The ceiling was white. Too white.
Harry blinked against the glare of fluorescent lights overhead, the sterile glow stabbing into his eyes. He shifted, wincing as a dull ache rippled through his body. His limbs felt heavy, like lead weights had been strapped to him. His throat was dry. His head throbbed faintly, a phantom echo of something darker — a memory of fire, screaming metal, and a voice whispering through his scar.
The infirmary.
He groaned softly and forced himself upright, propping against the cool wall behind him. The sheets twisted around his waist, rough and hospital-issue. Machines beeped faintly nearby. On the desk across from him, a stack of neatly folded bandages lay beside trays of syringes.
"Oh, so the little wizard decides to wake up."
Harry turned his head. Recovery Girl stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed, lips pursed. Her eyes, sharp despite her age, scanned him top to bottom with a professional scrutiny that brooked no excuses.
"You kids," she muttered, grabbing a clipboard, "burn yourselves out like you're disposable. Do you think I can patch up your minds the same way I knit together broken bones? Foolish. Absolutely foolish."
Harry swallowed. His throat scratched. "How… long?"
"A day and a half. Don't move too fast. Your body's intact, but—" She tapped the clipboard with her pen. "—your mind is not. I patched the worst of the physical strain, but there are things even I can't fix. You'll be under observation for a while."
Harry didn't answer. His fingers brushed against his temple, hovering over the scar. It was warm. Not searing like before, but present, like a coal buried under ash.
The next hours blurred. Students shuffled in and out, checking on him. Midoriya lingered the longest, fidgeting, muttering about bravery and recklessness in equal measure. Iida bowed stiffly, thanking Harry for supporting the team. Jiro offered a nod, awkward but genuine.
Others were less kind.
Mineta had practically glued himself to the wall opposite Harry, eyes wide, muttering under his breath. "He hissed. I swear I heard him hiss. Like a damn snake. Creepy. Creepy, creepy, creepy—"
Harry snapped, his voice slipping before he realized. "Ssstay quiet, or I'll make you."
The words came out sharp, sibilant, threaded with something not human. Mineta went pale as chalk, bolting for the door.
Harry froze, blood draining from his face. He hadn't meant to. It had just… slipped out. Parseltongue.
The scar pulsed faintly.
He clenched his fists, forcing his breath steady, but irritation simmered under his skin. He felt raw, his patience frayed. Little annoyances bit at him sharper than they should have. The more he tried to push it down, the more the whispers at the edge of his mind stirred.
Later that evening, a closed-door meeting convened in the staff lounge.
Aizawa sat stiffly in his chair, bandages wrapping most of his face, one eye barely visible through the gauze. Nezu perched on the desk, teacup balanced in his paw, expression unreadable but calculating. Recovery Girl leaned against the wall, arms folded. All Might stood at the window, shadows falling across his frame, the faintest stiffness in his movements hidden behind a trademark smile.
"We need to discuss Potter," Nezu began, voice calm but carrying weight.
Aizawa's good eye narrowed. "His performance at USJ was… unusual."
"Unusual?" Recovery Girl snorted. "That boy shredded his body and burned through mental reserves he doesn't have. And that's not even counting what I can't fix."
All Might's grin wavered, just slightly. "He did save lives."
Nezu sipped his tea, tail flicking. "And terrified others. The energy he released—none of it matches quirk records. Nor does it resemble standard mutation phenomena. It was… foreign. Alien, even."
Silence pressed down for a moment.
Nezu set the cup aside. "Regardless of its origin, we cannot ignore the psychological toll. That scar of his is not merely decorative. He needs stabilization. I recommend immediate counseling."
Aizawa exhaled sharply, pain laced in the sound. "Fine. But don't coddle him. If he's dangerous, we need to know now."
All Might finally turned from the window. His shadow stretched long, but his voice stayed steady. "He's a boy. Burdened, yes—but still a boy. We owe him a chance to heal."
The next week blurred into sessions. Harry sat across from a counselor in a quiet room smelling faintly of chamomile. The man was soft-spoken, not pushy, guiding rather than probing.
"Your emotions," the counselor said one afternoon, pen scratching notes. "They spike after stress. Irritability, frustration, flashes of anger. Tell me about that."
Harry wanted to laugh. Tell you about the whisper of a dead Dark Lord lodged in my head? Tell you that when I slip, I speak in the tongue of serpents?
Instead he muttered, "Just… bad temper. Comes with the territory."
The counselor nodded as if that explained everything. Breathing exercises, journaling assignments, grounding techniques followed. Harry tried. Sometimes. But nothing silenced the faint hiss curling around his thoughts when he closed his eyes.
Midoriya tried the hardest. He'd sit by Harry during lunch, babbling about heroes, about training, about how Harry wasn't alone. Iida joined in, stiff but earnest, encouraging Harry to see his contributions as noble.
Jiro, quieter, offered tidbits about music when Harry asked about sound waves. She didn't pry. That helped.
But the unease lingered in others. Mineta avoided him entirely, whispering whenever Harry passed. Ashido kept her distance, cheerful but wary. Even Kaminari shot him sidelong glances when he thought Harry wasn't looking.
Bakugo, of course, was loud. "Don't think one flashy hiss makes you tough, Potter!" he barked one morning, though his usual follow-up fists never came. His glare lingered longer than usual, sharp and measuring.
Nights were the hardest. Back at the orphanage, he sat at his desk, the flickering lamp throwing shadows across open folios. His hands shook faintly as he drew runes, red ink blurring where his focus faltered.
The scar pulsed again. He closed his eyes, feeling the memory of raw power surging out of him, gripping the Nomu like invisible chains. For a moment, it had felt intoxicating. Easy. Too easy.
He opened his eyes, glaring at the half-finished spell model.
"I won't let it own me," he whispered. "I'll master it. Like every spell I've written. Even if it's poison, I'll turn it into something I control."
The whisper came faintly in the back of his mind, mocking, promising, tempting. He pressed harder on the quill, ink blotting the page, refusing to answer.
Days passed. Counseling sessions continued. Classes resumed in a strained rhythm, though shadows hung heavier over every corner. Security was tighter. Teachers watched closer.
Harry moved through it all like a boy split between two selves — part researcher, scribbling late into the night; part child, still raw, still fumbling for balance.
One evening, he caught his reflection in the orphanage window. His face looked pale in the glass, eyes dark-ringed, scar faintly glowing under the streetlight. For a moment, he didn't recognize the boy staring back.
But his voice was steady when he whispered, "Next time… I won't need its help."
The glass fogged under his breath, then cleared, leaving only the boy and the scar, locked in the silence of their own uneasy truce.
Author's NoteAnd that's a wrap for the USJ Arc!This was a big turning point — both for Class 1-A and for Harry. He's finally stepping into the world of heroes, but the weight of that scar (and what it means) is only beginning to show.
From here, the story is shifting into a training and research arc as Harry works on refining his spell models and crafting new artifacts. I want to make this part fun, creative, and interactive — and that's where you come in.
What kind of spells or artifacts would you like to see Harry experiment with?
Nothing too overpowered (he's still a support-oriented fighter), but clever, versatile, or situational ideas are perfect.
Think along the lines of tools that give him more adaptability in the field, or spells that fill gaps in the team's strengths.
Example: Communication tools, detection spells, defensive wards, mobility tricks, etc.
Drop your ideas in the comments! Your suggestions might just make it into Harry's spellbook or his next artifact build.
Thanks for sticking with the story this far — your support keeps me going. On to the next arc!