Chapter One: Poker Face

"Where were you last night, Harry?" Ron glanced up from his plate of dry toast on the Great Hall breakfast table at his best friend in an uncomfortable mix of irritation and the beginnings of concern. "Hermione and I waited for you in the library for hours. It wasn't," he lowered his voice and looked about nervously to make sure no one was eavesdropping, "it wasn't the headaches, was it?"

Harry Potter stood before Ron Weasley looking quite the worse for wear. Almost half an hour late to breakfast, it was clear from his cowlick hair, rumpled clothing, and half-tucked shirt that he had slept the night in his clothes and arrived to the Great Hall immediately after exiting his bed. The dark circles under his eyes and bleary half-attention spoke to another clear problem.

"Sorry, Ron," Harry yawned, clumsily attempting to swing his legs over the bench and hitting it a few times before finally settling in next to the ginger-haired boy. "They're keeping me up at odd hours and I can barely stay awake during the day."

Ron's expression deepened to one of concern as he realized Harry hadn't stood them up, and said Potter fumbled some bacon and eggs to his plate (only dropping them twice.)

"Hermione and I have been scouring the library and, while we haven't found anything conclusive, we think we might have an idea of what's troubling you at night." Ron lowered his voice further and gave Harry a meaningful look.

A quick look of panic flashed over Harry's face before it was replaced by a practiced look of calm interest, "Oh?"

"Yes! We think it might have something to do with your scar and the link you have with…you know." He gestured towards Harry's scar by tilting his head to the side a few times.

"Oh." Harry seemed to relax as he took a swig of some milk and set about obliterating his breakfast. "Yes, that's probably it."

"Goddammit!" A powerful, angry voice boomed throughout the Great Hall.

All eyes turned to the staff table at the head of the room, where an angry Dumbledore had leapt to his feet in a rage. Clenched in his shaking hands was a now-ratty newspaper, the Hogwarts Herald, which was a student-run endeavor headed by Luna Lovegood. A hush settled over the room as Dumbledore very visibly and quite publicly lost his cool.

"Who is responsible for this?" He shouted.

Harry cautiously leaned over to Ron, "What's he on about, then?" He whispered.

Ron shoved his copy of the newspaper over to Harry, his terrified eyes never leaving Dumbledore's tirade, "Have a look for yourself."

Harry looked down at the front page.

"Maybe I should repeat myself: Who. Is. Responsible. For. This?" The Headmaster punctuated his repetition by slapping the rolled up paper on the polished wooden surface that his own breakfast currently occupied.

The slightly blurry and dark photograph showed a black and white shot of a young man dressed in a tight costume accented with lightning bolts. His cape flapped in an unfelt breeze as he crouched in the corner of the frame, facing off against a gigantic monster.

"I understand that Mr. Manimal, as you have dubbed him, is generally terrorizing the school and surrounding Hogsmeade Village, and I sympathize that we, the school authorities, have as of yet been unsuccessful in apprehending this villain. However, I wish to caution you that in this case, as the old adage goes, the enemy of your enemy is not your friend." The students, ill at ease since a giant, hairy humanoid creature had been lurking about and causing mayhem, silently listened to Dumbledore.

The young man in the photo looked back and forth between Mr. Manimal, who was silently roaring as he pounded his chest, and whoever was taking the photograph. He was bent over, paused, caught between keeping a wary eye on an adversary who clearly meant to him harm, and a freelance photographer (likely Luna) who threatened to reveal him to a frightened public.

"But, sir, The Bolt saved my sister last week Tuesday." A cautious Hufflepuff timidly raised his hand, already fearing a stern rebuke.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, and calmed himself. He'd been on edge since bizarre happenings had started to pop up about the castle, but as someone who had successfully been in a position of leadership for over a century, he knew that shouting would be counterproductive.

He sighed.

"I realize that, up until now this person who you have collectively named 'The Bolt' has been protecting the students of Hogwarts and the residents of Hogsmeade from harm. That in and of itself is nothing to warrant fear or mistrust. But you must understand," he gazed at them with brevity over his half moon spectacles, "that we don't know what these beings are or where they came from. They don't fall under any category or classification of magical creature or being, nor can we find any evidence that they haven't just popped into existence from nowhere."

Dumbledore held the newspaper up, displaying the front-page photograph to the assembled students. He pointed to The Bolt's face, which was obscured by a thin, black mask.

"If The Bolt were on our side and our ally, then why would he feel the need to mask himself and carry out vigilante justice? If he has no other interests, why can't he freely work with us to help subdue those who mean us ill?" He shook his head sadly, "It is regrettable, but without some very forthright information we have no assurance that The Bolt isn't just part of another faction of these beings that only seems to have our best interests at heart for the present moment. We can't be certain he means us no harm, and I'm not willing to risk the safety of you, who have been left in my charge by your parents and society at large, on what is little more than an uneducated assumption."

Harry looked at the messy black hair, the thin, pale face, and the faint lightning bolt scar on the forehead. The thin, black mask made it impossible to identify the young man in the photograph. If it weren't for the fact that Harry knew that he was, without a doubt, the person in the picture, he could very well have been looking at a complete stranger. He found it bizarre, though. Like looking in a mirror that reflected someone else's face.

"As such, I'm offering a reward of one hundred and fifty house points to anyone who has pertinent information on either The Bolt or Mr. Manimal." A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. "Otherwise, please keep an eye out for each other, stay safe, and try not to go out alone after dark. That is all."

Dumbledore sat back down and resumed picking at his breakfast as the room erupted into nervous chatter. Ron instantly turned to Harry.

"Blimey! Can you believe it?" His eyes were wide and shining with surprise. "Dumbledore's really got it out for The Bolt!"

"I suppose so." Harry muttered, pushing his egg back and forth with a fork.

It stung a little to hear Dumbledore say those things about him, even if the Headmaster didn't know it was him. You see, for the past month or so, Harry Potter had started to lead a double life. He hadn't meant for it to happen that way as such, and it had been nothing but trouble. With his public fame as the Boy Who Lived, he had always found himself wishing that he could have had a quieter notoriety for supposedly destroying Voldemort. Now that he was experiencing living a double life, though, he was starting to believe it was a mistake. He felt alienated from his friends and ordinary people, he was exhausted and distracted all day after being kept up by adrenaline-pumping hijinks perpetrated by some kind of evil super beings at night, and worst of all he had no free time to himself anymore. He was exhausted and everything felt like a chore, even things he usually enjoyed. He felt like he was slowly losing himself to his alter ego, The Bolt, as the urge to protect Hogwarts from evildoers became stronger and stronger.

Ron stared in concern at his friend, who had been acting strangely ever since he became stricken with headaches from about a month ago. Harry had refused to see Madame Pomfrey at the infirmary, and had become more reclusive after that. He and Hermione had quietly resolved to scour the library for any information on Harry's condition, but hadn't found anything yet. Watching his friend was almost too painful.

"Well, I'm going to head off to class, then," Ron stood abruptly, and then scurried away before Harry could say anything in reply.

Harry shook his head sadly, and went back to finishing up his breakfast. He suspected Ron and Hermione were meeting up at the library during most of their free time to try to understand what was ailing their friend. If only they knew…

Harry walked through the halls back to his room to fetch supplies for the days' classes. He absently tucked his hands in his pockets and stared blankly at the world around him, which passed in a blur of gray cobblestone. Reaching the top of a staircase, he was gradually jarred out of his numb state of existence by a small, whimpering sound. As he became aware of it and the unusual nature of the sound, he started to realize it was not something one often heard in the hallowed halls of the castle. So his gait slowed, and he stopped, looking around the deserted corridors to gauge where the sound was coming from. Turning away from the Gryffindor house, he walked further down an unfamiliar hallway until he reached an adjoining one to his left. The hallway was dark, but the whimpering sound was unmistakable. It was the sound of suffering.

Harry, his senses more alert now, pressed his back against the wall just shy of the dark hallway. Someone was in there, but he had no way of knowing if it was some poor soul, or a sinister trap. He looked down at his clothes and sighed, tearing his shirt open to reveal spandex underneath.

"This looks like a job for The Bolt." He whispered to himself, and stripped down to his red and gold lightning-themed costume.

Whispering a quiet incantation, he bewitched his discarded clothes to look like a non-descript chair and hid his wand underneath the illusion. If he used magic, someone might be able to figure out who he was. And if they happened to photograph his wand, then all it would take was a glance from Ollivander to ruin his secret identity. Pulling his mask over his face, he jumped into the dark hallway and took a few cautious steps inside.

"Is everything alright in there?" He called out in a heavy, gravelly voice.

He froze as he took in a huddled figure farther away, leaning against the wall. What gave him pause, though, were the orbs of light seemingly vomiting from the person's body. Although small and dim, circle after circle of a glowing, pulsing energy seeped through the figure's skin, arced gently through the air, and splashed into the ground like a giant spherical drop of water before vanishing completely.

"Please stop," the voice moaned, "please. What's happening to me?"

"Neville…" Harry breathed, before slipping back into his deeper voice and saying much more audibly, "Neville Longbottom."

The figured jerked to look up at him, fear in his eyes, as The Bolt strode to approach him.

"No, please…" Neville tried to scramble to his feet, but collapsed again as a deluge of orbs poured from his body.

They were small and weak, although as the odd one brushed against Harry, it delivered an uncomfortable electric shock.

"Please, The Bolt, I don't want any trouble. If I could stop this I would. Believe me I would. I just don't understand what's happening to me, and I can't-"

"Shhh, it's okay," The Bolt knelt down next to him, "I understand."

Neville's eyes went wide and more orbs cascaded out of him, "Y-you do?"

It was then that Harry Potter took a large, uncalculated risk and pulled the mask off of his face.

"Yes, Neville, I do," he repeated in his normal speaking voice.

"My god." There was a pop as a giant orb slipped out of Neville's body and slammed into the floor behind Neville with a crackle. Then the room was bathed in darkness. "You're-"

"Yes, I know how unbelievable it is," Harry found it difficult to see Neville now in the dark, "can you stand? Are you alright?"

"I-I'm okay, I think." Neville stammered and shakily regained his footing, helped by Harry.

After making sure the coast was clear, Harry and Neville were found minutes later heading for the lake in their regular attire. Although no one seemed to be there, Harry insisted on finding a more private location.

"Harry, I still don't understand," Neville finally broke the uncomfortable silence he'd been maintaining, "why are we here?"

Harry looked back at him and smiled, "You'll see."

He made sure the coast was clear, and ducked into the forest. Neville scrambled to keep up with the nimble Potter as Harry jogged up to a nearby tree with an odd knot dead centre. Not sure he understood, Neville continued to watch as Harry pressed the knot, and suddenly a small trap door opened up at the base of the tree.

"What-"

"Just go down in here." Harry winked.

Neville hesitated for a moment, remembering Dumbledore's warning about The Bolt. But when he looked at Harry's smiling face, he saw someone he knew and trusted. Strange things had been happening to him, and Neville didn't know who he should or even could turn to. As he smiled back with a nod and stepped into the dark hole, he resolved himself to trusting Harry Potter.

Until his feet slid out from under him and he started sliding down through the darkness at an alarming rate.

His stomach leaping to his throat and his heart racing as he seemed to be endlessly sliding down in pitch darkness, Neville couldn't even think to reach for his wand to slow or reverse his descent. He screamed in a panic. What was happening? Was this some kind of sick grotto where The Bolt sent people to die? Was he in league with Mr. Manimal? How could he have been so foolish! He was just so vulnerable.

Neville's consciousness lurched but he briefly continued screaming as he suddenly landed on a large inflated pad that broke his fall from the dark slide of death he'd been forced to ride on. Hearing Harry's indistinct screams of warning, Neville had the presence of mind to scramble out of the way before Harry crashed into the pad moments after him. Harry stood up and brushed himself off, laughing.

"I love that! Never get tired of it," he bounced off the jump pad and offered his hand to help Neville to his feet.

Finally re-convinced that Harry wasn't trying to kill him, Neville stood up and looked around in awe. He was in a dimly-lit cavern that contained all manner of magical equipment. There were large crystal orbs that showed different areas of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, self-writing quills that were writing furiously in code, cauldrons with bubbling potions, and countless things Neville couldn't even begin to guess at.

"Where am I? What is all this?" He managed to get out.

"We're in my secret lair under the lake." Harry explained.

"What?" Neville looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

"I should probably clarify things a bit more," Harry seemed pensive for a moment.

"Maybe a month or so ago I started having terrible headaches. I don't remember the specific date, but I do recall that it was three days before the first sighting of Mr. Manimal. Madame Pomfrey couldn't understand it and her treatments never worked, so I ended up getting frustrated, lied and told her that some potion she'd made for me had done the trick, and figured I'd just deal with the headaches on my own. Ron and Hermione have been beside themselves over it." He shook his head sadly.

"I noticed you'd been looking kind of down and out lately…" Neville felt guilty for not realizing his friend had been suffering.

"But the strange thing," Harry continued, "is that the headaches kind of started to get better. Not in the sense that they went away, but the purpose of the headaches became clearer. I started to…to see things."

"What kinds of things?" Neville looked in concern around him.

"Sort of mental images. As the images became clearer in my mind and I understood how to interpret them, it stopped hurting. They were like muses – I got these flashes of inspiration. They started out as small things, like inventing little magical trinkets or seeing the path I could walk down a hallway with perfect angles to prevent my bumping into anyone while maximizing the speed at which I could reach my destination. Then it started to become bigger things."

"Like this?"

"Yes. As Mr. Manimal's attacks increased it's like something inside me awoke – something righteous. Hogwarts and the people inside it are important to me, and it's something I think is worth protecting. Dumbledore and the staff are doing their best, but they've never seen anything like Mr. Manimal before, and haven't been very effective. I suddenly got the inspiration to build this place and outfit it with the latest magical equipment to help me track down and defeat Mr. Manimal. My parents had left me a small fortune, and I realized that this was a good use for it. So I've been using my flashes of inspiration and money to build all of this and protect the castle."

"Harry, that's…" Neville paused, unsure of how to be tactful, "looking at some of these inventions, I've just never seen you demonstrate the intelligence or creativity to make these things. Or even this underground lair."

Harry smiled, "You're right. Only Hermione would be able to come up with something this awesome. Or that's what I thought. But now that I have this gift, I need to use it. So I decided to disguise myself and use my powers for good. I called myself "The Bolt" after my freakish inspiration, which comes like a bolt out of the blue."

Neville tried not to make a face at the terrible name, "Are you sure it has nothing to do with your scar?" He pointed.

"What?" Harry looked surprised. "No, that would be stupid and a clear tie to my secret identity. By making a metaphorical connection to my powers, it can be meaningful to me, but leave no clue as to who I really am. As far as Dumbledore's concerned, I'm a crime-fighting ghost of the night."

"Oookay…" Neville trailed off, then decided to get to the heart of things. "I just want to thank you, though. I have no idea what's been happening to me, but it sounds like maybe we might have something in common?"

"How so?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I started having problems around the same time as you. My body would start to feel strange and uncomfortable all over. I'd itch terribly, and then as time went on it intensified to the point I felt like I was on fire. Once I felt so hot I thought I would burn to a crisp, but instead there small orbs started pouring out of me. I've been lucky so far that no one has seen me have an attack, although I think I may have shocked an unlucky owl who was passing by overhead one day in the forest. When you found me today was the worst attack I'd ever had." Neville looked at the ground with a dark expression on his face. "If I keep this up, I'll be discovered."

"What are those orbs?" Harry wasn't sure if it was a sensitive topic or not.

"As far as I can tell, they're electromagnetic orbs of some kind, but I have no idea how I'm making them! Do you think someone hexed me?" Neville grabbed Harry's arms, desperate for help.

Harry shook his head, "If it happened around the same time as my headaches, I don't think it's a coincidence. I think there may be others like us, too. This feels like something beyond magic – something important. Until we can discover the cause, you're going to have to learn to control your powers like I have learned to control mine."

"W-what?" Neville whimpered. He'd been hoping Harry could just make it go away.

"I don't know why this chose us, but it did, and we need to make the best of it. We have a duty to use what we have to protect those around us. Neville Longbottom, will you join me in my quest to protect Hogwarts and Hogsmeade?" Harry extended his hand, hoping that he looked cool and awesome.

"I- s-sure?" Neville took it, figuring it would help him out more than just sitting around in terror like he'd been doing the past month.

"Excellent. I'll be your mentor and guide you through coming into your own powers." Harry smiled. "But first you need to think of a name."

"W-what?"

"You know, like how I'm The Bolt." Harry supplied.

"Oh…but I'm not very good at thinking of names." Neville wrung his hands nervously. "Can't I just be me?"

"No." Harry's face darkened. "Even though the students of Hogwarts support us, the authorities are not so keen to allow us to interfere in what they see as their work. If they knew who we were, they would try to stop us at the very least, and at worst they would imprison and persecute us. I think it's safest for us all if we keep our identities secret."

"I suppose, but how do you think of a name." Neville was extremely uncomfortable being put on the spot.

"Well, I picked something to do with my powers. What about yours? You said they were electromagnetic orbs?" Harry tried to prompt his new pupil.

"Yes…Oh! I know. I'll be Kid EMO, after my powers." Neville seemed so pleased with his name that Harry simply smiled and nodded.

"It sounds like a great name." He clapped Neville on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Harry." Neville was radiating relief to have found a friendly ally, even if he wasn't entirely sure at the moment what he was getting himself into.

"Hey, Neville, I have to go visit with someone quickly. But I have some fabric and supplies in that desk next to the smoke bomb potion cauldron. Why don't you make yourself a temporary disguise until we can come up with a proper uniform for you." Harry suggested.

Neville enthusiastically agreed, and raced off to get started on his new identity as Harry slunk off into the darkness, putting his mask back on. Neville was so distracted that he didn't even think to wonder who Harry would be going to see dressed as The Bolt…

Professor McGonagal sat in the old arm chair in her quarters reading a musty book and sipping from a warm cup of chamomile tea. She cherished the rare moments she could relax and unwind before bed, which had become rarer and rarer. Although Dumbledore was in charge of Hogwarts, he had appointed her in a secret staff meeting head of investigating the recent odd events that had been cropping up around the grounds.

While she had done her best to track down and keep Mr. Manimal at bay, she had found it difficult to keep up with that and all of her teaching duties at the same time. She'd been very upset at only being able to maintain a status quo, and felt like she wasn't gaining ground. Until recently when she'd started to receive…a little extra help.

She felt a chill and wrapped her arms around her body, turning to look at the window she could have sworn she'd left closed. There, outlined in the rectangular frame of the opened window, stood The Bolt.

"Good evening, Professor." He greeted her in a low gravelly voice.

Every time she saw him, she tried in vain to guess who he could be. Was he just a strange costumed angel of justice? Or someone she knew in her daily life who had donned the mantle of truth when he saw the need? But his unfamiliar face always made this an impossible task.

"Ah, The Bolt. Breaking and entering now, I see?" She said drily, raising an eyebrow.

"I have information for you," he hardly missed a beat.

"And what would that be?" Although she had a feeling he was on her side, she was well aware that, as Dumbledore had warned, he might only be a temporary ally. Still, unlike the Headmaster, she was willing to entertain the notion of working together. Even if it turned out not to be for very long. It had been difficult keeping this a secret from him, but she sincerely believed Dumbledore was being shortsighted.

"I've been tracking Mr. Manimal's attacks." His hoarse voice was very grating. "I think a pattern is starting to emerge, I just need a little more time to figure out what it is."

"Yes, well, I'm not sure how I feel about that," The professor was starting to get irate as her job pressure was suddenly thrust to the front of her mind, reversing any semblance of relaxation she had managed to experience, "the more attacks there are, the more likely someone will die."

"I don't want that to happen, either, but until I can predict where and when, we're only just reacting. We need to trap him." The bolt was adamant.

"So what do you want?" She asked flatly.

"Wait a few days. I'll have the answer by then. And I may have an ally, too."

She found that cryptic, "Ally? What do you-"

Professor McGonagal shielded her face as a sudden gust of frigid air blew into the room and whipped her loose hair into her eyes. When she cleared her vision, she saw that The Bolt had vanished in his trademark style.

"Oh, you little troll monkey." She muttered to herself.

She knew she would be lying awake the better part of the rest of her evening, wondering whether she was taking a risk that would pay off, or leave her with blood on her hands. She could only pray her faith in The Bolt was not misplaced.

Blonde One: Well, here we are for round two.

Tomato Face: Indeed!

Blonde One: I have to say, I'm looking forward to ruining your story for a change.

Tomato Face: Pfft! Mine started out boring. Have at 'er.

Blonde One: I was thinking we could add a little more spice. Perhaps a…romance?

Tomato Face: Blech. You mean boy's love, don't you?

Blonde One: Tee hee! You know it.

Tomato Face: I wonder if I can out-BL you?

Blonde One: I accept your challenge.

Tomato Face: I think that's a challenge I'll lose. So did you want to play any cards? Or just keep on developing the story that's going on so far?

Blonde One: Why yes, I believe I do.

Tomato Face: Oh, an early play. Intriguing.

Blonde One: I play: alliance. Meaning I can ally superheroes or supervillains.

Tomato Face: …But we only introduced two heroes, who are already allies and one villain, who is a hairy manimal.

Blonde One: That's all we've introduced…for now!

Tomato Face: *narrows eyes* We shall see.

Will Blonde One throw her card away for the sake of posturing? Will Tomato Face actually provide a rebuttal in time? Stay tuned to find out!