A/N: Next chapter, and things aren't improving for Harry. This is where Gleeks begin to mess up a bit, so keep an open mind and I'm sorry if I'm offending your favourite character. Just remember that I love all the Glee characters and I'm just trying to be realistic; they're only kids, after all. Some of them are going to be douchebags sometimes. ^-^

Harry could sense the difference from the moment he stepped out of his car. Usually most of the student would ignore him, and a few people would wave or nod to him as he made his way into the school, people he knew from classes or friends of people in Glee. He'd often run into a gleek as well, Kurt or Tina or Finn, and they'd greet one another with hugs and pats on the back. Today, the car park was suspiciously quiet. People who had never given him a second glance were staring at him and sharing whispers, and a girl from his Math class ducked her head when he tried to catch her eye.

Well, fuck.

The wizard grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and kept his head down, smoothing his fringe over his face as he slipped past the quietly whispering crowd. He could hear little snippets of conversations as he made his way to the front door of the school and he forced himself not to cringe.

"-attacked the line backer out of no-where-"

"-I heard he hears voices and shit-"

"-total nut job, he's the one dating the gay kid-"

"-how can they let someone so dangerous go to school with normal kids?"

The last comment made him freeze and whip his head around to look for the last speaker. Every kid who had been watching him was suddenly very busy looking through their bags or cell phones, or engrossed in an overly loud conversation about the last football game. The wizard sighed and turned back around, dragging his feet a little as he finally walked into the school.

It was a similar scene inside, with stares pinning him from every side and whispers following him down the hall. The first glee kid he saw was Finn, towering above the heads of a group of cheerleaders. Harry smiled in relief and waved a little. His smile flickered when he got a very uncomfortable smile back, followed by Finn checking his left wrist and waving apologetically, hurrying in the other direction. Harry paused; he... wasn't wearing a watch.

Harry looked around the hallway. People were still staring at him, still whispering, still avoiding his eyes. In the reflection of a nearby classroom door he saw Artie wheel up behind him, notice him, and turn around, wheeling himself back down the corridor the way he'd come from. Hurt twisted up Harry's lungs, making his breath catch a little.

Did he just run away from me?...figuratively speaking?

The green-eyed boy jumped when he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder, and looked up with wide eyes.

"'Sup, little dude," Puck greeted him cheerfully, offering him a fist to bump. "You feeling better? Man, you takin' down Azimio is all over the school. People think you're, like, a schizo or something. It's fuckin' hilarious."

"Glad you're enjoying it," Harry's voice was low as he cast a nervous glance around the hallway where people were still staring. He tapped his fist against Puck's clumsily, still not used to the gesture, before nodding at a group of staring cheerleaders. "I notice you're not treating me like Jeffrey Dahmer Jr, though."

"What?" Puck snorted, wandering out of the middle of the hallway to rest against a wall. "Dude, no. Why the hell would I? You're my bro, you're not going to hurt me. Hell, I grabbed your shoulder just now and you didn't do anything, right? Azimio's just a tool. Ignore these losers, they just can't handle your badass-ness."

"Artie actually ran away a few minutes ago," Harry rubbing his forehead, waving a hand after a moment when he added, "Figuratively speaking, I mean."

Puck raised his eyebrows, "Seriously? Dude. That sucks."

Harry nodded, "So did Finn. Looked at his watch like he had somewhere to be and ran away."

Puck looked puzzled, "Finn wears a watch?"

"No, he doesn't. That's how I know he was avoiding me," Harry sighed, starting down the hallway towards his locker. "You're right, Puck, I'm not going to hurt my friends. Can you try to talk to Finn or Artie? I don't think they'll listen to me."

"Sure, little dude," Puck ruffled Harry's hair a little, laughing when it quickly turned into a bird's nest. "I'll try to find them now. See you in Lit."

"See you then," Harry smiled a little, running his fingers through his hair. "And Puck? Thanks."

"What are bros for?" Puck grinned and tapped his chest with a fist in what was obviously some sort of gesture Harry was meant to recognise. The wizard tried to imitate it as Puck backed away, just shrugging when it made the Mohawked boy laugh at him. Americans are weird.

Kurt was standing at Harry's locker as the smaller boy approached. He was on his cell phone, chatting to whoever was on the other end of the line with a grin and a sparkle in his eye. His smile somehow widened when he caught sight of Harry, and the wizard just heard the last sentence of conversation before his boyfriend hung up, "I've got to go, Blaine. Talk to you later? Good luck on your test! Bye!"

Kurt slipped the cell phone down and into his pocket when Harry reached him, and Harry tried to shake off the unsettled feeling that had rested on him when he'd heard Blaine's name from his boyfriend's lips.

When did they exchange phone numbers?

"Hey, sweetie. You're looking better," Kurt brushed Harry's hair aside to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Harry surged up and caught Kurt's lips properly, kissing him solidly and sweetly before pulling away with a blush. Kurt's eyes were wide and his mouth had dropped open a little, but he sounded pleased when he managed to say, "I guess you're feeling better too."

"I am now," Harry smiled, letting go of Kurt's hand for long enough to open his locker and store some books inside. "I slept well after you dropped in. Thank you for getting Remus out of my bathroom. He probably would have tried to dust me after a while."

Kurt made a sympathetic noise and flicked some hair over Harry's ear, "How was he this morning?"

"Well, he was walking around with a piece of broken glass in his foot, bleeding everywhere, so probably not great," Harry rolled his eyes and slammed his locker door shut. Before Kurt react, he changed the subject. "That was Blaine on the phone? I didn't realise you had his number."

Kurt's face lit up a bit, "Yes! I found him on Facebook last night. He's actually listed as Blaine Warbler - all of the Warblers have Warbler as their surname, actually. It's kinda weird. But we chatted for a while, and we have so much in common! It's crazy, he's like my psychic twin or something. Even if he does use way too much hair gel. And wear too many cardigans."

"That's... that's nice," Harry nodded slowly, shifting uncomfortably as he became more and more uneasy with every word out of Kurt's mouth. "Did you ask Mr Schuester about the scrimmage idea yesterday?"

Kurt nodded eagerly as Harry linked their hands and started tugging him down the hall towards Spanish, "Yes, he loved it. He's going to get in contact with their artistic director today. Now we just have to work out what we're going to show them."

The conversation continued easily as they slipped into the Spanish classroom, nodding to Mr Schuester before walking to their seats. Harry tried to ignore the stares of his peers, and Kurt shot anyone who looked at them a fierce glare, but a few still managed to make Harry slip low in his seat when they muttered,

"-should have been expelled-"

"-already a freak, now a dangerous-"

"-probably likes hurting people-"

"Okay, everyone, pop quiz!" Mr Schuester started the class with a bark, shooting glares at the people who'd been whispering the loudest. The class groaned, but the teacher just shrugged. "It's that time of year, people. Get used to it."

Harry accepted the quiz with a quiet thank you when the teacher reached him, not looking the man in the eye. Knowing his teacher had seen how he was yesterday - had seen how Remus was - was embarrassing, and he cringed when Mr Schuester cleared his throat and bent closer to him.

"Would you be able to stay after class for a minute, Harry?" he murmured, worry lacing his words. Harry's shoulders stiffened, but he nodded. Better after class than now. A nearby boy in a Letterman's jacket snorted as Mr Schuester walked back to the front of the room, muttering to his neighbour,

"Maybe he's finally going to get rid of the freak."

"No talking," the teacher snapped, fixing the jock with a surprisingly fierce glare. Kurt was shooting the jock a similar look, but smiled encouragingly at Harry when the smaller boy caught his eye. Harry smiled weakly back.

The pop quiz went quickly for Harry, Spanish coming easily to him after years of Latin, and before he knew it he was alone with Mr Schuester in the classroom. The teacher had let him keep sitting in his seat, opting to sit where Kurt usually did himself, and for a few moments there was quiet.

"I'm sure you know what I want to talk to you about," Mr Schuester eventually began, his voice gentle. Harry shut his eyes.

"I know it looks bad," he began in a low voice. "But I'm really okay. Remus is having a few problems right now, but it will pass."

It has too, he added mentally, finally opening his eyes to look pleadingly at his teacher. Mr Schuester's gaze was conflicted, worried, and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Do you think," the teacher said carefully, looking around the room with forced casualness. "That Remus would mind if I came over this afternoon to talk about it? You could call him to warn him again, and I wouldn't rush inside. I just think it's important that I touch base with him about... things."

Harry froze, thinking of the broken glass and blood in the kitchen, of Remus more or less passed out on the couch, "Um, today might not be... a good time for that. Maybe tomorrow?"

Mr Schuester raised his eyebrows a little, "Is he... again?"

"More like still," Harry shrugged, dropping his gaze to his hands. He shifted so he was facing the teacher a little more and forced a little smile to his face. "He hasn't had a good few days. This is as bad as it's been. But it will get better. His body just needs to get used to his new dosage."

"Has his doctor confirmed that?" Mr Schuester asked, trying and failing to catch Harry's gaze. Harry winced involuntarily, and flushed a little when suspicion crossed his teacher's face. "He has cleared this new dosage with a doctor, right?"

"Not... not as such," Harry fidgeted under Mr Schuester's disapproving gaze. "You can't get our medication in America, and he only really trusts his doctors from back home, so..."

"Harry, self-medicating is a terrible idea," the teacher protested, shaking his head. "Between side effects and the risk of overdosing - please tell me you're talking your medication as the doctor directed."

Harry's slight hesitation answered the teacher's question for him. The teenager stared at his hands as Mr Schuester sighed, wishing he understood why he felt so guilty. His voice was small as he muttered, "I need to. The prescribed dose didn't even touch the anxiety after a while. And now I can't stop, I start going into withdrawal earlier and earlier... I don't know what else to do."

Harry found himself blinking back tears, and he hastily rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. Mr Schuester sighed again, more gently this time, and Harry glanced up at him when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. The teacher's eyes were full of compassion, and the teenager had to look away. There was an uncomfortable pause before Mr Schuester tried again, "I really would be more comfortable if I could check on you this evening, Harry. Just to make sure you don't need any help caring for Remus."

Harry began to protest, but the teacher held up his hand, "I know that you can handle things with him, Harry, but you don't have to do it alone. Maybe you're right, maybe this is just a temporary situation. I mean, after Kurt's dad had his heart attack, Kurt took care of him for a while."

"Right," Harry agreed quickly, nodding emphatically. "It's just for a while, I'm sure of it."

"Okay," Mr Schuester nodded. "So how about I come over this afternoon, just help around the house a bit? It would make me feel better, and it means you just have to worry about your school work."

Harry felt something well up in his chest. Tears sprang to his eyes again, but this time he didn't really understand why. Mr Schuester shifted across from him, and Harry forced out a little laugh, wiping his eyes on his sleeve again, "Sorry, it's just - weird. That anyone cares. Kind of makes me wish my teachers had been this vigilant in England."

Mr Schuester winced at Harry's plain words, and the wizard just shrugged. Well, it's true enough. The teacher patted Harry's shoulder and got to his feet, "Well, if that's agreed, how about I come over at about 3.30? That should give you enough time to warn Remus, right?"

"Sure," Harry got to his feet, grabbing his bag as the teacher made his way to the front of the classroom. "Could I get a note for Literature?"

"Of course, I've already written in out. I'm afraid it looks like you've missed out on quite a bit, I'm sorry about that," Mr Schuester handed Harry the note he'd need to get into class, smiling a little when Harry absentmindedly brushed his hair off his scarred. "Just let me know if it causes any problems with your teacher."

"Yeah, that's... unlikely," Harry smiled wryly, walking towards the door with Mr Schuester behind him.

"I'll see you later, Mr Schue. Thanks."

"No need to thank me, Harry. I'll see you then," the teacher waved him off, and the wizard could feel the man's eyes on him the whole way down the hallway.

Literature was an awkward affair. Every student went quiet when he walked into the room, conversations tapering off mid-word so the teenagers could stare at the scarred boy. Harry had left the note from Mr Schuester on the empty teacher's desk and shuffled back to his usual seat, trying to ignore the dark stares and whispers as he made his way up the back. Puck had greeted him with a loud, "Harry, my man," and a slap on the back, and Quinn had smiled and waved sweetly, shooting an icy glare at a whispering Cheerio moments later. Kurt had stood to hug his boyfriend hello, but Mercedes had glanced around nervously and smiled a fake smile. It became clear very quickly that she had, at least slightly, believed the rumours about him. Kurt kept shooting her annoyed glances, and Quinn seemed to be sticking close to Harry defensively, and Harry had just sunk low in his seat and tried not to cringe.

The day continued in that vein, with crowds parting to let him through and whispers providing a constant white noise where ever he went. It made him feel like he was back at Hogwarts in his second year, with whispers of, "Slytherin's heir," and "murderer," following him everywhere - though they were replaced by "dangerous" and "freak". His uncle's voice was loud amongst them, ringing in his memory over and over with every hiss of "freak" and every disgusted look. He was almost in tears when the bell rang for lunch, and he took a moment to gather his composure into his open locker.

I'm not dangerous, I'm not, he tried to tell himself, forcing back the swell of hurt and fear in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against the spine of a book in his locker, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself. They just don't understand, they don't know. I'm not going to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to be normal...

Harry sighed and pulled away, closing his locker gently. He felt a flash of warning from behind him, in plenty of time to dodge the blow that was coming, but somehow he couldn't be bothered making the effort to move away. A meaty hand shoved him against his locker, and he hit it with a loud crash.

"Turn and look at me, fag," growled a familiar voice. Harry turned slowly, running his fingers through his hair to get it off his face before looking up at the football player with blank eyes. Karofsky glared down at him hatefully, a handful of jocks glowering behind him, cracking their knuckles and trying to look threatening. Through the sudden thrill of awareness, readiness, and exhaustion, Harry felt something like amusement. Aw, they think they're tough! How cute. I should introduce them to the Aurors I led.

Karofsky shoved him again, and Harry let himself hit the locker with a suppressed sigh. I'm too tired for this. His lack of reaction seemed to fuel Karofsky's anger all the more, and the taller boy spat out, "We don't fucking like you, Potter. You run around with your faggot boyfriend acting like you're actually normal or something, you act like we're scum, and now you've gone and hurt my buddy Az. Enough is enough. You're going down."

Harry stared up at him dully, finally responding in a flat, weary voice, "Okay, here's the thing; I am normal, you are scum, and didn't 'Az' want that to be kept a secret? He mightn't be pleased that you're spreading it around."

Karofsky swung a fist towards Harry's stomach, and the boy sidestepped it with ease. The jock shouted as his fist hit the cold metal of the locker, and Harry winced sympathetically. A glance around the hallway showed that a dozen students were watching with bated breath, and his stomach dropped.

Wait, shit, this is going to be an actual fight, not just one on one. I could fight them off, but... I can't fight them off with so many people around. I'll look like... like a soldier. And it won't do much to convince people that I'm not dangerous, either. Everyone is on alert, I'm going to be under so much scrutiny... what do I do?

Harry dove to the side as a football player lunged for him and, after a split-second decision, he tried to flee down the hallway. A hand grasping his elbow stopped him, and he found himself being yanked back. The wizard's first instinct was to go for his wand, break the jock's grip (and his arm) and get the situation under control... but he couldn't. Fuck, I can't risk someone noticing what's up, or freaking out and actually hurting one of them. It's better I get hurt than they do. I have to do this as a normal teenager. I guess that means I should...

Harry shoved the nearest jock into another one to give himself a moment, and took a deep breath. With every cell in his body protesting, he shut his battle-magic off.

His battle-magic dulled his senses to allow him to focus. It shut off every irrelevant noise, sight, sensation, cutting off his sense of smell and taste almost completely. It gave him the ability to function in situations where he would otherwise shut down. When he shut it off, he knew he would lose his edge.

He didn't expect this.

Noise. Overwhelming, constant noise as the jocks jeered and snarled, bystanders cried out and screamed and shouted, giving him so much stimulation he didn't know where every noise was coming from -

"-faggot-"

"-where are the-"

"-hurting him! He's just-"

"-alone! Please leave him alone-"

"-fucking pathetic-"

Sights, of faces twisted in hate, girls crying in the background, bloody knuckles swinging at him, leaving smears of red on the floor and on the jocks as he dodged and shoved and just tried to get them away, all strategy gone -

Pain, not much, just through his chest and burning through his stomach as he tried not to be sick. He couldn't catch enough breath and his lungs were on fire as he just tried to breathe-

Sweat and blood left an acrid odour in his nostrils, a taste in his mouth. The jocks were dripping with both as they tried to land blows on him but only struck one another, and the blood bounced off of their skin and onto his, making nausea roll through him. It was too much, too much, the screaming and the blood and the sweat, the feeling of his chest burning. Suddenly he didn't have to dodge anymore, no more blows were coming and the crowd was parting, but still he backed away until he hit a locker, sliding down until he was curled up in a ball and just shaking and choking and -

"Harry."

A voice cut through the sudden silence of the hallway, soothing and sweet. Pale hands slipped into his line of vision, covering his own shaking fists. The skin of those hands was soft and smooth, caressing his sweaty arms gently. He could smell a familiar cologne, light and delicate, over the blood and sweat which covered him. The crawling in Harry's skin lessened as the world dulled itself to normal, and he realised the last shaky moans he could hear were his own.

"Sweetheart, it's okay, you're alright," Kurt crooned, leaning forward to brush Harry's sweat damp hair out of his eyes. Harry's breath caught in his throat again, choking him, and Kurt clasped his hands on Harry's arms. "Just breathe slowly, Harry. Slowly. That's it. You're okay, Harry, everything is fine. Mr Schuester and Coach Beiste are over there dealing with the jocks. You're not in any trouble. You're not hurt. You didn't hurt anyone. Everything is fine."

Harry's breathing slowed down, his anxiety attack and his naturally enhanced awareness finally no longer fighting for control of him. He raised a shaking hand to his face to wipe off the tears and sweat and drool, looking up at Kurt through foggy and stained glasses to stare into his boyfriend's worried eyes. He glanced to the side, seeing the group of bleeding, sweaty jocks clumped together in front of Coach Beiste, the woman beginning to hiss out a lecture, and Harry could see Santana and Brittany talking to Mr Schuester nearby. Students were giving the scene a wide berth, but he could see the shock and fascination in their eyes from the edge of the space.

Mr Schuester seemed to notice Harry's breathing quieten and turned, briefly patting the teary Brittany on the shoulder before making his way over. Coach Beiste nodded to him when he caught her eye, and she started to march the jocks away. The glee instructor walked over slowly, eyeing Harry carefully before crouching down next to Kurt.

"I'm okay," Harry rasped before he could speak, looking down at his hands. "I'm not hurt, I don't think - I don't think any of them managed to actually hit me."

He winced at the weakness in his voice, sinking back against the cold locker in exhaustion, his magic flickering and buzzing uncomfortably under his skin. That went well. If there's one thing that will reassure my peers that I'm a normal, stable teenager, it's having a screaming, hysterical fit while dodging every blow flung at me by half the football team. I am a paragon of normalcy.

Mr Schuester gently put a hand on Harry's shoulder, smiling sympathetically when Harry's gave a deep sigh, "Brittany and Santana saw most of what happened - Santana was the one to get me - but I'd like to hear it in your words if you're up to it."

"There's not much to say," Harry shrugged a little, still looking at his hands. He turned one palm over to take Kurt's soft hand in his own sweaty one, and went on with another sigh. "I don't really remember - I know Karofsky pushed me into my locker. They wanted a fight. I didn't. I tried to walk away but they attacked me. I panicked. I can't really remember much after then. I didn't hurt anyone, did I? I don't remember hitting anyone but they were bleeding..."

"According to everyone I heard on the way through, you didn't throw a single punch," Kurt shook his head, tapping Harry's palm with one long finger. "And you kept dodging the jocks, so they mostly ended up hitting one another. That's where the blood came from. You made them beat themselves up."

"Seriously?" Harry raised an eyebrow, finally looking up between his teacher and his boyfriend. Mr Schuester and Kurt both nodded, and he felt a little twitch at the corner of his mouth. "...does it make me a bad person that I find that kinda funny?"

Kurt let out a startled giggle, slapping a hand over his mouth as Mr Schuester grinned reluctantly. The teacher rubbed his forehead, "Don't tell anyone I said so, but it does seem like poetic justice. Five big guys on one not-so-big-"

"Small," Harry and Kurt both corrected, their voices overlapping. Harry's voice was wry and Kurt's was matter-of-fact, but they both just shrugged at Mr Schuester's look. Mr Schuester's lips twitched as he continued.

"On one s-small guy, but they only manage to hurt themselves... it is, uh. Kind of funny. But anyway," Kurt snickered at Mr Schuester's guilty smile. "Your story matched what everyone was saying, Harry, so you're in no trouble. Principal Figgans will want to know what you want to do about the boys who attacked you, but he'll want Remus to be here too, so I'm sure we can do that another day."

"Thanks," Harry forced himself to smile at the teacher, shooting Kurt a similar look right afterwards. "Is lunch over? What time is it?"

"Lunch ended about a minute ago," the teacher stood, looking at the crowd finally disbursing down the corridor. Harry nodded and stood, offering Kurt a hand up.

"I'd better get my books and go to class, then," Harry sighed internally, realising with a wince that he hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before. Whoops. Mr Schuester shot him a worried look, and Kurt squeezed his hand.

"Are you sure, Harry? You're still a little shaky. Do you need to go to the nurse?" Mr Schuester reached for his pocket, pulling out a hall pass. Harry started to shake his head, then reconsidered.

"I don't need to go to the nurse, but can I go to the locker room and shower? I'm covered in other people's blood," he looked down at himself with a grimace, and shot Kurt an apologetic look when the taller boy blanched. Mr Schuester's lips pursed, but he nodded.

"That's reasonable, but maybe..." the teacher trailed off, looking conflicted. "Look, the jocks clearly have issues with you. It might not be so safe for you to be in the locker room on your own."

"Oh. Didn't think of that," Harry looked down at his blood stained clothing mournfully, and Kurt sniffed.

"That is not sanitary," the boy wrinkled his nose. "It's a shame. That outfit was super cute."

The countertenor looked up at the teacher imploringly, "There has to be something you can do. He can't walk around like this, it's a health hazard!"

"I know, I know," Mr Schuester ran a hand through his hair. He looked around the rapidly clearing hallway and sighed. "Kurt, you'd better get to class. Harry will catch up with you later, okay?"

Kurt looked ready to protest, so Harry squeezed his hand and pulled away, "It's okay, love. Me and Mr Schue will work something out. Just go to class. Be careful, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt agreed, still frowning. "If you need a change of clothes, you know the combination of my locker. There's some in there."

"Thanks, love," Kurt wandered away, still shooting Harry worried frowns, and Harry watched him with a forced smile until he disappeared down the corridor, before sighing a little and turning back to his teacher. "Don't you have a class to get to as well?"

"I asked Shannon - Coach Beiste - to put a note on the door. That class now has a study period instead for today. Tell you what, how about I walk you to the locker room and just wait for you to finish? If that won't make you uncomfortable, I mean," Mr Schuester rushed out the last sentence, his face flushing pink. He tried to laugh, but it sounded awkward and forced in the empty hallway. Harry raised an eyebrow at him. Why would that make me uncomfortable? Unless he's planning on jumping in the shower with me.Mr Schuester seemed to take his reaction for a different one and hurried to explain himself. "I'm just not comfortable with the idea of you being alone in the locker room today, Harry. Not until we know that the jocks won't try anything."

For a moment Harry contemplated telling the teacher he didn't need a bodyguard, that the jocks likely wouldn't try anything yet, that his concern was unnecessary - contrary to previous appearances, I am actually capable of fighting them off myself - but then he looked at the worry in Mr Schuester's eyes and relented, "Yeah, I get it. Good idea."

"Okay," the teacher nodded and started leading Harry down the hall. They walked in awkward silence for a while, Mr Schuester glancing around nervously and Harry staring at his feet, before the teacher sighed and spoke again. "I'm so sorry this is happening to you, Harry."

Harry looked up at the teacher blankly, but looked away at the sight of the compassion in the man's eyes. Mr Schuester persisted, "Really. I know how much you wanted to just have a quiet life after living in a war zone, but everything has been so intense since you got here... it isn't fair."

"Life rarely is," Harry murmured dryly, shooting the teacher a wry smile. "You do get used to it after a while."

Mr Schuester winced at the plain words, "I'm sure you do. It doesn't mean it sucks any less, though."

Harry barked out a surprised laugh at the teacher's bluntness, pushing open the door to the locker room with one hand, "No, no it doesn't."