JULY, 1991

Burt Hummel let out a heavy sigh of relief as he stepped out of Hummel's Broomstick Repair. With a quick flick of his wand, the door swung shut behind him and a sharp 'click' was heard when it locked itself. The sky had darkened and the street was mostly empty, save for a few drunkards on their way home from the Leaky Cauldron. It had been a long day as he had been held back by an emergency repair. Guilt for leaving his son alone for hours settled heavy in his stomach as he closed his eyes and imagined home – white wooden panes, frilly curtains, an immaculate garden and smoke coming from the chimney –in his mind. Within seconds, he vanished with a soft 'pop', leaving the street deserted.

The large kitchen window had been opened to let in the remnants of the hot summer day into the snow white cottage. The smell of warm food and freshly baked bread greeted him before he even had reached the picket fence, accompanied by the clear tones of his son's voice. He was singing and Burt could not suppress his smile. It had only been recently that Kurt had started singing again. As he walked up the gravel path, he recognized the tune as a happy one and his foul mood turned for the better immediately.

"Kurt?"

"In the kitchen, dad!"

Burt shrugged out of his cloak and pulled off his shoes before entering the kitchen, where his son stood upon a stool to reach the counter properly. He wore his mother's fancy apron and hummed under his breath while stirring the soup. He turned when he heard Burt, his eyes, which were a mixture of green, grey and blue, wide with poorly hidden excitement. He wore a smile Burt had not seen in years and it made his chest expand with warmth.

"Hi, dad."

"Hey, kiddo."

"Good day at work?"

"Long day at work," he sighed while he peered into the pot. "What's for dinner?"

"Oh! I wanted to try something new, so I picked a recipe from mum's book… Is that okay?"

Kurt glanced at him, worry temporarily clouding his sunny mood. Burt gave him a soft nudge.

"Of course, Kurt."

The assurance was enough to make Kurt light up again and he flashed him that smile, that smile which could bring any proud father close to tears.

"So, it is a kind of chicken soup, but with a couple of different spices which I picked up from the store earlier… Saffron was a bit expensive, but mum had written that it was really important in the book… I think it smells good. Oh, I baked that bread you like too!"

"It smells real nice," Burt replied and squeezed his shoulder. "How about I set the table, huh?"

"Okay. It will be done soon."

"Alright."

"Ma? Ma! There's someone at the door!"

Puck hesitated on his way towards the kitchen, from which he could hear his baby sister screaming her lungs out, and glanced upon the door. Someone pressed the bell once again and he turned to call out for his mother one more time.

"MA!"

"Noah!" Ruth called back, frustration and stress in her voice as she tried to soothe her three year old daughter. "Would you please just open the door? Sarah, please, honey, calm down for mama…"

Shrugging, Puck crossed the hall and unlocked the door. Maybe it was Finn coming over for a round of Dr. Mario on his brand new second-hand Game Boy. That would be cool, because he had barely seen Finn since school in June and now it was like… July. So, forever ago. He could feel a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he swung the door open, positive that it had to be him, Puck really needed to show him that cool thing that… Oh. The glee went out of him just as quickly as it had arrived, his shoulders slumped and the smile fell from his lips.

Needless to say, it was not Finn who stood on his doorstep. No, it was the most peculiar little man he had ever laid his eyes upon. Little, because he really was little. Like, seriously tiny. Puck knew that he was not the tallest eleven year old in his class, but he was at least a head taller than this guy… and probably two hundred years younger. Puck took a second to squint curiously at him; from the large, purple hat he wore on top of tufts of wild, white hair, to the rainbow striped poncho, the corduroy pants all the way down to the shockingly modest black shoes and then back up again.

"Whatever you're selling, we don't want it," he said, raising an eyebrow.

The Little Old Man gave a little startle and blinked in obvious confusion before a smile overcame his face, turning every wrinkle ten times deeper. He chuckled and shook his head.

"No, no, no, I am no salesman!" The Little Old Man said while reaching out to grab Puck's hand, which had been motionless by his side, and shook it vigorously. "I'm a professor! Professor Filius Flitwick, my dear boy, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Noah Puckerman, it truly is."

"How do you know my name?" Puck said, eyeing this… this Flitwick character suspiciously while he pulled his hand from his surprisingly strong grip.

"Oh, not to worry, I shall reveal it all to you in a short amount of time, but first… may I come in?"

"Ma says not to let in strangers. They can be killers and rapists and kidnappers."

"That is quite true, but I can assure you that I am none of those things. Is your mother home?"

"Yeah, so?"

"I would really like to speak to both of you. About your education."

This made the frown upon Puck's face deepen further and he cocked his head to the side, eyebrows reaching for his mohawk.

"My education? Like… school?"

That was where this weirdo was coming from? A school?

"Yes, that is absolutely correct," Flitwick replied, but his grin had widened, like he knew something Puck did not and quite honestly, he really wanted to know.

He turned towards the kitchen, one hand still on the door handle and called loudly into the apartment.

"MA! We've got a visitor!"

It took a few moments before Ruth even acknowledged his shouting and he was about to call once more, louder this time, when she came bustling through the hallway, carrying the still weeping Sarah upon her hip. Some of her greying brown hair had escaped her ponytail, probably from Sarah pulling at it, and she was red around the eyes. Puck chose not to say anything about it, because he did not want her to feel self-conscious in front of the weirdo. Ruth gave Flitwick a once over, pursed her lips and said:

"Whatever you're selling, we don't want it."

The letter had arrived around four in the afternoon, delivered by a large Great Grey Owl, which had picked on the windowsill to Kurt's room while he was rearranging his tiara collection. He often did this when his dad was out, since he knew that Burt disapproved of its existence. Kurt rarely got letters addressed to him and as soon as he had turned it around in his hands and laid eyes upon the unmistakable purple seal, he could barely withhold his excitement. Even when he sat down by the dining table that evening, opposite his father, the mere thought of the letter carefully enveloped in the pocket of his shirt made his body tremble with joy. He reached into the fabric to softly finger the parchment, just to see if it was still there, if he had not imagined it all, like he had done multiple times since its arrival. Burt cleared his throat from across the table.

"This… This is really good, Kurt."

"Thank you, dad," he smiled and let go of the letter to grab his spoon again.

"Tastes just like hers," Burt continued, shovelling another spoonful into his mouth and Kurt felt warmth spread all through his body.

"I did my best," Kurt said honestly. "Because I wanted to celebrate."

"Celebrate?" Burt asked with confusion.

Feeling his cheeks heat up slightly, he pulled the letter from his pocket and placed it upon the tablecloth.

"I got this today," he said, his eyes never wavering from his father.

Burt frowned as he took the already opened envelope in his hand, turning it over to see the purple seal. The lines in his face slowly faded and he looked up at Kurt, lips parted in some sort of joyous mix of emotions. Then he sprang to his feet, a bit too quickly so the table wobbled dangerously and the plates and cutlery clattered, to grab a hold of his son. He pressed him tight to his chest, a laughter reverberating within his ribcage and throat.

"You got in, Kurt, you got in!" He grinned, his voice thicker than usual.

"Yeah."

"I'm so proud of you, kid," Burt murmured and stroked a hand over Kurt's hair.

Kurt buried his face in Burt's chest, inhaling that familiar scent of sweat, poorly chosen after shave and the soap he used for the broomsticks in the shop, all of which was his father and he felt happy.

Flitwick looked rather misplaced while perching on one of the chairs in the Puckerman kitchen. Ruth, who had passed the still sniffling Sarah over to Puck, placed a tea cup in front of him and smiled politely. Flitwick grinned.

"Why thank you, dear, that is awfully kind of you," he said and gestured towards the seat across of him. "Now, please sit down. I have a lot to explain and not too much time."

Ruth sat down next to Puck, absently placing Sarah back in her lap as Flitwick reached into his rainbow poncho to pull out a piece of paper. No, a letter. He smiled when he placed it on the table and pushed it gently towards Puck.

"For me?"

"For you."

Puck had never received a letter before. Not in an envelope and all. Sure, he had gotten some birthday cards from nana, but that did not really count. He had never gotten a letter like this. His eyes flickered to his ma, who was frowning, but not saying anything, so he reached across the table to take the envelope in his hands. It was addressed directly to him and everything. He murmured the words under his breath before turning it over in his hand and breaking open the seal without second thought.

"What does it say, Noah?" Ruth urged softly from his side, shushing Sarah who had yet to completely calm down.

"Dear Mr. Puckerman," he read out loud and snickered. Nobody called him Mr. Puckerman. It sounded ridiculous. "We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than 31 July… My owl?"

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow towards Flitwick, who was nodding enthusiastically.

"Oh yes, I'll get to that later. Now, do you understand what this means?"

Ruth took the letter from his hands and scanned it, still frowning.

"No," Puck replied, shrugging.

"You see, Mr Puckerman-"

"Is this a joke?" Ruth interjected suddenly, her voice firmer than before. She sounded annoyed.

"Of course not, Mrs Puckerman."

"Then what is this?" She threw the letter on top of the table once more, her cheeks turning red. "Witchcraft? Wizardry? Owl? Are you telling me that my son is some kind of wizard?"

Flitwick merely smiled.

"That is exactly what I'm telling you."

"I'm a what?" Puck asked, his voice loud in the thick silence that followed Flitwick's words.

"A wizard, dear boy."

"Like… what, a magician? Can I pull rabbits out of hats and stuff?"

Flitwick chuckled, seemingly delighted and amused by his reply.

"I do not speak of simple illusions, like card tricks and disappearing coins, decapitated assistants and escape artists. No, no. You're capable of so much more," he said and reached beneath his rainbow poncho and he pulled out… a stick.

Puck shared a look with his equally confused mother, who gave him a puzzled frown in return. Sarah whimpered.

"Magic," Flitwick continued, seemingly oblivious to their silent exchange of scepticism. "is something that lives within us. When taught how to use it, it allows us to create wonders. More tea?"

Ruth blinked and nodded stiffly. Flitwick smiled and waved his stick in the direction of the kettle on the stove. Suddenly it lifted, hovered for a few seconds in the air before it slowly, almost lazily made its way towards the kitchen table.

"Wow!" Puck exclaimed loudly, over the sound of Ruth's horrified spluttering, getting to his feet quickly to examine the flying kettle.

He flung his arm through the air over the kettle, trying to find the string that must have been holding it up, but came up with nothing.

"That is so cool! How do you do that? Is there a string somewhere? A rope? A force field?"

"I suppose a force field is the most accurate description," Flitwick chuckled and flicked his stick once more. The kettle started pouring tea into their cups. Puck could not stop staring.

"You mean that I can do this stuff too?" he breathed out, awestruck.

"In time. Though, first you must be properly educated in the arts of magic. That's where Hogwarts comes into the equation."

Then several things happened in very quick succession. Puck barely had time to react. Ruth gave away a weak little noise and slipped from her chair. The kettle crashed to the floor, tea spilling everywhere over the linoleum. And Sarah, who Puck had tried to lunge for so she would not go down with their mother, was soaring mid-air, giggling like crazy.

"Don't worry, boy," Flitwick smiled as he waved that stick of his, making Sarah gently plop down in Puck's arms. "This is not the first fainting Muggle I've encountered."