Kurt Hummel was having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
It had started out innocently enough, he supposed. He had gotten up, brushed his teeth, gone through the vast majority of his morning rituals, and made his bed before plodding to the kitchen in search of coffee and something mildly healthy that could pass as breakfast. In what was nothing short of a miracle, he had scrounged up some fresh eggs from a carton in the fridge. A dash of milk, a handful of veggies, and a sprinkle of cheese later, Kurt had two omelets merrily steaming on the stove, one intended for him and one meant for his Dad, despite the manś atrocious dieting habits. Kurt sniffed and flipped his breakfast onto plates, carefully cutting and eating the egg dish. He carried the remaining plate up to his Dadś room, knocked twice, and left the omelet sitting on the floor, as was usual these days.
Kurt loved the early morning. The sky was just beginning to color, birdsong filled the air, and no one was ever willingly awake and alert in Lima before six AM. Kurt was completely alone.
And he loved it.
Alone meant safety for him. It meant no jocks around, no incoming slushie threats, no not-so-subtle slurs, no...people, none of their brilliance or their hard-shelled minds. He breathed in the sunrise and let the early morning chill sink into his bones. He had dressed for the weather today, in a classy blue blazer, gray slacks, pristine white shirt, and a matching ascot. Kurt let out one last sigh before trudging back inside. His Dad was up by now, and he still have a few more precious minutes before he have to leave for school.
"Heya Kurt,¨ Burt greeted his son with a smile and a steaming mug of coffee, "Are you headed off to school just yet?
Kurt gave his Dad a one-armed hug and a forced smile. "Yep, I was just about to leave. I'm gonna grab a quick scarf, and then me and my sweet Usnavi'll be on our way." Burt laughed.
"You and that damn car," he chuckled, hands cupped around his ceramic mug. "Alright, well, have fun at school, okay? And don't take any of those jocks' shit, you hear me?"
Kurt rolled his eyes and forced a smile. "Of course, Dad, you know me." 'Jock Shit', as his Dad had so elegantly dubbed it, was smeared literally everywhere in his High School. Metaphorically speaking (and who was Kurt kidding, McKinley was absolutely brimming with the Red-Colored Jock Shit, so it could be physically speaking, as well), McKinley was a cesspool of bullying, a porta-potti of bigotry.
Damn, I've gotta write that one down. Kurt gave himself a mental pat on the back, whispering the phrase "porta-potti of bigotry" over and over again in his thoughts.
"But that's the thing, Kurt-" and oh yeah, right, his Dad was giving the 'I love you but the world might not' speech again, "I do know you, and that worries me. 'Cuz you're strong as hell, kid, and won't let anyone else in your corner. You're gonna bear this weight on your back until something breaks, and that ain't happening, not on my watch. We clear?" Burt fixed his son with a hard stare and a raised eyebrow (an ability that Kurt was ecstatic to have inherited from him). "I may not be as...spry," Burt made a face of disgust with this statement, "as I once used to be, especially not after that damn heart attack, but I will do anything and everything in my power to help you out, okay kid?" Kurt, stunned, could only nod and gape, a small smile coloring the edge of his lips.
God, I love my idiot of a father.
Kurt nodded and grinned at his Dad, giving him a quick bear hug and a muffled "Love you," into Burt's flannel shirt.
Burt's, "Aw, love you too, kid," was accompanied by an aborted hair-ruffling gesture as Kurt swatted the messy fingers away from his perfect head. Kurt dashed out of the door amid peals of his Dad's laughter. Minutes later, Kurt was pulling up into McKinley, his cherished Navigator (which he affectionately called Usnavi, after one of his favorite musical characters) parked snugly between a crappy Buick and a rather impressive fire-red classic Harley. The mechanic in Kurt was astounded at the meticulously cared-for bike. He was just itching to run his hands over the smooth leather seating. He let his fingers glide along the gleaming handlebars, before realizing that its probable owner was only a few feet away, and approaching fast.
The dude was outfitted in dark everything, with his hood up and a bag slung over his shoulder. It had a weird crest on it, some label that Kurt didn't recognize, which was strange on its own-Kurt knew all of the major fashion logos. Kurt ran a glancing gaze over the bike's owner, careful not to let eyes linger for too long. The smallest insinuation of homosexuality on either Kurt or Bike Dude's part would be absolutely deadly, in terms of social standing. He made a brief mental catalogue of the kid's rather nondescript outfit-a brand-new dark green hoodie that looked like it hadn't really been worn before, black jeans, and bright red converse-and it all made his eyes hurt. None of those colors were okay. The flaming red shoes, while whimsical, were absolute atrocities that should be burned in the depths of hell for being put with the other dark colors that Bike Dude was sporting. Kurt paused and squinted at the intricate script printed beneath the shield-like emblem before dropping his gaze.
HOGWARTS.
Yup, it definitely wasn't familiar. He was pretty sure that he would have remembered such a weird name, but now that he was looking at the boy, Kurt realized that the boy himself didn't seem all that familiar. While Kurt was far from the top of the social food chain, he did like to think of himself as a pretty observant guy. He kind of had to be, though. It came with the package of being gay in a ridiculously small and backwards town. Caution was both a regular habit and an old friend at this point.
And speaking of caution, Kurt realised that he could definitely use some more of it. He wasn't quite sure how long he had been standing by his motorcycle ogling the beautiful machine next to him, but he winced when he looked at his watch. Crap. It was way too late for him to walk into school unimpeded at this point-there were sure to be jocks waiting for him at the dumpsters by now. He let out a frustrated breath before sending a quick farewell nod towards the boy heading his way. Kurt finally got his reluctant feet to move towards the school doors, still wary of any red-clad jocks or slushies that might be heading his way.
He was halfway across the parking lot when the voice of high school death finally reached him.
"Yo, ladyboy!" Karofsky shouted, features twisted into a manic mask of glee, "You tryin' to ditch out on our daily meet-up?" He smirked and flung his beat-up backpack out by the corner of the dumpster, rolling his shoulders as two beefy accomplices flanked his side. Karofsky's friends folded their arms and stretched their lips into menacing smiles, tilting their heads towards Kurt in a predatory gesture of concentration.
Kurt swallowed. He knew that this was coming-Finn, Puck, and Mike made an effort to stop the traditional dumpster-toss when they saw it happening, but otherwise, Kurt was on his own.
As he usually was.
"Fine," Kurt whispered, keeping his posture stiff and proud even as he stuffed his precious teal jacket and color-coordinated ascot into his bag. He cleared his throat, before turning back to the jocks and saying loudly, "Nope. I'd never dream of missing out with my favorite neanderthals."
Karofsky faltered for a second, as if trying to remember what a neanderthal was. Probably something bad, but whatever. Oh goody, a riled Kurt made this entire endeavor just that much more fun.
"You giving me lip, Hummel?" his grin twisted into a snarl. "Alright then, boys. You know what to do."
Kurt stood his ground as the three red-clad bullies made their way towards him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Motorcycle-dude stop walking and stare at the four kids with a furrowed brow. Kurt snorted daintily. They had to make a fine picture-three giant lobster trolls advancing on a fashionable pastel stick of a kid. But now was not the time for imagination. Focus, Kurt.
Kurt turned his attention back to his would-be assailants, just in time to see Karofsky take a rather impressive tumble to the hard blacktop of the parking lot, banging his head on the ground as he fell. Kurt froze, terrified that peals of anxious laughter would escape him the moment he allowed himself so much as a twitch.
Karofsky came up from the ground gasping for breath and cursing like the worst of sailors. "SONUVA BITCH!" he yelled, a hand desperately pressed to his bleeding nose, while the other one poked at his busted lip. "Am I...am I bleeding?" He waved his slightly bloody hand in front of one of his comrade's faces. "Am I bleeding?"
The other jocks fidgeted uncomfortably. "Uh yeah man, you went down pretty hard. You wanna see the nurse or summin' for like a band-aid? You...you don't look so good."
"Shut up," Karofsky mumbled, still holding one hand to his nose, " 'm FINE. But Hummel-"
Kurt snapped to attention, all snarky comments wiped from his brain at Karofsky's murderous visage.
"-you got off easy this morning, but we'll be back for you at lunch, you hear? Now go and…" Karofsky seemed to deflate as he stared at his bloody hand, "go and...frolic or whatever you gays do." He turned and walked into the building as his buddies finally let their withheld snickers loose, freely teasing Karofsky as they pushed through the double doors and into McKinley.
Kurt was still frozen, however. What the hell had just happened? He was Kurt Hummel. He didn't get free passes or breaks. He got beat up and ridiculed, discriminated against and shunned. He looked around the parking lot, glancing about for any witnesses that could confirm that yes, that had actually just happened. He could've sworn that Motorcycle-dude smirking in his direction, but when he looked again, the guy had vanished. Kurt shook his head and blinked, almost certain that he had imagined it. But one thing was for sure: David Karofsky, bully extraordinaire, had just met his downfall at the hands of the school blacktop. Kurt grinned.
Today was shaping up to be a good day.
Today was shaping up to be the worst day.
Kurt's classes had passed without any major incidents or musical breakouts (which sometimes happened with the Glee kids, because honestly, words like 'normal' and 'subtle' and 'chill' just didn't seem to be a part of some members' vocabulary *cough* Rachel *cough*). He relayed Karofsky's fantastic spill to his friends at lunch, soaked up the tale of Rachel's (apparently socially-prejudiced) signing rescuer, and speculated with Mercedes about the mysterious Motorcycle-dude and whether or not he was in any way related to Rachel's "dark angel" (her words, not Kurt's. He and Mercedes had traded a "kill me" expression that they had perfected over the years at Rachel's colorful description).
"Maybe they're cousins," Tina mused, stabbing a piece of limp lettuce and glaring at it as if it had personally offended her.
"If that's the case, then I wouldn't mind making a nest in that family tree, if Man-hands is to be believed," Santana interjected as she strode by their table, a restless Brittany in tow. She leaned on the ancient cafeteria furniture and plucked a french fry from Kurt's plate, ignoring his protest. "Which she isn't, usually, but what the hell, I'll believe her for the sake of some hot new ass in this school."
Brittany propped herself up on her elbows at the edge of the table, eyes trailing after every student entering the cafeteria. "Don't be silly, Santanna, you can't make a nest in a Lion's den." Brittany stole a sip of Kurt's homemade smoothie, once again ignoring his "Honestly, people, this is my food, go get your own" glare. Not heeding her tablemates' flabbergasted stares, Brittany went cross-eyed as she stared intently at Santana. Suddenly she shrugged. "Besides, Santana, you're a snake, I think. The ravens would kick you out of their tree." Brittany blinked twice. "But I'm a raven or a badger and my relatives are all ravens, so you can make a home in my branches, kay?" Brittany shot them all a dazzling smile and flounced off, dragging a smirking and bemused Santana behind her.
"Later, losers," Santana called over her shoulder as the pinkie-linked girls made their way over to the 'popular' table. Kurt glanced around his table.
"Anyone know what that was about?" He was met with wide eyes and open mouths, before Rachel gasped and practically shouted, "The BAG! The kid's bag, it had all of those animals-BRITTANY!" before the bell's shrill ring cut her off. Kurt mentally swore as he gave a quick "Bye, girl," to Mercedes before dashing off to math.
And that's where his good day turned bad. Karofsky and Azimio were waiting for him right outside the class, just out of the teacher's sight. Kurt gulped, but still held his chin high.
"Hey Homo." Karofsky sneered, leaning up against the wall, his bruised lips curled into a cruel smirk.
Don't let them get to you. They are nothing. Nothing.
"It's Hummel, actually. But it must be so much work for your two brain cells to remember that. Between the two of them, one seems to handle your cowardice and the other makes you a modern dinosaur, so," Kurt shrugged, "I can't blame you for forgetting my name. Way too much work for you. Now if you'll please excuse me-"
"Nah-ah, Hummel, you ain't going anywhere, cuz' I've had it up to HERE," Karofsky slammed his fist against the wall, "With your attitude. I don't know how you escaped a beating earlier this morning, but I'm sure as hell gonna give you what you deserve now."
Staring into David's throbbing red face, Kurt couldn't hold back the small whimper that escaped him.
Karofsky was mad.
"Alright, Kurt Homo, take off your precious jacket. You'll need it later to wipe up your blood when we're through with you." Karofsky practically spat the words at Kurt's feet.
Kurt could feel his traitorous limbs cracking as he stared at his trembling hands. They were shaking so badly that he was having trouble with the buttons. Karofsky was one hell of a bully, true, but he had never threatened Kurt with such intense physical violence before. Kurt sent a lowered glanced around the halls, desperate for help, only to find them cleared of all bystanders and potential rescuers. Not that any of these people would actually help the school's only out kid anyways. Kurt looked back at the smug Azimio and fuming Karofsky. Pressure was building in his chest, threatening to burst out. It was panic, desperation, a useless ast plea for mercy.
He was alone.
Like always.
"I'll give you what you want," Kurt blurted, fearing for his life, "Whatever you want. Money, homework help, I'll orchestrate my own slushing. Anything. A-a-anything but this. Please." It came out in a strangled whisper. He wasn't afraid of the pain. He was afraid of what his injuries would do to his father, to sweet Burt, who didn't deserve a freak son or the stress that worrying over Kurt would cause him. His heart was already weak. Seeing Kurt come home from school bloody and bruised would only break the fragile organ.
Karofsky had an odd gleam in his eye. Then he looked at Azimio, who looked like he was holding in a burst of sadistic laughter at Kurt's (rather pathetic, and Kurt knew it) begging. Karofsky glanced between the twd into some twisted and so terrifyingly cruel that Kurt couldn't stand it anymore-he bolted.
He ran down hallways, skidded around corridors, ducked and weaved through all of the school's nooks and crannies, through obscure passages that were sadly familiar to him. He knew this school. He knew how to hide in it. He left the football players' bellows echoing behind them as he sprinted until he finally collapsed, shaking, on the tiles by his locker. He refused to cry. He was dying to unleash the scream caught like a best between the bars of his ribcage, to just pound his fists in frustration and tear down the walls and the world that had let this kind of shit happen to him.
He had escaped the jocks for now at least. He had to stay together, had to stay strong. He was Kurt Goddamned Hummel, and he was stronger than the hell he was trapped in. He was Strong, he was capable, he was fine. He could take this. The bullies didn't mean anything. He knew his worth, he knew who he was. Nothing could change that, no one could take that from him. He was Kurt Hummel, destined for greatness, and he would damn well act like it. He grit his teeth, yanked on his blazer, carefully re-did his jacket buttons, brushed a hand through his hair, meticulously re-styled his disgruntled coif, stuck his chin up, and opened his locker.
And then Human Natural Disaster Sue Sylvester walked down down the hall, her trademark sense of doom clouding around her like a rotten perfume. She left chaos and pain in her wake as she screeched at a random Freshman that had appeared in the hallway. She had murder on her face, and Kurt gulped as she turned her raptor eyes on him, wincing as they they narrowed at him in a distinctly predatory fashion. He was expecting her sharp call of "PORCELAIN!" but was still surprised (and slightly terrified, if he was being 100% honest with himself) when she paused by his locker. Great. This was so not what he needed right now. He fingered his lock nervously, only for Sue to casually prop herself up on a locker directly in front of him, inspecting her blood-red nails as she did so.
"So, how we doin' today, Ladyface?"
Kurt could do nothing but stare at the tracksuited woman in front of him. Was she really doing this now?
Sue continued, completely oblivious to his incredulity. It all went downhill from there. Sue inquired after the glee club, made some references to just how bad they were and made children cry, and then ridiculed his orientation by saying something about he puked glitter and rainbows.
What the hell.
He let out a weak but token "Hey!" of protest as she sauntered away to her newest victim. Kurt turned back to his locker and shoved his head in, grateful for a moment of solitude. Ten seconds, he thought, just ten seconds, and I'll be good to go. He finally closed his locker and turned around, bag slung over his shoulder, only to be met with the slightly surreal sight of Motorcycle-Dude wiggling his fingers and waving his arms in complicated gestures at a fuming Coach Sylvester. The conversation seemed to be pretty one-sided-Sue would scream abuse at the kid, mostly related to Glee for some reason, and the guy would respond with a slight smirk and dancing hands. With one last remark about a "knock-off Ariel," Sue strode back down the corridor and the kid jumped while fumbling for something in his pocket before dashing off to a door marked "Mens."
Well. That was weird.
Kurt spent the rest of the period fiddling with his phone and trying to make himself look busy at his locker. He was so absorbed in doing nothing that he failed to notice the new kid slip out of the bathroom and the foaming horde of jocks gathering at his back.
"Oh, Huuuuu-mmmmellll," Azimio called in a sickly-sweet sing-song voice, "We're back. And this time," he spread his arms out, encompassing his teammates behind him, "I've got friends, unlike you, you pathetic little-"
"Heya, Freak!" Karofsky butted in. Azimio looked put out for a second, but shrugged before fist-bumping Karofsky, matching wicked grins on their faces.
Kurt winced, but jutted his chin out and fiddled with the strap of his bag. This was ok. It was public. Lots of people. Witnesses. They wouldn't physically hurt him here-this was very obviously a show of strength, entertainment for the rest of cowardly sheep of the school.
"You know, Kurt," David sneered, "I don't like you."
"Well, that should be fairly obvious by now, Karofsky," Kurt shot back, confidence rising in him at knowing that he was safe here right now, made bold by all that had gone down earlier in the day, "I hate to say it, but I'm just not your type. You're meant for someone much less, how do I put this...fabulous than me. Believe me, I'm way out of your league." Kurt's words were practically dripping with sarcasm. He knew that this certainly wouldn't end well for him, but eh. He'd had worse.
Karofsky's face was steadily getting redder and redder as Kurt went on. The assorted crowd of jocks behind him sniggered. Azimio openly scoffed at Kurt's words.
"Ain't nobody want your gayness here, Hummel," he said, turning to his comrades, "What do you say we wash it off of him, boys?"
The mass of red had barely started their whoops and cheers before trying to shove sloshing red cups in his face. Kurt had less than a second to realize what was happening, horror dawning on his face before reflexively bringing his arms up to shield his eyes.
What happened next was an absolute blur.
Kurt was yanked out of the way of the slushies, shoved haphazardly against the lockers and sliding in shock to safety. Kurt glanced desperately up at his savior, dumbfounded to see the new kid moving with almost inhuman speed as he darted between the jocks, hands blurring as they flicked and tipped the jocks' slushies back on themselves. Kurt could only sit and stare up at his savior in awe. The guy's hoodie had fallen down to reveal a mass of unruly jet-black hair, an almost gaunt-looking face, and a mouth made thin by pressed-together lips. The dude seemed to be holding back a smirk as he battled the most terrifying bullies in school with their own 'weapons.' He moved with the lithe grace of a predator, and Kurt swallowed. He knew people, knew how the violent ones held themselves with barely-contained rage, how the shy ones huddled in on themselves, and how the dangerous ones moved fluidly and without hesitation.
And this kid was definitely dangerous.
Kurt gulped as the boy finally came to a standstill, a whirlwind of limbs suddenly frozen as the threat was deemed neutralized. The jocks were screaming high-pitched cries of surprise, their voices made shrill by the icy chills of the slushies. They were soaking wet and dripping with great globs of red ice chunks. Kurt wanted to laugh and applaud the stranger for his recklessness. Seeing the jocks standing there witless and in shock was one of the best things he had ever seen in his life. This kid is totally awesome.
Kurt suddenly noticed that the halls had fallen deathly silent, save for the slow and measured drip-drips of the slushies and fat trails rolled of the jocks and made puddles on the dirty tiles. Kurt fought back a grin.
Suddenly, his dark-clad savior turned and glanced down at Kurt, clearly fighting back a shit-eating grin of his own. Kurt froze, helpless in the face of such a social defiance. He could only stare back at the kid in absolute awe as he finally saw what Rachel meant about a 'dark angel' roaming the halls of McKinley High. The kid winked, and Kurt's attention was immediately drawn to his smiling green eyes, and wow, those eyes. The word sounded far too plebeian for such deep and glittering orbs. If eyes were truly the window to the soul, then Kurt wasn't so sure what to think of this guy-those eyes held unfathomable darkness, interspersed with mirth that almost seemed to shine and sparkle like the stars. They were emeralds. Kurt blinked.
And the kid was gone, dashing madly down the hall, a dazed sea of red thundering after him mere moments later. Kurt watched them leave in a haze, and almost burst into helpless laughter when he saw the kid's middle finger stuck proudly up and aimed behind him at the jocks hot on his trail. But seriously.
What the Hell had just happened?
Kurt stared after the retreating mob as he slowly and shakily got to his feet. Gossip at McKinley travelled faster than the speed of light, and by noon tomorrow, the school would have either labelled Kurt's rescuer a hero or an outcast. He reached into his bag, ignoring the few stragglers still milling around the halls in shock, and brought out his cell phone, dialling Mercedes' number with trembling hands.
She picked up on the second ring.
"'Cedes, we need to call an early emergency Glee meeting. Now."
Ten minutes later, the entirety of the Glee Club (minus their fearless and infamously clueless leader) had assembled in the choir room, draped over chairs and scattered across the room in varying degrees of primness. Santana and Brittany were seated by Artie and Quinn, whispering furiously with one another, while Mike and Tina had sequestered themselves in the back of the room doing nauseatingly cute and coupley things. Puck, Finn and Sam were lounging on the chairs and heavily involved in a game of paper football as Rachel watched them while muttering under her breath. Mercedes and Sugar were huddled over a fashion catalogue. The room was alive with gossip, creating a low buzz that hovered over the entire group as everyone pretended that the mounting tension wasn't there. The room went silent as Kurt burst through the doors, knocking over a music stand in his undeniable excitement.
"Everyone, I bring with me news of revolutionary proportions." He gasped out, smiling so hard that his face looked like it was about to split in half.
"Kurt, what is this about?" Mercedes asked.
"McKinley," Kurt paused, holding his hand up for quiet (and dramatic effect, but they didn't really need to know that), "Is, as of 1:47 this afternoon, under the protection of our very own unidentified Guardian Angel." Without giving a chance for anyone to interrupt, Kurt launched into his story, a tale of the kid with a cool bike and almost magical eyes, with a zigzag scar marring his face and the bravery to face the entire football team and make it out not only alive but standing tall. His audience gasped in all of the right places, held awe in their faces at all of the right parts, and even Santana looked like she was ready to hunt down the new kid when Kurt had finished with his story.
"See?" Rachel said, perched delicately on her chair, overwhelming smugness evident in her every word, "I was right. A dark. Angel." She smirked, dragging out the last two words.
"Nope," Brittany smacked her lips together, popping the P, "I told you before, he's a lion. But yeah, he could be a dark angel, the darkest kind, really."
Everyone spared that statement two seconds of flabbergasted silence before launching back into speculations about the new kid.
"Dude, with moves like that, the guy's gotta be a ninja." Artie said.
"Awesome." Finn whispered, an oafish grin on his face.
"Sweeeeet, he can teach me some mad moves." Same fist pumped the air.
"He's an alien." Sugar said.
"A model!" Mercedes called out.
The theories spiralled from there, as the new kid's past was spun and then discarded in a matter of seconds, followed by an even crazier tale of who he was and why he was in Lima.
Finn had just put forth a possible story involving a mad scientist father, a mermaid turned human, a herd of rabid cats, a Zefron poster and a Red Vines factory when Santana cut him off with a snarl.
"Dear Lord, Frankenteen, that theory is fruitier and nuttier than my Abuela's Christmas cake, and that is saying something. Now everyone, calm your asses down, this is absolutely ridiculous. There's a new kid and I admire his balls, but he's gonna lose his actual, real-life testicles if he pulls any shit like this again. This town is small but it ain't that tiny. We'll run into his scrawny ass eventually and until then, I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you squabble like the loud," she pointed a finger at Rachel, "Delusional," the finger moved to Finn before passing on to Sam, "And imbecilic uncultured swine that you all clearly are. If we're here, we're gonna get some goddamned work done. No pale scrawny-assed newbie will cost me another shiny trophy this year. I needs another win to keep me up at this place. I feed off of victory and the souls of the weak. We've got a lot of the latter and none of the former, so let's get back to work." Santana leaned back and crossed her arms. narrowing her eyes and glared at the wide-eyed teenagers around her.
The club gawked at her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, let me put this in terms you can actually understand. Shut the hell up, you worthless sacks of skin."
And at that moment, the choir doors opened with a thunderous bang, and William Schuester himself strolled in, resplendent in a sweater-vest and hair that would put a lamb's curls to shame.
And just outside the choir door, anxiously dreading his foray into extracurricular life, stood their anonymous angel, contemplating whether or not the DMLE would accept a room full of teens as a legitimate reason to break the statute of secrecy and apparate away.
His head said no.
His racing heart said hell yes.
But he was a Gryffindor. And damn it, someday that phrase would stop working on him, would stop prompting him to throw himself headfirst into danger.
But that day was not today.
And so Harry Potter, unwitting Guardian angel to wizards and muggles alike, opened the door to the McKinley High choir and walked inside.
Hi, everyone! Long time no see, huh? *Ducks behind laptop to avoid the rotten fruit being pelted*
Anyways, I am so sorry that this took so long to post and I'm still not happy with it-I feel like I didn't get Kurt right, and I definitely want to do the character justice. Heads up, Karofsky + Co. will be a lot more brutal in this version. I also lied-Harry didn't hook up with the Glee kids yet (next chapter tho, it will happen, I promise you) and JB probably won't be involved because I'm not a big fan of his. Sorry. This chapter is also kind of slow, but it's over 5,250 (13 google docs pages) words to make up for the late publishing date.
Congrats to all of the graduating seniors out there!
This chapter is dedicated to all of the amazing reviewers-your commentary is always astoundingly insightful and helps me write the story. Please, please leave a review if you are so inclined, it really does mean a lot to me and I will always take your suggestions into consideration...I'd really love to hear your thoughts on Kurt here, for example. :)
Pairings: So far, I've gotten a lot of requests for Kurt/Harry and an equal amount of people asking for a more unusual /uncommon pairing-we'll see where that goes, but thanks your input, I really appreciate it. You help make this story better.
This chapter is dedicated to to skendo, who's been with me as a reviewer since the start of the story and asked for a second perspective, and to SparklyMartian, whose reviews are always really insightful and just plain fun to read. Thank you to everyone!
*Your cocoa today was served by Knickity*