Chapter Text
first year
The rumble of passing trains throbs through Kurt’s body, setting his teeth on edge. He doesn’t realise that his hand has clenched white-knuckled around the handle of his suitcase until his dad squeezes it. “You’ll do good, kiddo,” he hears him murmur, and for a few serene seconds, he almost believes him.
But then they’re walking up to a solid brick wall, and his dad is patting him on the shoulder. “You know what to do now, kid.”
And Kurt does know. He’s done nothing but listen, wide-eyed and eager, to stories about the place Burt and Elizabeth Hummel first met. Anything to learn more about his mother. But stories are stories, and real life is running head first into a very tall, very solid looking wall and he can’t help but have second thoughts.
“So you’re sure it won’t hurt?” he asks, wringing his hands together.
Before his dad can reply, a smarmy voice sounds behind him. “Of course it won’t hurt. What are you, a Muggle?”
Kurt spins around, retorts on the tip of his tongue. His grandparents were Muggles and there’s nothing wrong with being one, thank you very much. And how dare the stupid-sounding stranger condescend him for having a very normal and rational response to the idea of crashing head-first into bricks?
All that verbal ammunition is wasted when the source of the voice - from what he can see, a gangly boy with messy, chestnut hair - saunters past and glides straight through the wall without missing a beat.
The boy’s parents follow suit - a man in a pressed black suit and a woman with a platinum blonde coif. Kurt can barely see through his seething rage at the family’s cool dismissal, but the feeling of his father’s hand on his shoulder clears away the vindictive fog. It’s better that he hasn’t been given the chance to retaliate - he can show his father he can take the moral high ground.
As if his dad can sense Kurt’s whirring thoughts, the hand on his shoulder tightens. “You’re going to meet lots of assholes like that, kiddo.”
Kurt raises a brow at the rare sound of his dad cursing. Burt chuckles at his expression.
“You heard what I said. And the way to deal with that? Don’t let them get to you. You’re better than them, Kurt, and you know it.”
Kurt straightens up, puffing out his chest. “I know,” he breathes. “I know,” he repeats, louder now, and he almost believes it.
He eyes the wall again warily.
“The best way to do it your first time is to close your eyes and get a running start.” His dad is smiling at him, expression steady and warm. But Kurt can’t stop seeing that boy from before gliding through the wall like it’s effortless, and his jaw sets.
“I’m not running,” he says, and before his dad can respond, he’s striding casually towards the brick wall, shoulders back and chin tilted up.
Three metres.
Two metres.
One metre.
“Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch don’t flinch don’t flinch.”
He pauses for a fraction of a second before steeling himself and placing a foot into the wall.
Immediately, he’s glad that his strides have been relatively fast. There’s no pain, but there’s a freezing sensation that slices from his neck to his toes. He can’t help but jerk forward, taking his next step a little too fast before he lands on the other side, breathless and shivering, but still composed and casual - as if he’s taken a nice stroll through an ice cold winter garden.
The air around him ripples as his dad lands beside him. “Not bad for your first time kid,” Burt chuckles, and the warmth Kurt feels at his dad’s words dispels any lingering shivers he may have had. The glow in his chest increases tenfold when he sees the rude boy from before a few metres away, staring at him in shock. Kurt can’t help but notice that with his eyebrows askew and mouth dropped open, the boy looks like a startled meerkat.
He smirks in satisfaction. Step one in showing the naysayers that he’s just as good as them, if not better - complete.
It isn’t until the boy flinches and looks away that Kurt breaks eye contact. And just like that, everything comes rushing back. He swivels his head, trying to take it all in. “Platform 9 ¾” looks and sounds just like the rest of King’s Cross Station - the golden brick walls; the rumble of faraway trains; the buzzing chatter of passers-by. But there’s one major difference.
“Streisand! Get back here!” he hears a shrill voice shriek just before a golden barn owl lands on his shoulder. Kurt nearly topples at the weight but manages to hold onto his suitcase handle.
“Streisand! Why can’t you ever stay still?” The weight disappears and Kurt recovers enough to stare at the scene in front of him. A tiny girl with a mess of brown hair is giving a stern talking-to to the massive bird on her shoulder. It’s an almost comic scene - especially with the way “Streisand” seems to be actually flinching at the impressively loud lecture.
Kurt clears his throat and smooths down his hair. “I’m fine, thank you very much,” he can’t resist muttering.
The girl in front of him gasps, and the owl on her shoulder jumps at the movement. Within a split second Kurt finds himself with an armful of brown hair.
“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Kurt blinks slowly before taking a step back.
“I’m fine,” he says. Despite her initial rudeness, he can’t help but smile fondly at the girl’s unbridled enthusiasm. Streisand tips her head to the side, and his smile broadens.
One thing Kurt won’t find in regular King’s Cross Station? Owls as pets. Let alone ferrets, or rats, or - is that a toad? As he scans the crowd around him - more than half of which are wearing the standard-issue black Hogwarts robes, and is that a wand he can see being brandished? - he misses the girl’s next words.
“I said my name’s Rachel. Rachel Berry.” Her hand is extended in an almost aggressive looking handshake, but he takes it gratefully.
“Kurt Hummel,” he says. Then he eyes the owl. “Is she named after Barbra Streisand?”
Rachel lets out an inhumanly high squeal and squeezes his entrapped hand so hard Kurt can hear his bones grinding together. “You know who she is?” At Kurt’s terrified nod, she launches herself into his arms and Kurt finds himself with an armful of messy brown hair for the second time in ten minutes. “Oh, this is going to be the start of a very long and amazing friendship. I just know it!”
Despite Kurt’s fright at the somewhat ominous statement, he finds himself smiling. “So do I.”
They hug for barely a second before a smarmy voice startles them back to reality. “My eyes are being assaulted. Move your lovey-dovey embraces somewhere else, thank you very much.” Kurt looks over Rachel’s shoulder to see the boy from before standing beside them, face scrunched up in disgust and eyes glittering with malice.
Rachel makes a move to jerk apart, but Kurt only tightens his hold on her. “I’ll have my lovey-dovey embraces right here, thank you very much,” he smiles, sickly sweet.
The boy narrows his eyes, and Kurt braces himself.
“Hey hey hey. You boys settle down.” Kurt’s dad holds out a calming hand and with one last glower, the boy retreats. Kurt lets go of Rachel and sighs.
“I could’ve handled that,” he mutters. B-grade movie villains like That Boy are nothing to him.
“Yes you could’ve. But it’s your first day at a new school so you’ve got better things to do than to get into a fight.” Burt’s gaze brokers no dissent, and Kurt nods, knowing there’s no use arguing now.
A whistle rings out, lifting Kurt from his dissatisfied fog. “There it comes,” his dad grins. “The Hogwarts Express.”
Rachel squeals yet again, and resumes her death grip on Kurt’s hand. Kurt squeezes back, grinning at the sight in front of him. The grinding of metal on metal and puffing of charred smoke are like a melody to Kurt, and as he stares up at the red painted train chugging into the station he can’t help but feel an ache in his chest. His mother took this train once. His mother was one of these hopeful, nervous, excited faces once.
Kurt lets Rachel tug him to the open train door. He lugs their suitcases in, narrowly avoiding getting pecked by Streisand. Before he steps in the train, he looks back at his dad.
“You’ll do good, kiddo,” Burt repeats. This time, Kurt believes him.
Kurt is following Rachel as she tries to find an empty carriage when their path is blocked by the lanky meerkat from before.
“Can we help you?” Rachel snaps and Kurt’s chest glows with pride.
The boy doesn’t give her a second glance, instead staring down Kurt. “You’re Kurt Hummel.”
Kurt raises his eyebrow. “Stalker much?”
The boy snorts. “You wish you were important enough for me to stalk you. I’m Sebastian. Sebastian Smythe.” He stands back and folds his arms smugly.
Kurt frowns. “Is that meant to mean anything to me?” he asks, ignoring Rachel’s shocked gasp.
“Kurt,” Rachel hisses. “He’s a Smythe. His dad is the Minister for Magic.” Any shock Kurt might have had dissipates when he turns to see Sebastian grinning like a fool. He is not going to give that idiot the benefit of knowing that he’s impressed by him.
“And that concerns me how?” Kurt replies, a mask of cool indifference falling into place.
Sebastian flounders around a bit. “You - my father - my father is the leader of the wizarding community in the United Kingdom!” At Kurt’s unimpressed stare, he blathers on. “Your father is just the owner of a sad broomstick shop in Diagon Alley.”
Rachel gasps loudly enough for the three of them. Kurt’s eyes have narrowed into slits - the only thing in his field of vision is Sebastian with his stupid snarky smile and tragic pouf of hair.
“Also, I’m not a stalker - I just happened to go into the shop so I recognised your father. He mentioned your name,” Sebastian adds, as if that was the most important thing to clarify.
There’s a rushing sound in Kurt’s ears. “Don’t let them get to you,” he remembers. He should stay silent, but if there’s one thing Kurt Hummel isn’t good at, it’s resisting the urge for a verbal sparring match. He’s speaking before he realises it.
“You know what’s sad? Basing your entire self-worth and identity on who your daddy is. Something you can’t even control. And remember, he can be voted out at any time.” Kurt raises an eyebrow in challenge.
Sebastian puffs out his chest. “Yeah? Well I live in a mansion. With servants.” He smirks as if that settles the entire argument. Which it doesn’t.
“So? Money can’t buy you happiness. I don’t need luxuries to distract myself from my daddy issues.”
Sebastian actually deflates a little at this, and Kurt smirks triumphantly. He’s struck a nerve. The victory is short-lived however when Sebastian puffs back up. “Sorry I couldn’t hear you. I was distracted by your pasty dough face.”
Kurt hears Rachel gasp but he barrels on. Insults about each other’s appearances? He’s been waiting for this moment since the second he saw Sebastian. “Well your hair looks awful. Have you been watching too many Muggle soaps? Because you look like the lame protagonist of a cringey teen drama that gets cancelled after season 1.”
Kurt feels like he should clap himself on the back for creativity, so he does. Sebastian’s eyes only narrow further. “Like a cheesy cartoon villain that gets thrown off a cliff,” Kurt thinks to himself. He’ll store that one for later.
“Okay!” Rachel says a little too brightly. “Kurt and I were about to go.”
“Stay out of this, dwarf,” Sebastian snaps without sparing her a glance. “Nobody wants your massive nose in their business.”
Kurt stiffens. “That’s rich coming from you, giant horse teeth.” Kurt’s about to add that Sebastian’s face looks like a rodent when he’s bodily dragged away by Rachel.
As they plonk into an empty carriage, Kurt glares at his friend. “I was just about to complete my verbal evisceration of him!”
“You’ve done enough evisceration for a day, Kurt. C’mon. You’ve been missing the view.” She steers his shoulders around until he’s facing the window, and suddenly all thoughts of Sebastian the criminal chipmunk fade away, leaving only awe and wonder in their wake.
It’s rolling fields and verdant valleys, periwinkle skies and wisps of clouds. As the train rounds the bend Kurt cranes his head back to see the arched bridging supports keeping the locomotive afloat. A trail of white smoke is visible from the front of the train if he arches his neck forward, and the rhythmic chugging sends rumbles through his spine. King’s Cross Station is long-gone now, and he knows this is only the beginning.
seventh year
Kurt’s hunched over a desk in the library he’s learned to know and hate throughout his seven years at Hogwarts. This time, he’s writing out an essay - or trying to - about the dangers of the Draught of Living Death which is ironically making him want to drink it. A deathlike slumber over N.E.W.T.s any day.
“You’re staring again.”
Kurt startles, slamming his elbow onto his parchment. He frantically examines his half-finished Potions essay for smudges, but thankfully the ink has dried. “Stop sneaking up on me Rachel,” he groans.
Rachel plops down on the seat opposite him, wiggling her eyebrows in what he guesses is meant to be a suggestive manner, but has the unfortunate effect of making her look deranged. “Well?” Kurt rolls his eyes and moves to pick up his quill, but Rachel stops him. “No. Don’t you dare ignore me. Let’s talk about your painfully obvious and embarrassing crush on a certain Hufflepuff named Blaine Anderson.”
Kurt’s eyes widen and he snaps his head around to make sure the surrounding tables haven’t heard her. If his eyes linger on a dark haired boy in a yellow and black scarf at the back of the library, it’s because he’s being extra cautious. Not because that boy’s show stopping rendition of Teenage Dream with the frog choir at the annual Welcoming Feast rocked his world, and definitely not because that boy has the most beautiful face and kindest eyes he’s ever seen.
Kurt turns back to Rachel to fix her with a poisonous stare. “Say it louder for the people in the back will you?” At Rachel’s sheepish grin, he relents. “Fine. You’re right - I like him. Can I go back to studying for my Potions N.E.W.T.?”
Rachel clasps her hands under her chin and stares dreamily at Kurt. “I’m so happy for you, Kurt,” she murmurs.
He fixes her with a horrified stare. “Are you possessed? Stop staring at me like that!”
“Fine,” she pouts, removing her hands from their pose, but the dreamy glint in her eyes remains. “Anyway, what are you going to do about it?”
Kurt scrawls out a sentence on the parchment with more force than necessary. “Nothing,” he bites out.
“Nothing?”
“You heard me.”
Rachel sighs loudly. “Why not?” Kurt raises an eyebrow at her, and she sighs again. “I know you’re scared. I know what happened with Adam -”
Kurt’s half out of his chair before Rachel can finish her sentence. “Don’t say his name.”
Rachel’s mouth drops open. “I’m sorry.”
“And I’m not scared.”
At her wide-eyed nod, Kurt slumps back down his seat and grabs his quill from the ink pot with finality. He knows he’s being rude and that she’s only trying to help, but there are some things that they don’t talk about. If Rachel leaves he doesn’t deign to react, too busy simmering with rage and indignation.
Moonstone, valerian root, lacewing flies… despite his best attempts at focusing, the words are blurring together on the page. Try as he might to ignore it, Rachel’s words - hysterical and sentimental as they always are - have a ring of truth. He is scared. The last time he let someone in, he’d gotten his heart trampled on as a thank you. Nothing is worth that kind of pain.
He’s shaken out of his reverie by the glimpse of silver and green out the corner of his eye. If it’s Rachel back for a second round of “let’s poke at Kurt’s old wounds,” he’ll scratch out her eyes with his quill himself.
But it isn't Rachel. He hears a voice, and it's undeniably male. “And so while I was in Paris, I only grew in sophistication and wit -”
Kurt’s blood runs cold, and suddenly Rachel’s tactlessness is the least of his worries. He would know that voice anywhere.
He cranes his neck in the direction of Blaine Anderson’s desk and his hands curl into fists. Lo and behold, Sebastian Smythe - Quidditch captain, Prefect, and the slut and shame of Slytherin house - is leaning on that same desk, smirking in a decidedly lascivious way.
Kurt glares at his parchment and desperately tries to figure out how to translate the Draught of Living Death he’s been writing about into reality. This time, he’s not planning on being the one in the deadly slumber.