Pride
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Pride: Chapter One


M - Words: 2,482 - Last Updated: Mar 23, 2012
Story: Closed - Chapters: 2/? - Created: Mar 20, 2012 - Updated: Mar 23, 2012
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Author's Notes: Warnings mentions of violence and homophobia in this chapter, folks.

 

Kurt takes in a long, slow breath, inhaling the crisp morning air deep into his lungs, and smiles. It’s September 1st. First day back. Thank god.

He’d said goodbye to his family yesterday before he boarded the plane, and now he’s in London, making his way to Platform 9 ¾ as fast as he possibly can, practically tripping over his feet in his haste to get there. He’s trailing three suitcases behind him, cursing the fact that he can’t use magic to make them lighter until he’s on the platform, and by then there’s no point.

He enters King’s Cross with a broad smile on his face, remembering the first time he came. He’d been taken there by one of the teachers, a Professor Beiste who turned out to be his house head once he was finally sorted into Gryffindor. He was terrified, and thrilled. He kept stumbling and stammering and when she’d told him to take a run at the wall he’d almost started to cry. But he didn’t. He took a look at the wall and thought what the hell do I have to lose?, ran straight at it and never looked back.

Unfortunately he wasn’t really looking forward either, seeing as he’d screwed his eyes shut. So when he came thundering through the partition he’d run straight into a precocious little girl in a pink unicorn sweater, who had been nattering on loudly to her fathers about how wonderful school was going to be.

She toppled over and from a little heap on the ground had called him a wart with no brains.

They’d been best friends ever since.

 

***

 

He spots Rachel before she spots him and he grins broadly. Kurt hurries up, and walks up behind her. He can’t wait to see her. They have so much to catch up on, so much to talk about, so much to- wait. Oh no.

“Rachel, what in god’s name are you wearing?”

Rachel spins around and frowns a little in surprise. Not because she can’t believe that after an entire summer of not seeing each other that’s the first thing Kurt says to her, no, she can believe that. She just doesn’t see what’s wrong with what she’s wearing. She looks down at herself. Plaid pants suit, flared at the bottom and with leather collars on the jacket. She thinks she looks good. Didn’t Kurt say that leather was back in? And plaid too? She has neatly combined those two trends in one neat little pants suit, and she still manages to look like she means business. She’s dressed like the ideal modern woman, she thinks: fashionable, but serious.

“You look like the butch lesbian clown from my nightmares.” Kurt intones in horror, his eyes wide with repulsion. “It’s terrifying.”

“Its modern power-woman chic,” Rachel informs him matter-of-factly. “I’m channelling my inner-Oprah.”

“Well, your inner-Oprah needs a makeover,” Kurt informs her, pulling out his wand and flicking it once or twice over his friends outfit.

The pants suit begins to unravel of it’s own accord, stitching itself back into a simple shift dress, the leather from the collar of Rachel’s blazer becoming a neat little leather jacket. Kurt lets out a satisfied little sigh and steps back to admire his handiwork.

“Much better,” he smiles smugly, slipping his wand back into his pocket.

Rachel glances down at her new outfit and nods begrudgingly. It’s not power-woman chic, but she does look pretty fabulous. She holds out her arm for Kurt to take and flicks her own wand at their suitcases, enchanting them to fly off to the luggage carriage.

“How was your summer, Kurt?”

“Boring,” he replies, with only a hint of acid. “And yours?”

“Oh you know, same old, same old,” she says airily as they walk towards the train. “It was rather uneventful, really,” she sounds a little disappointed. “Excluding, of course, my tumultuous, heartbreakingly tragic split from Jesse.”

 Kurt rolls his eyes fondly.

“Need I remind you that you broke up with him?” Kurt asks, faintly amused.

He had received a long winded owl detailing all of the pros and cons of her and Jesse’s relationship over the summer. It was in three volumes, and had taken two very large owls to carry it.

“It was a heartbreaking decision to do so, Kurt.” Rachel insists. “I love Jesse, but I don’t need a man in my life right now. And besides, he’s not emotionally on par with me. We’re not compatible.”

Kurt considers telling her that nobody seems to be emotionally compatible with Rachel, but decides against it, choosing to raise a wry eyebrow instead.

“You’re so melodramatic, Rachel,” he shakes his head.

Rachel drops his arm and turns to him with an indignant look.

“I’ve missed you,” Kurt concedes before she can open her mouth.

Rachel smiles broadly and pulls him into hug.

“I missed you too, Kurt,” she says. “You have to come away with me next summer,” she says excitedly as they resume their walk towards the train. “Two months really is too long to spend apart. Speaking of spending time apart, what are you doing for the holidays? I mean, I know it’s early but my dads and I were thinking that seeing as your dad and Carole are going on their honeymoon then, that maybe-“

She’s cut off as someone barges into them from behind, shoving them apart and knocking Rachel to the ground. She hits the floor with a shriek of surprise.

“Hey!” Kurt shouts angrily. “Watch where you’re going, truckle-brains!”

The guy simply looks back over his shoulder, hazel eyes flashing mischievously, and lets out a derisive little snort, then turns back around and keeps walking.

Kurt whips his wand out and snarls, thinking of which curse would be best to teach the guy a lesson, wondering if he can fix the babbling hex to force him to apologise over and over again. He raises his wand.

A firm hand is placed on his shoulder before he can get the words out.

“No hexes on the platform, Kurt,” Professor Beiste says gruffly. “I don’t want to have to dock points before we’ve even boarded the train, especially not from my own house.”

“Yes, professor,” Kurt mutters, tucking his wand back in his pocket. He’s still glaring after the boy as he boards the train, scruffy duffle bag slung over his broad shoulder.

 

***

 

“Kurt, your devil cat is giving me the evil eye again.” Puck says, looking slightly freaked out as she mewls loudly at him.

“She is not a devil-cat! That’s just the way her face is,” Kurt says defensively, picking up Galliano and making kissy faces at her. “Isn’t it, baby?”

They’re tucked into a compartment on the carriage with the glass door open just a fraction, getting caught up. Mike and Tina are sitting facing each other at the window, their knees knocking a little too often to be coincidental, but at least they’re trying to keep the PDA to a minimum.

“No she seriously hates me, dude,” Puck assures him. “I think it’s because I’m Jewish.

“You’re being ridiculous, Puck,” Kurt says, scratching Galliano behind the ears absent-mindedly.

“You know, Kurt, Puck might be on to something,” Rachel says pointedly. “Galliano hates me too.”

“That’s because cats have excellent eyesight,” Kurt informs her. “So even her admittedly rather large cat brain can process your hideous outfit choices.”

“Animals love me,” Rachel retorts.

“Wrong.”

“Norbert Leo Batz loves me.”

“That’s only because bats are blind.”

The compartment doors slides open as Rachel scowls, and a large, irritating bushy-haired head pokes in.

“Hey, Rachel,” a nasally, mucus laden voice says. He leers at her through glasses that are too small for his face.

“Jacob, leave Rachel alone or I’ll hex you into the middle of next week.” Kurt says scathingly, flicking his wand out.

“So quick with the curses today, Hummel,” Jacob sneers, but he flinches back.

“I haven’t been able to use magic all summer,” Kurt replies darkly. “I would gladly use you catch up on practise.”

“Alright, alright,” Jacob retreats out of the cabin slightly. “No need for threats. I just came to tell you the news.”

“What news?” Rachel asks tersely.

“There’s a new boy in Hogwarts. Rumour has it he’s even more badass than you, Puck,” Jacob tells them, grinning. “I’d watch your back if I were you.”

“Please,” Puck scoffs. “No one is more badass than me. I’m number wah.”

“Not according to the student body,” Jacob smiles like this information somehow makes him superior to them. “You’re old news Puckerman.”

“Seriously, Jacob,” Kurt says, his eyes flashing. “Get out or I’ll invert your kneecaps.”

“How do you even know the spell for that?” Mike asks.

“Guess the rumours are true, if Noah Puckerman has to get Kurt Hummel to fight his battles for him,” he laughs gratingly.

“Get out!” Puck yells, flicking his wand up to slam the doors shut, Jacob pulling his head out just in time.

“Punk ass kid,” Puck mutters. “There’s no one more badass than me.”

“Have any of you guys seen him?” Tina asks.

Everyone shakes their heads.

“He was on the platform earlier,” she continues. “Dark curly hair, leather jacket, looks vaguely Eurasian?”

They collectively furrow their brows in confusion.

“Hazel eyes to dies for?” Tina gushes.

Mike nudges her knee pointedly.

“Don’t worry, Mike,” Tina smiles at him, lacing their fingers together. “Bad boy is so not my type.”

“Well, what is your type?” Mike shoots back coyly.

“You,” Tina answers, then pulls him in for a kiss.

“Awwwwww!” Rachel coos.

“You two are disgusting.” Kurt says.

 

***

 

Blaine sighs in contempt, a lazy eyebrow cocked slightly as he makes his way down the train. People look up at him as he passes their cabins, eyeing him up curiously before sensing the waves of hostility rolling off him. He scoffs. One crummy little eyebrow piercing and suddenly people think you’re nothing but bad news. Not that it matters. He’s not looking to impress anyone. There won’t be anyone to impress. HHThis school will be no different from Durmstrang. The same piece-of-shit wizards exist everywhere.

But he has to sit down somewhere, and all the cabins are full, all except for the last one, right down the end of the last carriage. Inside, a girl sits alone, staring out the window as the countryside whizzes past. She looks anti-social enough that she won’t try to talk to him, if her nose ring and pink hair are anything to go by. He’d rather take this journey in silence. No offence to the girl, of course, he’s just not interested in small talk. It’s pointless and demeaning. And if she attempts to talk to him he’ll have to ignore her, and while he’s not looking to make any friends this year, he’s not looking to make enemies either. He just wants to get through the next two years in peace.

He pushes the door back slowly, adjusting the duffle bag on his shoulder.

“This seat taken?” He asks in a bored monotone.

The girl with the pink hair looks at him, her cold eyes clearly evaluating his dishevelled appearance. Blaine stands his ground.

“No,” she says, somewhat reluctantly, when she’s assessed him fully. “It’s all yours.”

She looks familiar, beneath the all the heavy make-up. There’s something in those eyes that Blaine vaguely remembers seeing before. Of course, they’re older now, and they’ve changed quite a bit, but still…

“Quinn?” He asks in disbelief. “Quinn Fabray?”

She looks up again, startled.

“Blaine?” She questions slowly.

Blaine laughs and chucks his bag up on the shelf above his head. He sits down opposite her.

“Well well well,” he chuckles. “You look different, Quinny-bear.”

“Don’t start,” Quinn scowls. “We’re not five, Blainey-boo.”

He cocks his head, looking at her with interest. Wasn’t this an unusual turn of events? He could use an ally, and Quinn had known him since he was a child. They’d practically grown up together. Before they were both carted off to boarding school, of course.

“I heard your family kicked you out,” Blaine says conversationally, kicking his boots up on to the seat and laying back.

“I heard you got expelled from Durmstrang,” Quinn counters.

Blaine doesn’t deny it, just looks down at his boots. There’s a strange sort of smile tugging at his lips, kind of sad, angry and defiant all mixed into one.

“For disembowelling a sixth year,” she continues, trying to prompt an explanation from him.

“He was implying some things about me that I didn’t quite appreciate.” Blaine answers, turning his gaze back to Quinn.

“Oh yeah?” She raises an eyebrow wryly.

“Yeah,” Blaine says, dropping his smile, his expression darkening.

“And what exactly did he say, to deserve such treatment?” Quinn says it like a challenge, like she doesn’t quite believe him, like she thinks that Blaine just lost his temper and sent some guy’s guts spilling out across the common room.

He used to do that a lot. Not spill people’s guts - lose his temper. People would push and push at his buttons until he finally flipped. It was some kind of cruel game to them; see how far you can go before Anderson retaliates. But over time he learnt to control his temper, keep most of it inside, with only a couple of aggressive words leaking through his filter every now and then. So he can’t really blame the reason for his expulsion on losing his temper. No, Blaine is more than a little ashamed to say that it was much more calculated than that.

“He called me a filthy, cock-sucking faggot who was defiling the noble, pureblood name of the house of Anderson. He told me that I should be ashamed of myself,” Blaine spits. “So I decorated the dorms with his intestines.”

There’s a moment of silence as Quinn absorbs this information. Blaine half thinks she might get up and leave the cabin, or tell the professors to expel him before he’s even reached the castle. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did. He thinks he might even be a little relieved.

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” She says, appearing completely unfazed, almost unimpressed by the whole story

“It had the desired effect,” Blaine says scornfully.

“What? Expulsion?” Quinn asks dryly.

Blaine shoots her a withering glance.

“Let’s just say that no one has harassed me about my sexuality since.”

“So it’s true then.”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” she says firmly. “My parents kicked me out for the same reason.”

Blaine leans back in his seat.

“Fucking pureblood families,” he says, shaking his head.

“Fucking pureblood families,” Quinn echoes.


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