Blaine Anderson hated Quidditch practice.

It was a stark night in November with thick clouds leaking incessantly from the blackened sky and the hands ticking closer and closer to the twelve chimes of midnight, and he was stomping heavily up the steps into the Entrance Hall, dripping a trail of mud and rain water staining the floor behind him.

Of course, 90% of the time Quidditch was one of his favourite things in the whole entire world, beaten only by his best friend Brittany and his love of music.But at this moment, twelve minutes to midnight on a sullen winter night with aching shoulders and tired eyes and less than six hours sleep the night before, Blaine was cursing everything from the pitch right down to his beloved broomstick currently clutched in his left hand.

Although maybe not so much clutched, more so that Blaine’s swollen fingers had seized up around the wood and he was currently incapable of releasing his grip even slightly.
He understood Hudson’s motives for driving the team so hard, he really did. They had just entered their sixth year at Hogwarts and so far Blaine had seen every single one of Hufflepuff’s attempts to win the House Cup dismally flouted by the Slytherin team.It was a long standing war. Every time they upped their game, Slytherin just managed to get theirs just that little bit further.

Blaine had been recruited to the team as a Chaser in his second year, the same season the Slytherin’s had discovered the unnerving talent of Seeker Kurt Hummel, and it had been downhill for all other houses since. Hummel was fast and agile, with an uncanny knack of lying low; luring the players into a false sense of security, before pouncing, catching the Snitch and single-handedly carrying Slytherin to the top of the scoreboards after every game.He had, as the Slytherin Team Captain Rachel Berry often told anyone who would listen, “A startling perseverance and dedication for the game at hand, matched often by no one but herself.”

Kurt Hummel was also very pretty, but Blaine tried not to think about that.

The Hufflepuff team’s spirits were raised slightly as the first game of the season approached however. A minor incident over the summer, wherein Brittany stole – “Took, Blainey. I only took it!” – Blaine’s broomstick to try and “find out what clouds felt like,” resulted in the discovery that Brittany was more than competent on a broom. This, coupled with her vaguely disturbing and Magpie-like tendency to gravitate towards shiny things resulted in Finn drafting her as the new Hufflepuff Seeker on the spot.

Keeping her abilities a secret was easy.
Finn’s decision to practice harder and later every night ever since her recruit, was not.

Blaine didn’t blame Brittany and her inability to remember the rules, the parameters of the pitch, the right end of a broomstick, or even her team mate’s names. He really didn’t.
Brittany was his closest friend, and one of the most kind-hearted and compassionate people he had ever met.
He just wished there was a way to prevent her, admittedly, less than average IQ, from hindering her flying capabilities rather than resulting in accidentally thwarting them on the pitch.

So right now, as he trudged heavily up a staircase, frozen to the bone and dripping wet, Blaine didn’t hate Finn or Brittany or even the Slytherin Team. He didn’t hate flying or watching Quidditch or even the dismal weather.

He just hated practice.

***

Blaine crossed the Third Floor quietly, praying hard to every Wizard he could think of that he wouldn’t run into Filch, or Peeves, or anyone of consequence, anything that might delay the sweet reunion of his head with his pillow.Blaine was not an angry nor vindictive person by nature. He preferred a civilised discussion over a duel any day, and would rather slip quietly past a confrontation than ever start one, but tonight he was tired and hungry and his usually carefully restrained temper was raising ever so steadily.

Which is why he groaned internally when he saw the flickering of a wand in the darkness up ahead, reflecting off green and black robes.

Blaine was generally rather amicable with the Slytherins, much like he was with everyone. They ignored each other politely by default, and if forced to interact it could sometimes be almost pleasant.

He hated to admit it, but the grudging acceptance was probably bought on by reluctant acknowledgement of his pure-blood status, his wizard ancestry which dated back further than half of Slytherin house.Maybe if he kept his head down and walked quickly past, whatever Prefect was on patrol would ignore him and continue. Maybe he would be warm and asleep in bed in a matter of minutes. Maybe.

He glanced upwards at the advancing figure and his heart gave a funny jolt in his chest.

Only one Slytherin Prefect walked quite like that.

The Wizard Gods clearly weren’t listening to his prayers when they decided to send Kurt Hummel patrolling tonight.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Anderson. Been bidding farewell to your beloved Quidditch Pitch? After all, we’re going to slaughter you next week and there’s no way Hudson will be allowed to keep on such a failing team.”

Blaine pushed his hands through his damp and tangled fringe, trying not to think about just how awful he must look.

“Of course that’s no excuse for being out of bed and in the corridors past midnight.”
“Quidditch practice –”
“The Quidditch curfew is eleven. You know that. I hardly doubt even the sentimental value will allow that excuse to stretch for another hour.”

He smiled, like a well-bred housecat cornering a mouse. Blaine’s temper flared, a throbbing appearing between his aching eyes.

“Look Hummel, I’d really just like to go to bed. So if you can just –”
He made to move past, but Kurt raised his hand slightly, arching an eyebrow.
“I don’t think so. I mean, I’m barely considering reporting you for being out of bed so late, imagine what I’ll say if you brush me off so rudely.”

He leant back against a portrait of three sleeping women in white dresses, looking immensely pleased with himself.Blaine bit his tongue.

“Fine. What do you want?”
Hummel shrugged, “Oh nothing really. I’m tired so I was just going to go with a few more insults about your abysmal team, your lack of technique, style and all round abilities. Also your Captain is built like a rejected Frankenstein’s monster, your Beaters might have a better chance of hitting things if they were blind, and last I heard your resident Seeker was still in the Hospital Wing with six broken bones and two missing limbs.”
“Yes and I heard that was you.”
“I may or may not have had knowledge of the original idea. But you have no proof I was in any way involved. And regardless, why would I try and sabotage your Quidditch team? You don’t need any help failing hopelessly.”

Blaine snapped.
His broomstick was on the floor, his wand out before he could blink, but it was raised barely halfway when he felt something prod hard at his neck.

Hummel was a lot closer than he had been, their noses almost brushing.
“Did you honestly just try and pull your wand on a guy who already has his pointed at you? That’s a little embarrassing, isn’t it Anderson?”
His breath was tickling Blaine’s cheek, his eyes glinting in the faint light of his wand.

Blaine was breathing hard, his fist clenched around his wand. He gritted his teeth as his heart pounded hard.Something flickered in Hummel’s eyes, and that was all Blaine needed. He seized the front of his shirt, spinning them and pinning Hummel against the wall behind him, his wand-hand jumping to press the tip against Hummel’s throat.

Hummel smirked and Blaine hated him for it.
“So the little Hufflepuff knows how to fight, does he?”
Blaine said nothing. There was blood rushing in his ears and he became distinctly aware of his right hand pressed against Hummel’s shoulder, pinning him to the stone wall. His arm was warm against Blaine’s frozen hand.

“I’d never have thought it,” he continued, disregarding the wand against his neck, “You. So prim and proper. Such a do-gooder. Who would have pictured the Blaine Anderson like this.” His voice dropped an octave to a throaty whisper, “So untamed and dishevelled. So wild.”

Blaine said nothing. He didn’t know if he could if he tried.

He couldn’t look away from Hummel’s eyes, how had he never noticed them before? So bright and so green, as though they could see right into the heart of him.
Hummel blinked and the curve of his lashes dropped briefly to brush his cheek, and Blaine followed the arc downwards to trail his gaze over the creamy pale of his skin, the arched bow of his lips, god his lips.

He swallowed and his wand grip slackened slightly.

“Nox.”

The word was barely whispered and they were plunged into pitch darkness before Blaine could even register, but then he was grabbed and spun, tripping over his own feet and pressed hard against the wall, a complete reversal of their previous positions.

Except there was no wand on his throat this time, and then there were lips. Lips against his, hard and insistent and pressing him into the wall.
Blaine heard his wand fall with a clatter to the floor but why did he need it when his hands had better things to do? Like the left hand winding its way around Hummel’s waist, pulling him closer, closer until it felt like every inch of them was pressed together.

Like his right hand on that warm neck, cupping Hummel’s jaw oh so gently, twisting his head slightly so Blaine could kiss him back harder.

His tongue ran across Blaine’s lips, pressing between them to swirl around his mouth, licking under his teeth as a hand tugged hard through his damp curls, so hard he gasped into Hummel’s mouth and felt him smile in response.
Blaine’s cold fingers pressed up under his white shirt, seeking the warm skin underneath and grinning when he felt Hummel shiver and melt into him, as Blaine’s hand danced across the base of his spine.

He was dizzy and his head was spinning, but who needed to breathe when they had lips like these moving insistently across theirs, when they were being kissed like this?He heard low, needy groan escape his own throat as he tugged Hummel’s body closer to his, hipbones knocking and suddenly their bodies were flush together and, god, a slim thigh had pressed itself between his legs, pushing upwards against the hardness under his robes.

Blaine let out a faint whine as the leg rubbed between his, straining to release the coil of pressure building in his abdomen, as Hummel’s lips trailed wetly over his jaw and down to his throat. He bit and sucked and licked a tingling path to Blaine’s collarbone, one hand still fisted in the curls at the base of his neck. The other ran gently over Blaine’s hip, fingernails scraping gently over his stomach and Blaine’s head rolled backwards until it collided with the stone wall.

“Kurt.”It was little more than a whisper, barely more than a moan but Hummel froze. Just for a second he was as still as stone, bodies pressed together.

Then he was gone and Blaine heard an undignified scramble in the dark, feet tripping and fingers fumbling over broomsticks for dropped wands and then footsteps running, running fast and hard down the corridor, the flight of stairs and echoing all the way to the dungeons.

Blaine let himself fall back against the wall, his blood thrumming in his veins and allowed himself to wonder what the hell had just happened.

***

By breakfast Blaine convinced himself he was fine.

He’d tossed and turned all night of course, not even the lack of sleep and overworked exhaustion allowing him a moments peace from the incessant thoughts that chased each other around his head. Thoughts that ranged from angry to downright filthy and left him gasping for breath and stuck to his sheets with sweat.

But he was fine this morning, of course. Even as he gelled down his hair, artfully ignoring the bags under his eyes, pretending he didn’t know what it felt like to have his hair pulled, he didn’t know the origin of the dark purple mark blooming against his throat.
He was lucky it was November and he could get away with wearing a scarf.

He definitely wasn’t too busy scanning the Slytherin table for a familiar figure to notice Brittany bouncing into the seat next to him, until she flung her arms around his head and kissed him hard on the temple.

“Morning Blainey-Bear,” she said, spooning honey into her mouth directly from the jar.
“Morning Brittany-Boo,” he turned back to his toast, poking it with his wand.

A figure slumped heavily into the seat in front of them, and a dark spikey head buried itself in two robed arms.
“Morning Finn.”
There was a grunt, and a hand emerged, groping feebly at the table until it grasped the closest food – which happened to be Blaine’s toast, but he wasn’t hungry anyway – and drawing it back into the dark folds of the cloak.
Gradually Finn emerged, chewing a crust and dropping crumbs all over himself and the surrounding table. He looked as tired as Blaine felt, and so far it seemed that the only one not feeling the after-effects of the gruelling training sessions was Brittany herself.Blaine wondered if that was what irony looked like, but then decided he was too tired to care.

“So. Ravenclaw,” Finn managed, once he’d worked his way through Blaine’s second slice of toast.
“Huh?”

Kurt Hummel had just entered the Hall, arm in arm with that stunning Latina girl he was always with. He looked impeccable, as always, and crossed the room to settle at the Slytherin table without so much as a glance in Blaine’s direction.

“Ravenclaw. The match tomorrow dude. The one where we get on brooms and throw balls and stuff.”
“Ravenclaw are the blue ones,” Brittany chimed in, sucking on her spoonful of honey.
“Yeah, Britt. Thanks. But I thought we were playing Slytherin?”
“No man. They changed the order last minute. We play Ravenclaw tomorrow, Slytherin next week and if we beat them both we do Gryffindor in December. Kurt told me.”
“Oh I –” Kurt. Kurt Hummel, Finn Hudson’s stepbrother Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel the excellent kisser.

“When did you talk to Kurt?” It came out sharper than he’d intended, and Blaine dropped his eyes to his empty plate, toying with his wand.
“Uh, this morning. Like ten minutes ago. Why?”“No reason. Look Britt, we’ve got to go to class. See you later, Finn.”
“No practice later dude. Everyone needs some sleep.”
Blaine allowed himself to smile, his shoulders relaxing slightly, “Thank you Finn.”

He grasped Brittany by the shoulders and tugged her from the floor, thinking hard about her sticky fingers wrapping themselves between his as they passed the Slytherin table.

***

Blaine was in the library after lunch, under the pretence of helping Britt with her project on unicorns, but truthfully he just didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts.
But she had long disappeared between the rows of books, muttering about mythical horses and something called a Pegasus, and Blaine was alone at a table, twirling a quill between ink-stained fingers.

He definitely didn’t sit up slightly straighter when a group of Slytherins walked in, didn’t twist his head to catch a hint of their conversation when he saw a familiar brunette.
They had settled a few feet behind his alcove at the rain-spotted window, talking as loud as they could in something that was still construed as a whisper, and every so often he would hear the chiming tones of the one, Kurt Hummel.Something tightened in his chest every time he picked his voice out amidst the others.

Blaine wondered what he would do, if he realised Blaine was there. Probably nothing, he realised bitterly. Probably ignore him like he had been all day, avoid eye contact, stay as far away from him as he could, probably –
“Blaaiiinne!”
He winced as Brittany’s voice carried through the rows of books to his seat, but jumped to his feet away.
She wove her way through the books towards him, cradling her hand.
“Oh, what is it sweetie?”
“The book bit me Blainey.”
He took her hand gently, cradling the finger dripping blood from the slice across the pad and whispered a charm to clean it, before pressing his lips to the cut.
“All better,” he murmured, and she smiled until there was a loud scoff behind them.

Blaine turned to face a scowling Kurt Hummel, flanked by the beautiful Santana Lopez who seemed to have mastered the art of looking perfectly bored while still threatening.

He sighed. This was not how he’d wanted their interaction to go. For one thing there were two too many girls.
“What do you want, Hummel?”
He raised an eyebrow, his frown deepening.
“Nothing. Just admiring the blatant groupie display. I suppose she slept with all of you to secure a spot on the team?”

Blaine’s blood boiled. He felt his face flush with rage.Brittany leaned in close behind him and whispered, “Blaine what does he mean? He knows you’re part dolphin, right?”

Blaine swallowed hard, torn between laughing hysterically and punching Kurt hard in his perfect, angry face.
He settled for an angry gesture of the head, before turning and stalking away through the shelves, to the far and dusty abandoned corner of the library.

A few moments later Kurt joined him, and Blaine had his wand out and Kurt trapped in the corner before he could speak.

“Look I don’t care about anything you have to say right now Hummel. Just don’t ever bring Britt into whatever feud you feel the need to cook up between us. She has nothing to do with you.”

To his surprise, the anger in Kurt’s eyes faded somewhat, and he crumpled against the wall looking defeated. Up close he looked like a wreck, with deep bags under his eyes, his skin paler than normal.
“I know.”

His voice was quiet.

“I just. I don’t know why I said that. It was…I didn’t expect to see you there. And then you were, and you were with her and, gods I’ve always been jealous of your friendship with her. And you were kissing her finger and I just wanted to hit you, and honestly what can I say? I’m a bitch, you know that.”

Blaine lowered his wand slightly.
“You’re not a bitch, Kurt,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

Kurt smiled wanly, “I’m in Slytherin remember, Anderson? I’m a bad guy.”

Blaine snorted, dropping his wand completely and pressing a finger under Kurt’s chin to raise his head and meet his eyes.
“What is this Kurt, the Dark Ages? There’s no almighty Dark Leader anymore, no war. No good or bad guys.”
Kurt shook his head, “Still –”
“Hey. Look at me. Just because all the bad guys came from Slytherin, that doesn’t mean all the Slytherins are bad guys. Okay?”
Kurt looked at him, his green eyes glowing brightly, and said nothing.

They were quiet for a long time.
“Finn talks about you a lot,” Kurt said, shifting to the side to settle against an old table by the wall. “He always has – ever since the beginning of Hogwarts, since first year when you helped him out in Transfiguration when he kept losing his beetle. It was all ‘Blaine this’ and ‘Blaine that’ and ‘That guy Blaine is so cool man, blah blah blah’. And then you joined the team and everyone knew who you were, and suddenly I was hearing your name everywhere.
“I don’t know. It was like no one had anything bad to say about you, you were the absolute golden boy of the school. You were kind and smart and hardworking and brilliant at Quidditch and I didn’t even know who the hell you were.“And then I saw you and Merlin, we were only twelve, but you were just there, and you were funny and beautiful and I hated you for it. It was like you were everything I wanted to be but couldn’t because what the hell am I apart from a gay Slytherin? And I tried so hard to –”

He had more to say, he was on a tirade, gesticulating everywhere, his voice getting more and more shrill with every sentence. And every sentence was shocking the breath right out of Blaine’s body and he did the only thing he could think of.

Blaine crossed the space between them, slotted himself between Kurt’s legs and pressed their lips hard together. A moment’s hesitation and Kurt’s lips parted with a sigh, as he wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck and drew them closer together.

It was soft and sweet until everything Kurt had said flashed through Blaine’s mind and had he really been thinking about Blaine for that long? Had every snide comment, every bitchy comeback been because he didn’t know what else to do?

Because Blaine understood.

They had fought passionately from the moment they met, but they’d never hated each other and that made all the difference.

His hands found Kurt’s legs, ran up his thighs and Kurt trembled, tilting his head and pressing his tongue deeper into Blaine’s mouth.
His brain short-circuited.
It was messy and wet and their lips and teeth clashed and Kurt bit Blaine’s tongue but he didn’t care and moaned around it as he pushed him backwards onto the table, crawling half into his lap and twining his hands into Kurt’s hair.

Kurt was gasping, his chest heaving as their hips slotted together, one hand in Blaine’s back pocket and the other pressing the back of his head.

Blaine was lost. He had no idea what he was doing but he never wanted to stop and sweat was gathering at the base of his neck to run down his spine and Kurt curled his fingers hard, digging his nails into Blaine’s ass and raising his hips to press them together.
Kurt was moaning and Blaine swallowed them all, grinding against his warm, writhing body, each touch sending sparks of fire from the goose bumps on his scalp straight down to his groin. Their movements grew desperate, no longer kissing but mouths pressed and gasping against each other, breathing each other.

Kurt came first, his body jerking upwards twice before falling still with a cracked moan of “Blaine, GOD Blaine!” and his eyes squeezed tightly closed.

Blaine pressed a kiss to his still lips, his brain too far gone for coherent thought, but he definitely noticed when Kurt reached down and cupped him through his robes. He definitely heard the hushed whisper, the breath on his ear, “Come for me Blaine, come on.”

Blaine’s breath caught in his throat with a gasp, his world exploded and all he could see were Kurt’s eyes. All he could feel was Kurt’s hands on him, his lips, his skin, his taste in Blaine’s mouth and everything was “Kurt, Kurt, FUCK Kurt!”

They collapsed on the table beside each other, panting for breath. Blaine’ didn’t notice when their hands found each other and their fingers intertwined, he just held on tighter.

He turned his head to look at the boy next to him, looking sleepy and flushed and dazed but beautiful, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. Blaine laughed, and laughed and Kurt met his eyes, with his glinting and they laughed together until they lost their breath again, and fell into each other’s arms with hushed, choked gasps.
When Blaine could breathe he dropped to his feet, standing in front of Kurt still half splayed on the table, and held out his hand.

Kurt took it, looking amused.

“Hi. I don’t think I got a chance to properly introduce myself. My name is Blaine Anderson and I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I love singing and flying and Potions, and my best friend is Brittany Pearce.”

Kurt smiled.
“I’m Kurt Hummel. I like clothes and music and cooking, and I love Defence against the Dark Arts. My best friend is Santana Lopez, and I’m fascinated by the Muggle World.”

They shook on it.

***

Kurt wore Blaine’s Hufflepuff scarf to the first Quidditch match of the season, wrapping it up around his nose as the wind grew chillier, and inhaling the deep, cinnamon smell that was so Blaine.

He stood with the Hufflepuffs, between Santana and Brittany, and was a violent spot of green amidst the sea of canary yellow.
Whenever Blaine scored he looked down and saw a green and yellow figure jumping up and down, heard Kurt cheering the loudest and the longest, and when Hufflepuff beat Ravenclaw 230 – 110, Kurt was out of the stands and in Blaine’s arms before anybody else.

***

They argued six days later, their first real argument.

Twenty-four hours before they were due to play against each other.

Kurt stormed away his eyes filled with angry tears and Blaine took a long, wet walk around the grounds until he saw the grey sun poke up behind the mountains.
He didn’t go to breakfast, didn’t go back to bed, but sat in the stands until the team appeared.

He didn’t talk to Brittany. Just smiled, and she patted his arm with that smile she had, because she knew him better than anybody, and she was a lot smarter than people gave her credit for.

He could see the Slytherins across the pitch, streaks of green and silver and next to the tiny, dark-haired Rachel Berry there was a slim brunette figure and Blaine's chest tightened.

Fragments of their argument flitted brokenly through his mind, each one more painful than the last.

“For Merlin’s sake Blaine! Can’t you see why people are saying these things?!”

“I thought you didn’t care about them. I don’t understand why you’re letting their opinions dictate our relationship!”

“I can’t do this.”

“Of course I care about you! I lo–”

“They’re just people! They’re people we don’t know, will never speak to. I don’t care what they think!”

“No. Don’t say it. Don’t say it when you’re just going to walk away from me.”

“Kurt, please!”

“Please Blaine! Gods, please don’t do this to me. Not now!”

Blaine swung one leg over his broom, his eyes trained on the boy across the pitch doing the same thing.

The whistle blew.

***

“I know you let us win.”
They were alone in the changing rooms, and maybe Kurt had taken extra time in the showers, exfoliating and moisturising at an excruciating pace. And maybe Blaine had taken an extremely long time putting his broom away, to ensure the changing rooms were void of both teams before confronting Kurt.

Kurt froze midway through rubbing cream in tiny circles over the skin of his face.
“I don’t know what you mean.”

Blaine snorted behind him, turning the showers and letting the water heat up. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Is that so? Because it seemed that every time I went to score, your Keeper flew in the completely opposite direction, looking thoroughly confused. I know a good Confundus charm when I see one, Kurt.”
Kurt swallowed and rubbed his sticky hands on the towel around his waist.
“You have no proof that it was me.”

Blaine was closer to him now. An arm’s length away and how he wished that Blaine would reach out and touch him.
“Also there was Brittany.”
“Brittany?” Kurt’s throat was dry. Blaine was looking at him with those deep hazel eyes, like pools of melted chocolate.

“You didn’t spend the game looking for the Snitch. You spent it tailing Brittany, knowing full well that she would go off in the wrong direction more than…well no, all the time. But you stayed behind her. I’d go so far as to say you gave her a head start.”

Kurt turned, leaning back against the sink behind him. He pretended not to notice the way Blaine’s eyes flicked from his bare chest to his face and back again.

“In my defence, the tailing thing was Santana’s idea.”
“Really?”
“I think she’s got a bit of a thing for Brittany.”
“So you admit you let us win?”
Kurt shrugged, “I maybe decided there were more important things in life than winning a Quidditch match.”

Blaine smiled, wide and true and moved forwards until they were close enough to link their fingers together.
“Oh, did you now?”
“Mhm. I feel like maybe there is a certain Hufflepuff to blame for my change of heart.”
“Remind me to thank him,” Blaine muttered, breathing the words over Kurt’s lips before he finally, finally kissed him.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, until the showers filled the room with steam and Blaine pulled off his muddy Quidditch robes, tripping over the hem and tangling his head in the sleeves as he tried to do it without unlinking their fingers.

And when he pulled Kurt backwards into the shower, fumbling his fingers at Kurt’s hip to undo his knotted towel; Kurt just laughed and followed him into the foamy water.

Because who worries about trivial things like House discrimination when they had each other?
“We would have won anyway, you know,” Blaine said against his neck.

Kurt opened his mouth to retort but Blaine kissed him and his fingers were tickling their way down Kurt’s side, and who really cared about a Quidditch match anyway?