13:57
A/N: So many clever reviewers, figuring out who James' girlfriend is! Anyway, that will come back next chapter, but for now, back to the craziness in the clearing!
He felt trapped, encased in ice. He couldn't blink, couldn't breathe, couldn't feel his blood coursing through his veins or his heart beating. He'd never noticed those sensations before, but now that they were absent, he noticed.
His attention was quickly drawn back to the scene before him, however. Schuester still standing in the middle of the clearing, his shoulders quaking in soundless laughter. Blaine is still splayed back against the ground, his black curls clinging to his face. A flash of lightning illuminates them all.
Blaine glanced over at Kurt, his amber eyes wide and terrified. "Let him go," he said lowly. "You're a teacher, you can't attack us."
"Sing for me," Schuester pressed. "Give me the Elder wand and I'll let you both go."
No, Kurt thought. Don't do it. He'd grown up half in the Muggle world, after all, and he'd seen these kinds of movies. The villain always made empty promises, and the heroes always ended up dead. Blaine frowned, his thick eyebrows masking the hue of his eyes.
"You'll have to ask Mr. Potter for it," he said. "He put it away, not me. I'm just a student."
"Give. Me. The. Wand."
In that instant, Kurt wished he had taken Divination. A thousand scenarios flew through his head, of how this might go. Blaine might sing, he might not. Schuester might kill Kurt, he might not. He might threaten, cajole, plead, beg. . .but in all of the scenarios the ending was the same – Blaine ended up on the ground, silent and dead. Kurt pulled against his invisible restraints, but couldn't move. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his wand – not that it did him any good, when he couldn't move.
He thought about using wandless magic, but couldn't even move his tongue to form the words.
"I won't do it, Professor Schuester," Blaine said defiantly. "I'm sorry, but you might as well just let Kurt and me go. I'm not going to get it for you."
Something flashed in Schuester's eyes, and had Kurt been able to, he would have screamed, as their professor lifted his wand and pointed it at Blaine's chest.
"I didn't want to do this," he said. "You were always my favorite pupil, Blaine." He shook his head, almost regretfully, before pulling his lips back into a rictus of anger and shouting "Crucio!"
When Kurt was two, his goldfish, Bubbles, had died. He'd cried for an hour straght, until he'd become dehydrated, and his wet hiccups had dissolved in coughs. When he was eight, his mother had died, and he'd felt like an empty shell for years. When he was thirteen, his pet canary, Pavaoritti, had sung its last tune, and he'd been certain that he would never have a best friend again.
His mother's death had been bad – horrible – but it was so far in the past that it didn't effect him anymore, not in a way that made his heart pull and twinge and brought tears to his face.
This, in this moment, was worse than anything he'd experienced.
The force of the spell knocked Blaine off his feet, and threw him back against the ground. His head whipped back, tendons standing out in his neck. His eyes squeezed closed, black butterfly lashing digging into his cheeks in a way that looked almost painful. His hands clenched into the dirt, nails digging into grass and sticks, as his mouth opened in a hoarse scream that sounded like it had been ripped out of his throat.
Kurt could feel his heart beating again, pounding his chest and his head, threatening to leap out of his body and run to the boy thrashing on the ground. He tried to force himself forward, but nothing would move.
Schuester snarled and walked forward, advancing with his wand still trained on Blaine.
Blaine, who wasn't even screaming anymore, whose back was arching off the ground, as though getting off the ground would somehow free him from the pain. Kurt wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to throw himself in the way of the spell and take the pain ofn himself.
Abruptly, Schuester flicked his wrist, and Blaine falls to the ground. He begins panting, short little pathetic gulps of air. His eyes are still closed, his hands are still dug into the ground. Schuester shakes his head and kneels down beside the boy, an almost sympathetic expression on his face. He reached out, and almost tenderly brushed a sweaty curl off Blaine's face. Kurt snarled inside.
"There, now, that wasn't very pleasant, was it?" Schuester asked. Blaine didn't reply, just continued to gasp. Schuester shook his head. "You don't want to experience that again, do you?" The boy didn't respond, so the professor answered for him. "Of course you don't. Nobody wants to experience that spell. All you have to do is sing a song for me, Blaine. Just one, measley little song."
Blaine didn't respond for a long moment, until finally he croaked, something low and pained sounding, so broken sounding that Kurt couldn't even hear it at first. Apparently, Schuester couldn't, either.
"What was that?"
Blaine opened his eyes, for this first time since the spell. They were wet and red. Blaine's tongue flicked out, wetting down his lips. "No," he said.
"No," Schuester muttered under his breath, laughing a little, almost bitterly. "No, huh? Why?"
Blaine just shook his head. He pressed his forearms into the ground, trembling as he pushed himself partway up. He licked his lips again. "S'not right."
"Not right." Schuester shook his head, before walking over to Kurt, acknowledging him for the first time since cursing him. "Such a Hufflepuff, isn't he?" Kurt couldn't remember ever seeing their professor looking so dark and twisted. The lightning cast strange shadows on his fast, darkening his eyes and lighting up the hollows in his cheeks. "Loyal and honest and true. He couldn't be a Slytherin, all dark ambition, or a reckless Gryffindor, or a curious Ravenclaw. No, I get stuck with a fucking loyal Hufflepuff." He paused for a moment, as though a thought had just occurred to him. Glancing back and forth between Kurt and Blaine, a slow smile lit up his face, twisting his features into something cruel. "Loyalty. . .hmm. . ."
He lifted the wand, twisting it a little before Kurt's eyes. "So, Blaine. . ." the professor said, drawing his voice out, twisting and shaping it along the width of the wand. "You didn't like that spell so much. . .How about if I used the same spell on your boyfriend, here?"
Blaine didn't say anything, but his eyes widened even more.
"Or maybe. . ." Schuester mused, tapping Kurt's forehead with the wand. "Maybe I should use another Unforgivable Curse."
Avada kedavra. Kurt's insides froze. For the first time he was glad that he'd been petrified, because otherwise he knew that he would have collapsed onto the ground, in a puddle of terror. The killing curse.
"No," Blaine gasped, forcing himself to his feet, even as his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. "No. I'll do it. I'll do it."
If Kurt could have moved, he would have gasped as their professor moved away from him. He felt almost guilty at the intense sense of relief as the wand was taken away from his forehead. What kind of a Gryffindor was he? He was terrified, literally frozen in place while Blaine took this all on himself.
"Good," Professor Schuester said. "You remember the song?"
"I remember," Blaine sighed. He brushed the back of his hand against his eyes, pushing away tears. He set his feet apart, and began to sing, but it was unlike any performance that Kurt had ever seen. There was no confidence in the other boy, no strength or charisma, just pure pain and need and desperation.
"Oh, it's turned so cold, it's past your bedtime
You've played the day away and soon it will be night
Come to me, wand, the light is fading
Don't you see the evening star appearing?
Come to me and rest against my shoulder. . ."
His voice trailed off, as nothing happened. Professor Schuester nodded, as though he'd expected as much. "Keep going," he said. "Just keep singing. It might take a while."
Blaine nodded, took a deep breath, and began to sing again, this time his voice growing a little in strength and certainty.
He repeated the verse twice, before something started to happen. Kurt noticed it before their professor did: the other boy's eyes widened a little, and sweat broke out along his hairline. His fingers spasmed, held tightly at his side, and he dug his feet into the ground, as though trying to find better footing. Finally, he broke off midword, his chest heaving.
"What?" Schuester snapped. "It was working. Why did you stop?"
"Something's wrong," Blaine tried to explain hopelessly, his eyes focused on the ground. "Inside. . .the spell is. . .it's hurting me, it's tearing. . .I don't know how to explain it."
Schuester closed his eyes. "You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal, those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil. Harry Potter's idea, I'm sure. . .only a brave Gryffindor can touch the Godric's sword, and only a selfless soul can call the Elder wand." His eyes opened, almost glowing in the dim lighting. Kurt shivered, not a muscle moving, as the clouds broke above and the first raindrops began to fall. "Through the pain," Schuester hissed. "Or remember what happens."
Kurt almost missed the flick of the wand in his direction, so focused he was on Blaine's face, on the subtle twitches of muscle under the planes of his face.
"Come to me. . ."
With each verse, Blaine fell a little more apart. First he fell to his knees, but continued to sing, shoulders thrown back. On the fourth verse he gasped and almost lost the words. On the fifth he fell to the ground, bracing himself on his forearms, his back heaving as he fought for the strength to keep fighting.
No, Kurt thought desperately. Stop. . .stop it. . . he tried to glare at Schuester, tired to plead with him to stop it. Can't you see it's killing him, he pleaded. And it was, he could tell, in the way that not a muscle was moving on Blaine, save those needed for singing. His head was down, by this time, forced to stare at the ground.
"Yes. . ." Schuester said, grinning. A glow had fallen over the clearing, even though the increasingly thick sheath of rain.
No, please, no. . .
"Don't you see the evening star appearing?
Come to me and rest against my shoulder. . ."
Somehing snapped. It happened at once, Blaine collapsing to the ground, and the glow coalescing into a single, long piece of wand, lying on the ground. Kurt's gaze was drawn to it – a simple, long piece of eldar tree. Black and straight. Not twisted or evil, or particularly powerful. Just. . .a wand. And more importantly, beside it, Blaine's motionless body. Kurt felt the blood rushing through his veins. Was the spell wearing off? He tried to move his lips, his tongue, but still had no control over his emotions.
Schuester grinned and walked forward, picking up the wand and twisting it in his hands. He ran one finger up and down its length, shivering in delight. He flicked his wrist, pointing it down at Blaine.
Expelliarmus, Kurt thought, focusing on the word, twisting it in his mind the same way he would with his lips and tongue. Nothing happened.
"Now, then," Schuester murmured. "To be it's master, I must win it from it's previous master. So. . ."
Expelliarmus!
Schuster flicked his wrist, muttered softly under his breath a simple Stunning spell. So far as Kurt could see, nothing happened. But for all he knew, Blaine was dead and couldn't respond. Blaine was. . .but no. He couldn't think about that, not right now.
"Hmm. . ." Schuster mused. "A stunning spell won't work." He shrugged. "Sorry, Blaine Anderson," he said. "I really thought it wouldn't come to this, but I have to be the master of this wand. So. . . Avada. . ."
ACCIO ELDER WAND!
Later, Kurt didn't know why he'd thought it, why he'd flung all of his energy into that spell, but he did. And the result was instantaneous. The elder wand flew out of Schuester's hand, directly into Kurt's. His paralysis shattered. And suddenly, without Kurt doing or thinking anything, the professor was suddenly lifted into the air, his arms bound to his side, as though by invisible bonds.
For his part, Kurt flew across the clearing to kneel beside Blaine. He reached out with shaking hands, placing them gently on his boyfriend's back, praying for a response.
He'd taken his magical history classes. He understood the spell – it had to be the same type that Headmaster Dumbledore and Harry Potter had met in Voldemort's cave. A poison protecting an artifact. But Dumbledore hadn't died, not then, and Blaine couldn't. . .he wouldn't. . .
But there was no movement under Kurt's questing fingertips. Blaine was frighteningly clammy. He rolled the other boy over, so that Blaine was lying on his back, facing up. With shaking fingertips, Kurt caressed the other boy's cheek.
He looked so peaceful, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted. His hair was still stuck to his forehead, wet curls plastered against cool skin. Kurt gasped as he felt a ghost of a breath against his fingertips.
"Wake up," he half-whispered, half-prayed. "Please just wake up." In that clearing, at that moment, nothing mattered except seeing hazel eyes with flecks of gold and green. Professor Schuester, still suspended midair, didn't matter. The elder wand didn't matter. The Triwizard Tournament didn't matter, Blais Zabini and Coach Syvester didn't matter, none of it mattered at all if those eyelids didn't twitch and tremble open. "Please wake up."
There was a warmth in his hand, the elder wand jerking a little, as if on its own accord. And then, incredibly, magically, Blaine opened his eyes.
"Wha—" it was the tiniest, most delicate of sounds, the whisper of rose petals opening to dawn. Kurt leaned forward and greedily swallowed the noise into his own mouth. He tasted fear and sweat in his boyfriend's kiss, and he swallowed that in, too.
"What the. . ." Schuester broke the moment, thrashing from where he was still held in the air. "How did you. . .that's my wand! How can you control it?"
Kurt thought back to that moment in the dorm, only hours ago, though it felt like a lifetime. Hiding under the Invisibility cloak, casting a wandless spell. "You have to defeat the wand's true master. . ." he breathed.
"I did!" Schuester protested. "I did, I did, I did!" His words were manic and insane.
"Are you okay?" Blaine asked breathlessly, reaching up one hand, stopping just short of touching Kurt's cheek. He choked out a breathless laugh.
"Am I okay?" Kurt asked. He glanced down bashfully. "Come on," he whispered. "Let's get you back to the hospital and let Madame Pomfrey fix you up." He stood up carefully, helping the other boy to his feet as well, feeling a little sick at the way that the other boy clung to him, resting his weight on Kurt's slight frame.
"Wait. . ." Blaine said, his features twisted in confusion. "What about Professor Schuester."
"He won't be going anywhere," Kurt said coldly and with great certainty. He could feel, in the back of his mind, the binds surrounding their professor, the way that he was trapped.
"I thought. . .I thought you can't Apparate onto school grounds."
Kurt grinned, and lifted the elder wand. "Do not underestimate me, Mr. Anderson," he grinned. "I'm pretty sure that with this I can do anything."
Sure enough, with a twist and spin, and the accompanying dizzying sensation, the two found themselves in the middle of the Hogwarts courtyard, with all of the assembled students and teachers staring at them.
"You can't Apparate on school grounds," Rose said stuffily.
"Kurt, Blaine!" Rachel exclaimed, leaping forward and catching them both in a massive hug. "Did you hear, did you? I'm the Triwizard Champion! Blaine, didn't you think that the Final Task was surprisingly easy, given all of the buildup and anticipation? Really, I expected more out of the final task, though I suppose. . ."
Her words trailed off as another figure pushed through the crowd. Tall and commanding, with dark hair swept off his face and streaked through with silver, the man was headed straight toward them. Kurt took a moment to appreciate the man's sense of fashion – he was wearing a simple suit, but it was exquisitely tailored and made out of fine silk. There was something familiar in the set of his chin, in the focus of his honey eyes.
"Blaine," the man said, his deep rumble of a voice sounding choked and hoarse. Blaine stiffened in Kurt's arms, his eyes widening, before falling forward into the stranger's open arms.
"Father," he gasped.
Of course, Kurt thought ruefully. Mr. Anderson would come to see his son in the final task. In the same way that he could see Rachel Berry's dads standing in the background, and a pair of distinguished looking blondes that had to be Quinn Fabray's parents. Even Dave Karofsky was surrounded by a group of menacing looking men who could only be his brothers. Only Jesse st. James stood alone.
"Dude," Finn breathed, coming up and standing beside Kurt. "What happened to you? You were singing and then you just, like disappeared."
"Are you okay? Sam asked. "Is Blaine okay? He looks kind of. . ."
There were a thousand other questions being shouted, whispered, and asked, but they were all cut up when there was a sudden whoosh of wind and Harry Potter landed in the courtyard, dismounting smoothly from his broomstick. In three short strides he was standing beside Kurt Hummel, and peering down at the thin, black piece of wood still tightly clenched in his fist.
"Mr. Hummel," Harry Potter said, his words tight and composed. "I think we need to have a bit of a talk."
A/N: ONE MORE CHAPTER! Can you believe it? I can't. This is the longest fanfic that I've written. Phew. Oh, Hogwarts, you pull one in and just don't let one go!
COMING SOON: Grawp, next chapter! Yay for Grawp! Also, what does Blaine's dad think of this whole situation, will James ever let his dad know who he's getting some nooky with, is Karofsky done being psycho, and will Kurt now be the MOST POWERFUL WIZARD ALIVE? Also, Finchel fluff, a little Quam delight, some Brittana mischief, and most of all. . .CLOSURE. Stay tuned.