dumbledore was truly angry. He never imagined their reunion to be like this—and it hurt so much. Harry respected and loved Dumbledore like no other.

"You had so many opportunities to tell me, Professor! About this...whatever this is!" Harry wondered if he was spending too much time with Izuku, because his eyes started to water.

Dumbledore sighed, a light, airy breath, before walking forward and placing a hand on the rim of the Pensieve, staring wistfully into the luminescent contents. Harry didn't move from his spot.

"I understand why you are upset, Harry," Dumbledore stated. "And I'm sorry I disappointed you. It was never my intention to leave you in the dark." He dropped his hand and it disappeared underneath the shimmer fabric of his sleeve once more. "I'm also greatly sorry for the loss of your neighbor. Mrs. Figg has informed me on multiple occasions that he was very important to you." His voice was soft and genuine, and his eyes shined underneath those half-moon spectacles.

"...Thank you," Harry finally muttered after he has calmed down, his eyes downcast. Staying with the Midoriyas almost made him forgot about his guilt and his loss for Mr. Midoriya. Midoriya-san's kind words, Izuku's shy encouragement—Harry took it all in and stayed with them at the moment. Then he thought about Sirius and the Department of Mysteries to his almost routine meeting with Dumbledore at the end of the year. "At the end of the last term you said you were going to tell me everything…" He lifted his eyes up to meet Dumbledore's. It was hard to keep the tone of accusation away from his voice, but Harry couldn't help but think that his behavior now was legions better than his quick temper last year. "Sir," he quickly added.

"And so I did," Dumbledore said patiently. "I told you everything I knew. I debated long and hard on what was the right time to finally tell you what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you fifteen years ago, for you to be given certain information." He paused. "I believed that this year was finally the time for us to be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork.

"I apologize in advance for the long night that is to come, you must be horribly jetlagged. But…I planned horribly...I never thought that the pressure of guilt and loss would prompt you to run."

"There's nothing wrong with running away...Young Potter!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "From here on in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."

"But you think you're right?" said Harry.

"Naturally I do, but as I have already proven to you, I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being—forgive me—rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly

Huger."

"Sir," said Harry tentatively, "does what you're going to tell me have anything to do with the prophecy? Will it help me...survive?" He might have been a lot stronger physically, a lot more tactile with all of the Hero lessons that he was given, but he couldn't just go up and punch Lord Voldemort across the face to claim a victory. Even if he wanted to.

"It has a very great deal to do with the prophecy," said Dumbledore, as casually as if Harry had asked him about the next day's weather, "and I certainly hope that it will help you to survive." He tapped the Pensieve again, and it was then Harry noticed that the fingers on Dumbledore's hand were blackened and shriveled. Harry opened his mouth to ask, and the wizened professor followed his line of sight and knew, but cut him off. "The first memory you saw was Bob Ogdens's."

Professor explained that he was a deceased worker from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and right after he was attacked in the memory and had the fight with the Gaunt men he Apparated to the Ministry and brought back reinforcements to arrest the father and the son.

"The older man's name was Marvolo—"

"Wait, Marvolo?" Harry repeated wonderingly.

"That's right," said Dumbledore, smiling in approval. "I am glad to see you're keeping up."

"That old man was—?"

"Voldemort's grandfather, yes," said Dumbledore. "Marvolo, his son, Morfin, and his daughter, Merope." Dumbledore went on to tell Harry that they were the last of the Gaunts, an ancient wizarding family with a nasty temper.

Voldemort's past was unraveled then. The woman, the frail, sickly woman in the memory was Voldemort's mother and the man that they had attacked, the one riding on the horse was Voldemort's father—a muggle. Together, they unraveled the fact that Merope used a love potion to snare in Tom Riddle Sr. Her love for him trumped logic, and soon after she became pregnant with what would soon grow up to be Lord Voldemort, she stopped giving Riddle Sr. the potion. He left her and she died shortly after giving birth and dropping Voldemort off at an orphanage. She was in London, starving and cold before she sold the famous Slytherin Locket for a mere ten Galleons to a man named Caractacus Burke.

Merope had given up magic in the face of her unwilling husband's abandonment, and then her own life despite her son.

"The next memory you saw, Harry, was my own," Dumbledore stated. He had gone to Tom's orphanage to recruit the boy into Hogwarts himself, and Tom was quick to accept that he was different from the other kids—much faster than Harry when Hagrid first told him, and Riddle had already exhibited signs of intelligence, friendlessness, and pride at that young age. His tendency of taking trophies from the other orphan kids that he hurt was an obvious sign of unnatural tendencies.

"Now. Harry...there is one last memory, and possibly the most important out of all of them, I want you to look at for tonight… This is the memory of Professor Horace Slughorn. He is the new Potions professor for this term, and speaks highly of you, Harry…." Dumbledore pulled out a shimmering memory from the many on the shelf and uncorked it before swirling it into the Pensieve. He leaned forward, but paused right before the glow of the silvery surface illuminated his face. His blue eyes stared on at him, and his hand was outstretched. "Will you join me, my boy?"

Harry exhaled, and closed his eyes before diving into the silver surface.

Slughorn was a middle-aged man with peppery, gingery-blond hair with a growing bald patch and a mustache that covered his entire upper lip. The suit and waistcoat that he was wearing were underneath obvious strain. He was sitting at the end of a long table that was surrounded by teenage boys that were on harder and lower seats than his. Harry turned his head and Dumbledore was standing beside him as they stood inside the potion professor's office.

Tom Riddle was the easiest to pick out. He was the most handsome of them all, with an easy smirk and relaxed shoulders while the boys around him were wound like a coil and were laughing boisterously with each other.

Harry's eyes narrowed upon spotting Tom's hand that rested on the arm of the chair. He was wearing the same gold-and-black ring that Marvolo Gaunt wore and—

"Yes," Dumbledore answered without Harry asking. "This is after Tom has murdered his own father."

Harry's green eyes fell on Dumbledore's own hand.

It was the same ring that Voldemort was wearing.

Tom asked Slughorn about the retirement of a certain professor, and the aging man tutted before remarking on Tom's ability to know about all of the rumors in the castle and his sharp wit. The boys around them laughed once more and elbowed Tom in a joking manner, yet there wasn't a doubt that they all looked at him like Tom was a god on Earth. Riddle purposely fixed his face so that he would look modest.

Then something strange happened; the room filled with fog once more, and the memory shifted so it appeared as if all of the men in the memory fell back on their chairs before collapsing on the floor in grey smoke. The smoke churned and pulled together once more as it reformed to shape Slughorn and Tom Riddle once more, but this time they were alone.

"Look sharp, Tom," said Slughorn, turning around and finding him still present. "You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect . . ."

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away. . . ."

"Sir, I wondered what you know about . . . about Horcruxes?"

And it happened all over again: The dense fog filled the room so that Harry could not see Slughorn or Voldemort at all; only Dumbledore, smiling serenely beside him. Then Slughorn's voice boomed out again, just as it had done before.

"I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning them again!"

"That's all there is?" said Harry blankly when he was roughly pulled out of the memory, his legs landing harshly on the floor of Dumbledore's office. The professor said that this was the most important memory, and yet it was just Voldemort not getting an answer to the question that he wanted.

"As you could tell from the fog…" Dumbledore lifted up the memory above his head and glanced at the silvery liquid in the lights. "The memory has been tampered with."

"Tampered with?" repeated Harry, sitting back down too.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections."

"But why would he do that?"

"Because, I think, he is ashamed of what he remembers," said Dumbledore. "He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts which he does not wish me to see. It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations." Dumbledore placed the near-empty vial back in the shelf and they arranged themselves automatically. He turned to Harry again and the Gryffindor resisted the urge to flinch in face of his professor. "I'm sorry to put you up to this, Harry. You've been through a lot this year, even at the muggle Hero school in Japan."

"Y-You know about that?" Harry stuttered out.

"Of course." The professor walked over to his desk and Harry followed in a daze. "We did not do anything, because we believed that you were content in Japan. I may have made a lot of mistakes in my life…" There was a moment where Dumbledore hesitated. "But I hope that neglecting you and the status of your life is not one of them."

Villain attacks, the Sports Festival, Hosu—Dumbledore really sat and watched as Harry fumbled like a newborn over those?

"Though, with the current situation at hand, I have to apologize, Harry, because for the first time, I am giving you homework. It will be your job to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory, which will undoubtedly be our most crucial piece of information of all. After you retain the memory and view it. I will give you the decision on whether you want to stay at U.A….or go back to Hogwarts. It is your choice."

Harry stared at him. "Wha...but surely you can use Legilimency...or Veritaserum...or both!"

Dumbledore gently let Harry's suggestion down by stating that Slughorn was an extremely competent and talented wizard who had already expected the two options. Getting the memory by force was foolish as well, and was immediately taken off the drawing board before Harry could even recommend it. By this time, Harry turned his head and spotted the slightest signs of the sun peeking over the horizon.

"But you...Harry...you've always had a talent of getting what you want...and for people to admire you. I believe that you have the ability to get the true memory. Time is of the essence, and I decided that after seeing your Sports Festival that this was the ripest moment to teach you about these before the year slips away from us."

After mulling over his thoughts and seeing the rising sun, Harry turned to the professor that has loved so much throughout the years.

"I'll do it."

"Thank you, my boy." There was that twinkle in his eyes again.

"But, sir...could I tell Ron and Hermione?"

"Yes, I think Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have proved themselves trustworthy. But Harry, I am going to ask you to ask them not to repeat any of this to anybody else. It would not be a good idea if word got around how much I know, or suspect, about Lord Voldemort's secrets," Dumbledore said after some consideration.

"I trust Ron and Hermione with my life," Harry said with firmness, "and they're the only people I would ever tell something like this to."

"It is getting early, Harry. I dare say that it is time for you to return to the Room of Requirement, or the early morning Prefects might catch you—and dare I say, some of the portraits that are more prone to gossip."

"Thank you, sir." Harry held up a piece of silken fabric that shifted before their eyes. "I brought my Invisibility Cloak."

"Well then, it has been a long day and night for you—rest up—"

"Sir," Harry addressed, finally catching the tail end of their long lesson.

"Hm?"

"Is that ring that you're wearing…" Black and gold glittered underneath the lights in the office and the first rays of sunlight, "the same one from the memory?"

"The exact same," Dumbledore assured.

"Then how did you—"

"Too late, Harry! You shall hear the story another time. Make sure you get some rest."

"...Good night, sir." Harry bowed his head and started to head out of the office. Fawkes peeked down from his post as he walked toward the door.

"Oh, and Harry?"

"Yes, sir?" Harry turned around almost instantly, and answered almost too eagerly.

"It almost slipped my mind that Sirius left everything to you in his will. The Black family fortune and Number 12 Grimmauld Place."

There was silence throughout the office, and then the sound of the door creaking and metal squeaking as Harry's grip on the doorknob became like a deathhold.

"...Good night, sir."

With that, he left.

. . .

As the sun finally rose above Hogwarts, he wondered how Tonks and Izuku were doing on the other side of the world.

Tonks exhaled and scratched her head filled with wild, jet black strands as she stared at her math equation.

She didn't graduate Hogwarts and choose the least math-related job just to do math again. She thought that she left it behind. Nevermind the fact that the Translation Charm only worked verbally, and she had to apply another charm on all of her papers and books so that she would be able to read Japanese. Even if Kaminari, the guy who was visibly struggling in front of the class, at least it was because he knew that he had the right to be confused from what he was reading, not that he was struggling over the language like she was.

The bell finally rang she felt like an overblown balloon just deflated. She gradually slumped over her desk as Ectoplasm, a pretty cool professor whose appearance she has never tried to replicate before, excused himself and the class started to buzz as the students left for lunch.

"Potter-chan, you looked like you were struggling," a croaky voice beside him said.

"A-Ah!" "Harry" quickly turned his head and saw Tsuyu sitting in the desk beside him with an inquisitive look on her face. "Tsu-chan! You saw that?"

She nodded once. "You looked like you were on the same level as Kaminari."

"Hey! At least I'm trying!" Kaminari called out from his desk as he started to get ready for lunch. "Don't be so mean!"

Tonks scratched her head. "I'm just struggling with reading some of the characters… I don't really know what the question is asking yet…"

"Hm?" It was the guy with the bird's head speaking up now. Tokoyami. Together, the three of them gathered their stuff and started to head to the cafeteria. "You never showed any issues with reading your assignments or papers before…."

"I usually hide it better," Tonks lied, "but with the exams coming up...the reality of it all is hitting me…."

The two nodded and started to give him advice on what he should do with the upcoming exams. Whether it be to ask one of them for help with reading, one of the higher-scoring students, or to get extra lessons from the teachers to help him get better marks. Tonks nodded along, saying that "he" had supplementary textbooks and worksheets that were helping him along the way.

It didn't really matter to Tonks. She knew that Harry's scores were important to him, but she was only going to be here for a short amount of time, and she already planned to cheat for him with the Cribbing Spell on the written portion of the exam. For the physical portion, she could easily wing it.

"Hey, Potter-kun!" Sero waved from one of the tables as Tonks walked by with her tray of mixed tempura and rice from Lunch Rush. She turned and tilted her head as she walked closer.

"It's so strange to see you in the cafeteria! Heh! You're full of surprises these weeks aren't you?" Kaminari asked.

"Oh, really?" Tonks nearly dropped her tray out of nerves, but Kirishima propped it up from the bottom with his hand and Ashido cheekily took several pieces of fried shrimp. "I-I guess after Hosu I just wanted to spend more time with my classmates," she lied again.

"Yeah!" The girl with pink hair and the pink skin pumped her fist in the air. "Eating Lunch Rush's food and sitting with us has to be more exciting than eating the konbini's onigiri and eating alone in the classroom!"

"Yeah, sit with us! Bakugou is getting his food now, but he'll be joining us too!" Kirishima said, gesturing to the other empty seat beside him. He was all smiles and grins.

"Harry" laughed. "Yeah! I'd love to sit next to…"

Her eyes drifted to a table at the end of the cafeteria, and realized that she had locked eyes with Izuku Midoriya. He was staring at him with wide green eyes and furrowed brows. His lips were turned down, and Tonks was at a loss for words. She totally forgot that she promised to look after him for Harry too—she took an uneven step in their direction of the room. Did Harry use to sit with them? Was this Izuku feeling neglected because of her?

Little did she know, at the end of the room, Izuku had been turned around in his seat for a while now, with Izuku's hand firmly planted on the back of his chair as he stared intently at "Harry's" figure from across the room. Todoroki sat across from him, cool eyes firmly planted on Harry. His katsudon had gone cold, but he didn't care.

This was just another mark in the inaccuracies.

It used to be because of his anti-socialness, but Harry used to sit in the classrooms during lunch. While Izuku had always offered to have Harry sit with them during lunch after they realized their relationship with one another, Harry always turned him down in favor of spending time with Hedwig.

Harry also never bought food from Lunch Rush. Harry said that it was to save money, but Izuku knew the truth. Harry's stomach had never grown big enough to stomach one full portion of food.

Tonks stood up straighter, nearly tripping when she tried to walk backwards too quickly. "Actually—I think that I'll sit with Midoriya-kun—!" Tonks wheeled around, but immediately crashed into someone else, and knocked into a tray and dish with her elbow in the progress. The crash was loud enough to alert everyone in the cafeteria.

Bakugou stood in front of her, eyes shadowed by his spiky bangs as his school uniform dripped with a light brown from his curry, and was speckled with white from his rice. Pieces dripped down onto the ground and it seemed like it was loud enough to create a sonic boom.

The table behind her was frozen in fear like a snapshot at a horror movie. The room was silent.

Immediately Kirishima stepped out of his seat and ran in between Bakugou and Harry, arms waving frantically.

"H-Hey! Here…!" Kirishima frantically tried to pat some of the curry off with a napkin. "I-It was a total accident, right, Bakugou? Hahaha!" He laughed nervously and started to sweat as if he was under a desert sun. The blond in front of her was still completely unresponsive. "I-it's totally cool, guys! You can all return to your lunches! A-And Potter-kun, maybe it's best if you go sit down—"

Hands immediately pushed Kirishima away and grabbed at her collar. He pulled her close until she was nearly nose to nose with Bakugou. There were chairs scraping against the floor and she didn't need to crane her neck to know that it was Izuku and his friends. In the background, she could hear some blond guy from Class 1-B laugh at them boisterously.

"Bakugou-kun, calm down immediately!" Iida shouted from across the room.

Bakugou grabbed Kaminari's ramen who yelled out in protest and held it high above her head. "You're going to pay for that tenfold, transfer student!" Bakugou growled at her so viciously that her hair nearly blew back.

Besides herself, she couldn't stop her tongue from forming the next words. "Could you step back a little? You're getting curry all over my uniform, Bakugou-kun."

It was like poking a sleeping dragon.

"AHHHH! I'm going to fucking kill you!" Bakugou's hand came down with the ramen bowl, but Tonks had already seen his movements from a mile away. She wrapped her hands around Bakugou's own, twisting until he hissed in pain. Right before the broth and noodles were able to crash on her head, she lifted her hand and slapped it away with a wordless Depluso.

It soared across the room, and she twisted her body to find out that it crashed into the laughing blond from 1-B, right in his face, and silencing him immediately.

Bakugou's hands were on her again in another fit of rage, but Tonks was ready this time. She held onto his hands that were gripping onto her shoulders and used it to step up the spiky blond, turning her body until she landed freely on the table behind her.

"You 1-A freaks think you're going to win after you did this to me?" the blond, who she later learned was Monoma, shreaked. He scooped up his bowl of miso soup and hurled it at Harry as hard as he could.

Tonks easily ducked out of its way.

"How childish, huh—?" Mineta tried to say, but only received a face full of miso instead.

The next few things happened too fast, and she hated to admit that she was upset that she couldn't enjoy it more.

A full-on food fight started in the cafeteria, and her grin stretched from ear to ear at the complete thought of a room full of kids with Quirks hurling food at each other. Not as cool as the Great Food Fight of her fourth year, where the brawled in the Great Hall, filled with trays and goblets that constantly refilled itself, but this was good enough.

Food of all kinds soared through the air, and she was pretty sure that she saw Mineta being thrown once or twice as well. Tables were upturned and used as barriers from other students, while the braver ones charged on with trays and their own will power. She was kneeling behind another table tipped over on its side with a small bowl of beef and rice in her hands, getting ready to strike.

"Don't think I'm fucking through with you yet!" a voice growled from her right, bringing his hands down on her shoulders. She threw away the tray that she was using as a shield and immediately whirled around to meet eyes with Bakugou.

"Bring it on, porcupine!" she goaded.

"You're going to wish you'd never been born when I'm through with you!" He shouted as he charged. Bakugou's fist sailed forward, stopping only when Tonks knocked it over with her own jab before she lifted a leg up and swung it at his neck.

His forearm was lifted up in a block, and he grabbed her ankle, dragging her forward. Immediately, her other leg was brought up while she was supported by Bakugou, nearly crashing with his straight nose if it weren't for the fact that he let out a small blast that stopped her.

He released her other leg and in those few seconds, she grabbed him by his torso, bringing her legs up before they hooked around his neck and leaned her body down to bring him down with her.

They both crashed on the ground, but Bakugou's recovery was speedy. He rolled over and brought his palms out, nearly ready to scorch her face before she wandlessly and wordlessly summoned two glasses of water and plunged both of his fists in them right as they were about to explode.

It wasn't long before their little brawl transformed into a spar. Tonks could tell that he was having just as much fun as she was from the glint in his eye and the upturn of the edges of his lips. Food was still being thrown around them as they fought, like a battlefield. It's been a while since she had actually sparred—Mad-Eye's peg leg always took the wind out of her, and she never wanted to reenact her training days, and Kingsley had enough muscle to stop her fists in their place and toss her across the room without any magic needed.

She was fighting a high school boy, but something as light as this was refreshing.

They ended up at opposite ends of the room, and the airborne food went from a raging storm into a light sprinkle. On the mental count of three, Tonks and Bakugou charged at each other. He jumped into the air with his palms out, ready to blow her into the next day, while she held out both of her hands.

"RAHHH!"

Depluso! she casted.

"You two better quit it right now!" a powerful voice yelled.

Immediately, Bakugou's Quirk disappeared, leaving nothing but empty hands, but Tonk's spell stayed. The Depluso caught on his chest without anything to stop it, and Bakugou was blasted back until he crashed into multiple other tables before his descent slowed into a stop, his head dropping with his arms slung over the edge of the table.

Everyone in the cafeteria stopped like they were frozen in ice.

They all stared with their mouths open as Aizawa and Cementoss walked toward the middle of the battlefield. The crowd around them split like the Red Sea, but the damage was already done.

"What the hell do you think you are all doing?!" Aizawa yelled out into the room. "You're lucky that it would be impossible for me to expel everyone in this room, or else you all would be going home, right now! Everyone here will be writing a letter of apology to Lunch Rush, and will be cleaning every corner of this cafeteria! You should all know that your parents will be informed by tonight." There was complete silence when he stopped. "Do I make myself clear?!"

"Yes, sir!" the whole room nearly chorused in fear.

"To be up and coming Heroes, you have to act like it!" Cementoss lectured. "I'm deeply ashamed of everyone here!"

"We apologize, Cementoss-sensei!"

"We're sorry!"

"We'll clean up, we promise!"

"Now…" Aizawa's voice slowed to a low growl, his scarves floating and his eyes glowing. "Who started the fight?" He asked the question, but he already knew the answer.

Nearly every hand that wasn't in 1-A turned and pointed to Harry and a still Bakugou.

"I-I can explain, sir!" Tonks fretted, her voice raising back to her original pitch in panic. "I-I—" She almost wanted to facepalm when she realized that she did exactly what Harry told her not to: get in the radar of the one teacher that suspected them the most.

"Save it," Aizawa spat out. "Take Bakugou to Recovery Girl, but you two will stay behind after school today to discuss your punishment."

She sighed and her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Yes...Aizawa-sensei…."

Her head dipped, and her feet dragged behind her like a zombie. As she left the room, she didn't see the green eyes that followed her. Izuku Midoriya, even though he was covered in soy sauce and udon noodles, was now certain, but even more confused.

The clocktower at the end of the U.A. campus tolled once again, immediately after the final bell rang and food-covered students started to slowly file out of their classrooms like zombies. Class 1-A was the only classroom that had fresh, clean uniforms, courtesy of Momo's Quirk, but that couldn't be said the same for their hair and skin that still smelled like a restaurant.

Bakugou sat fuming at his desk—right as Recovery Girl revived him hours earlier, it was said that he shot up demanding another rematch with "the damned transfer student," but instead he was at his desk, shaking in fury like how he had done after the School Festival.

As students started to leave their classrooms, Tonk's hands covered the head that laid on the desk, and winced when Aizawa commanded her and Bakugou to follow them to the principal's office. Getting in trouble with Professor Sprout, McGonagall, and Snape was one thing—this was something else entirely.

When the trickle of students that were leaving the room slowed like grains of sand in an hourglass, Izuku shot up to Todoroki's desk.

"H-Hey, Todoroki-kun, can we talk?" he urged. "In private?"

. . .

The open hallway that led to the track and field was completely empty, and this entire wing of the building was completely empty save for the two of them.

"T-Todoroki-kun, I-I'm telling you this because I know that you interned with Harry, and-and I don't know who else to tell this to, but…" Izuku's shaking form and stuttering words stopped when he swallowed and steeled himself just for this. "I believe that the Harry that was with us for the past few weeks...is not the real Harry."

"I believe you."

"A-And I know that it sounds completely crazy, haha!" Izuku's eyes almost seemed like they were swirling when he started to go on his muttering rant. "B-But there's just too many inconsistencies with the Harry that we knew and the Harry now. Harry used to never eat in the cafeteria, or change in the locker rooms, but he suddenly started doing it about two weeks ago! Not only that, but earlier that 'Harry' was using onnarashii when Aizawa startled him. Nevermind the fact that this Harry is a lot more open when asked questions, when the original Harry is usually more guarded. This might just be the effects of Hosu, but I believe that—"

"Midoriya, stop." The green-haired teen's muttering was immediately silent like a pause button. "I believe you."

"A-Ah! R-Really?!" Midoriya stepped closer to the half-and-half boy. He had thought that he had to convince Todoroki on this, maybe even risked having Todoroki believe that he was insane, but he had never believed that Todoroki would accept it easily.

"Yes…" His voice dropped until it was slow and silent. Todoroki's eyes fell on his left hand. "Midoriya, you're one of the few that know of my difficult past with that man and so you know that Endeavor...has harmed me and my mother on multiple occasions in my childhood." Izuku's face twisted from across from him and Todorki's expression was distant with memories of the past. "That's why...I was able to confirm during our internship together that Potter has been abused. The Harry in that room...does not show the signs of abuse like the real Harry does."

"W-What…?" Izuku's voice squeaked out. His hands fell to his collar, almost like he had the instinct to twist fabric in his hands, or release the tightness in his throat. Harry wouldn't—Harry wouldn't hide that from him, would he? Izuku knew that Harry had a difficult childhood, and that was why his dad had taken him in, but Harry never said that his relatives abused him physically. This information was like a rock being dropped in his stomach.

"So what's the plan?" Todoroki asked, snapping Izuku out of his trance.

"H-huh?"

"What are we going to do to stop the fake Harry?"

"W-Well...I haven't thought that out yet." Across from him, Todoroki was giving him a flat look, but he chose to ignore it. "I-I think...I think we're dealing with something bigger here though…."

"What do you mean?" Todoroki's eyebrows furrowed.

"I know for sure that it was one of the two women that Harry was talking to that day—Y-You weren't there, but Harry said that they are alumni from his school and the fake Harry has mentioned that he fought against one of them once for prize money, so maybe the motivation is monetary, or-or revenge. The fake Harry was using feminine dialect earlier too, so it has to be one of them," he was rambling again.

"But-But...when Aizawa-sensei came in and canceled Kacchan and fake Harry's Quirks earlier...I thought for sure that was when Harry was going to be exposed! But...only Kacchan's Quirk was erased, and Harry was still able to use his…, both the original Harry's Quirk and the transformation ability. Aizawa-sensei couldn't have just erased only Kacchan's...he was looking at the both of them…. I think...what I'm trying to get at is...we're dealing with something bigger than just ordinary Quirks."

"I-I can't just sit here while he's out there somewhere without any note or notice...if he's okay or not..." Izuku looked up at Todoroki and locked eyes with him. "We have to stop the fake Harry."

A/N:

College is a complete pain and I haven't written exclusively since the beginning of the school year. I'm back in school now, but I managed to get some inspiration again during spring break.

The first part is completely Hogwarts (and Half-Blood Prince plot)-centric, and some of the lines are straight out of the book, so I'm not sure if this is still being done in fanfictions nowadays, but I do not own Harry Potter! LOL

Someone also said that it is a bit confusing going from Harry to Tonks and I'm sorry about that! I write Tonks when it is clearly Tonks thinking, acting, and "narrating," and then I switch over to addressing Tonks as Harry if I wanted to share a view of someone else looking or thinking about "Harry."