In the few hours between Kurt’s late breakfast and the call with the School, Carole and Kurt had managed to work out what he needed to take with him when he boarded at Dalton.  The rest of Kurt’s expansive wardrobe would be kept under lock and key at his insistence – the important or particularly expensive pieces would be wrapped in acid-free tissue paper.  A small pile of garments had already been sectioned off in preparation for being sold to raise further funds for Dalton fees.

“Dude, you have three dresses in here.” Finn pointed out, pointing at the offending garments hanging in their opaque garment bags with a look of disgust.

“That one is Lizzie’s wedding dress, I couldn’t give it away.” Burt said, running one finger gently over it, tracing the embossed texture of the lace on the neckline through the garment bag.

“And the other two are my wedding dresses, Finn.  The one from when I married your Dad, the other from when I married Burt.” Carole said.” 

“Oh.  Why’s Kurt got them though?” the other teen asked.

“Because my wardrobe is suitable for hanging formal gowns, and there wasn’t room in Dad and Carole’s closet for them.” Kurt pointed out.

“You never know Kurt; you might get married…” Burt began, but he couldn’t finish what he was going to say before Finn jumped in.

“Hey Burt, I know Kurt’s gay, but he’s still a Dude! I don’t think he’d wear a dress when he gets married, even if it was his Mom’s or my Mom's…”

Burt chuckled, “Well, as I was trying to say, before you cut me off, Finn…  If Kurt gets married, he might have a little girl one day – he might do like Rachel’s Dads did and use a surrogate – Lizzie’s dress might be worn again.” Burt said, sounding slightly hopeful.

“Dad… I…” Kurt said, turning and clinging to his Father tightly at the comment, speechless.  It was moments like this when his Father’s acceptance of his sexuality was reinforced.  “… Don’t make me cry Dad; my eyes are puffy enough today as it is!”

“But why can’t Kurt’s little girl get married wearing my Mom’s dress?” Finn asked.

“I think you might be missing the point here, Honey.” Carole said, watching as Kurt’s shoulders started shaking in silent laughter; Burt had his head tilted to the ceiling, as if seeking strength from above.

“Come on, everyone around the kitchen table, we have a call to make to the Dean.” Burt said, herding his family out of Kurt’s room, “Bring your laptop down, Kurt, we can look at the pictures of the dorms while you’re talking.”

Dalton Academy had been re-modelled and extended multiple times over the years since it had opened.  Any new buildings were designed to look like they fitted in seamlessly with the existing architecture. 

There were four dormitory blocks for the students: Nuthatch, Waxwing, Crossbill and Grosbeak (the founder of the school had been an avid bird watcher and an amateur ornithologist).  Any dorm-ing faculty members resided in the Albatross Wing (the pun was intended by the architect).  Each dormitory block had been converted from older buildings, and therefore the rooms were a variety of shapes and sizes.

Even now, most of the buildings were named after various birds, sponsored by various Alumni, local businesses and national companies. 

The school also had a duck pond; a brood of free-range chickens providing eggs for breakfast; a particularly cheeky peacock; and a rooster that was permanently in the wrong time zone (singing its dawn chorus around two o’clock in the afternoon, rather than when the sun rose). 

The Dean, Dr. Reginald Norman, kept a Hyacinth Macaw (named Stanley), which travelled to-and-fro between the main office and his home every school day.  Stanley could be found at every assembly and meeting that the Principal attended, and was just as much a part of the school as his owner.

The man in charge of the accommodation was a former member of the US Army Quartermaster Corps, and didn’t take crap from anyone.  Timothy Yates (referred to affectionately as ‘Sarge’ by students and faculty) managed Nuthatch, Waxwing, Crossbill, Grosbeak, Albatross and the chicken coop with strict military precision.  He also controlled the ordering of all provisions required by the school, as well as keeping the rota for the three school busses. 

He was a regimented man; a vital component to the running of Dalton Academy who could easily create order out of utter Bedlam…  He was also seemingly capable of working miracles with the budget he was provided.  Originally he’d had the job title of ‘groundskeeper’, but it was quickly changed to ‘quartermaster’ to reflect his expertise, and because he pointed out that he wasn’t living in an episode of The Simpsons.

Yates didn’t like to play favourites, but he did have something of a soft spot for the boys whose Mommies and Daddies didn’t have more money than sense. 

Yates had briefly spoken to Burt Hummel as he and Carole were leaving the school after enrolling Kurt; Carole had been close to tears, and Burt wasn’t doing much better.  He had offered them a cup of coffee and a sympathetic ear in his office before they drove back to Lima (the Dean didn’t think either were calm enough to drive as they left the main office, and the Quartermaster trusted his judgement).

“Your kid will be safe here… his lunch won’t be if he eats outside and that blasted peacock is close by, but no person will harm him physically or verbally.  But the damned bird will peck fingers if there’s a sandwich involved.” Yates paused as Carole and Burt chuckled.

“The school has strict penalties for bullies – I help run detention – three hours of copying out the dictionary by hand for eight weeks on a Saturday soon makes the kids think twice about picking on somebody.  And the administration slap their parents with a few thousand dollars in fines too.  A second offence means they’re shown the door, no appeals.”

“Detentions on a Saturday?” Burt asked, his eyes wide.

“Put it this way, most kids at Dalton will only ever get one detention; they don’t like turning up at oh-eight-hundred on Saturdays to copy out the dictionary – standard detentions are only one three-hour stretch.” Yates said with a grin. “I honestly spend most Saturdays going over the invoices without the company of a single student…”

“Wow.” Carole muttered, impressed.

“I think you both look better now; you’re safe to drive home.  I’ll give you my card, if your Kid needs anything, let me know.”

Good afternoon, Mr. Hummel, how are you today?” Yates asked, his voice on speakerphone.  Both Kurt and Burt answered.

“Ah, do I hear a kitchen-table conference?” the Quartermaster replied with a chuckle, breaking the ice nicely.

“Yeah, you’ve got all four of us here.” Carole said, “You met Burt and myself, I’m guessing you’ve met Kurt too.  The other person here is my son Finn.”

“Hi.” Finn said, waving at the phone.

“Do you both come to Dalton?” Yates asked.

“No, Just Kurt.” Finn replied, not going into details.

“Okay, let’s get down to business… it being part-way through the year; we don’t really have many options for you Kurt.  All the most popular room types have been taken.  If you’re looking on the website, we’ve only got the en-suites or doubles left – all of the singles without their own bathrooms have gone.”

“Who’d pay that much just to have their own toilet and shower?” Finn exclaimed, his eyes wide at the price list.

“The en-suites are particularly popular with the less able-bodied students.   All of the en-suites are on the ground floor of each of the four dormitory buildings.” 

Burt whistled, seeing the weekly price of Kurt having his own bathroom on the website, shaking his head at his son.

“Oh, could I have one-half of a double?” Kurt asked.

“The price of the room is the price of the room – regardless of whether there is one person or two people.  Usually those rooms are taken by siblings or really close friends… as the only mid-year transfer, there isn’t anyone who’d likely want to change and be your room mate…” Yates trailed off.

“Kurt, kiddo… we can’t cover this, even with the funds Mom left you, there isn’t the money to pay these prices.” Burt said gently, watching as Kurt’s entire posture slumped.

“Are there really only double and en-suites left?  Is there nothing else?” Kurt asked, desperate.

“There is one room left… I can’t actually remember the last time somebody wanted to stay in it.  I’ve been meaning to take it off the room list and turn it into storage actually.” Yates said, his voice trailing off.  “It isn’t even on the website, but if you check your email, Kurt, you can have a look at the PDF I’ve just sent.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Burt asked, suspicious.

“This room has been given many names.  I call it WG13 – Waxwing ground floor room thirteen.  Others call it the unlucky room because of the number; some call it the triangle; others call it The Harry Potter.” The Dean chuckled at what was apparently an inside joke.

“Can you explain?” Carole asked before Burt could.

“WG13 is somewhere between the size of a large storage closet and the smallest single room.  I don’t tend to even put it as an option for boarders – nobody ever wants it.”

“What’s really wrong with it?” Burt asked again, watching as Kurt opened the email from the Dean.

“In a nutshell, Mr. Hummel, it is under the stairs so it comes to a point at one end because the ceiling slopes – hence some calling it the triangle…”

“… What’s it got to do with Harry Potter?” Carole asked, confused.

“Harry Potter lived under the stairs before he knew he was a wizard!” Finn chipped in.

“Oh, that makes a bit more sense now.” Burt commented.

“Well, it’s just about wide enough to leave a foot of space between a single bed and the wall, and it isn’t big enough to put a desk in.  There’s only one electric socket in there, and it’s not remotely in a sensible spot for plugging anything into.  There is one shelf for books, and that’s the only storage.  It also doesn’t have a window, so there is no natural light.  It is literally a room with a bed.” Yates continued.

“So that means it’s a bedroom?” Finn said.

“I could work with that… If I could put a rail at the end that slopes down to a point, it would make somewhere to hang my clothes.  I could substitute one of those SAD lights for a window.  And Dalton has lots of desks free where I could do homework on an evening or weekend.” Kurt said, trailing off as he considered this as an option.

“Kurt, you have larger shoeboxes in your closet.” Burt commented, looking at the floor plan on the laptop screen.

“They have lights for unhappy people?” Finn asked, confused.

“It’s a form of depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder.  It’s what you might call the ‘Winter Blues’.  People have special lights to help them.” Carole supplied.

“It’s also well within the budget.” Kurt pointed out.

“If it’s what you want…” Burt trailed off, looking towards his son.

“Want? Not really – but it’s the only option and I’ll have to compromise.  If I can add a clothes rail and put the SAD light on the wall.  I can always run an extension cable across the floor for my laptop, phone and things that plug in… I think it will work.”

“If you want to come to Dalton this evening, you can have a look around before making a decision.  You can see about measuring up for a clothes rail and things like that – but any alterations must be set to rights at your own cost before you leave in the Summer.” Yates said.

“I think having a look is a good idea.  We’ll set off now; we’ll be there in about an hour and a half, if the traffic is good.” Burt replied.

“That’s a long trek, no wonder you want to board, I’ll be in my office when you get here.”

“Thanks for your time, Sarge.” Kurt said politely.

“You’re welcome.  As the Quartermaster, it’s part of my job.  Drive safely, buzz at the gate when you arrive.”