Everyone had magic.

Okay. That wasn't true. Muggles didn't have magic. Squibs didn't have magic. Even some witches and wizards barely had magic according to Aunt Hermione, although Albus was fairly sure she was lying. They always treated him like that, said that magic would find him when it was ready.

James had shown signs when he was five, even Lily had already had her first bout of accidental magic, and Albus? Nothing. No clouds of smoke or magically regrown hair, a snitch appearing from nothing or a few seconds of hovering because their mum was always flying and James had just wanted to be a part of it.

Nothing.

Maybe he was a squib. The thought made his stomach ache, the very idea of having to go to a Muggle school while James and Lily were off having adventures at Hogwarts. James was so excited to see the castle, he wouldn't shut up about it, even when their dad scolded him for it. All that did was make Albus feel even worse. He didn't need his father to fight his battles for him. He could do things, loads of things. James would shuffle and apologise and mumble something lacking any kind of truth. He was always like that.

Everyone had magic, all except Albus. The only Potter who would never be special or even normal. His parents did their best to shield him from the outside world, he knew they did. He'd tripped over journalists, had cameras shoved in his face when they went to see the Harpies, everyone wanted to know what he was going to do, who he was going to be.

The truth was that all he wanted was to fit in.

"I don't know why you're so worried," James would say.

"We'll always love you, Albie," Lily would add, shoving her brother. She was always kinder, but pity was just the same as brash ignorance. None of them understood.

It all changed on his ninth birthday. His mum was away with the Harpies in Liverpool, a heated match against Puddlemere United, but Albus didn't want to go to the Quidditch. It was just a reminder of what he couldn't do, so he'd asked if they could go to a football match. There was one in the city and, to his amazement, his dad agreed. James did nothing but complain, but Albus didn't care. He loved football, which baffled James and even their parents, who much preferred Quidditch, but as promptly as Albus had declared his love for Spurs had his dad turned up with a full kit and scarf.

The scarf was itchy and the kit was too small within a few months, although his dad would try to charm it so as it grew with Albus - and when Albus realised he'd only been more upset and never wore it again. The resulting constant rotation of kits meant he was teased by James, who didn't understand who 'Kane', 'Alli' were and why did he want 'Son' on his back?

But as they entered the stadium, the Liverpool fans chanting and Spurs fans happily yelling back at them, Albus didn't care. It was one of the only times he felt alive as if everything else didn't matter. Inside any stadium, he wasn't Albus Potter, failed son of a decorated war hero and an international Quidditch star, he was just one of thousands of fans.

After sixty minutes, he was one of thousands of fans with their head in their hands. Two nil down. Two. Albus felt sick. His throat was shredded from chanting and his scarf clanged as he waved it over his head, the many badges he'd collected from his various games banging together. He just wanted them to score, just a goal, that would be enough, there was enough time.

And then the strangest thing happened.

The ball fell to Kane, who reversed to Son, who looked set to dribble past the Liverpool defender, before the ball rocketed off his foot and sailed straight into the net. The crowd shrieked in excitement as both team stared at one another, none of them sure what had happened.

"Was that?" James asked.

"Dad, did you see?" Lily followed.

"I DID IT!"

There was pandemonium. Fans were screaming and in the middle of them, a small family was jumping up and down for an altogether different reason.

He'd done it. That was him. He'd felt it. The small surge in his chest. Albus had sent the ball flying into the back of the net. Not the player. Him. Spurs still lost, but for the first time in his life, Albus didn't care. He quickly told everyone. His mum, Aunt Hermione, Teddy, Uncle Ron, everyone, anyone who would listen. Instead of feeling welcomed, Albus just realised how abandoned he had been. James started asking him to play Quidditch and talked to him more about Hogwarts. His dad started telling him stories about his own accidental magic. Suddenly they were all going to Diagon Alley more, instead of the small muggle shops that Albus had always loved. They were a magic family, as if he had been the missing piece of the jigsaw, and instead of feeling part of that whole he just felt worse.

It was this that led him to desperately try to hone his magic. It started with moving things, just a few centimetres, then trying to grow his hair, even an inch. Little by little, it worked. He was a wizard and more than that, he was better than James. James had never controlled his magic, James hadn't opened any of his school books and so, Albus decided, he would show his brother that he was the better wizard. For once, he'd know how it felt to be Albus.

It took a lot of practice and far more time than he'd thought it would, but when September the First rolled around he was ready. Kings Cross was almost as busy as the many stadiums that Albus and his father had visited throughout the country, muggles shoving past them, some wearing headphones or barking into mobiles. The pockets of witches and wizards were easy to spot, none of them had phones. He saw the Malfoys just behind them, recognisable by their white-blond hair and the sheer distance they put between them and the Potters.

Albus was far too focused on his plan to care.

He watched as he hugged his mum and dad, insisting, as Albus had predicted, that he should run through the barrier himself. One. Two. Three steps. He was so confident, so purposeful and then Albus acted. It wasn't bad, not really and James had done plenty worse to him. He'd find it funny when he stopped being embarrassed and that's all Albus had wanted.

His laces tied together in an instant and on the fourth step, James lurched, tripped, yelled and crashed head first, not into the wall or falling flat on his face, but into the oncoming muggle family that hadn't been expecting a child with a trunk and trolley to be running through Kings Cross.

There was a lot of screaming and a loud crack and then hysterical crying. Security surrounded them, James was crying, their parents had rushed to his side, Lily too, only Albus stared at them, dumbfounded.

"What's happening?"

"Miss, are you alright?"

"Out of the way, I'm with the police," Albus's father shouted, withdrawing what a small identification badge that was charmed to show either his Auror ID or a Muggle Warrant Card. He bent down beside the woman who had fallen, clutching her stomach and his face went white. He nodded and within an instant had called over security and pulled her as gently but quickly as he could to her feet.

"What's happening? Mum? Mum? Is she okay?"

"It's nothing, sweetheart," Albus' mum tried to reassure him. "Your dad's dealing with it, okay? C'mon, let's just get James to the platform."

Albus learned later that the woman had been pregnant, that James crashing into her had caused her to go into an early labour. It was only luck that his father had taken her to St. Mungo's who, after a lot of magical memory charms, were able to save both the woman and her child.

"James must be so worried," Albus's mother said at the table, when his father had finished telling the story. It took Albus all he had to stop his hands from shaking. "I'll write to him."

"Good idea," Albus's father smiled, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "I'm just glad we were there, imagine if it'd been a Muggle?"

"You always were good at saving people."

Lily chose that particular moment to say she wanted to write to James too and so she and their mother disappeared to the study, Lily's excited giggles echoing through the house, leaving Albus alone with his father.

"And she's really okay?" Albus asked, his voice shaking, unable to look at his father.

"She is. You didn't do anything wrong."

Albus blinked. "How did you -"

"You've not eaten anything since it happened, you aren't sleeping, and I know what it feels like being the odd one out," his father said sympathetically, pushing out from his chair and moving around the table so that he was so close to Albus that he could feel his breath on his cheek. "I'm just sorry you know what that's like too."

"I didn't mean to -"

"I know. Magic's a lot of responsibility Albus. That's why we're sending you to Hogwarts, not just to control it, to understand it. You're going to be angry and heartbroken and sad and on those days, you're going to be really glad you need a wand to cast magic."

"You don't hate me?"

"I could never hate you." His father pulled him into a firm hug, his hand clasping the back of Albus's head. "I will always, always love you. No matter what."

Finally, Albus let the sobs that had been tearing at his heart, free. "I'm sorry."

"I know. I know, bud. C'mon, don't cry, it's okay."

It was then that Albus promised himself that he would never again use his magic to hurt anyone. After all, with magic came responsibility and he wasn't ever going to forget that.

AN: Done for the QLFC challenge, prompt below. I wanted to make an actual tragedy without too much drama, whilst trying to balance a real sense of learning the lesson. I hope that came across and that you enjoy this kind of Spider-Man esque origin story.

Prompt: Teenage Peter Parker accidentally acquires super powers while watching a science demonstration. He tries to cash in on his new abilities, but a tragedy teaches him that he must use them for good. - Amazing Fantasy #15 (1962)