Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his fellow friends do not belong to me, because, frankly, I am not J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Um...lots of language in this chapter. You have been warned. On a happy note...WOW! Thank you SO MUCH to all the fabulous people who reviewed and commented and suggested...so incredible of you guys. I've been re-working the plot of this story (none of the past three chapters will change at all though) so now this story's going in a totally different direction than I thought it would! It's exciting. Along with the re-working, though, I'm realizing that this story is going to be pretty long.

I know there was something else I was supposed to say, but I can't remember, so read on!

Thirteenth to Fifth

89

Jesus fucking Christ, Harry swore viciously as he slammed himself into the bus seat, his arms wrapped firmly around his ribcage to alleviate the pain coming from his stomach. If the Thirteenth District Public High School was hell, then the Fifth Avenue School of the Arts was going to be something like purgatory. Not quite as bad as hell...but...What the fuck did I just do? Harry's mind moaned. He was stuck in a school for nine months with a whole bunch of talented and stuck-up rich kids, with only two other scholarship kids like him. But of course, it wasn't like he particularly minded that much. The school on Fifth was eons better than his old school, and it would be nice not to have to have your backpack searched before classes and worry about pissing someone off who would rather smash their fist into your face than explain what was wrong. Besides, he'd get to dance again.

Harry sighed, dropping his arms to his sides and fingering the hem of his worn shirt. Most of his clothes had been Dudley's old ones until a few years ago, when Vernon decided that Harry couldn't wear Dudley's old clothes because...well, because Dudley was gone now. So Harry had been allowed to get a few outfits that actually fit him in eight grade. Luckily, he hadn't grown that much and the clothes allowed for what little he had grown in the last two years, so they still fit him. Still, it wasn't like they were in good condition. Briefly Harry wondered if he should buy an outfit or two for school, then threw that idea out. He wasn't going to dress up for these kids; he didn't have anything to prove to them. Except that I can...or can't dance...Harry thought dully.

Harry got off the bus at the stop nearest his apartment complex, and then walked the seven blocks home. He heard his uncle watching TV at an ear-damaging volume and was able to sneak into the apartment under the cover of explosions and screams coming from Vernon's room. Paranoid that his uncle would search his room for any evidence of the School of the Arts, Harry lifted up his mattress, pulled his knife from his pocket and cut a slit in the thin fabric containing the springs. He then slid the envelope of paper into the mattress before letting it fall back on the ground. The movement had caused the two rogue springs that always prevented a good sleep to pop through the covering of the mattress, and Harry absentmindedly shoved them back inside it as he lay down.

Suddenly the television turned off, and the silence that swept through the tiny apartment was instant and thorough. Harry sat bolt upright, ignoring any protests from his bruised and aching front, and walked to his door. He knelt down so he could look through the hole that the absence of a doorknob left. His uncle was rummaging around in the refrigerator from what Harry could see. The man found something—surprise, surprise—and then went back to his room and turned the television back on. Noise erupted once more and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The black-haired boy turned away from the door and went over to his pile of clothes. He rifled around in the pile for a moment before finding the shirt he had been looking for. Yanking it out and making sure it was clean enough, Harry changed, throwing his plain grey shirt into the pile. The shirt he was wearing now was several sized too small for him, meant for someone around ten or eleven, but it was a vibrant red with a design of a black oriental dragon. It was easily Harry's favorite shirt, and the one he normally wore clubbing, as it looked good with a pair of slightly baggy blue jeans. He had gotten the shit from someone's house that he and Ron had broken into two years, and managed to get out of clean, unlike the time after that.

Harry squeezed a dimes worth of gel into his hand and ran it through his hair, effectively giving him a more rugged look that was the exact opposite of his delicate features. He wasn't planning on showing up at the Hot Zone until after ten, but there was no way he was coming home before going to the club so he made sure he was ready before he left. Harry left his skateboard in his room—there was no place to keep it at the Zone—and walked out of the apartment while shrugging into a light jacket. There was a slight chill to the air, a nippy reminder that winter was on it's way. Harry frowned at the thought: he hated winter. Two years ago he hadn't minded it so much, as he had a coat that was able to keep him warm, and shoes that were more than holey canvas chucks. He didn't look forward to the walk to the bus every morning in his summer windbreaker.

Harry walked the familiar streets to the Weasley's shop, hoping that Molly would be able to give him something to eat. As he walked, he kept both eyes on the lookout for weapons concealed in people's pockets or hands, anyone staring intently at him, shadows moving behind him...normal things. When he had been younger he had problems walking alone through the streets, thus his involvement with Dean's gang, but now it seemed people figured he wasn't worth it anymore, especially if he was very careful. It was nice, Harry decided, to not have to fear being raped during the daylight. Yeah, I just have to watch my back at night, he thought with a truly amused smile, turning onto the main street in the district and winding through the buskers and street people to the Weasley's.

The only person in the shop today was Molly herself, although she said that Ginny had been popping in every hour or so. Harry was given several slices of bread with a lavish spread of butter on them, and he sat himself down in one of the chairs and listened to Molly talk about her newest type of cookie, or the gossip she learned from the customers who drifted in. The green-eyed boy's stomach was instantly eased by the bread, although Harry had to eat it slowly to make sure his stomach wasn't upset after eating it: his body never reacted well to eating on an empty stomach. After half an hour of enjoying his bread, listening to Molly's kind chatter, and letting the warmth of the shop sooth him, Harry stood, wiped the crumbs from his jacket and gave Molly a wave goodbye. The rounded woman gave him a cheery smile, insisting that he was too thin and that he should come back the next day. As Harry exited the bakery an arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. The small teen gave a yelp of surprise, leaning away from the body he was pressed against until a familiar peal of laughter rang in his ears.

"George, get the fuck off me," he said with a laugh. The redhead loosened his hold, but his arm stayed around Harry's shoulders.

"How was—"

"—Registration?" Fred finished, popping up from behind the two and forcing them apart, walking in between them. Harry shrugged.

"There were bad things about it and good things about it," he answered vaguely. The twins glanced at each other.

"Start with the good," George said, "we've got nothing else to listen to."

"Okay then...The good: it's an amazing school. Three large dance studios, tons of classrooms, practice rooms, a theater and an auditorium. Huge place; three stories," Harry started. "I met a few kids and most of them seem nice. A few of the guys were just kids in my registration group, and another was a girl I waited in line with—I think she was a sophomore like me—and she's a dancer too. Really smart, she figured out that I was a scholarship student pretty quick."

"Did she give you a hard time?" Fred asked, an almost protective edge to his voice. Harry rolled his eyes with a smirk.

"No. She was on partial scholarship last year anyway."

"Well, it's good that not everyone there is a snobby rich bitch," Fred commented. Harry nodded, agreeing with him.

"And yeah...that's pretty much the good," the black-haired boy said slowly.

"So, on to the bad then?" George pressed. Harry sighed.

"Unlike Hermione—that girl I met—there are definitely a few kids that aren't going to like that I'm a scholarship student. This senior named Draco gave me a tour of the building, and his girlfriend," Harry spat the word with malice, "didn't exactly take a liking to me. I'm...I'm a beginner compared to those dancers there," Harry sighed, "I...I've hardly had any dance training, and most of those kids have been dancing since they were four years old! I have so much to catch up on, and I'm not dressed that well, and I'm small and scrawny and weak and there's no way I'm ever going to be able to be good at dancing," Harry said, dropping his head. The twins stopped at his side, each taking one of his arms.

"Wrong, Harry. You'll be great. Don't let those assholes get to you, you're worth a million of them," George said firmly. Harry shook his head.

"No guys, you weren't there. Pansy—that's Draco's girlfriend—just laid into me about being a beginner without training, and I just have this feeling I'm going to fail at all of this!"

"Harry! This is your only fucking chance!" Fred exclaimed, shaking the green-eyed boy's arm. "You can't believe what they tell you; you have to at least try!"

"I—"

"He's right Harry," George added. "You can't do anything with that attitude. You got a full scholarship to that school, that means they want you there. You have just as much right—if not more—to be at that school than any of those kids who give you a hard time. Remember that," he said firmly. Harry nodded, although it didn't seem as if he was completely convinced, and silence ensued between the three of them. The next person to speak was Harry.

"Eighty-nine pounds, guys." Both redheads looked at the boy in between them, confused.

"The hell?" Fred asked. Harry rolled his eyes.

"How much do you guys weigh?" he asked. George's eyes narrowed suddenly, and Fred spoke up.

"Around a hundred and thirty, I think. Maybe thirty-five," He answered. Harry sighed, running a hand through his gelled hair.

"Is that a normal weight?" he continued.

"It's a little under for our age and height, but nothing major. Why?" George cut in, his eyes still narrowed.

"I'm supposed to gain ten pounds in the next month," Harry said in a melancholy voice.

"Please, please, please, don't tell me that you weight eighty-nine pounds," George begged, finally understanding what Harry was saying. The one spoken to shrugged with a nod.

"Sorry, George," he answered.

"Harry! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" George yelled, blue eyes blazing. Harry shrank away from the raised voice, his gaze on his feet. "Are telling me that you aren't eating because of your uncle? Because that's—"

"—Bullshit," Fred broke in, his voice just as vehement as his brother's. Harry just shook his head, not answering, and silence followed. Suddenly George turned to face Harry and grabbed him, pulling the green-eyed boy into a hug. A strangled sob emitted from Harry's throat, the teen's head buried in George's chest.

"It's so fucked up...I just...I don't think I can to do this anymore!" Harry said, his voice suddenly raw and choked.

"Yeah, that's obvious," Fred deadpanned, his eyes concerned. The Weasleys weren't a wealthy family, not by a long shot, but they lived a good life compared to Harry. There was never the concern that they wouldn't eat that night, or that they would freeze during the winter because of inadequate clothing. Their father wouldn't dare lay a hand on them. But unlike anyone the Weasleys knew, Harry had the drive to get out of his situation. Harry maintained a steady smile and a ready laugh, desperate for the happiness most found from their friends or families. It was unfair, really, that someone like Harry was in that kind of situation.

"You'll be okay, Harry. Things'll work out for you before you know it," George said, with a glare at his brother, a silent reprimand for Fred's previous comment. Harry leaned into George for another moment before pulling away. The twins were mildly surprised to see a large smile on the boy's tear-stained face. Harry just shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe. I'll deal with it later," he said, wiping a hand under his eyes with a blush. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly.

"Whatever, Harry," Fred said, with an amused roll of his eyes. "You are so weird. Like, one second you're depressed, and the next your all 'life sucks, but whatever!'. I don't get it." Harry laughed.

"Resilience, gentlemen, keeps me alive," he said with a wink. George shook his head, amazed at how lightly Harry took things at times.

"Whatever floats your boat, Harry. Anyway..." he said, deciding all three of them could use a subject change, "Are you coming to the Zone tonight?" George asked with a gleam in his eye.

"Hell yes. It's salsa night!" Harry exclaimed. The twins nodded, expecting such an answer. Mondays at the Hot Zone were typically when most of the Latin kids showed up, which meant most people ended up dancing a strange modification of salsa with typical street styles mixed in. Harry, with his quick and graceful body, was perfectly suited for the style. Of course, there were few dance styles that George and Fred had come across that Harry wasn't made for.

...

The air around him was stifling, smelling of sweat, drugs, alcohol, and sex. Still, Harry was dancing with a smile on his face, his hips swaying freely. The club was crowded tonight, the kids and adults grouped together according to gangs or race...in typical fashion. Harry was one of the only people who occasionally left the group of white kids, dancing with other kids without considerable worry.

It was a Monday night, meaning that most of the teens there were Latin kids, and their style dominated the club. Harry's friends watched as the black-haired boy stepped into a circle, his feet moving in rhythms and patterns both street style and a variation of traditional salsa. Even the Latin kids would admit he was good: the girls taking turns to dance with the 'white boy'. It was in this fashion Harry had picked up most of his dance skills. Harry's lithe body was easily able to remember steps and moves, but his quick mind and playfulness let him improvise just as well. There were few regulars at the club who weren't aware of him, and almost as few who hadn't danced with him at least once. His anonymous popularity wasn't something Harry had knowingly encouraged, and in some ways it wasn't safe, but it had allowed him to learn to dance and that wasn't something he could complain about.

George grabbed two beers from the counter, leaning over and grabbing the bartender with his free hand, pressing their lips together in a slow kiss as payment. With a wink, he released her and spun around, pushing his way through the crowd to the back, where Fred, Ginny, Ron, Harry, Seamus, Dean, Cho, and several others were hanging out. Fred grabbed his drink from his twin's hand with a nod of thanks, and George made his way over to Harry who was leaning against a wall, arms crossed over his chest as he talked to Cho. The black-haired boy looked to the redhead with a smile, his quick hand snatching George's drink and taking a swig before handing it back.

"You're too young to be drinking," George said out of obligation, although his eyes weren't serious. Harry laughed, rolling his eyes.

"Sure, George. Too young," he echoed, crossing his arms once more.

"Really, Harry's more mature than you are. It's you who shouldn't be drinking," Cho cut in with a grin. George held up his hands.

"Joking, anyone? Hello?" he asked. Harry grabbed the redhead's beer again and slammed it on the table Cho was sitting near.

"Watch that," he told her before grabbing George by the hips. "Let's dance," Harry suggested, dragging the twin towards the crowd of gyrating teens and adults. Their friends let loose several whistles, and Harry threw a wink at them over George's shoulder. Seamus winked back, an 'I told you so' on his face. Harry shook his head, dismissing the silent comment, and looked back to the boy in front of him.

"Harry—" George started.

"It's just dancing, no one's going to kill us," Harry said, bringing his arms up around the older boy's shoulders.

"Yeah, not now," George commented dryly. Harry flicked his hair out of his eyes.

"No one's paying attention," he added. George let his hands rest on Harry's hips, pulling the black-haired boy a bit closer.

"Only because you look like a girl," the redhead teased, talking loudly into Harry's ear so he was heard over the music. Harry put on a mock-offended face, although his hips twitched in a circular pattern, forcing George's hips to follow.

"I'm going to ignore that for now. Just dance," Harry said with another roll of his eyes. George smirked, satisfied that he won their playful argument, and wrapped an arm around Harry's lower back, pressing them flush against each other. The black-haired teen let out a surprised squeak, but George didn't relinquish his hold. He caught Fred's interested gaze and shrugged a bit, smiling coyly. His twin pursed his lips, and George shook his head almost imperceptibly; We'll talk about it later, he assured with a glance. Fred nodded, turning back to Dean and Seamus, who were in the middle of a game of some sort.

Suddenly there was a yell heard over the music, followed seconds later by a sharp crack. There wasn't a single person in the club who didn't recognize the sound. There were more yells: bystanders protesting the fight, but drawing weapons in self defense. George pulled Harry low to the ground and ran with him back to the corner where the rest of their friends were. Dean and Seamus had both palmed handguns but it was obvious they were too drunk to use them without killing someone innocent. Fred jumped up and knocked Seamus to the ground, pulling Ginny with them.

"Get down, you guys," he yelled. George shoved Harry to the ground, crawling over to Seamus and grabbing the gun. Harry's hand grabbed his wrist.

"Harry, stay by the wall," George commanded. Harry looked at the gun in the redhead's right hand.

"Leave it alone," Harry said, but George shook his head.

"Come on, Harry, you know I can't. Dean...his gang...he's too fucked right now to defend himself. I can't let him just...get shot if something happens," George reasoned. Harry looked at Dean, who was lying on the floor, grinning ear to ear. He released his hold on George's wrist and crawled back to the wall, glaring. George scooted over by Fred, who had taken Dean's gun and was kneeling next to Ron. The crowd had thinned by now; everyone with a straight shot to the doors had bolted. The shooting seemed to be between a few of the black kids and a couple of Asians, toss in the bouncers who were trying to get everything straightened out. Harry hated to think it, but he was glad it was them and not the Army Dean was affiliated with. Now all they had to do was wait it out. One of the black boys fell to ground, clutching his knee as blood spurted from the bullet wound and Harry felt Cho grab his arm, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

"Harry...I saw Cedric," she hissed.

"What?"

"Cedric! He's over there," she pointed unobtrusively to the opposite side of the club, "I think he's hurt."

"How do you know?" Harry asked, grabbing her hand to both comfort her and make sure she wouldn't do anything stupid...like run over there to help her boyfriend.

"There's too many people around him...watching. A bartender has a...bucket of ice...oh fuck, Harry," Cho sobbed. "What happened to him?" Harry felt her try to get up and grabbed her shoulder.

"No. Cho, you can't go over there. You'll get shot just for moving," he snapped at her.

"Let go, Harry!" she screamed, working her way out of his grasp. One of the Asian kids heard and looked over towards them, before there was another gunshot and he fell. Cho screamed again, wrenching away from Harry and running along the wall. The black-haired teen jumped up as well, following despite the hissed warning from his friends.

"Cho! What the fuck are you doing?" he yelled, glancing towards the boys in the center of the club; the bouncers had managed to grab them and wrestle their weapons away. There was no more shooting, but Harry knew plenty of people were hurt. He could see people with balled fists and blazing eyes being torn away from people by their friends, and yells and screams still pierced the air. Cho was forcing her way through the crowd, Harry following after her. With his agile and small body, Harry managed to catch up with her, grabbing her slender wrist and halting her movement. He yanked her backwards. "Cho, stay out of this. We're both going to get hurt if you try and go over there," he said loudly.

"Harry, he's my boyfriend!" Cho said, tears welling up in her panicked eyes. He glared at her.

"It's your life, Cho. Don't put him before you," he begged. It was a harsh rule, but one that everyone lived by in their district. Cho stopped struggling against him. "Let's just get out of here," Harry said. The Asian girl looked back in Cedric's direction, and Harry tugged on her arm until she moved in his direction. The two worked their way back through the crowd of angry people, narrowly avoiding being punched in the face several times. At one point Harry felt a sharp sting on his shoulder, and later someone's elbow dug into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and disturbing his bruise, but he kept running with Cho right behind him.

"Harry! Cho!" someone screamed, and the two ran in the direction the yell came from, running into the Weasleys, Dean, and Seamus. "Fuck! What the hell were you thinking?" Fred was screaming as he grabbed Cho and shoved her towards the door.

"Come on, we have to get out of here," Ron added, pulling on a trembling Ginny. The group of eight sprinted towards the doors, dodging people as best they could. Harry grabbed Seamus' elbow, taking most of his weight and all but dragging him out of there. A pane of glass in the door had been shot and shards of glass were littering the ground, crunching under their feet as they stumbled out of the building and ran down the street.

Smaller fights had erupted outside, but no one gave the eight running teenagers any trouble. Three blocks away they stopped, checking to make sure they weren't standing in claimed territory before sitting down. Cho and Ginny were in tears by now, and everyone was shaken, with exception to Seamus and Dean who were too smashed to appear troubled. They sat in silence for five minutes, letting their erratic heartbeats relax.

"Well..." Ron said faintly, a hint of a smile on his face, "I'm definitely reminded why you want to get the hell out of here, Harry." The black-haired teen nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, a weak smile of his own in place.

"Harry!" Ginny suddenly exclaimed as she wiped tears from her face. "Oh my god...your shoulder." Harry glanced down at his right shoulder, which was still stinging a bit. Blood had stained his already red shirt an even darker color; it appeared black in the street light's pale rays. Ginny's thin fingers pulled up his sleeve just enough to reveal the thin knife-wound. Harry shrugged away from her touch as Cho, George, Fred, and Ron crowded around.

"It's fine. I can hardly feel it," Harry said, pulling his shirtsleeve over it.

"You should at least let us look at it," Ron said. Harry shook his head.

"It's fine. Really. It's not even bleeding that much," the petite boy said firmly.

"Harry, you have a history of treating serious injuries as if they were nothing," Fred remarked dryly. "Put your damn pride out of the way for two seconds and just let us look," he asked. Harry rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh and dragged his sleeve up again. Ron took initiative and leaned closer, twisting Harry's body towards the light so he could see better.

"Does anyone have a cloth or something?" he asked. Cho came forward, holding her purple scarf.

"Here," she offered, handing it to Ron. The redhead pressed the scarf to Harry's cut, letting it soak up the blood. The black-haired boy didn't even flinch. After a few moments Ron lay the scarf aside and took another look at the injury. Harry hadn't been lying: it wasn't anything serious.

"Yeah, you're fine," Harry shot Fred and George an 'I told you so' look, to which they just shrugged, "It'll leave a nice scar, though," Ron finished, tugging Harry's sleeve back down.

"So now that we know your arm hasn't been severed...What in fucking hell were you thinking when you ran after Cho?" George asked. Cho put a hand on his arm.

"Don't yell at him, George. We all know Harry has a hero-complex. I shouldn't have ran off like that...it was stupid," the black-haired girl said softly. George turned to glare at her.

"Damn right it was stupid. What were doing?" he demanded. Cho's eyes welled up with tears again.

"C—Cedric's hurt...I wanted to...to make sure he was alright," she said, her lower lip trembling. Ginny immediately wrapped her in a hug.

"I'm sure he's fine, darlin'," Ginny comforted while George turned his back in order to glare at the ground. She could have gotten Harry and herself killed, he thought angrily, although Harry gave him a look and George sighed. He wasn't going to continue playing dad tonight...except to get everyone home...or in Seamus' case, to whichever place he was spending the night.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"So, you and Harry, huh?"

"Fred," George groaned, rolling over on his bed to look at the his brother while pulling the blankets around him a bit more. He saw his brother's silhouette shrug.

"Hey, you're my brother, he's one of my best friends, I'd like to know if you're dating," Fred whispered. George rolled his eyes.

"One: we're nowhere near going out. Two: he doesn't like me back, which is the reason for number one," George said flatly, his voice quiet so Ron would stay sleeping on the other side of the room.

"Hey, he did drag you onto the dance floor tonight...and those weren't normal 'platonic hips'," Fred pointed out.

"Yes, they were. He dances like that with everyone. Fred, we're not going out, okay? I mean...we're both guys and everyone knows that's not really tolerated around here," George whispered.

"That's not totally true. There's a lot of gay guys around this area...just look at all the guys with AIDS and HIV; not that all of them are gay, but you know..." Fred reasoned.

"Fred, shut up. That's not the point. The point is that Harry does not like me that way. I'm totally fine with being his friend." There was a rustling noise on the other side of the room, and Ron's head lifted off the bed.

"Wha'cha guys talkin' 'bout?" Ron slurred.

"Nothing," the twins said at the same time. Ron made a little humming noise and fell back to sleep. Fred looked back to George.

"Yeah, fine with being his friend for now. You should just...take him out for dinner or something," he said lightly. George stared at his twin.

"Fred, I do that all the time. Fuck, everyone takes Harry out to dinner. Otherwise he doesn't get dinner," he stated. His brother laughed quietly.

"True. I give up, George. You'll figure it out yourself," Fred said. George sighed, nodding.

"So what should we do tomorrow? Last day of summer and all..." George wondered.

"Damn. Three months went fast, huh? We should plan a grand entrance for the first day of school...It's our senior year, we've got to do something dramatic," Fred thought out loud.

"Or we could walk with Harry—"

"Fuck, you do like him," Fred teased. George made a 'huff' noise.

"Whatever. We can figure out what we're doing tomorrow tomorrow, 'kay? I'm going to bed," George said, wishing his brother 'goodnight'. Fred grunted in reply and silence enveloped the room only to be disturbed by the occasional rumble of the passing subway train.

...

Harry slipped into his apartment with a wave to the rest of the party—no one had been willing let anyone else walk home by themselves—and shut the door, locking and dead bolting it quietly. His uncle was either sleeping or passed out on a street corner somewhere—the apartment was fairly quiet and the TV couldn't be heard.

Exhausted like always after a night clubbing, and even more so because of the adrenaline rush he got when running away from the fights, Harry walked into his room and crashed on the bed. He didn't bother showering the smells of alcohol and drugs off, or even changing his bloody shirt. He could do it in the morning. Ugh...last day of summer, Harry thought, discovering he wasn't so excited about his new school as he thought he would be. At least the Hell Hole was something familiar, Fifth Ave...it was a whole new ball game.

I normally really don't like club scenes in fanfiction stories, and therefor try to avoid writing them myself, but the scene in this story kind of...wrote itself before I realized that it was the dreaded club scene that I dislike so much. Oh well. It was fun to write, but there won't be too many more of them unless you guys thought it was fun to read.

I'd love to hear what everyone thought of this chapter, or the story in general. Remember, any suggestions are welcome!

Wykkyd