A/N: I love superhero AUs and I haven't managed to find a good Superhero!Harry one yet, (although def check out cgner's "Playing the hero, being the fool" if you're hankering for some Superhero!Jily), but anyway here's my fun, campy take ft. stupidity, hilariousness, wholesomeness, and (mis?)adventures. Please drop me a review if you can- I'll love you forever :)

"We need to tell Hermione."

Harry startled out of his thoughts at the voice, only to see Ron Weasley: tall, lanky, and more freckled than ever from the summer sun, his brow furrowed in uncharacteristic seriousness. "Well hello to you too," Harry said teasingly.

Ron rolled his eyes, cracking a small smile, "Yes, hello, whatever. We need to tell Hermione."

Harry didn't need to ask his friend what he was talking about; only one life-changing discovery had been made in the past two weeks.

"I know," he admitted, "I just don't want her to get on my case about skipping class all the time."

Ron had been his best friend since their very first day at Hogwarts Preparatory School; they were the only two scholarship students in their year and had hit it off immediately on the train. Hermione had joined their group a few weeks later, after the three of them had been locked overnight in a flooded school bathroom on Halloween as a prank— and wasn't that just an adventure— but Ron was the one with the Red Phoenix superhero costume, the one with the posters of Poison Ivy and The Captain in his room, and all the crazy conspiracy theories about why the crime-fighting duo had disappeared nearly a decade and a half ago, ("I swear, Harry, Poison Ivy was pregnant in that last battle against Voldemort, but she lost the baby and decided that she couldn't be a superhero anymore—"), so Ron had been the logical confidante when Harry had woken up by banging his head on his ceiling and discovered that he was floating six feet above his bed, and also now had piercing headaches that let him know when people were in danger. Plus, Hermione had been vacationing in France with her folks, and it was hardly an email topic.

A spider crawled onto the toe of Harry's shoe. He shot a quick glance up at Ron, who hadn't noticed. Ron hated spiders. "Go away," he whispered to the spider. Fine, it said in a tiny voice. It shimmied off his worn sneaker and scuttled away. He watched it go. This was another talent he'd recently discovered, one that even Ron didn't know about yet.

"But she's loads smarter than either of us," Ron argued, apparently having missed Harry's exchange with the spider entirely. He looked furtively around the busy courtyard, before lowering his voice, "Every superhero team needs a resident genius. Besides, she's super into social justice; I'm sure she wouldn't mind you missing classes for a good cause!"

Harry sighed, knowing Ron was right. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the ground.

"And," Ron said, cheeks and ears pinking slightly, "I— I want to ask her out. On a date. A proper date. And I don't want to be, you know, keeping secrets from her,"

Harry looked up in surprise, and then grinned broadly, "That's brilliant, Ron!"

Ron smiled back hesitantly, "You think?"

"Harry! Ron!"

The boys turned and were each met with mouthfuls of bushy brown hair as Hermione launched herself at them and threw her arms around them both.

"God, I've missed you two so much!" She grinned widely as she disentangled herself.

"Hermione!" Harry greeted, spitting hair out of his mouth, "You got your braces off!"

"Yeah, you look great," Ron said, flushing awkwardly, "How was France?"

"It was lovely!" Hermione smiled even wider, "And thank you!" She looped her arms through one of each of theirs, her smile fading, "Did you hear about Dumbledore?"

Harry shook his head. "No internet at the Dursleys," he reminded her.

"They're forcing him to retire," Hermione told him, "I think they're going to let him finish out the school year, but—"

"What?" Harry exclaimed, stopping in his tracks, "Why?"

"Apparently, he got married to his boyfriend over the summer," Hermione explained.

"So!?"

Hermione sighed, "Hogwarts is a private institution, and technically the school does have religious roots; it's entirely possible that it's still good law to fire him for 'publicizing his sexual orientation.' They could argue that it was his 'conduct' that got him fired, not his 'identity,' and the school's freedom of religious expression and whatnot."

"That can't be right," Ron said, frowning.

"There'll probably be an appeal," Hermione explained, "I can't imagine people will take this quietly, but the Board of Governors has final say, and Dumbledore's getting old, plus Lucius Malfoy will probably spin it so that it has nothing to do with Dumbledore being gay. And, truth is, he's got plenty of material; we know better than anyone the kind of crazy stuff that goes on at this school—"

"Teachers with homicidal tendencies," Ron said with a shudder, referring to their first year P.E. teacher who had had multiple personalities, the most notable of which had thought itself the deceased super-villain Voldemort and had tried to kill Harry during an after-school scavenger hunt, "And detentions in the forest at night!"

"Giant snake in the girls' bathroom," Harry offered. That'd been a fun year (not). Ron's little sister had been bitten and nearly died, and Harry had first started hearing voices and thought he was going insane.

"Remember when we saw that literal wolf on campus third year?" Hermione mused.

"We were on lockdown all night!" Ron recalled, laughing. "How did a wolf get on campus?"

"And Harry almost died in the triathlon last year," Hermione put in.

Ron waved it off, "Harry almost dies every year."

"Hey!"

The warning bell rang.

"Oh!" Hermione started at the sound, dropping Harry's and Ron's arms, "I've got calculus first, with Vector. What've you two got?"

"We've got Algebra II with Sinistra," Ron said, "But we'll see you in chemistry!"

"We'll brainstorm ways to help Dumbledore at lunch," she decided, turning to leave.

"Wait, Hermione," Harry called. He shared a meaningful look with Ron, "Will you meet us on the roof, after classes?"

She tilted her head curiously, then nodded, before waving at them and hurrying off.

"You won't regret this, mate," Ron said, pulling at the shoulder-straps of his battered backpack with his thumbs, "It'll be great. She'll be loads of help."

"I know," Harry replied. And he did. "C'mon, let's get to class."

…

As luck would have it, it happened in chemistry. Harry was idly watching as their beaker of water heated up on the hot plate, and Ron was playing chess against someone on his phone (Ron was president of the chess club and two-time grand master), when a hot spike of pain shot through Harry's skull and he doubled over, clutching his head.

"Go," Ron said, swiping out of the chess app immediately, "I'll cover for you."

Harry nodded, still holding his head, trying to control the flashes of images enough so that he could get his bearings without losing any potentially precious information.

Ron withdrew something from his pocket. "Duck," he suggested, almost conversationally. Then he plonked whatever it was into the water in their beaker.

Harry bent to grab his bag.

The beaker promptly exploded.

In the chaos that followed, Harry shouldered his bag and stealthily made for the door. He paused, hand on the handle, scanning the room— everyone was chattering loudly, their beaker was destroyed and the wreckage was smoking, and Ron, Seamus, and Neville, who'd been in the blast zone, were being barked at by an irritated-looking Professor Snape. Snape had despised Harry since first year; it was a wonder he hadn't looked for him specifically in the face of such a disaster, but he appeared, for the time being, distracted.

Draco Malfoy, Harry's long-time rival, was standing near the back, looking on in disgust. He happened to glance up, and their eyes met for a scant second. Then another spike of pain hit, hard, and Harry winced, grabbing for his head and turning the doorknob to slip out of the classroom, all thoughts of Malfoy dissolving.

It was a class period, so the halls were deserted. Harry's locker was in the science hallway, which was a lucky coincidence. Unluckily, though, the science hall was on the basement floor. He ditched his bag and grabbed his hoodie and the old black ski mask he'd nicked from the Dursley's garage—he and Ron had strapped Ron's twin brothers' ancient Go-Pro to the mask's forehead— then he sprinted through the hallways, up four flights of stairs, and onto the roof. He pulled the mask on over his head and attempted to finagle his arms through the sleeves of the hoodie as he took off on a running start across the roof.

He slid his second arm through its arm hole just as the soles of his shoes left the roof and his body hit the air, and if he was being honest he felt like a total badass. He clicked the power button on the GoPro.

His jacket flapped headily; the wind was a cold, whooshing rush through the mouth and eyeholes of the mask. He grinned at the air before closing his eyes and delving into the throbbing presence in his head. Under his scrutiny, the rail of pain unraveled into coherent images; he attempted to grab at them with his mind as he soared through the sky.

In his mind's eye, he saw a young woman. She was being held against a brick wall by a hulking man; he was shaking her, demanding an answer—

Harry's beat-up cellphone (one of Dudley's cast-offs, of course) started ringing, and Harry nearly unbalanced himself reaching to pull it out of his pocket. He hit speakerphone, wobbling as he tried to keep himself steady. "HELLO?" He called over the rush of the wind.

"Harry," It was Ron's voice; he was obviously struggling to contain his excitement. "Or, wait, should I call you a codename? How about, like, Superboy—"

"EUGH, NO," Harry protested, shouting to be heard over the beating wind, "JUST HARRY'S FINE."

"Fine," There was the sound of some clacking, and then, "I see your feed from the GoPro, Harry! Just clouds and stuff right now, right?"

"JUST ABOUT, YEAH," Harry shouted in answer, looking around at the sky in front of him. He exhaled, feeling exhilarated. The mask was stuffy and itchy and damp in the area above his mouth from his breathing. "WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT DID YOU PUT IN THE WATER?"

"What?"

"I SAID, WHAT DID YOU PUT IN THE WATER?"

"Sodium!" Ron answered proudly. "Nicked it from Fred and George; I thought it'd come in handy if I ever needed to cause a distraction for you! Can't believe it worked out so well, and on the first time, too! I'm in the hospital wing, right now. The smoke detector went off and Snape had to cancel the rest of class! Bloody brilliant."

"DID ANYONE NOTICE I WAS GONE?"

"The sound quality is terrible— did you ask if anyone noticed you were gone?" Ron asked. "Because, well, Hermione did, obviously. I told her you had an upset stomach and had to run to the bathroom. I think she thinks you have diarrhea; sorry, mate. And Malfoy looked a little sketchy, but I reckon that's just his natural ferret-facedness."

The images in Harry's mind grew sharper; he could see the bright, vibrant pink of the woman's hair, the blood trickling down from her nose. He was near. He dipped lower, dropping out of the clouds, and zeroed in on a tiled roof.

His landing left a lot to be desired. He skidded loudly and messily across the tiles, scraping his hands and his knees, and nearly tripped and fell off the roof altogether. It was a miracle that the phone stayed in his pocket.

His breathing was harsh; the mask was absolutely soaked and sticky against his upper lip. He clutched onto the tile, scrabbling for a safe perch for his feet before finally picking up the phone and taking it off speakerphone with a numb, shaking finger. Gloves. Gloves would be good, for next time.

"Ron," he whispered into the receiver. His lips were cracked from the wind, and he licked them. "Ron, are you there? I'm here, I think."

"Copy that," Ron said, and Harry could hear the grin in his voice. "Where are you, Harry? I can't see anything. Just the rooftop."

"Hold on," Harry whispered. He clambered carefully over the tiles, nearly losing his balance several times— his body didn't yet understand that he could fly, that falling wasn't a valid fear anymore; he could feel the thrill of danger tingling in his feet and swooping in his stomach as he picked his way, precariously, across the roof. He reached the rickety, tiled edge, and he lowered himself uncomfortably onto his belly, wriggling until he was lying with his head— and GoPro— peeking out over the roof edge. "Can you see?" He asked, his whisper harsh. The itchy, sticky ski mask was hot and suffocating and he just wanted to tear it off his head.

"No," Ron said, "Can you—Wait! Yes, go back!"

"Here?" Harry asked breathlessly. He was contorted awkwardly, scruffy shoes braced against the tiles and upper body essentially hanging off the roof, freezing hands clutching onto the edge for dear life, his head tilted so that the GoPro could get the best view of the alley below. He felt like an idiot.

"Yes, perf—" Ron went dead silent.

"Ron?" Harry questioned, panting.

"Harry," Ron whispered, and his voice was small and terrified. "Harry, you need to get out of there, now."

"What? Why?"

"Harry, that man has a gun!"

Harry froze. This, if nothing else, was a testament to the fact that they should have brought Hermione in on this from the beginning. In all of their (woefully inadequate, Harry now realized) plans, for some reason the boys had not once considered the fact that the bad guy might have a gun.

Harry had only attempted a rescue mission twice before: the first time had been a couple days after discovering his powers when he'd seen (via telepathic headache) Dudley getting mugged in the tunnel on his way home from the park; when Harry arrived, the mugger had dashed off, so he'd simply helped (a slightly banged-up but otherwise perfectly fine) Dudley home. The other time had been last week; the images in his head had led him to the location of Mrs. Figg's missing cat, and he'd been able to bring the cat safely home.

Harry let himself flop forward to give his burning arms some relief as he considered his options, his heart racing. He couldn't just leave when this woman was clearly in danger.

"Ron," he whispered quietly, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I need you to call the cops. Send them to where I am." He thought about it, and then added, "And tell Hermione to meet us on the roof at lunch, not after school."

"Harry, wait, what're you—?!"

Harry ended the call, tore the GoPro off, and lifted the ski mask so that he could breathe freely. He took a long, deep breath, then shoved the mask back over his face and jumped off the roof.

"Please, I'm telling you, I don't know what you're talking about," Harry heard the pink-haired woman plead as he dropped into the alley. The man was shaking her roughly, growling a demand at her like some sort of caricatured thug, letting her head bang against the brick as he shook her. In his right hand he held a gun.

Harry landed, as quietly as he could, on his tiptoes behind the man. His palms were cold and sweaty. The woman saw him immediately; he saw her eyes widen, but the man apparently hadn't heard his landing, and instead grabbed her chin, tilting it upwards forcibly, and leered down her top.

"Hey!" Harry called, mentally berating himself for his idiocy even as the syllable left his mouth. This was his grand plan?! "Leave her alone!" He tried to force some false bravado into his voice, but he was probably unsuccessful because the woman who was being man-handled and threatened at gunpoint quirked an eyebrow at him in an almost amused manner. This was why they needed Hermione. Harry swallowed, and fervently promised never to leave her out of something like this again.

The man startled, whipping his head around in surprise, his grip on the woman going momentarily slack.

But that was apparently all she needed.

The woman drove a ruthless knee into her captor's groin and ducked and spun out from under his arm when he doubled over in pain, her hands locking around his wrist and forcing the gun upwards. The gun discharged into the air, and she twisted it easily from his grip, backing up and pointing it, two-handedly, at the groaning man.

Harry heard the blaring sound of sirens approaching.

"Cheers," the woman said agreeably, and then she brought the butt of the gun down hard on the man's temple. He crumpled bonelessly to the ground.

She wiped the gun down efficiently with the flannel shirt that was tied around her waist and dumped it near the man's body, before turning to regard Harry, who was blinking dumbly at her.

"Thanks for the assist, kid," She said, sounding cheerful. "You're a real knight in shining armor. The name's Tonks!"

"Uh," Harry replied, because what else was he supposed to say?

"You might want to clear out," she supplied helpfully. "Cops are on their way and, no offense, but you look hella sketchy."

"Right," Harry said uncertainly, shuffling backwards, but because he was still a gentleman, he asked, hesitantly, "Uh, are you okay, talking to the cops by yourself?"

She laughed appreciatively, then fished around in her tattered jean shorts. She wiped her bleeding nose on the back of her hand and finally extracted a wallet. She tripped forward, exhibiting none of the fluid grace she'd use to disarm and disable her significantly larger opponent only moments before, flipped it open, and showed it to Harry.

"Junior Detective Nymphadora Tonks," He read slowly, studying the badge. "You're a cop." He couldn't help but look confusedly at her shock of neon pink hair, multiple ear piercings, and the torn fishnet tights which she'd layered under tiny, ripped shorts.

"Neat, huh?" She beamed, re-pocketing the wallet. "Now scram, my dude. I have no idea how I would even begin to explain you to my boss. You've done your good deed for the day."

Harry nodded again, and, because there was no other way to leave the alley except walking out into broad visibility, he drifted awkwardly into the air.

She saluted him, giving him a broad grin, apparently unsurprised at his power of flight.

He dropped onto the roof, took three quick strides away from the alley, and then dove, letting the wind catch him and buoy him up.

He tucked his freezing hands in his armpits contemplatively as he hurtled through the sky. He was really looking forward to lunch, he decided. His stomach growled in agreement. But honestly, he was surprised he was even alive to look forward to anything at all.

A/N: ...sooooooooooooooooooo what did you think!? Leave me a review and let me know! :)