In which Blaine and Kurt end up despising each other, helping each other, and falling in love with each other, all under the backdrop of the magical school we all love.


There are footsteps against the stone floor. Kurt's pressed flush against the cool oak door.

His thin fingers are wrapped tightly around his wand; his knuckles have turned white. He can feel lightness in his chest, a weakness in his knees that's always directly followed by strength and adrenaline.

The footsteps get closer.

His heart pounds in his chest.

There's a pause.

Kurt holds his breath.

They start again.

It's time.

"Expelliarmus!"

There's a clatter, and Kurt spins around the corner just in time to see Anderson's wand rolling smoothly toward him. He bends and snatches it; Anderson lets out a little shout of shock that Kurt was bound to use against him in the future.

When the countertenor looks up, though, Anderson doesn't look surprised. In fact, his arms are crossed over his chest and he's heaving a deep sigh that somehow irritates Kurt more than his normally arrogant face did.

"Can I help you, Hummel?"

"Help me?" Kurt smirks and gestures down at himself. "What could you possibly do to help this?"

"What is that, a Mumu?"

"I should curse you for even suggesting that."

"I implore you to try."

"I'm sure you'd implore me to do a lot of other things too, Anderson."

"Careful, Hummel, if your head gets any bigger, you might not fit the whole thing into your mirror in the morning."

"At least I don't look like a badly dressed nerd."

"At least I'm not wearing that."

"Dior skinnies do not resemble a Mumu."

"You're wearing pants under that? Praise the Gods, Hummel's dressed like a boy for once."

"You can obviously see my pants, Anderson."

"Can I?"

"You could in Potions. Couldn't really take your eyes off my ass, could you?"

"Fuck you."

"If you want."

Anderson slaps a hand over his eyes and his posture slouches. Kurt's sneer slips into a sincere smile before he can stop it. From under his hand, Anderson mumbles, "I suppose you're getting me back for cursing you in front of Finn?"

Kurt's heart drops into his navel. He feels his cheeks inflame; Anderson peeks at him from between his fingertips and smirks.

"I couldn't care less about Hudson." He manages with cold distain; Anderson's hazel eyes twinkle sickeningly with recognition.

"You only come after me if you've been provoked, Hummel. By me or by Wes or David or whatever. And you really didn't like when I used locomotor yesterday, did you? Don't worry, I don't think Finn minded helping you up. "

Kurt's fingers curled into a fist. "He's a Gryffindor. I despise Gryffindors."

"But he's a tall, handsome, athletic Gryffindor, Hummel. Isn't he?"

He winks.

Kurt has the sudden urge to inflict physical pain to the boy's face.

So he strides across the room and smashes his fist into Anderson's nose. He drops both of their wands in the process, but he doesn't care; he watches appreciatively as Anderson doubles over, cursing and pressing blood away from his mouth.

Taking a step forward, he presses his mouth to Anderson's ear and breathes, "Mention Finn again and I swear, you won't have a nose next time."

Turning on his heel, he swoops to pick up Anderson's wand, tosses it lightly out the window, and disappears around a corner.


"What happened to you?" Finn's dopey smile disappears the second Blaine staggers into the common room.

On account of all the blood pouring through both his nostrils, Blaine can only manage the words "Hummel" and "Fix."

Finn waves his wand awkwardly – and Blaine holds his breath, because really, this kid was never very good at spells in general – and then gives a lopsided smile when the shorter boy's nose snaps back into place and the blood flow lessens.

"Thanks, man." Blaine wipes his nose haphazardly on his cloak, trying to clear his face of the rapidly drying liquid. "Stupid asshole threw my wand out the twelfth floor window, too."

Finn shuffles his feet and mutters "Accio Blaine's wand", before catching the slim piece of wood with surprising skill as it zoomed at his face.

"I would offer to beat him up for you, dude, but my mom is going to marry his dad, so…that'd be one awkward family dinner." The apologetic look on Finn's face is sincere; Blaine waves him off without a second glance.

"Cheers, man. I need a shower."

And as Blaine tears off his robes and slips into the warm bath, he tries to think of a reason to hate Hummel. He tries to think of the reason that they started fighting, when they started to despise each other.

He can't really remember when they stopped being friends and became enemies. Somewhere between tea parties and playing house, they had found differences that because too large to ignore anymore. He guesses that he's always been jealous of Kurt's unchangeable self awareness, of his incredible strength and unwillingness to be anything different.

So when he had been sorted into Gryffindor their first year and there was a backward glance shared between them as the perfectly coifed head slid onto the Slytherin bench, he realized then and there that they would probably never speak again.

And then, second year, Blaine had deflected a jinx aimed at his head and it hit Kurt instead.

Furious, Kurt had retaliated.

It had been Finn that told the Slytherin later that Blaine was only trying to protect himself.

But it was too late; suddenly, they were trying to hex each other whenever possible. Suddenly, one of them would walk to the lavatory and would risk the chance of being ambushed by the other. It was like a very annoying game of hide and seek mixed with checkers, except it never came to an end.

Blaine sighs and pulls himself out of the water with a little groan of distaste. He pulls his robes back on, drains the bath, and steps quietly into the hallway, holding his wand aloft.

There's not a sound, but then again, Hummel has mastered the art of ninja-like subtlety.

Blaine takes another step and then, from behind him, someone clears their throat.

"Stupify!" He shouts wildly, swinging his wand arm around; the jinx hits Hummel in the left knee. He topples over, body hitting the floor with a loud thump. Blaine's heart races as he crosses the floor and looks down into the Slytherin's face. "Jesus, Hummel, you already broke my nose today. And I'll take this now."

He snatches Hummel's wand from near the taller boy's kneecap and shoves it ceremoniously unto his pocket before turning to walk away.

But something stops him.

It just didn't make sense; technically, it was Blaine's turn to initiate the attack. He tilts his head, unable to come up with a good explanation, and mutters the counter curse quietly under his breath.

The Slytherin glares, his eyes locked on the outline of his wand in Blaine's right pocket. "Can I have it back?"

Blaine arches an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

Hummel sighs. "Look, we're even right now. I actually came to talk to you, but your misleading Spidey Senses stopped me from doing that."

"You'd like a word with me? Not a chance, Hummel."

As he turns to walk away for the second time – and this time, he actually takes a few strong steps – Hummel makes an exasperated noise and drawls, "It's about Finn."

Blaine's feet halt, almost unconsciously; when he turns, he asks himself what exactly the fuck he was doing.

But curiosity had always been a Gryffindor's downfall.

Hummel's propped himself up on his elbows, but remains stretched out on the floor; Blaine wonders if it's an act of good will, or if the clever kid is just giving him a false sense of security in order to draw him in.

"What about Finn?" He asks, swallowing lightly as Hummel reaches up to fix his perfect hair.

"I need some information."

Blaine reaches into his pocket and pulls Hummel's wand for the depths; he rolls it between his fingers in a menacing way that Hummel doesn't fail to notice. "Information?"

"You really have the wits of a Baboon that's been relocated to Florida." Hummel snaps, pushing himself off the ground and leaning nonchalantly against the stone wall.

"What type of information?"

Hummel suddenly looks very uncomfortable. "I need you to swear yourself to secrecy."

"Fine, I swear." The Slytherin gives him a look. "Oh, that's right. We hate each other and constantly try to hex the living shit out of each other. You don't trust me."

"Says the boy flaunting my own wand in my face."

Blaine looks down at it, almost surprised at its existence in his hand. After a moment, he tosses it pointedly at Hummel's nose; the taller boy snatches it out of the air with surprisingly fast reflexes.

"So, what do you want? My middle finger?"

"No."

"What then?"

Hummel smirks a little as he stows his hand in his pocket and holds his arms carefully across his slim chest. "Insurance."

"You want to black mail me?" Blaine shakes his curly head in disbelief. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

The Slytherin takes a step forward, eyes glowing. Blaine represses the urge to draw his wand; if trust was what Hummel wanted, he was going to get it.

They're close now; Blaine realizes two things in a matter of seconds. One, this was probably the closest the two had been since they were ten, and two, "puke-green" didn't even begin to describe the swirl of color in Hummel's eyes. He would say now, if asked, that they were a marine mixture of green and blue. He can count every long eyelash and there's a smattering of freckles across the boy's nose that he'd never noticed before. Every breath the Slytherin takes or releases is mixed with Blaine's own short breathing; he notices suddenly that his heart is banging hard against his chest.

He can't help it when his eyes dart down to Hummel's lips; they're full and red and he suddenly finds himself wondering what they taste like.

A cool laugh brushes over his face. "I knew you were gay, Anderson."

Blaine meets his eyes with resentment. "I'm not hiding that fact."

"Hm."

"Wh—"

But then Hummel's lips are pressing into his, soft at first, then harder.

Blaine shoves him back without a second thought. "What the hell?"

"Insurance." Hummel repeats, amusement flickering over his features. Blaine wrinkles his nose. "Tell anyone what I'm about to ask you and everyone finds out that you made out with your worst enemy on the sixth floor. Got it?"

Blaine wipes disgustedly at his mouth. "Fine!"

"Does he ever talk about me?"

"Of course not, he hates—" Blaine's eyes flick up and he finds a very different Kurt Hummel standing in front of him. Instead of a scowl or smirk, his lips are pressed into a thin line. His shoulders are slumped instead of squared, and he's hugging himself with limp arms. Blaine awkwardly shuffles his feet. "I mean…We don't talk about Slytherins unless we're bashing them, so…"

Hummel hugs himself tighter. "I just thought…I—We talk a lot. During Charms."

Blaine runs a hand through his still damp hair and racks his brain for any time that Finn may have mentioned Hummel at all. He can only come up with when he said he would beat the Slytherin up if he could, so he says, "Um, he said you were a good Keeper that one time."

Hummel's eyes narrow suspiciously. "I play Chaser."

"That's what I meant."

"Is he still pining over that Jewish hobbit?" Blaine assumes that he's referring to Rachel; he lifts one shoulder. Hummel throws up his hands in exasperation. "What are you good for, Anderson? I should have just hexed you."

"It's not like I go prying into Finn's life! We're not even that good of friends! We talk about stuff like Quidditch and American football and fixing cars!"

"I can fix cars."

Blaine raises his eyebrows in surprise. "You can?"

Hummel ignores him and slaps a hand over his eyes. "Listen, Anderson…I need you to do something for me."

"Sorry?"

"Could you -" He peeks out from between his ling fingers and sighs loudly. "I can't believe I'm asking you this, but…could you ask him about me and then possibly report it back?"

Blaine folds his arms. "You know you're asking me to spy on my friend, right? You are asking me. Your sworn enemy."

"I'd like to think of us more as rivals."

"Hummel."

"Yes, I understand, okay? Please just do it."

"I'll think about it."

"What?"

"I'll think about it."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." Blaine turns on his heel, calling back over his shoulder, "Give me until Potions."

"We don't have potions until Wednesday!"

"Exactly."

"Fuck you, Anderson."

"If you want."


Kurt doesn't stop hugging himself until he's safely tucked away in his warm bed in the Slytherin dormitories. As he breathes in the soft smell of laundry detergent and his own shampoo, he wonders vaguely if he's made the worst decision a person with a crush could ever make.

He doesn't sleep much that night; he mostly tosses and turns, visions of Finn and Anderson sharing a laugh over his pathetic attempt to gain some type of access into Finn's love life keeping him awake.

He'd sacrificed part of his pride, telling Anderson about Finn. And Kurt considered himself a particularly prideful person.

He rolls over.

He isn't sure, exactly, what it is about that particular Gryffindor; maybe it was the way his big, Bambi eyes always manage to pass over Kurt like he isn't there. If there was one thing Kurt was used to, it was standing out, being noticed.

Anderson had the habit of making him feel invisible, and Kurt detested him for it.

He falls asleep with Anderson's smug smirk etched in his mind.

After what only seemed to be an hour or so, a voice shakes him out of his thoughts. "Are you awake?"

"No, Puckerman, I'm asleep."

"Really?"

"Just shut up."

"You'd better get up; practice starts in thirty."

Kurt's heart jumps into his throat. He sits up and glances at the clock next to his bed. "I thought Gryffindor had early practice today."

Puck pulls a long sleeved tee shirt over his head, voice muffled as he answers, "They do. Santana wants us to watch them, figure out their weaknesses and such."

Kurt doesn't bother to mention that watching the other team was cheating; he knows neither Puck nor Santana will care. It came with being a Slytherin, he guessed; not caring for other people's feelings.

So he tromps around the dormitory, pulling on his Quidditch clothes and haphazardly running a hand through his hair. He knew it wouldn't matter if he tried to style it. It would just be ruffled by the wind while he was flying.

The rest of the team is waiting in the common room; Kurt notices several players hiding yawns behind their hands as their fiery captain shoots them dirty looks. Together, they all grab their brooms and head down staircase after staircase, until fresh, cool air hits their faces and they can all seem to breathe easier.

The Gryffindor team is already flying when they get to the pitch. Kurt spots Finn the second he comes into view. He's so unsteady on his broom that it was amazing that he ever accomplishes anything; as it turns out, though, Finn is the best beater on the team.

Anderson's there too; he's flying low, skimming the ground with the tips of his fingers as he dives back up. Kurt scowls.

Did that boy ever stop showing off?

"Lopez!" The Gryffindor captain stomps toward them, wand held tightly in his right hand. "We have the pitch this morning!"

Santana steps forward, fist stuck deep into her robes, probably holding tight to her own wand. "Do you, Evans? Puckerman, did you know about this?"

"Nope!" Puck answers happily, shooting a sharp scowl at the blonde captain.

"I posted it on the roster, Santana. I know you saw it."

She feigns misunderstanding. "You know, Sam, don't think I did. I guess we'll just have to sit and wait for you guys to be done."

"Get the f—"

"Hey, Kurt!"

Kurt feels his heart skip a beat. Finn's beside Evans with that wonderfully dopey smile on his face, big chocolate eyes glued to Kurt's surprised features. "Hey, Finn."

Santana gives him a what the hell? look that he returns with a one shouldered shrug; an idea seems to click in her head. "Changed my mind, Evans. We'll leave if Kurt can stay."

Kurt blinks. "What?"

Puckerman leans close to him and says, "Evans has the rep of calling Madam Hooch; Santana's gotten in trouble with her too many times. This way, you can still spy, but we won't get in trouble. "

"Fine." Evans says exasperatedly, throwing his wand back into his pocket and stomping back toward the pitch. Finn's smile widens as the Slytherin team turns around and starts heading back to the castle, leaving Kurt standing awkwardly in the morning sun.

"Hummel?"

"Oh, Jesus."

"Don't look so happy to see me." His tee shirt is rolled up to his elbows and, even in the cold, a pair of Quidditch gym shorts sit low on his hips. There's a smirk on his lips that makes Kurt want to break his nose again; Finn glances between them nervously, rocking back on his heels in anticipation.

Kurt looks at the tall boy and asks curtly, "Finn, can you give Anderson and me a moment alone?"

He seems almost relieved as he ambles away.

Anderson throws a hand through his curls and regards Kurt with a curious expression. "You want to know if I'd considered it yet."

He doesn't have to answer; he just stares at Anderson pointedly until the boy looks away.

"I'll do it."

Kurt's marine eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah." Anderson lifts one shoulder. "You seem miserable. But I'm not doing it for free."

"What do you want?"

The smirk is back. "I want you to promise that I won't be hexed for the next six months by any of your friends, or you."

"Fine."

"And whatever Finn tells me, I get to decide if you hear it or not."

"But –"

"Take it or leave it, Hummel."

Kurt's eyes run over his face, over his sweaty brow and amused hazel eyes, down to the hand that he'd stuck out. He stares at it for a few moments before grasping it firmly in his and murmuring, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Really."


So. :)

Thoughts? Questions? Concerns? Review.

Preview:

There's no retort; Hummel is just staring at him. Blaine moves his fingers to the edges of his glasses self consciously and pushes them back up his nose, saying, "It's Saturday, okay? I didn't feel like wearing my contacts."

Hummel's eyes flick upward. "You're wearing a ski cap too."

"It's a beanie, and yes, I am. Was critiquing my weekend wardrobe really worth royal pissing the ancient librarian?"

Hummel seems to sort himself and manages a firm, "No."

Blaine flips a page in his textbook and flourishes at the air with his hand, motioning for the Slytherin to declare his purpose.

"I might have told Finn that we're together."