1 Fic; No Challenge
Title: FOREVER ALONE (Chapter One)
Authors~ ME + also lmpetuous
Summary: Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizard World, knows he's going to be FOREVER ALONE. But can Warbler Blaine, from some school probably in Wales help him out?
Characters/Pairings: Future!Harry/Draco, Kurt/Blaine
Genre: Humour/Crossover (Glee)
Beta: NOBODY
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 FOR AWESOME
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 3837
Friday. It was Friday. Harry knew this, because he could tell the days of the week. It was also seven am.
He trudged down the stairs, glaring the stupid moving things into submission with his patented I AM HARRY POTTER AND I AM VERY SAD, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT HOW MUCH MY LIFE SUCKS glares that didn’t really work on anyone except sometimes Ginny. But mostly nobody. Especially not Dragons or Slytherins or any sort of mashup of the two that anyone could think of.
“Gotta make my mind up, which seat can I taaaaaaake? It’s Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday.”
Harry looked up, startled out of his sullen thoughts and chest monster ponderings. In the middle of the great hall were a group of students, all singing some awful abomination of a song. Harry wasn’t sure it was actually a song. Perhaps it was the pained cries of some strange magical creature he didn’t know about because, just in case you didn’t know, his parents were killed by an evil massmurderer called Voldemort when he was just a baby, OH THE HUMANITY.
“What’s going on?” He asked, sitting down at the Gryffindor table next to his best friend Ronald Weasley, who was also a Gryffindor. He didn’t have to choose which seat to take, everyone made space for him because he’s Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, and nobody likes him because he speaks the truth, or something.
“Yesterday was Thursday, today is Friday!”
“The Nude Warblers!” Said Ron. He had a lot of food in his mouth, because he’s poor and has no manners. Also ginger. “Every now they throw an impromptu performance. Tends to shut the school down for a while. The Nude Warblers are like rockstars!” Harry didn’t know this, because generally, he’s really oblivious and doesn’t know anything unless it’s evil and talking about how it wants to kill him, or something. And then he doesn’t really either. Because thinking is hard and his parents were killed by an evil mass murderer when he was a baby.
Ron shoved some more pancakes into his mouth, attempting to speak even as he did so. Harry gave him the occasional nod and shrug, just to show he was listening, even though he wasn't, as preoccupied with his chest monster and dead parents as he usually was. It wasn't long before Hermione appeared, and it wasn't long after that that Ron frogmarched her away, still making an attempt at coherent English despite having his bodyweight in crumpets shoved into his mouth. Who knew what they were going off to do, Harry thought - it certainly wouldn't be gallivanting off to fight any dark wizards, as Harry was the only person important enough to do such a thing.
Because his parents had been killed by a psychopathic megalomaniac when he was just a baby.
There was a clattering of plates and a couple dozen croissants, pans au chocolat, and various other breakfast foods as a boy around Harry's age came strutting down the length of the Gryffindor table. He seemed to be the ringleader of these rockstars Harry didn't care about because his chest monster was grumbling at that current moment, and who cared about poncy rock stars when the Boy Who Lived (And Saved The Entire World) had an irate chest monster to deal with? Really.
The ringleader - for Harry was almost certain that he was wearing some form of tophat and blazer combination - dropped down after howling one last, god-awful lyric to sit beside Harry. And why wouldn't he? Harry pushed his beans moodily around his plate, feeling particularly broody. Once more, he found his thoughts floating back in the general direction of how brutally his parents had been killed. IT WAS JUST TOO TRAGIC, OKAY. Harry's almond-shaped green eyes - so much like his mother's, who had died trying to save him - prickled.
Harry was almost lost to his internal wailing, despairing monologue when Blaine swept off his tophat and settled down to breakfast as though he'd just walked in, just like the rest of the normal, functioning population of Hogwarts.
Then again, Harry had hardly paid any attention to how Blaine had arrived. The chest monster was convening with his lesser-known stomach monster and they had the brain monster quite intent on food.
He completely ignored Blaine, and his top hat and uniform that was definitely not a Hogwarts uniform, until the other boy started nudging him with his elbow. Then, he looked up from his food and his thoughts of despair and how if Voldemort came for him today this could be his last meal, and who wanted beans as their last meal but there was no treacle tart which was his favourite and everything was so far away.
As it turned out, Blaine wasn’t purposely nudging him, of course he wasn’t because everyone hated Harry because they couldn’t handle the truth about Voldemort and they tried to insist on calling him You-Know-Who even though Dumbledore, who noone could ever imply was batshit crazy, said not to. In fact, Blaine was waving at someone at the Slytherin table.
That put Harry completely off his beans, because Slytherins were ALL evil and baby Voldemorts and they probably all had Voldemort teddy bears with little stuffed giant snakes and they probably had stick on tattoos of the Dark Mark, which Harry had never had because his relatives were SO cruel, just like ALL Slytherins. But that didn’t seem to bother Blaine, who didn’t know the rules that Gryffindors and Slytherins were enemies despite them basically being the same except for the fact Slytherin have a better colour scheme.
Harry made sure his scandalized gasp was very loud, and finally Blaine paid him attention and stopped waving at the EVIL table of EVIL people who were all EVIL and called Harry names!
“Oh, hullo!” Said Blaine. He even put his top hat back on, for whatever reason. Harry didn’t really know, people were confusing because they could speak in sentences over three words long and really, he had much more important things to think about. For example, the evil murderer that killed his parents and his evil relatives and how that old coot Dumbledore thought love was going to save him. Harry couldn’t even spell love.
“What are you doing?” Harry replied. He made sure to look dejected and miserable so Blaine would understand how hard his life was. But he didn’t want any attention, attention was horrible, that’s why he spent all of his time shouting at Ronald and Hermione about how horrible his life is because people kept giving him attention. “You can’t wave at Slytherins! THEY ALL LOVE VOLDEMORT!” He made sure to shout the bit about extra loud, just in case somebody hadn’t gotten the point yet. From the teachers table, Snape glared, because he really hated Harry because he was jealous of his hair or something and he was in love with Voldemort and when baby!Harry vaporized Voldemort, he didn’t get any love letters. Or something.
Blaine looked at Harry. Harry didn't look back because that would mean paying attention, of which he loathed, to another human being. "I'm waving," Blaine said, and then turned his eyes back to the TABLE OF UNSHEATHED EVIL. Harry made a little extra effort - which he also loathed: what was the point of being the Saviour of the Wizarding World if he had to put effort into things? - to make sure Blaine heard his disgusted grunt.
"Stop it!" Harry shouted. "You're not supposed to be eyefucking the EVIL VOLDEMORT FANBOYS!" He didn't understand why Blaine didn't seem to grasp this concept. It was simple enough, Harry thought dully: Voldemort was an EVIL wizard who had been in the EVIL house, and all of his EVIL followers had been in aforementioned EVIL house, which lead to one and only one conclusion: SLYTHERIN WERE A COLLECTIVE OF EVIL FANBOYS!!
Blaine snorted, "Bitch, please," he said, "Eyefucking makes it sound so very crude, and I am hardly being crude at all. I am far too sophisticated and fabulous to be that crude. Perhaps something less crude. Eye-making-love? No, that's tacky and completely unfabulous. How about..." Dramatic pause. Harry internally mourned the absence of treacle tart. Which was his favourite, by the way. What did a Saviour of the World have to do to get his favourite meal? It could very well be his last!!!
In all of this, Harry had completely missed what Blaine's eventual decision on the redefinition of 'eyefucking' was. Not that it would be particularly relevant to Harry, for Harry was ignored by everyone and therefore would never have a partner in eyefucking, or whatever it was now called according to the ever-growing Dictionary That Blaine Just Made Up.
Harry had no regard for such a dictionary, as his schedule was filled with despair and worry, and dramatic monologue about how dead his dead parents were, killed by a mean man with no hair. Unlike Harry, whose unruly hair had been the topic of much debate. Amongst whom, Harry had no idea, for nobody paid him attention. Harry loathed attention. He loathed it almost as much as he loathed the evil meanies sitting at the EVIL MEANIE TABLE.
"Anyway," Blaine was saying - Harry hadn't even realised he was still talking, "I must be off. I have a date with Kurt and a closet." Harry blinked. There were so many words in that sentence and they didn’t really make any sense.
“Who’s Kurt?” He asked. Blaine gasped, covering his mouth with his hands and shaking his head like Harry had just told him someone had killed his puppy. Harry had never had a puppy. Voldemort would probably have killed it if he had one. Tears pricked at Harry’s green eyes (which were just like his mothers). Life was so unfair! Voldemort was evil! Slytherins were evil! Harry felt the urge to go and shout and take it out on his poor, long suffering friends, but he stayed where he was and stared despondently into his beans.
“How can you not know who Kurt is? Merlin, he’s just the Saviour of the Wizarding Fashion World!” Blaine was looking over at the Slytherin table again, and Harry sighed dejectedly. All of the girls in Hogwarts loved him because he was so good looking (just like his father, who was the most handsome man in all of Scotland and everyone was jealous of him, especially Snape), but nobody could ever look at him like that because he wasn’t deserving of love because THEY MIGHT DIE, EVERYONE HE LOVED MIGHT DIE!
Blaine was still talking.
“Kurt Elizabeth Perf'ect'ion Lightness Rainbow Pavarotti Gay Shark Hummus - I mean, Hummel, he changed his name you know, so people wouldn’t be jealous of him. Something about pelvises or something. He’s amazing and his eyes change colour and he’s like, Dumbledore and Hagrid’s third child or something, maybe he’s even your half brother, but he’s so beautiful, and I really must be off now because we have a date. In a closet.”
When Harry next looked up from his beans, and what they meant about the state of his life and whether or not he could see a Grim in them, and did that mean he was going to die? Well, that was a silly question, of course he was, Voldemort wanted to kill him because he didn’t have a nose and he really liked Harry’s nose and he just wanted a nose transplant, or something, Blaine was gone.
Harry was, once again, alone. He felt the urge to crawl into a cupboard under some stairs, like his evil relatives had made him do once, because they were evil. They probably liked Voldemort.
Harry glanced back down at his beans. They were particularly bean-ish. Perhaps, Harry thought sullenly, perhaps bean-ish means meant he was going to die. The beans were certainly dead. Harry couldn't help but feel like the beans were very, very underestimated. He felt a sort of kinship with them, lying there - dead, like his parents - on his plate, smothered in tomato sauce. Not that Harry was particularly interested in lying (dead) on plates covered in tomato sauce - although he had never tried it, so he supposed he wouldn't rule it out quite yet.
The beans on his plate represented him (minus the dead, on a plate, covered in tomato sauce part), and the fork he was using to push them around represented THE ENTIRE REST OF THE WORLD because they were all inherently evil for hating him. They probably all had Voldemort and Death Eater action figures, Nagini's name tattooed across their lower backs. The otherwise empty plate signified the fact that Harry - or indeed, the beans - had nowhere to run and hide. Not even a cupboard under some stairs, because as he had just speculated, it was now being guarded by a family of Voldemort lovers.
Harry moved from his place only when he was prompted to by some form of bell ringing - Harry hadn't even been aware Hogwarts had a bell - to signify the end of lunch. Harry heaved a great sigh, the weight of the ENTIRE WIZARDING WORLD (and probably most of the Muggle one) on his shoulders. He gave his beans a sad look and bid them farewell (in his head - he wasn't crazy or anything. Not like MRS. CRAZY FROM CRAZYTOWN, CRAZYVILLE, CRAZYLAND, though she usually went by the name Bellatrix, and she was very, very crazy). Bellatrix was the worst of the fangirls, Harry thought, because she seemed to have some form of creepy attraction to the EVILLEST WIZARD IN ALL OF EVIL WIZARD HISTORY, and that was really quite disturbing when Harry thought about.
What did Voldemort have that Harry didn't? Harry had hair, and a nose, and he had his soul in one piece (as far as he knew. He probably wouldn't have noticed if it went missing anyway).
He trudged through the halls of the school, wondering if the fact it had magically gone from seven in the morning to lunch time meant he was dying. He decided to go outside, and ponder upon the lake. What use would Charms do him when it came to his finals day, and he had to fight Voldemort? Would Voldemort be defeated by some flirtatious batting of his eyelashes and maybe a wink? Was that even what you learned in Charms class? Harry didn’t know.
He stomped across the grass, reflecting on how the fact the green blades of life were suffocated and crushed under his feet resembled his life. HE was a green blade of life, and Voldemort and Slytherins and the Dursleys and Snape and Ginny and Cho and the Malfoys and Filch and MacGoogle or whatever her name was and the beans and Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday were all his foot. And they were crushing and suffocating HIS ARTISTIC ABILITY. Or something.
He waved at the giant squid as he passed by. It waved back. Or perhaps it was swearing at him in the only way a giant squid with tentacles and no fingers could. Harry wouldn’t be surprised. Nobody loved him. He was all alone in this cruel world, with only his owl Hedwig to keep him company, and she generally didn’t care unless he had some treats to give her. Nobody loved him. Thanks to Voldemort, who killed his parents, he was all alone in the horrid, horrid world.
He’d probably have to live in a cardboard box, if winking at Voldemort worked and love and or flirtation really did defeat him like Dumbledore seemed to think.
He strolled some more, and was surprised when he saw other people outside. Who were these other people? Why did they exist? Were they only here to interrupt his deep and meaningful brooding?
Among the crowd, he saw a familiar top hat. Soon, that familiar top hat wearing person saw him. Blaine waved, not in the same way he’d waved at that evil, dirty, mean Slytherin. Curls, or whatever his name was. Mmmm, curly fries. Maybe Harry wasn’t completely alone! Maybe Blaine was his only friend in this cruel world, even though he didn’t even seem to go to Hogwarts, but some school called Dalton. Wherever that was. Probably like, Wales or something.
Harry stopped by the lake, wondering whether to approach Blaine or not. Perhaps he should, for it might mean that Harry would have a friend in this cold, dark world. On the other hand, however, what if Blaine was on the Slytherins' side? After all, he had been waving and eye-something-ing one of the Voldemort fanboys, so what if Blaine was undercover? What if Blaine was simply there to give him false hope and ultimately, leave him FOREVER ALONE once more.
Then again, Harry thought - if Blaine was working undercover with the Slytherins, then he would hand Harry over to Voldemort and then maybe Harry could vaporize him again and then laugh because. Well, because...because Harry had a nose and Voldemort never would. Because he would be vaporized, and vapour didn't have a nose. At least, that's what Harry supposed. He had never really paid any attention to any sort of vapour in order to ask it if it had a nose. Harry wasn't even sure he knew what vapour looked like.
At some point during his deep and meaningful moping, Blaine had made the decision to make a beeline for him, probably seeing that Harry was so deep in the mysteries of his life that he probably wouldn't be surfacing any time soon. Blaine strutted right over someone's game of Wizarding Chess, satisfying his need to walk over any item of furniture he could find - for the moment, anyway.
“You seem very deep in thought, Mr. Potter,” Said Blaine. He was very dapper, Harry noticed. He wasn’t actually sure what dapper meant though, but it kind of reminded him of otters. Perhaps Blaine was an otter animagus. Perhaps Blaine was like the marauders, but Welsh. And he liked Slytherins, so obviously he wasn’t as cool as the marauders had been.
Except for Pettigrew. Pettigrew sucked. Like Slytherins. He had a big old man crush on Voldemort.
“I was.” Harry nodded solemnly, and stared at his comrade in arms - the grass. “I have a very difficult life, you know? Voldemort killed my parents.” He waited for a moment. Usually people convulsed or screamed or at least told him to cheer up, old chum, but Blaine said nothing. He looked up. The grass probably felt ignored now. Blaine wasn’t even looking at him! He was staring off at a group of Slytherins, who probably hadn’t come outside to enjoy the sunshine (clearly, Hogwarts used magical weather, because it was in Scotland after all) and were probably just there, as far away as possible, to torment Harry and the grass.
“WHY ARE YOU STARING AT THEM?” Harry yelled. He was angry. Blaine was so stupid! You couldn’t just look at Slytherins! If you looked at them for too long, you started yearning passionately for Voldemort or you turned into a statue, or something.
“Draco Malfoy is so beautiful,” Blaine sighed, dreamily. Harry was confused. Wasn’t Blaine in love with that other slytherin, Curly Fries? Hadn’t they been in closets together? Was that some kind of slang? Harry wasn’t very good at slang. Nobody liked him and he’d grown up in a cupboard under some stairs. Harry was also disgusted. Draco Malfoy was almost Voldemort! Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Draco Malfoy was actually Voldemort in a very good mask! A very ugly, good mask!
“HE’S EVIL!” Harry would know, after all. He did spend half of his life following Malfoy around and watching him in bathrooms. It was absolutely not homoerotic. Harry liked girls. Ginger girls. Ginger, scary, annoying girls. Who looked a lot like his mother! His mother was dead, you know? It was natural, and absolutely not at all a creepy Oedipus complex.
Blaine didn’t seem bothered by the fact Malfoy might have been Voldemort in a mask. He just kept staring and sighing dreamily.
“Just look at those legs~” Harry knew there was a tilde on the end of what Blaine said. He was very good at punctuation. Hermione disagreed, but Hermione was a bit thick so it didn’t matter.
Harry glared at Blaine. And then he turned, harrumphing, to glare at Draco Malfoy's legs. What was so special about Malfoy's legs, anyway? Malfoy was a Voldemort-loving, foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach, or something. Harry had legs. Harry's were legs of a SAVIOUR OF THE WIZARDING WORLD and Malfoy's legs were...very smooth-looking. Which was probably a sign of being inherently evil or something. Harry's legs were not that smooth looking, and Harry knew for a fact that he was one of the good guys.
They were also very pale, Harry noted. Probably because he spent all of his time in a dungeon plotting his - Harry's, obviously, because he was the most important person in the world: he had stopped Voldemort single-handedly. Mostly - death.
"I have legs.," Harry said, folding his arms and looking at Blaine crossly. Blaine didn't even bother to comment on Harry's legs, which was annoying and gave him urges to shout about how unfair the world was when his arch enemy was getting more attention from his possible only friend in the entire world, than he was. But that was okay, Harry supposed, because Harry hated attention, and getting attention would only serve to make him want to shout about how much he hated getting attention even more.
Harry gave the grass a glum look. It was hard to be him. It must have been hard to be grass, too. Harry couldn't imagine not being able to express his occasionally violent distaste at all the attention he received. Promptly, he turned his eyes away from the grass, not wanting to make it uncomfortable or frustrated that it couldn't shout at him to tell him to stop looking down at it so intently.
Blaine was still gazing at Draco Malfoy's legs, expression still dreamy.
Harry decided to try again. "I HAVE LEGS!" He shouted. Blaine lifted his eyebrows and looked at Harry, which made him want to shout some more. Before he could, however, Blaine turned to look back at the EVIL, MEAN, SLIMY Slytherins, grinning and sticking his thumbs up. Harry blinked rapidly, bamboozled by this turn of events. Perhaps Blaine was a double-agent after all.
TO BE CONTINUED. ETC.
Emily + Jay/Gryff/128 points
(Also hi modly creatures hi~ Author tag for Jay, plz?)
Authors~ ME + also lmpetuous
Summary: Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizard World, knows he's going to be FOREVER ALONE. But can Warbler Blaine, from some school probably in Wales help him out?
Characters/Pairings: Future!Harry/Draco, Kurt/Blaine
Genre: Humour/Crossover (Glee)
Beta: NOBODY
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 FOR AWESOME
Medium: Fic
Word Count: 3837
Friday. It was Friday. Harry knew this, because he could tell the days of the week. It was also seven am.
He trudged down the stairs, glaring the stupid moving things into submission with his patented I AM HARRY POTTER AND I AM VERY SAD, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT HOW MUCH MY LIFE SUCKS glares that didn’t really work on anyone except sometimes Ginny. But mostly nobody. Especially not Dragons or Slytherins or any sort of mashup of the two that anyone could think of.
“Gotta make my mind up, which seat can I taaaaaaake? It’s Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday.”
Harry looked up, startled out of his sullen thoughts and chest monster ponderings. In the middle of the great hall were a group of students, all singing some awful abomination of a song. Harry wasn’t sure it was actually a song. Perhaps it was the pained cries of some strange magical creature he didn’t know about because, just in case you didn’t know, his parents were killed by an evil massmurderer called Voldemort when he was just a baby, OH THE HUMANITY.
“What’s going on?” He asked, sitting down at the Gryffindor table next to his best friend Ronald Weasley, who was also a Gryffindor. He didn’t have to choose which seat to take, everyone made space for him because he’s Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, and nobody likes him because he speaks the truth, or something.
“Yesterday was Thursday, today is Friday!”
“The Nude Warblers!” Said Ron. He had a lot of food in his mouth, because he’s poor and has no manners. Also ginger. “Every now they throw an impromptu performance. Tends to shut the school down for a while. The Nude Warblers are like rockstars!” Harry didn’t know this, because generally, he’s really oblivious and doesn’t know anything unless it’s evil and talking about how it wants to kill him, or something. And then he doesn’t really either. Because thinking is hard and his parents were killed by an evil mass murderer when he was a baby.
Ron shoved some more pancakes into his mouth, attempting to speak even as he did so. Harry gave him the occasional nod and shrug, just to show he was listening, even though he wasn't, as preoccupied with his chest monster and dead parents as he usually was. It wasn't long before Hermione appeared, and it wasn't long after that that Ron frogmarched her away, still making an attempt at coherent English despite having his bodyweight in crumpets shoved into his mouth. Who knew what they were going off to do, Harry thought - it certainly wouldn't be gallivanting off to fight any dark wizards, as Harry was the only person important enough to do such a thing.
Because his parents had been killed by a psychopathic megalomaniac when he was just a baby.
There was a clattering of plates and a couple dozen croissants, pans au chocolat, and various other breakfast foods as a boy around Harry's age came strutting down the length of the Gryffindor table. He seemed to be the ringleader of these rockstars Harry didn't care about because his chest monster was grumbling at that current moment, and who cared about poncy rock stars when the Boy Who Lived (And Saved The Entire World) had an irate chest monster to deal with? Really.
The ringleader - for Harry was almost certain that he was wearing some form of tophat and blazer combination - dropped down after howling one last, god-awful lyric to sit beside Harry. And why wouldn't he? Harry pushed his beans moodily around his plate, feeling particularly broody. Once more, he found his thoughts floating back in the general direction of how brutally his parents had been killed. IT WAS JUST TOO TRAGIC, OKAY. Harry's almond-shaped green eyes - so much like his mother's, who had died trying to save him - prickled.
Harry was almost lost to his internal wailing, despairing monologue when Blaine swept off his tophat and settled down to breakfast as though he'd just walked in, just like the rest of the normal, functioning population of Hogwarts.
Then again, Harry had hardly paid any attention to how Blaine had arrived. The chest monster was convening with his lesser-known stomach monster and they had the brain monster quite intent on food.
He completely ignored Blaine, and his top hat and uniform that was definitely not a Hogwarts uniform, until the other boy started nudging him with his elbow. Then, he looked up from his food and his thoughts of despair and how if Voldemort came for him today this could be his last meal, and who wanted beans as their last meal but there was no treacle tart which was his favourite and everything was so far away.
As it turned out, Blaine wasn’t purposely nudging him, of course he wasn’t because everyone hated Harry because they couldn’t handle the truth about Voldemort and they tried to insist on calling him You-Know-Who even though Dumbledore, who noone could ever imply was batshit crazy, said not to. In fact, Blaine was waving at someone at the Slytherin table.
That put Harry completely off his beans, because Slytherins were ALL evil and baby Voldemorts and they probably all had Voldemort teddy bears with little stuffed giant snakes and they probably had stick on tattoos of the Dark Mark, which Harry had never had because his relatives were SO cruel, just like ALL Slytherins. But that didn’t seem to bother Blaine, who didn’t know the rules that Gryffindors and Slytherins were enemies despite them basically being the same except for the fact Slytherin have a better colour scheme.
Harry made sure his scandalized gasp was very loud, and finally Blaine paid him attention and stopped waving at the EVIL table of EVIL people who were all EVIL and called Harry names!
“Oh, hullo!” Said Blaine. He even put his top hat back on, for whatever reason. Harry didn’t really know, people were confusing because they could speak in sentences over three words long and really, he had much more important things to think about. For example, the evil murderer that killed his parents and his evil relatives and how that old coot Dumbledore thought love was going to save him. Harry couldn’t even spell love.
“What are you doing?” Harry replied. He made sure to look dejected and miserable so Blaine would understand how hard his life was. But he didn’t want any attention, attention was horrible, that’s why he spent all of his time shouting at Ronald and Hermione about how horrible his life is because people kept giving him attention. “You can’t wave at Slytherins! THEY ALL LOVE VOLDEMORT!” He made sure to shout the bit about extra loud, just in case somebody hadn’t gotten the point yet. From the teachers table, Snape glared, because he really hated Harry because he was jealous of his hair or something and he was in love with Voldemort and when baby!Harry vaporized Voldemort, he didn’t get any love letters. Or something.
Blaine looked at Harry. Harry didn't look back because that would mean paying attention, of which he loathed, to another human being. "I'm waving," Blaine said, and then turned his eyes back to the TABLE OF UNSHEATHED EVIL. Harry made a little extra effort - which he also loathed: what was the point of being the Saviour of the Wizarding World if he had to put effort into things? - to make sure Blaine heard his disgusted grunt.
"Stop it!" Harry shouted. "You're not supposed to be eyefucking the EVIL VOLDEMORT FANBOYS!" He didn't understand why Blaine didn't seem to grasp this concept. It was simple enough, Harry thought dully: Voldemort was an EVIL wizard who had been in the EVIL house, and all of his EVIL followers had been in aforementioned EVIL house, which lead to one and only one conclusion: SLYTHERIN WERE A COLLECTIVE OF EVIL FANBOYS!!
Blaine snorted, "Bitch, please," he said, "Eyefucking makes it sound so very crude, and I am hardly being crude at all. I am far too sophisticated and fabulous to be that crude. Perhaps something less crude. Eye-making-love? No, that's tacky and completely unfabulous. How about..." Dramatic pause. Harry internally mourned the absence of treacle tart. Which was his favourite, by the way. What did a Saviour of the World have to do to get his favourite meal? It could very well be his last!!!
In all of this, Harry had completely missed what Blaine's eventual decision on the redefinition of 'eyefucking' was. Not that it would be particularly relevant to Harry, for Harry was ignored by everyone and therefore would never have a partner in eyefucking, or whatever it was now called according to the ever-growing Dictionary That Blaine Just Made Up.
Harry had no regard for such a dictionary, as his schedule was filled with despair and worry, and dramatic monologue about how dead his dead parents were, killed by a mean man with no hair. Unlike Harry, whose unruly hair had been the topic of much debate. Amongst whom, Harry had no idea, for nobody paid him attention. Harry loathed attention. He loathed it almost as much as he loathed the evil meanies sitting at the EVIL MEANIE TABLE.
"Anyway," Blaine was saying - Harry hadn't even realised he was still talking, "I must be off. I have a date with Kurt and a closet." Harry blinked. There were so many words in that sentence and they didn’t really make any sense.
“Who’s Kurt?” He asked. Blaine gasped, covering his mouth with his hands and shaking his head like Harry had just told him someone had killed his puppy. Harry had never had a puppy. Voldemort would probably have killed it if he had one. Tears pricked at Harry’s green eyes (which were just like his mothers). Life was so unfair! Voldemort was evil! Slytherins were evil! Harry felt the urge to go and shout and take it out on his poor, long suffering friends, but he stayed where he was and stared despondently into his beans.
“How can you not know who Kurt is? Merlin, he’s just the Saviour of the Wizarding Fashion World!” Blaine was looking over at the Slytherin table again, and Harry sighed dejectedly. All of the girls in Hogwarts loved him because he was so good looking (just like his father, who was the most handsome man in all of Scotland and everyone was jealous of him, especially Snape), but nobody could ever look at him like that because he wasn’t deserving of love because THEY MIGHT DIE, EVERYONE HE LOVED MIGHT DIE!
Blaine was still talking.
“Kurt Elizabeth Perf'ect'ion Lightness Rainbow Pavarotti Gay Shark Hummus - I mean, Hummel, he changed his name you know, so people wouldn’t be jealous of him. Something about pelvises or something. He’s amazing and his eyes change colour and he’s like, Dumbledore and Hagrid’s third child or something, maybe he’s even your half brother, but he’s so beautiful, and I really must be off now because we have a date. In a closet.”
When Harry next looked up from his beans, and what they meant about the state of his life and whether or not he could see a Grim in them, and did that mean he was going to die? Well, that was a silly question, of course he was, Voldemort wanted to kill him because he didn’t have a nose and he really liked Harry’s nose and he just wanted a nose transplant, or something, Blaine was gone.
Harry was, once again, alone. He felt the urge to crawl into a cupboard under some stairs, like his evil relatives had made him do once, because they were evil. They probably liked Voldemort.
Harry glanced back down at his beans. They were particularly bean-ish. Perhaps, Harry thought sullenly, perhaps bean-ish means meant he was going to die. The beans were certainly dead. Harry couldn't help but feel like the beans were very, very underestimated. He felt a sort of kinship with them, lying there - dead, like his parents - on his plate, smothered in tomato sauce. Not that Harry was particularly interested in lying (dead) on plates covered in tomato sauce - although he had never tried it, so he supposed he wouldn't rule it out quite yet.
The beans on his plate represented him (minus the dead, on a plate, covered in tomato sauce part), and the fork he was using to push them around represented THE ENTIRE REST OF THE WORLD because they were all inherently evil for hating him. They probably all had Voldemort and Death Eater action figures, Nagini's name tattooed across their lower backs. The otherwise empty plate signified the fact that Harry - or indeed, the beans - had nowhere to run and hide. Not even a cupboard under some stairs, because as he had just speculated, it was now being guarded by a family of Voldemort lovers.
Harry moved from his place only when he was prompted to by some form of bell ringing - Harry hadn't even been aware Hogwarts had a bell - to signify the end of lunch. Harry heaved a great sigh, the weight of the ENTIRE WIZARDING WORLD (and probably most of the Muggle one) on his shoulders. He gave his beans a sad look and bid them farewell (in his head - he wasn't crazy or anything. Not like MRS. CRAZY FROM CRAZYTOWN, CRAZYVILLE, CRAZYLAND, though she usually went by the name Bellatrix, and she was very, very crazy). Bellatrix was the worst of the fangirls, Harry thought, because she seemed to have some form of creepy attraction to the EVILLEST WIZARD IN ALL OF EVIL WIZARD HISTORY, and that was really quite disturbing when Harry thought about.
What did Voldemort have that Harry didn't? Harry had hair, and a nose, and he had his soul in one piece (as far as he knew. He probably wouldn't have noticed if it went missing anyway).
He trudged through the halls of the school, wondering if the fact it had magically gone from seven in the morning to lunch time meant he was dying. He decided to go outside, and ponder upon the lake. What use would Charms do him when it came to his finals day, and he had to fight Voldemort? Would Voldemort be defeated by some flirtatious batting of his eyelashes and maybe a wink? Was that even what you learned in Charms class? Harry didn’t know.
He stomped across the grass, reflecting on how the fact the green blades of life were suffocated and crushed under his feet resembled his life. HE was a green blade of life, and Voldemort and Slytherins and the Dursleys and Snape and Ginny and Cho and the Malfoys and Filch and MacGoogle or whatever her name was and the beans and Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday were all his foot. And they were crushing and suffocating HIS ARTISTIC ABILITY. Or something.
He waved at the giant squid as he passed by. It waved back. Or perhaps it was swearing at him in the only way a giant squid with tentacles and no fingers could. Harry wouldn’t be surprised. Nobody loved him. He was all alone in this cruel world, with only his owl Hedwig to keep him company, and she generally didn’t care unless he had some treats to give her. Nobody loved him. Thanks to Voldemort, who killed his parents, he was all alone in the horrid, horrid world.
He’d probably have to live in a cardboard box, if winking at Voldemort worked and love and or flirtation really did defeat him like Dumbledore seemed to think.
He strolled some more, and was surprised when he saw other people outside. Who were these other people? Why did they exist? Were they only here to interrupt his deep and meaningful brooding?
Among the crowd, he saw a familiar top hat. Soon, that familiar top hat wearing person saw him. Blaine waved, not in the same way he’d waved at that evil, dirty, mean Slytherin. Curls, or whatever his name was. Mmmm, curly fries. Maybe Harry wasn’t completely alone! Maybe Blaine was his only friend in this cruel world, even though he didn’t even seem to go to Hogwarts, but some school called Dalton. Wherever that was. Probably like, Wales or something.
Harry stopped by the lake, wondering whether to approach Blaine or not. Perhaps he should, for it might mean that Harry would have a friend in this cold, dark world. On the other hand, however, what if Blaine was on the Slytherins' side? After all, he had been waving and eye-something-ing one of the Voldemort fanboys, so what if Blaine was undercover? What if Blaine was simply there to give him false hope and ultimately, leave him FOREVER ALONE once more.
Then again, Harry thought - if Blaine was working undercover with the Slytherins, then he would hand Harry over to Voldemort and then maybe Harry could vaporize him again and then laugh because. Well, because...because Harry had a nose and Voldemort never would. Because he would be vaporized, and vapour didn't have a nose. At least, that's what Harry supposed. He had never really paid any attention to any sort of vapour in order to ask it if it had a nose. Harry wasn't even sure he knew what vapour looked like.
At some point during his deep and meaningful moping, Blaine had made the decision to make a beeline for him, probably seeing that Harry was so deep in the mysteries of his life that he probably wouldn't be surfacing any time soon. Blaine strutted right over someone's game of Wizarding Chess, satisfying his need to walk over any item of furniture he could find - for the moment, anyway.
“You seem very deep in thought, Mr. Potter,” Said Blaine. He was very dapper, Harry noticed. He wasn’t actually sure what dapper meant though, but it kind of reminded him of otters. Perhaps Blaine was an otter animagus. Perhaps Blaine was like the marauders, but Welsh. And he liked Slytherins, so obviously he wasn’t as cool as the marauders had been.
Except for Pettigrew. Pettigrew sucked. Like Slytherins. He had a big old man crush on Voldemort.
“I was.” Harry nodded solemnly, and stared at his comrade in arms - the grass. “I have a very difficult life, you know? Voldemort killed my parents.” He waited for a moment. Usually people convulsed or screamed or at least told him to cheer up, old chum, but Blaine said nothing. He looked up. The grass probably felt ignored now. Blaine wasn’t even looking at him! He was staring off at a group of Slytherins, who probably hadn’t come outside to enjoy the sunshine (clearly, Hogwarts used magical weather, because it was in Scotland after all) and were probably just there, as far away as possible, to torment Harry and the grass.
“WHY ARE YOU STARING AT THEM?” Harry yelled. He was angry. Blaine was so stupid! You couldn’t just look at Slytherins! If you looked at them for too long, you started yearning passionately for Voldemort or you turned into a statue, or something.
“Draco Malfoy is so beautiful,” Blaine sighed, dreamily. Harry was confused. Wasn’t Blaine in love with that other slytherin, Curly Fries? Hadn’t they been in closets together? Was that some kind of slang? Harry wasn’t very good at slang. Nobody liked him and he’d grown up in a cupboard under some stairs. Harry was also disgusted. Draco Malfoy was almost Voldemort! Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Draco Malfoy was actually Voldemort in a very good mask! A very ugly, good mask!
“HE’S EVIL!” Harry would know, after all. He did spend half of his life following Malfoy around and watching him in bathrooms. It was absolutely not homoerotic. Harry liked girls. Ginger girls. Ginger, scary, annoying girls. Who looked a lot like his mother! His mother was dead, you know? It was natural, and absolutely not at all a creepy Oedipus complex.
Blaine didn’t seem bothered by the fact Malfoy might have been Voldemort in a mask. He just kept staring and sighing dreamily.
“Just look at those legs~” Harry knew there was a tilde on the end of what Blaine said. He was very good at punctuation. Hermione disagreed, but Hermione was a bit thick so it didn’t matter.
Harry glared at Blaine. And then he turned, harrumphing, to glare at Draco Malfoy's legs. What was so special about Malfoy's legs, anyway? Malfoy was a Voldemort-loving, foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach, or something. Harry had legs. Harry's were legs of a SAVIOUR OF THE WIZARDING WORLD and Malfoy's legs were...very smooth-looking. Which was probably a sign of being inherently evil or something. Harry's legs were not that smooth looking, and Harry knew for a fact that he was one of the good guys.
They were also very pale, Harry noted. Probably because he spent all of his time in a dungeon plotting his - Harry's, obviously, because he was the most important person in the world: he had stopped Voldemort single-handedly. Mostly - death.
"I have legs.," Harry said, folding his arms and looking at Blaine crossly. Blaine didn't even bother to comment on Harry's legs, which was annoying and gave him urges to shout about how unfair the world was when his arch enemy was getting more attention from his possible only friend in the entire world, than he was. But that was okay, Harry supposed, because Harry hated attention, and getting attention would only serve to make him want to shout about how much he hated getting attention even more.
Harry gave the grass a glum look. It was hard to be him. It must have been hard to be grass, too. Harry couldn't imagine not being able to express his occasionally violent distaste at all the attention he received. Promptly, he turned his eyes away from the grass, not wanting to make it uncomfortable or frustrated that it couldn't shout at him to tell him to stop looking down at it so intently.
Blaine was still gazing at Draco Malfoy's legs, expression still dreamy.
Harry decided to try again. "I HAVE LEGS!" He shouted. Blaine lifted his eyebrows and looked at Harry, which made him want to shout some more. Before he could, however, Blaine turned to look back at the EVIL, MEAN, SLIMY Slytherins, grinning and sticking his thumbs up. Harry blinked rapidly, bamboozled by this turn of events. Perhaps Blaine was a double-agent after all.
TO BE CONTINUED. ETC.
Emily + Jay/Gryff/128 points
(Also hi modly creatures hi~ Author tag for Jay, plz?)