A/N: Next chapter, and check out (w)(w)(w) dot True Glee dot net for the first in the Sexual Experimentation for the Borderline Asexual Series! It's at the bottom of the Anonymity'Verse page. I don't know if I've managed to get comments enabled yet (#isanoob) but if you'd like to leave a review, feel free to do it here. I'd love to here what everyone thinks! The blog also as a post (singular, as of yet, because I suck) but I'll try to answer review questions there instead of in A/Ns. :) Thank you to everyone who reviews, they make my day. A few people show up every time and I couldn't be more grateful (graceless_dance, JasonDragon64, and WizardsGirl, to name a few, you all know you you are and you're awesome) but I understnad that not everyone has time to. Still, my phone blows up every day with emails of Story Alerts, Author Alerts, and Favourites, and I love you guys for it!) (EDITED TO ADD: I have fixed the link in TrueGlee! You can now see Bumping Uglies! Thanks to the people who let me know!)
They worked in silence, both lost in their own thoughts as they slowly righted the room. The next time Mr Schuester spoke was when they were putting the books back into the bookshelf.
"How did your parents die?" he asked softly, carefully. Harry paused, turning over an anthology of Shakespeare in his hands.
"They were murdered," he eventually answered, slipping the book back into the shelf and reaching down to grab another couple. "They were military - well, government-level law enforcement anyway. I don't know how to explain it. But they pissed off the wrong guy."
Mr Schuester stared for a few moments, apparently deciding whether or not to believe the boy or not. The teenager rolled his eyes, "I can get the news paper clipping if you like."
"No, it's fine. I believe you," the teacher blushed a little and busied himself with the bookcase. "It's just - your life is very dramatic, isn't it?"
"Tell me about it," Harry grumbled, shoving another book into the shelf, silently apologising to his mental-Hermione for creasing the cover. "It's always 'murder' this and 'explosion' that. I've got more lives than a cat."
"It would make a great action movie," Mr Schuester smiled, gently teasing. A reluctant smile pulled at Harry's face.
"Good luck to them finding an actor short enough to play me," he quipped, pointedly looking up at Mr Schuester. When the teacher stifled a laugh Harry went on, carrying the joke. "And who could play Kurt?"
"Hmm..." the teacher hummed thoughtfully as they straightened a few more of the books. "Johnny Depp."
"Really?" Harry thought about the few movies he had watched that starred the actor (namely Sweeney Todd and Pirates of the Caribbean) and squinted. "Why? They look nothing alike."
"No, they don't," Mr Schuester agreed, picking up a photo frame and smiling at the picture of baby Harry and his mother within. "But they're both pretty without actually looking like women, and Johnny Depp knows how to camp it up. I think he'd play a great Kurt. An older Kurt, obviously, but I stand by that judgement."
"True. I think Kurt would like that," Harry laughed a little, blushing when Mr Schuester shot him a warm look over the photo. "And quit looking at my baby pictures! Who would play the other glee kids? If we're doing older actors, I mean."
Twenty minutes later the living room was back in order and Harry and Mr Schuester were arguing whether Rosario Dawson or Michelle Rodriguez would make a better Santana.
"No, I get what you're saying about Rodriquez being tough, but Santana is all about sex-appeal. This of Rosario Dawson as Mimi - can't you see Santana playing that?" Harry argued, brushing the dust off of his hands. Mr Schuester nodded.
"All right, I concede the point. Rosario Dawson it is," the teacher cast a critical eye over the room. "That looks better, doesn't it?"
"Much better," Harry agreed, beginning to head for the door. "If you give me a couple of minutes I'll just check that he hasn't trashed any other rooms."
"Sure, you want me to wait here?" Mr Schuester nodded to a couch, and Harry smiled, relaxing a fraction more. No risk of him seeing a bird in the house. Score!
"That would be great, yeah," Harry waved his teacher to the couch and made his way to the door. Mr Schuester's voice made him pause.
"But you'll call me if you need help with anything?"
"Will do," Harry confirmed, flashing the teacher a smile before slipping out of the room. He found everything as it should be downstairs, although he had to grab several empty vials from every room, and did a quick scan of the upstairs as well. He left Remus's door shut, not really wanting to know whether the werewolf was taking more Draught, and smiled at the sight of the owl on his desk.
"Hello, Bergamasque," he greeted softly, shutting his door behind him and going for the window. He could feel the owl's eyes on him as he opened the window wide and glanced around outside. "Can I ask you to wait somewhere else for a few hours? I have a muggle guest who can't see you."
Luna Lovegood's owl stared at him with large eyes eerily similar to her owner's. The bird silently hopped to the windowsill, not breaking eye contact with the wizard, fluttered onto the sill, and flew away without a sound, letter still attached to her leg. Harry watched her go, feeling the same unsettled feeling he always did when he'd seen that owl. I have to ask Luna where she got that animal. There's something very... odd about it.
Harry looked over his shoulder when he heard a noise in the hallway. He made his way back to his bedroom door, but had to jump out of the way as it swung open violently. The teenager suddenly found himself with an armful of weeping werewolf, Remus's tears quickly soaking through the thin cotton of his shirt at the shoulder. Harry suppressed a sigh.
Okay then.
"Shh, Remus, what's wrong?" he patted his guardian on the back awkwardly and steered the man towards his bed. When they were sitting Remus pulled back, rubbing at his face on the back of his sleeve.
"It's stupid, it's so stupid," the werewolf growled, running a trembling hand through his hair and shoving something into Harry's hand. "I just - I'm out of Draught. I've gone through my months' supply already," Remus shook his head, eyes still damp and mouth twitching into a mirthless smile. Harry blinked.
"Oh. Shit. Can you get more?" he looked around the room helplessly. He'd never asked where Remus got the potions from before, and Remus had never told him. It was one of those guardian things that Remus was meant to deal with, but if the man wasn't functioning Harry might need to take over. The last thing I need is a withdrawing werewolf on the full moon. Remus shook his head.
"This Draught isn't even legal in the United States - not in the quantities we take it. It's classified as a restricted drug. I get it specially shipped over from Europe by an unscrupulous apothecary owner."
"I'm uncomfortable with the fact that you felt the need to describe him as unscrupulous."
"Well it's true. No one else would give them to us in the quantity we need," Remus seemed to be almost pouting, his lip quivering a little. "And he'll only sell to me because he knows I won't rat him out. But I've run out and it'll take days to get more and I can't go without it, Harry, I just can't."
"All right, it's all right," Harry soothed him, rubbing slow circles on Remus's back as the man dissolved into little sobs. "You can take some of mine and just write to him for more tomorrow. You're sure there isn't anywhere we can get it here?"
"I'm sure, Harry, it's restricted!" Remus pulled away from his ward's soothing touch, standing to pace across Harry's bedroom. "You think I haven't tried to find us a supplier in the US? I'm not completely incompetent."
"Okay, okay, it's fine. Look, just have some of mine," Harry opened his drawer and grabbed a couple of Draughts. "Take one and go and lie down, okay? I'll let you know when dinner is ready."
Remus wavered in his stride, stopping and looking at Harry with wide eyes. Harry sighed as Remus's eyes welled up again, forcing himself to his feet to try to comfort the werewolf.
"Come on, what's wrong now?" he murmured tiredly, reaching out a hand to try and grasp Remus's arm. The werewolf violently flung himself back, shoving Harry's hand away with a sudden scowl.
"Don't touch me, I don't want your pity," the man spat. Harry stepped back, his eyes going wide as Remus became visibly agitated. "I don't want your pity. I'm not crazy!"
"Remus, I know," Harry shrank away from the sudden, confusing rage. He forced himself not to flinch, not to cry, comforting himself in his mind. It's just the Calming Draughts. Side effects of long term use include mood swings and irrationality. They're restricted for a reason. Don't lose it, Potter. Not now."I know you're not crazy. I've never thought that. You're just -"
"I can't do this," Remus muttered, snatching the bottles out of Harry's hand and shuffling towards Harry's bedroom door. "I just can't do this right now, Harry. Just - I'll be in my room."
The man stomped out of the room, his shoulders slumped. Harry blinked back tears at the sight of Remus so broken, but he hurriedly forced them away when Mr Schuester slipped into his room only a second later.
"Harry, are you all right?" the teacher asked softly, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click. His eyes were kind and worried, and Harry busied himself with straightening the music books on his desk. "I came up when I heard him in your room. He seems a little..."
"How much did you hear?" Harry's mind started racing, trying to work out if they'd said anything magic related. Mr Schuester's gaze was steady.
"I heard the part where he said he wasn't able to 'find you a supplier in the US'," Harry cringed at the pointed tone, carefully avoiding looking at the teacher. He continued to shuffle the sheet music Kurt had lent him as the teacher went on. "I heard him say that he's been sneaking a restricted drug into the country. It's not worth getting arrested over, Harry."
"I won't get arrested," Harry rolled his eyes, shoving the sheet music into his drawer. He grabbed his History textbook from his bookshelf and dumped it on the desk, still avoiding turning around. "I'm not doing it. I didn't even know where he was getting it before today. Besides, when you have as much money as me you can pretty much get away with everything, sadly."
There was an awkward pause, before Mr Schuester chuckled a little, "That's a decent point. Do you want to do your homework now? I'll get started on dinner."
Harry started and finally looked over his shoulder. Mr Schuester was standing casually towards his wall of photos, looking over the pictures with a small smile. Harry blinked, "That's it?"
At Mr Schuester's curious glance, Harry clarified, "No lecture about taking restricted drugs or anything? I was braced for one."
The teacher laughed again, "No, not right now. Don't worry, it's coming. I just think you have enough to handle right now."
"Oh," Harry looked down at his desk for a moment, idly straightening where his book had landed. All right then. That's a plus.
"You really do look like your father," Mr Schuester murmured, still squinting at the wall. Harry looked over. The teacher glanced at him briefly and smiled, gesturing to the picture. "And your mother's hair really was like Emma's. Ms Pillsbury's. I actually think her hair might have been redder!"
"It was pretty red," Harry agreed with a smile, moving to join the teacher at the wall. He gazed up at all the photos of the people in his life, of Ron and Hermione making faces on his dorm room bed in second year; of him playing basketball with Puck and Finn and Artie, Kurt sitting in the background with a magazine; of he and Kurt and all the Glee girls piled on Santana's bed, sparkling rainbow make up making them look like gay clowns... of him sitting on Kurt's lap in the choir room, smiling widely without any regard to his scars.
"What were their names?" Mr Schuester whispered, eyes still glued to Harry's parents. "I know Remus said them earlier, but I don't remember."
"Lily and James," Harry's voice was equally soft, turning his gaze to the picture that had caught his teacher's eye. "Lily Anne Evans and James Simon Potter. I was a little over a year old when that picture was taken. It was about a month before they died."
"You don't remember them at all, then?" Mr Schuester looked at Harry thoughtfully, compassionately. Harry shrugged.
"Not really. None of the good stuff. Sometimes I think I remember them dying - mum was in the same room as me. I remember hearing her scream. What she said. But only - only in dreams."
Or near Dementors. Same thing.
"It might be my mind making it up," he went on after a moment, awkwardly looking towards his feet. "You know. Trying to fill in the gaps. But it feels real. It's - the only memory I have of my mother's voice."
A warm hand landed on his shoulder, and Harry looked up at Mr Schuester in surprise. The man smiled painfully, his eyes looking worryingly damp, but he just steered Harry towards his desk, "Why don't you get do some of your homework? I'll prepare some dinner so you don't have to do it later."
"You don't have to do that," Harry protested half-heartedly, rubbing his stinging eyes with one hand. Secretly he kind of hoped the teacher would do it anyway - he was so tired that the thought of cooking dinner was exhausting. To his relief, Mr Schuester just kept steering him towards his desk.
"I know. I don't mind. Just worry about getting your homework done, okay? I'll deal with everything," Mr Schuester gave Harry one last pat on the shoulder before making his way out of the room. Harry watched him go with grateful eyes, before sitting at his desk. He'd already gotten his pens out and started up his computer when he realised his bag was downstairs.
The teenager dragged himself to his feet reluctantly and started downstairs. He was moving in his usual unconscious, stealthy way, so Mr Schuester didn't hear him approach the kitchen. Harry slowed when he heard the teacher's hushed, muffled voice through the open door, and when he heard his name he slowed to a stop, guiltily listening in.
"...such a good kid, Emma. I really don't think he's lying about his parents, or about hearing his mother's voice. Ever since Terri... I'm pretty good at picking up lies. He's really suffered," Harry could hear the distress in Mr Schuester's voice, and shifted uncomfortably. The last thing he wanted was to burden his teacher with his issues, but it seemed like that was exactly what had happened. "It breaks my heart like a genuinely good kid like him could have fallen through the cracks. He's got so much going on and all I can do is, what, make him dinner?"
There was a pause as the teacher listened to Ms Pillsbury on the other end of the line. Harry crept forward and glanced into the kitchen cautiously, peering around the door frame. His teacher was pacing the kitchen, pulling out various utensils and vegetables. Harry waited until the teacher had turn back to the fridge before ducking around the doorway, quietly picking up his bag where he had dropped it. He looked back at the kitchen doorway, torn between staying to hear what else Mr Schuester was going to say or giving the man privacy. On the one hand, he's talking about me, although he's probably not going to be able to tell Ms Pillsbury anything she doesn't already know about me; she's the guidance counsellor, she'll have seen my file. On the other hand, he's more thinking about how he's dealing with it than what he's going to do with me. Better go back upstairs.
Harry waited for the next time the teacher turned around, his guilt rising as he couldn't help but hear what the man said.
"I just feel helpless. At least when Kurt's dad was in the hospital and I went around to help out I felt like I was doing something. I knew it would only be for a little while, and so did Kurt, but this thing with Harry - this isn't going away. I can make him dinner and help him clean up after Remus, and two days later he's back to square one. And he doesn't seem to think it's a problem! He just seems confused that anyone cares about him enough to want to help."
Harry furrowed his brow. What...? Mr Schuester continued, oblivious to the effect his distress was having on the teenager hovering behind the door.
"He doesn't seem to know that he's a kid, you know? A kid who doesn't have to be responsible and in charge all the time. And that we care about him, not just as Kurt's boyfriend but as Harry. It's making it really hard to reach out to him when he doesn't understand why I'd want to in the first place."
He doesn't know, Harry countered automatically, his hands tightening on the straps of his bag. He doesn't know what I am. Who I am. None of them do. And they wouldn't still be here if they did. He doesn't understand.
He couldn't bear to hear anymore. The teenager took a deep breath and slipped past the teacher silently, using a faint Notice-Me-Not charm to prevent the man from looking over. He ran up the stairs and into his room, mind racing, eyes burning.
There's no reason for them to, he thought as he shut his bedroom door, throwing his bag onto his bed with a fierce scowl. There's no reason for them to worry about me like that. I'm fine!... Okay, even I know that's a lie, but it shouldn't matter. I shouldn't matter that much. I'm not worth it.
Harry dropped into his desk chair and put his face in his hands. A weak shudder coursed through him, little flickers of memories flitting through his mind. He remembered strangers staring as he walked down the street after he killed Voldemort, fear and curiosity and awe in every eye. He remembered his Uncle's purple face looming over him when he was eight, screaming about Harry being a worthless ingrate as he reached for his belt. He thought about Ron and Hermione covered in bruises and burns as they trained; they wouldn't have needed to if they weren't his friends. I'm not worth it.
The wizard scrubbed at his face painfully, ignoring the tugging of his scars, and forced himself to look up. With faintly trembling hands he grabbed his school bag and pulled out his History notes, placing them lightly on his desk. For the next hour Harry tried to focus on Winston Churchill and Stalin, tried not to let his mind wander to the dark places it had started to go. He managed to make a decent start on an essay when Mr Schuester tapped lightly on the door, opening it enough for him to stick his head in.
"How's it going?" the teacher greeted cheerfully, slipping inside at Harry's idle gesture. The boy shrugged.
"Not bad. History's pretty interesting, at least. I think it's my best subject right now," he carefully clicked 'save' on his computer, remembering with a faint smile Kurt's patient lessons on how to use the machine several months ago.
("You've never used a computer? Really?"
"I have, just not very much. We didn't use them at my old school, and I wasn't allowed to use one at home. I only really use it for Google now. I didn't know you could do all this stuff on it. What's that thing you're doing now?"
"It's Pinball, Harry, and it's awesome.")
"That's good," Mr Schuester's voice brought Harry back to the present, and the warmth in it made Harry duck his head. "Well, I've thrown a salad and some steaks together, you can just heat everything up when you're ready."
"Thank you," Harry sighed, feeling a little bit of tension dispel. "I know I protested, but I'm actually really tired. I don't know how I would have cooked tonight."
"That's quite all right, Harry," the man's smile was wide, gratified, and Harry managed to smile back. "I'm happy to help. Is there anything else you need help with? Laundry, anything?"
"Remus did the laundry this weekend, I think we're fine," Harry looked around the room, a tight, uncomfortable feeling rising in his chest. "I really don't think there's anything left for you to do, to be honest."
"Okay," Mr Schuester shrugged casually, shifting towards the door. "In that case, I guess I'll head out-"
"Do you have to?" Harry's eyes widened when the words slipped out of his mouth, his voice strangely small. He flushed when Mr Schuester froze and stared at him for a moment, and he turned back to his desk. "I'm sorry, of course you can go home. I'm fine, I don't need anything else. I'm sorry."
"I don't need to go home if you want me to stick around for a while," the teacher's voice was soft, careful, and Harry avoided his eyes.
"No, I'm just being silly. I don't want to stop you going home, I just..." Harry trailed off. You just what, Potter? Acting like a five-year-old? What the hell is wrong with me?"It's fine. I'm sorry."
"Stop apologising," Mr Schuester's voice was gently chastising, and Harry could sense the man shifting closer. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Especially not just for wanting some company."
"Right," Harry nodded gratefully, taking the opening Mr Schuester gave him. "And you made dinner, it seems rude not to invite you to eat with us."
"I'd be happy to," Mr Schuester patted Harry on the shoulder, and the teenager finally turned around to face him. "Do you need to finish your homework?"
"I can do it after dinner," Harry shook his head. He glanced at the clock on the corner of his computer screen briefly, then got to his feet. "Do you want to watch TV or something? We have cable."
"Sure," the teacher agreed as they wandered over to the door. "That sounds fun."
Some time and much channel surfing later found the teacher attempting to explain the rules of American football to an increasingly bemused Harry.
"...and then the kicker comes out. With me so far?"
"Not even nearly," Harry admitted, taking a sip of his glass of milk as he watched the game with confused eyes. Mr Schuester laughed a little at Harry's honesty, shrugging a little.
"I guess it's not for everyone. I was never a huge fan until I had students playing," the man settled back into the deep plush couch, sighing contentedly.
"I don't understand why that would be fun to do," Harry shook his head, wincing as the burly men on screen slammed into one another head first. "The whole thing seems like an excuse to either injure other men or feel them up, I can't tell."
Mr Schuester snorted at Harry's deadpan expression and nudged his shoulder, "You're beginning to sound like Kurt, you know."
"Nah, I've always been sarcastic. I'm just not as fast as him usually," Harry smiled as the teacher continued to chuckle. The boy looked over to the clock and started. "Wow, time flies. Do you want to have dinner soon?"
"Sure," the teacher stood up and grabbed his empty can of soda. "How about I warm up the steaks, you go and get Remus?"
"Okay, be down in a little while," Harry handed the teacher his glass and made his way to the stairs. He took several fortifying breaths as he jogged up to the second floor, tamping down his dread as he approached Remus's bedroom door.
Maybe he'll be okay, he thought hopefully, raising a hand to knock. He just needs to not be a complete lunatic for another hour. He can do that, right?
The door swung open moments after Harry's knock, and the teenager suppressed a sigh when he saw the wand pointing at his face. No, no he can't.
"Merlin, Harry, sorry," Remus mumbled, rubbing his face with his unarmed hand. He dropped his wand as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes, and Harry caught it and tucked it into his sleeve before it could hit the ground. "I was dreaming - didn't know where I was. What's going on?"
"Dinner's ready," Harry shrugged simply, ignoring the dazed look in his guardian's eyes. Hey, he knows who I am. That's an improvement. "Mr Schuester cooked, so he's staying to eat with us."
"Mr Schuester?... he was here earlier, wasn't he?" Remus's eyes widened a little, and Harry nodded grimly. "He saw..."
"Everything," Harry agreed, dropping his voice. "Nothing magic, though."
He raised his voice again and stepped back from the door, indicating that Remus should walk in front of him, "It's fine, just come and have dinner. He cooked steaks."
"Right, just let me get..." Remus muttered, turning back into his room. Harry frowned a little, an expression which darkened when he saw Remus reach for another bottle.
"Seriously? You don't need another one, Remus," Harry growled, stomping over and snatching the vial out of the werewolf's hand. "For Merlin's sake, you're already barely compus."
"I need it," Remus protested, grabbing for the Draught. "Harry, you don't understand-"
"My PTSD is as bad as yours, I know damn well what it's like," the boy countered, shoving away Remus's hands. "Just - go downstairs and eat dinner, all right? You can have another one after dinner."
"Why the hell do you think you get any say in when I take them?" Remus snarled, drawing himself up tall and towering over his ward. Harry didn't flinch, just looked up at him stonily. "I'm your guardian, not the other way around. You don't get to tell me what to do."
"I do when your behaviour is causing me problems," Harry said flatly, turning away to drop the Calming Draught in with the other ones. "It's my teacher waiting downstairs, probably listening in to make sure you don't go crazy and stab me or something. So just go downstairs and eat like a civilized person. We can deal with this later."
Remus let out a frustrated noise worryingly similar to a growl and stalked out of the room, Harry taking a moment to steel himself before hurrying after him; the last thing he wanted was to do was leave the two men alone together.
Mr Schuester had set the table simply when Harry scurried in after Remus. He looked at the werewolf cautiously and smiled at Harry, and Harry smiled weakly back.
"Thank you so much for cooking, William," Remus muttered, a slight flush rising in his cheeks as he took in the bright green salad and the well cooked steaks. "You didn't need to do that. Harry's a great cook."
"I'm sure he is, but he had homework to do," Mr Schuester pointed out pleasantly, a hint of a challenge in his voice. Harry tensed and looked between the two men, finally shooting Mr Schuester an imploring look; God, please don't let them kill one another... I'm way too tired to clean that up tonight. "You know how busy kids are these days, they have so much to do."
"Of... of course," Remus stammered, his cheeks darkening at the barely veiled judgement in Mr Schuester's eyes. Harry felt a hot flush of anger rise in his chest, and he sent his teacher a short glare. Remus is mentally ill, not neglectful. Who the hell does he think he is?
The teenager swept over to the table, stepping in between the two men and quietly wishing he was tall enough to block their view of one another. He sat himself down in his usual place, forcing a smile at the two men as he gestured, "Well, let's dig in, shall we?"
"Yes, let's," Remus muttered, slipping in quietly next to Harry. Mr Schuester sat down opposite them and reached for the salad servers.
They sat in tense silence for a few minutes, Harry and Mr Schuester's easy camaraderie gone in Remus's presence. Harry thought frantically for something to break the silence, something that wouldn't set either man off.
"Mr Schuester and I were watching a football game earlier, Remus," he blurted out, trying and failing to force away his blush when both men jumped and looked at him. "American football. Do you understand it? I don't."
"No, I never really have," Remus smiled weakly over his steak, tapping a finger against his fork anxiously. "I've never been a big sports fan."
"Me either," Harry agreed, trying to catch Mr Schuester's eye. "It all seems like a homoerotic mess to me."
"That's the only reason I ever went to Sirius's... soccer games," Remus admitted, his slight stammer easily missed. Mr Schuester choked on his glass of water and Harry laughed a little, some of the tension easing.
Harry had almost managed to get a bite of food into his mouth (Merlin, I'm hungry. When did I last eat anything?) before everything went to hell again.
Mr Schuester, to his credit, did seem to be trying to be nice when he asked Remus pleasantly, "So have you lived in England all of your life?"
Remus had paused, a wave of confusion passing over his features as he glanced at Harry. Harry lowered his forkful of steak nervously, uncertain as to why that question had made Remus pause. Remus seemed to be quietly assessing the room, and Mr Schuester shifted uncomfortably as the werewolf slowly asked, "Aren't - aren't I in America right now?"
Harry shut his eyes at Remus's genuine confusion. That fucking potion - how much of his brain is left?Mr Schuester cleared his throat and nodded a little, looking down at his plate firmly, "Yeah, you are. I meant before this."
"Oh! Oh, yes. I'd never lived outside of the UK before - before now," Remus stammered, his near-perminant blush darkening as his clouded mind began to catch up. "I'd travelled a little, around Europe, but England was my main base. It's rather warm this time of year. America is quite lovely, I'm enjoying it a lot. Idaho is a lovely state."
"Ohio," Harry corrected quietly, aware of Mr Schuester's gaze hardening as Remus continued to ramble, his words uneven and slightly slurred. Remus corrected himself quickly.
"Yes, of course. Ohio. I - I knew that, I just..." Remus trailed, off, and to Harry's horror he looked like he might start crying again. The teenager found his arm suddenly held in an inhumanly tight grip as Remus latched onto him.
"Something the matter, Remus?" he asked quietly, his ears burning red as Mr Schuester shifted in his seat, his expression calculating. Remus tugged Harry closer, visibly beginning to tremble as sweat began to pool on his brow.
"I need to take another po-" Remus began to hiss, eyes wide and desperate. Harry cut him off before he could use the wrong word.
"No you don't, for fucks sake," Harry fumed quietly, shooting Mr Schuester a frantic apologetic glance before getting to his feet and dragging Remus into the hallway. He slammed the kitchen door behind him and rounded on Remus, the swelling rage in his chest abruptly melting away when he saw the way Remus wrung his hands. He sighed and reached forward, trying to sooth the anxious man by rubbing his arms. "Hey, now, it's okay. There's nothing to be frightened of."
"I want my potion," Remus nearly whimpered, and a memory flashed into Harry's mind; a vision of Remus standing calm and determined between he and a Deatheater in his fifth year. He'd been so strong, so brave... Harry couldn't help but stare as Remus's wild eyes flickered around the room and the man began to tug harshly at his fingers. There's almost none of him left. "Harry, please. I want it. I need it. I need to -"
"Go, Remus," Harry's voice sounded far away to him, like he was hearing someone else speak down a corridor. "Just - go take it. Go to sleep."
Remus turned and made his way up the stairs without another word, moving faster and more eagerly than Harry had seen in a long time. Harry stared up after him even after his feet had disappeared, lost in thought and memory.
He taught me a Patronus, Harry's mind supplied helplessly. He gave me a connection to my parents. He told me that my mother's favourite colour was purple and gave me my father's favourite gloves. He was there for me in ways that even Sirius wasn't and now it's like he's gone. Remus, where are you?
The hand that landed on Harry's shoulder at that point made him jump. Mr Schuester stood just behind him, eyes distressed, but before the teacher could speak Harry stepped quietly away and back into the kitchen. He didn't know what to say to the man. He didn't know how he could justify Remus's behaviour as it got more and more erratic, more and more unstable.
The teenager quietly began cleaning up he and Remus's plates; his appatite was gone. Mr Schuester slipped in to the room and closed the door quietly. Harry stiffened as the tension in the room grew, forcing himself not to throw the plates at the wall in frustration.
"Harry," Mr Schuester's voice was delicate, careful, but even that proved too much for Harry's nerves as the man went on. "You have to know that this isn't-"
"Just stop," Harry snarled, shutting his eyes against the sudden flood of tears that welled in them. "Stop. Don't say it. I can't - Just don't say it."
"You're not safe here, Harry. Remus isn't good for you," Mr Schuester pressed on regardless, and Harry whirled to face him with a furious scowl.
"Shut up," Harry hissed, hands clenching at his sides. Behind the teacher the glass of a small photo on the wall began to crack and splinter, and the wizard forced himself to take a deep breath. "Just shut up, all right? You don't know a damn thing about the don't know Remus. You don't know what he's done for me, what he's given up for me-"
"You're right, I don't know a thing about who Remus used to be," Mr Schuester spoke over Harry in an almost-shout, frustration and anger apparently overriding his fear of frightening the teen. "All I know is what I see now, and I see a child having to take care of a neglectful junkie!"
"Shut up!" Harry shouted, vaguely hearing a window rattle behind him. He forced his magic back desperately even as rage began to cloud his thoughts. "He's not a junkie, he's just sick! He's been through so much, don't you dare look down on him for this. You have no fucking idea how hard it is to just function when you feel this scared all the time."
"No, I don't," Mr Schuester agreed, his face stony. His voice was quiet again, and he seemed to be back in control of his temper, but the fury bubbling under the surface was still visible in the tightness of his jaw and the way he clenched his fists. "But I know you do. I know you're feeling everything that he is, Harry, and I know you're having to deal with it as though you were the parent. It's not right."
"No, it's not," Harry snapped, green eyes flashing as the teacher continued to stare at him with barely concealed pity in his eyes. "But it's what it is. And I think you should go."
The man and the boy stared at one another for almost a full minute. Harry's chest was heaving with hard breaths as he forced himself not to shake. How dare he - he knows nothing about Remus, nothing about what he's been through. I can take care of myself, this is none of his business. I can handle it.
Mr Schuester's tired sigh punctured some of the tension in the room. Harry let himself relax a little as the man rubbed a hand across his face, unclenching his fists cautiously.
"I'll go," the teacher agreed, holding up one finger when Harry subtly sighed with relief. "Ifyou call Kurt tonight."
"I was going to do that anyway," Harry nodded, still a little suspicious. The teacher looked a little placated.
"I understand that you think you don't need help here," Mr Schuester told him as he wandered into the kitchen to grab his keys from the bench. "But you do need support. Will you be willing to accept that from Kurt, at least?"
"Of course," Harry nodded stiffly, flushing as the man shot a look at his unfinished dinner. "Uh - hold on, I'll just grab..."
Harry scurried into the kitchen and grabbed a plastic container from a drawer, hurriedly scraping Mr Schuester's steak and salad into it. The teenager shoved it into the teacher's hand, unable to meet his eyes. "Here. You cooked it, it's only fair you get to eat it."
"Thank you," the teacher's voice was a little more gentle as he accepted the food. "I'll show myself out."
"Yeah," Harry muttered, keeping his eyes on the empty kitchen sink until he heard the front door close. He walked upstairs on autopilot, barely hearing Remus's snores through his open bedroom door, and sat down at his desk quietly.
The past few days felt like they'd been going on for weeks; he couldn't believe his and Kurt's date had only been the day before.
How can everything have gone to hell so fast? he wondered, picking up a framed picture he kept on his desk. Remus and Sirius smiled up at him silently, still in the muggle picture, locked in that happy moment from so many years ago. Harry put it down with a sigh. It hasn't been fast, though. This has been building for a long time. Remus is losing it. I'm losing it. People in this town are beginning to realise that I'm not what I say I am. I can't - I can't even trust myself not to do something stupid. That fight today... okay, so the jocks beating one another up was pretty funny but it was hardly subtle. And my magic is being... I don't even know. I don't know what the hell is going on anymore.
He looked around the room blankly, eyes focusing on nothing. There was a tapping on his window, and he looked over with bleary eyes. Bargamasque was back, still staring with big eyes, somehow hovering outside Harry's window without moving her wings. Harry dragged himself to his feet to open the window. The owl flew in and stuck her leg out, pinning him with that same, disquieting stare. Harry scratched a finger under the bird's chin as he tiredly tugged off the letter, jumping a little when she immediately jumped off his desk and out the window, disappearing into the blackness. Harry just sighed and opened the letter. Weird bloody animal. The letter was written on stained and rumpled white paper, which was typical for Luna; the girl couldn't keep herself from moving while she wrote. What was unusual was that instead of a messy page of drawings, stories, and half-finished thoughts, there was only a single line in Luna's loopy handwriting: Brace for impact.
Harry stared at the note for a moment before shaking his head. Forget the bird, she's a weird bloody girl. He still placed the letter in his drawer with the others from England. A buzz against his thigh made him jump a little, and he pulled out his phone without thinking. A text from Kurt lit up the screen, and a small smile relaxed Harry's features.
Hey sweetie! the text read. Hope you're feeling better. Call me tonight, I want to hear your sexy, sexy voice :P
Harry automatically hit Kurt's number on speed dial, raising the phone to his ear with a heavy hand. If there's anything that can make me feel better, it's-
"Hello?"
"Hey, Kurt," Harry pulled himself off his chair and over to his bed, collapsing onto the silvery grey comforter with a sigh.
"Hi, sweetheart!" Kurt's beautiful voice was light, full of laughter. "How are you? How was your evening?"
Harry paused, trying to work out exactly what he could say to that. Kurt took his hesitation for what it was, "That bad?"
"Yeah," Harry agreed softly, shutting his eyes against the memories of Remus trembling and Mr Schuester shouting. "That bad. I don't really want to talk about it."
"Okay," Kurt agreed easily, though Harry could hear a hint of disappointment in his voice. "If you want to go to bed or something, that's fine. I can see you-"
"No!" Harry protested, half sitting up before realising Kurt couldn't see him. "Please don't go."
"Okay, of course," Kurt soothed, and Harry relaxed. A shiver of embarrassment shot through him at his own desperate tone, but it was washed away as Kurt continued to talk. "Do you - what do you need, Harry? How can I help?"
"Can you just talk to me?" Harry begged softly, rolling onto his side on the bed and curling his legs up to his chest. "Just - please?"
"Anything," Kurt responded, his voice equally soft. It picked up again after a moment, and the countertenor began to chat as though everything was fine. "So tonight I made this big fancy dinner for dad, made it as tasty as I possibly could, right? It wasn't until afterwards when he's complimenting me on making something other than rabbit food that he realised the whole thing was vegetarian. The look on his face when I told him he had been eating tofu, oh my god, it was amazing. I thought Finn was going to throw up. Carole nearly fell of her chair she was laughing so hard..."
Harry listened intently to his boyfriend's voice for over an hour. Kurt didn't once complain or try to get Harry to respond, even as his voice got rougher from over-use. Harry could feel himself get more relaxed with every minute, until he finally had to interrupt Kurt's chatter about the latest cover girl of Vogue to mutter, "Kurt?"
"Yes, sweetie?" Kurt was instantly alert, but Harry just mumbled into the phone.
"Thank you. 'm tired."
"Go to bed, Harry," Kurt's voice murmured amusedly into his ear as he began to drift off. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
"G'night, Kurt," Harry muttered, half-heartedly dragging the sheets out from underneath him and pulling them over his body. "Y'ur w'nderful."
"Thank you, Harry," said Kurt's voice from far away. Harry didn't notice himself continue to babble under his breath for a few moments.
"'npretty," Harry's half-sleep talking continued. "Reall' pretty. I like kissing you."
"I like kissing you too, Harry," Kurt's barely concealed laughter didn't succeed in waking Harry up, and the wizard finally dropped off with one final whisper.
"Kurt."