Chemistry was not a class Harry was looking forward to. Out of all the subjects he had read up on, chemistry confused him the most. Not to mention it reminded him of potions class, and the less said about potions the better. It came a relief to him, then, that the teacher was just as inattentive as every other teacher in the school and Harry was paired up with a kid who looked like he had no more a clue about science than he did.
"Hey," said the guy as Harry took a seat next to him. "You're that British kid who was at tryouts yesterday."
"Yeah," Harry nodded. He took a closer look at the guy and tried to place him in his memory. He had definitely been in the locker room. Next to that Finn kid. Harry recognised his short mohawk. He was a good looking guy, and he appeared to know it, flaunting his muscles beneath a tank top, and a cocky smirk on his chiselled face.
"Harry, right? I'm Puck," the boy introduced himself and Harry nodded, shrugging off his jacket and laying it over his bag, which rested on the floor beside his feet. He could feel Puck's eyes roam his form, and he flashed him a confident grin.
"Nice to meet you," he returned.
Puck smiled in an endearingly arrogant way that reminded Harry of the Fred and George. Like he had the charm and charisma to back it up. Harry didn't doubt it. He leaned back on his seat casually and focused more on Harry than the teacher, who was droning on as lifelessly as Professor Binns at the front of the class. Harry pretended not to notice as he paid attention to the teacher, but still held the confident smile he had put on earlier, and occasionally caught Puck's gaze out of the corner of his eyes.
There was a plethora of noise quite suddenly as the teacher instructed the class to discuss with their partners something or other that Harry, try as he might, could not care less about. Fortunately, however, it gave him the opportunity to talk to Puck.
"You've been staring at me," he commented teasingly.
Puck smirked, "So what if I have?"
Harry laughed and shook his head. "So you're a footballer?" He asked, changing the subject effortlessly.
Puck nodded, flexing his muscles slightly in proof of his athleticism. Damn did Harry have a thing for athletes. "Yup," he said. "And you? You don't look it, no offence."
Harry shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Puck's biceps. "Nah, not my thing. I'm more of a track guy. As I said the other day, I was only at tryouts cause Coach asked. Doubt I'll actually be put on the team."
"You didn't do so bad at tryouts," Puck shrugged.
Harry smirked, "Aw, were you watching me then, too?" He teased, managing to make Puck fluster slightly. He laughed good-naturedly as the boy fumbled for a change of topic.
"Why did Bieste ask you to go for tryouts anyway?" He asked.
"She wants something to talk about with me I guess. I'm staying with her for the year as part of my transfer."
"You live with her? Dude," Puck looked at him with slight awe. "What's she like? Is she always that brutal?"
Harry shook his head, "Nah. She's actually quite nice to be around. Can't cook for shit though," he chuckled.
The remaining hour of chemistry went on in a similar manner: Puck eying up Harry, and Harry teasing Puck; with moments of conversation in between. Harry liked it. He had never had this sort of back and forth with anyone before, apart from the twins, that is. Merlin he missed those two. He'd probably try get in touch with them again, they were always good with secrets.
"Woah," Puck gaped as they left the classroom together. "The hell is on your face?"
Harry frowned and smoothed his bangs, "Just a scar," he muttered, shrugging his bag over his shoulder. He was surprised no-one had noticed it sooner, especially with how Puck had been staring at him.
Puck seemed quite oblivious to his upset, as he stared at the now covered mark. "Impressive, dude. How'd you get it?"
"I don't wanna talk about it." Harry was immediately closed off and Puck seemed to catch onto the slight chill he was emanating.
"Oh, sorry man," Puck apologised and had the good sense to not pry. "So what you got next?"
"Uh, Spanish," said Harry dully, still a little cold. "With Mr Shuester? Am I saying that right?"
Puck laughed, "Just call him Mr Shue. And c'mon, I'll show you where it is. I got math next but I don't care about being late."
A few hours later, Harry was at his locker putting away his textbooks when he was ambushed by Puck and a rather gorgeous brunette cheerleader.
"Yo dude," Puck greeted, leaning against the lockers with his usual cocky grin. Harry, startled, shot his eyes onto him before relaxing into a grin of his own.
"Hey man." His gaze turned to the cheerleader beside Puck. "Who's this?" He asked, anxiously. Sure he may be confident -or rather, good at faking confidence- around guys, with girls he had no such luck. It didn't help that the girl was very blatantly checking him out.
"Harry, Santana; Santana, Harry," Puck introduced lazily.
"Er, nice to meet you," Harry smiled, running his hand through his hair in a subconscious act of nervousness. He noticed the girl's eyes travel to his scar, but she either didn't care about it, or Puck had warned her not to say anything.
She smirked, "And you, hot stuff."
Harry flushed, shifting anxiously. He laughed awkwardly, "Not so bad yourself," he attempted to retort and Puck shot him an amused look as if to say 'who's flustered now?' So that was his game huh? Corner Harry and try make him embarrass himself in front of a hot girl? Harry sent the boy an annoyed glare.
"You gonna be joining us for lunch?" Santana asked.
"I mean, uh, sure I guess?" Harry messed with his hair again, managing to knock out the hair tie that was keeping it out of his face. He flushed and fumbled to catch it before it fell to the ground but had no such luck and was forced to stoop down and retrieve it.
Santana and Puck let out matching scoffs of amusement.
"And you told me he was smooth," Santana quipped, sounding half disappointed.
"With guys, yes. Girls? Fuck no," Harry defended himself halfheartedly, righting himself and putting the hair tie around his wrist, not bothering to put his hair up again. "Never been comfortable around the fairer sex," he shrugged wryly.
Santana patted his cheek, "Don't worry, that just makes it more fun for me."
"So you gay then?" Puck asked, completely out of curiosity, Harry could tell. "If you are that's totally fine dude, I don't judge."
"What gave it away?" Harry laughed, finding his feet again. "The flirting?"
Puck shrugged.
Santana pouted, "So you are gay? A shame. I could have had fun with you."
Harry shook his head, blushing again, "I'd say I'm more bisexual than gay."
Santana smirked at that, "Oh really?"
Harry tried to ignore her in an effort not to make a fool of himself. "What about you two? You both give off the 'Fuck anything that moves' vibes."
Puck scoffed amiably, but didn't respond.
Santana winked, "You know it."
Harry laughed bemusedly, "So, about lunch?"
And that was how Harry found himself being herded to the cafeteria, and subsequently to a table near the back of the room where about ten or so people were already sat. Harry recognised Finn and Rachel sitting together at one end.
Finn noticed them first, "Hey man!" He greeted.
"Sup dude," Puck returned, sitting down across from him.
"Frankenteen," Santana acknowledged the tall boy before rounding the table and taking a seat next to a pretty blonde cheerleader.
"Hello," Harry smiled, sitting between Puck and a gothic asian girl who had one hand intwined with a friendly looking, also asian, guy's hand. Harry vaguely recalled him being at tryouts, hanging around in the back of the room.
"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked bluntly.
"I was kidnapped," Harry drawled. His first impression of the girl was right. He really didn't like her.
Santana chuckled, "Don't tell us you didn't like being kidnapped by two of the hottest kids in school, Harry," she purred, and Harry winked at her, surprising himself on the confidence front. But then, his desire to mess with Rachel was greater than his inability to be smooth around cute girls.
"I mean, that was certainly a plus," he smirked.
"Oh please, stop eye fucking each other. I'm trying to eat my tots," came a voice from the other end of the table. The girl was on the large size, but undeniably pretty. She was well put together, though her outfit was rather bright. Harry observed with amusement that her plate was loaded with 'tater tots'.
Santana rolled her eyes but looked away from Harry and engaged in a hushed conversation with the blonde next to her.
Rachel was red with frustration, but put on an obviously fake smile, "Well, anyway, this table is for Glee kids. You told me the other day that you don't sing."
"The hell is a 'Glee Kid'?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Glee is a club," boy who was sitting beside the black girl said helpfully, sending Harry a kind smile. He was impeccably dressed, and Harry got very camp vibes from him. He was cute, in a way Harry didn't really care for. "And, Rachel, this table isn't just for us. Anyone can sit here." The boy sent Rachel a cold stare before looking back to Harry. "I love your accent, by the way. English, right?"
Harry flushed slightly. He still hadn't gotten used to the comments on his accent. It wasn't even the 'posh' sort of English accent either. While he had grown up with people who tried their best to seem that way, they had never encouraged Harry to speak 'properly'. Not to mention spending large amounts of time a year at a boarding school surrounded by people from all over the UK had led him to pick up a lot of his classmates' accents and mannerisms over the years, effectively making his own a weird blend. Regardless, he nodded. "Yeah."
The boy grinned, "Where are you from? Please say London. I've always loved the idea of London."
Harry shook his head, "Surrey. Just south-west of London. Never really been there save for King's Cross Station."
The boy looked a trifle disappointed but was cheerful about it nonetheless. "I'm Kurt, by the way."
"Harry," Harry smiled.
"I know," Kurt smiled. "Rachel hasn't shut up about running into, quote, 'A new British transfer student who doesn't sing' at the Lima Bean."
He made it sound as though not singing was a horrendous crime. Harry shrugged, "Never really been a singer. More of the quiet type, I guess." Granted, he had never been given the opportunity to sing before, save primary school choir. Growing up with the Dursleys, he was trained to remain quiet, and that included singing. "Pretty sure I'm tone deaf," he laughed.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in clingfilm. It was lunch after all, and he was hungry. He pretty much shut down conversation with the act, which those around the table thankfully didn't try to break. Except Puck, anyway, who Harry noticed glancing at him every so often. Subtler now than in Chemistry, but still clear to him and his Seeker eyes.