Glee, Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

**To the Masses:** This is my third attempt tying this. Not writing it, typing it. I write it at school so I don't get caught staring blankly at the powerpoint with a little drool here and there.

No actual people were harmed in the making of this fic. I did, however, run out of paper twice and witness the end of three pens. Alright then, let's see how well this fic is received.

Soundtrack: Take It Off (Ke-dollar sign-ha), Young (Kenny Chesney), and Let's Kill Tonight (Panic at the Disco)

Warnings: AU and OOC (All fanfics are), Slash, may mention child abuse, vandalism, confusion, and more.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Harry Potter. I just play with them.

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><p><strong>Ante-Countenance<strong>

The Black-Lupin's arrived in front of the big house at 1427 West Eureka Street late, on a stormy day. Children peeked out of the windows to watch as they unpacked their old Audi. Mothers, those who weren't working, rushed their kids away because they weren't going to be that nosey neighbor. It was a curious sight though, and some folks couldn't help but pause and observe.

It was a man that slowly unfolded himself from the behind the drivers seat and stared up at the old American foursquare house. He was tall, with broad shoulders to cling to and narrow hips to…no, those were bad thoughts. He had sandy brown hair and a thin line of mustache, viewable from a distance, that could make things interesting. His casual clothes were wrinkled slacks and a button down with the sleeves rolled up. There was none of that sagging jeans or greasy shirt business. There may have also been something unusual about his face, but it was too dank and dark to see just what it was.

A small boy had squirreled out of the car quickly afterwards, and bounced in place excitedly. He was thin, and any curves or sharp angles that existed were hidden underneath the normal teenage garb. Dark pants that clung a little too tightly and threatened to expose his ankles, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. His black hair hung limp in stubborn curls and neighbors watched (while pretending not to) as he waited by the car and the man with the lighter hair quickly made his way to the house first.

That was good thinking, because their neighborhood wasn't the safest. It wasn't terrible, but it certainly wasn't the best either and it had it's reputation. It also meant the brown-haired man had a protective instinct, and onlookers realized why, when he returned to unload and unfold a wheelchair from the cars small trunk. Some residents recognize it as a hospital issue wheelchair. It was very minimal, with a leathery plastic seat and back, and a frame of stainless steel. So either they didn't need it for long or they didn't feel they needed better. Some of the nosier neighbors watched as the boy held the back of the chair and the man with the brown hair transferred his friend (lover, husband, brother?)

The man in the wheelchair was likely the boys father. They had the same pale skin and inky hair. He appeared to be clean shaven, his wild mane of hair trailed over his shoulders and quickly feel limp and plastered to his scalp in the drizzle. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top and the sleeves were rolled up, exposing lines of blank in in foreign patterns. So maybe they would fit right in.

Just as soon as the man was released he was in motion, pushing his chair to the mailbox, to the curb, up and down the sidewalk, observing everything as the boy and the brown-haired man maneuvered three boxy suitcases from where they'd been shoved. He was like a toddler, just running around. The boy was also just as mobile, but the other man directed him to help with their scant belongings. Perhaps the moving truck would arrive later, because that couldn't be everything they owned.

Eventually the newcomers made it into the house with their outdated luggage and their childish invalid. There was no yelling, no fussing, but a lot of energy and a careless disregard for the climate. Mothers went back to their own business, sometimes dragging their children, and everything went back to the way it was only ten minutes prior. The only difference was there was a new family at old 1427. 

**Chapter One**

_"Continuous effort - not strength or intelligence - is the key to unlocking our potential." – Winston Churchill_

"Must you get into everything?" Remus asked, amusement and all coated his tone. He already knew the answer was yes, because Sirius Black had always been an overgrown child, so it was more of a warning.

Curse that American Slang for Dummies book they'd purchased on the way form Salem, because after a moment of thought Sirius said "Your mother" rather cheerfully.

Harry giggled form the kitchen. It was alright though, because eventually they were going to figure out what embarrassed him and then it wouldn't be funny anymore (so far their intel said he was a fortress of impenetrable calm or teen angst, but there was still hope. Thank you Weasley's and Granger).

"My mother adored you, but she would just as soon have smacked you with a spoon if you didn't stop that immediately," Remus pressured on. Sirius did stop his inspection of Remus' suitcase, except they didn't own any spoons, he reminded himself, and continued on his search for his friends stash of dirty magazines. There had to be some, somewhere.

Harry returned from his grand inspection of the large kitchen, with it's plywood cabinets and too-small appliances, but didn't say anything about Sirius' invasion of privacy. He had nothing to hide, and the only thing Sirius gleamed from past explorations were that his kid seriously needed to go shopping. Half of his clothes had other peoples names on the tags (or no tags at all) so either Harry had been stealing clothes from all over Hogwarts or he was living on hand-me-downs.

Remus was hunched in front of the tiny fireplace, probably planning to enlarge it to the wizarding standards of four feet by five. His wand was out and he was casting cleaning charms up the chimney and collecting the old ash to transfigure it back into wooden logs. They wouldn't burn a well, but something was better than the nothing they were working with. He had it all figured out, so Harry turned his attention else ware.

The wallpaper was old and outdated, he noticed first, because it was something his aunt would have liked. However, Petunia would have absolutely hated the stains of color that marred the image in shapes of vulgarity and -was that supposed to be a dinosaur? Someone was also a fan of the Titans and boobs. If kids were breaking in to party and graffiti the place they were going to have to change out the locks and do it soon.

"I say we keep that one," Sirius spoke form his chair, nodding to the poorly drawn silhouette of a rather busty broad while he unfolded another one of Remus' nightshirts.

"No," Remus responded in the same moment he cast a floo-checking charm to make sure the smoke could escape. A moment after that he finally urged the fake timber to ignite, and heat began to emanate from the fireplace.

Sirius applauded him, and left the suitcase open to move closer to the fire. Remus sat back next to his friend and Harry joined them a moment later, one of Remus' books in hand. They would need to go out and purchase some furniture the next day. However, for the moment the sat next to the hearth and let the heat dry their damp clothes.

"We should paint first," Harry suggested, knowing Sirius would make a mess and Remus would just stress about it. They could do that, then sand and stain the old floors before they began moving things in. They were all still able enough to sleep on the floor of transfigure beds for a few days. Magic'd furniture wasn't all that comfortable, but they were all used to sleeping in less than ideal conditions.

Sirius would probably benefit greatly from a few nights on a hard surface. Too many years in prison conditioned him to sleep better on a stone floor than in a down mattress. Harry had the same issues when he'd first started Hogwarts. Even after years of the wonderful beds of Gryffindor Tower his body still remembered how to curl to cushion himself on a flat bedroll. Remus still preferred ratty old mattresses in cheap motels, but in his defense that was still batter than his friend and kid.

They would be fine on the floor, basically. None of them wanted to articulate why, though.

"I still think we should keep the lady," Sirius argued.

Remus responded with a negative grunt. They were probably going to make a thing out of it, so Harry intervened.

"I could make a better one," he offered. When Sirius and Remus turned to look at him, he looked down at his hands and almost began to stutter a careful retraction.

"In that case, can wee keep that dragon looking thing, too?" Sirius asked, "you could make an entire mural out of it, and maybe paint up some Greek titans. Oh, and a hippogriff maybe." He was probably way too exited about it.

Remus didn't interrupt his friend, he just reached over and pulled Harry into a hug. He'd been doing that often since the adoption a month ago. Every time Harry became nervous or questioned how he should act around two dads rather than a godfather and an ex-professor Remus would pull him into his side and rub his knuckles across Harry's temple or forehead.

Sirius told him once that it was because he was a werewolf that he felt compelled to rub his scent on his pup. He said Remus used to do it all the time when he was a baby, and to the other Marauders when they were kids. He probably didn't even realize he did it. So when Remus pulled Harry into his side and rubbed his knuckles across his temple Harry finally reached up and returned the gesture. Yay, for family and all that.

It was Remus who had the final say in what they did, because he was the reasonable one. Even though it was Sirius' family gold that bought them the house, paid for the rushed adoption, and made it entirely possible despite the fact that Sirius and Remus weren't together as lovers. What mattered was that they were together to protect and raise Harry. It also helped that Dumbledore pushed for the American's to give Sirius sanctuary, with memories he submitted as evidence, and he advocated that the remaining Marauders could and should have custody of Harry. It was also a great help that Dumbledore saved Sirius to begin with, by pulling him back out of the veil that seriously fucked up his nether regions. So really, it was Remus who gave the final 'okay' for a mural across the front room.

Then the moment of girly feelings was over and Harry cracked open the book he'd barrowed. It was some modern mystery Remus purchased at hospital in Salem, out of sheer desperation and despite his dislike for cheap paperbacks.

Harry had asked and received a sketchbook, and that was where they'd bought that American slang manual that Sirius had been trying out (damn him). He kept insisting that it was stuff they'd need to know and Harry kept drowning him out to doodle or sleep.

That was a while ago, and it had past, Harry reminded himself. They'd moved on to Lima, Ohio -the furthest they could get from magical anything in the entire United States. Which was stupid really, because their presence altered that balance and noticeable was what they were trying not to be.

Sirius had picked the location while he as held up in the hospital, getting his legs reattached and the life put back in him. Remus and Harry were only a couple of days behind him, packing up their meager belongings and devising false trails for the Minister to follow. Sirius had thrown a dart at a map and that was that. He purchased a big, rundown house in a questionable district, because 'Eureka' was an amusing name for a street, before Remus could stop him, but they were going to make the best of things.

"We should get a telly," Sirius said out of the blue.

Harry looked up from his book, shooting Sirius a look which read 'how do you know about those?' Remus fell back against the floor and kicked off his shoes. It had been along day, and he said reasonably "As we discovered after Hogwarts, and you were living on your own in London, they don't last long in any spell casting areas."

"Oh yeah," Sirius said. He'd forgotten of course, which meant it must have been one of his fond memories. Being exposed to dementors buried his happy moments, and it took a little prompting to get the hamsters running again. "It started giving birth to little humanoid shaped bits, and they thought James was their mum."

Harry actually hadn't known electronics could do that, but it didn't really make a difference. H'd never been allowed to watch it at his aunts house, and obviously there wasn't any television at Hogwarts. Every once in a while students would get letters from home, updating them on their favorite program. Harry's favorite was Doctor Who, which Hermione's parents narrated for her weekly. Ron was rather fond of Dean Thomas' car programs, after he figured out the lingo and studied up a bit. They all crowded around the fire for Being Human when a third year named Emily got her post, because her mum was a very good writer. Yeah, they were only a little nerdy.

Primarily, it was the shipments of fiction that kept the students entertained. Hermione had a copy of Wicked that passed through every house and Susan Bones copy of Night (by Elie Wiesel) went missing for three months when the Slytherins got a hold of it (apparently Theodore Nott had threatened them all into reading it out of Jewish pride).

Between the three of them their house was going to fill with books in no time. "when we get everything done," Harry said, also falling back and curling into his adoptive fathers side with his nose still in the book, "can we get some good literature?"

"Hell yes," Sirius answered instantly. They were going to have to hid that manual from him, Harry just knew it. "On me, so long as you pick up Choderlos De Laclos." He didn't say 'Dangerous Liaisons' because he didn't like to admit he read scandalous French romance, but no one called him on it.

At leas they were motivated to get things done. Between Remus' werewolf stamina, Sirius' constant movement, and Harry's obsessive ways they would get done in no time.

Except none of them knew were the hardware store was. They sniffed the library out in record time, and Remus and Sirius charmed their way through the staff while Harry wondered the aisles. Then they had nothing to haul their larger materials back to the house, so Sirius bought a used truck from a no-nonsense looking garage owner. Which meant they had to go get it registered, and that took even more time. When they finally made it back to the hardware store Harry kept wondering off and Remus and Sirius would panic ever time. First they found him in the paints, then by the light fixtures, and eventually they found him just staring at the toilet displays. It took a lot of trail and error but Sirius and Remus figured out how to divide their attention so that one of them always had an eye on their kid, and wondering was kept to a minimum. Eventually, they managed to get out of the store with what they needed for the day, and Sirius only forgot how to use is debit card but Harry saved him quickly enough.

The next few days were spent knocking out a wall, because they had no need for a formal dining room anyway. They meant to do all the work by hand, but during that project magic became necessary when they agreed on building an arch where the wall used to be but none of them knew how to manage that. Then again when they were pealing wallpaper, because that job was just flat out annoying and Sirius could only reach the bottom four feet. They managed pretty well, and then the paint went up. Harry fully expected neighbors to start popping in just to 'see how they were doing' with baked goods and fake smiles. It wasn't Privat Drive though, and people minded their own business even after noisy display with the electric saw.

"Go nuts," Sirius authorized later, when they found their way to the craft store to buy those paints Harry would need to paint Sirius' trippy, library mural. "And don't come find us until your basket is full." Remus nudged him forward after a moment when all Harry did was look confused, and they didn't see him again for an hour.

When Harry tracked his father's down they were in the small section dedicated to faux-antique (posturing bullshit) and were ridiculing the selection of key themed wall hooks. Sirius took one took at him and smiled. "Good," he said, "now go put the cheap shit back and get that high quality stuff you were probably staring at for twenty minutes." Harry instantly blushed.

That only took him five minutes, and he was going to have to learn how to drive quickly because they were certain there were going to be a few more trips before their house was finished. At least they finally knew what to get him for this birthday, though.

So systematically they would remove ugly wallpaper and Harry would be just a room behind them. First he worked on the mural that Sirius was so excited about. Rembrandt hues and careful strokes left behind a fatally attractive woman that Harry called 'Mnemosyne' after a Greek Titan, a dinosaur, Hyperion, and Cronus all cohabitating with a flock of hippogriffs. The rest of the library was done in deep reds and dark stained woods. With his smallest brush, Harry added little golden details. A lion, barely half an inch tall, along a shelf, a snake along some molding, a bow truckle in the corner, until little gold figures were hidden throughout the entire room. Then in the kitchen, when the grout had dried, he invaded with a pallet of muted oranges, greens, and yellows to bring some color against the brown brick and stucco. When he finished that project, after only a few days, he was released on his own room.

While he locked himself away with his paints and brushes Remus and Sirius argued their way to decisions about other things. In the end Sirius' got most of his way, because Remus wanted boring muted colors. So the foyer was painted a plumb that segued into the hall and stairway along with vertical stripes of lilac. Remus got his wish of brown in his own bedroom and Sirius stuck with grey and silver. The guest room was painted the most obnoxious shades of red and gold they could find, because whatever company they did have probably wasn't welcome anyway. The final room in their old house was converted into an chocolate shaded office, for whenever Remus and Sirius found jobs and Harry had school work. Harry wondered how a computer would function in their house, but it wasn't likely they'd get one. Perhaps a typewriter.

Harry spent a lot of time thinking of what he wanted for a room that was entirely his own. He could change it however he wanted, decorate it however he saw fit, pick out his own furniture. Best of all, there were no locks and a distinct absence of a food-flap. So he imagined the most peaceful place he could think of and surrounded himself with it.

Finally, finally they could fill the house. Remus and Harry hadn't thought to shrink any furniture while they were packing their lives into small suitcases. They wouldn't want anything from the old Black house regardless, Sirius had pointed out, which was true. Harry couldn't imagine what their new house would be like if they'd brought Sirius' flesh eating love seat or finger biting china cabinet. However, that meant yard sales, thrift stores, and auctions because Sirius hated the modern, factory made, revivalist bullshit. That's exactly what he told a borderline sociopath, assistant manager at Sheets N' Things when she asked if there was anything she could do to get them out of her store. Which was fine, because they all wanted books instead.

So at the end of the first day of shopping, a week after they moved in, they a mix of new books, rare finds from the antique shops, and what might have amounted to a quarter of half-price books. Also, a dinning room table, four mattresses, and all of the things required to make coffee.

Their place was steadily becoming a chaotic and colorful mix of the old grandeur they knew from the Wizarding world and a cave of literature nerds. Satisfied with a job well done, they lit the fire (in their remodeled, four by five fireplace) and lounged around the hearth with books and coffee.

Harry fell asleep with is nose between the Man in the Iron mask, dreaming of sword fights that weren't just memories and distant tragedies.

He was engaged in a heated fencing match when banging startled him out of his sleep. Awake, he realized that Remus must have carried him to bed, and the book he was reading rested on the floor beside his lonely mattress. It was a heavy handed racket, he thought, someone was taking great pains to keep the noise as minimal as possible.

He rolled off of the mattress and lay flat against the floor. Instincts were fueling his swift and graceful movements to the window that faced the street. The porch's roof was right beneath the frame, and it rattled against the dry wall as someone hammered against it.

Carefully, Harry peered over the frame and observed. Someone was on the porch's room, almost directly in front of him. The street lights illuminated a fit bloke in a muscle shirt and sweat pants hunched bellow a patio chair Sirius won at an auction. After shuffling to the side he noticed the table was already up there and he was uncomfortable with the knowledge he'd slept tough part of the vandalism.

Still silently, Harry stuck close to the floor and left his bedroom for Remus'. He didn't even bother turning any of the lights on, and was careful when opening and closing the doors.

Sirius had already levitated himself up the stairs and he and Remus were carefully peering around the frame of his window, that also overlooked the porch. Harry said nothing as he made his way over to them and draped himself over Sirius' lap to watch with them. The second and third chairs were already arranged carefully and presumably nailed down.

After a moment Remus tapped them both for their attention. He used a mix of simple gestures and Marauder signs to communicate three things. First, that he and Sirius were going down stairs, then he was going to sneak out and wait at the bottom of the escape route. In two minutes Harry was to stick his head out of the window and that would probably trigger a flight response, but Remus would be waiting.

As far as plans went it was simple and reliable. So they dispersed and Harry snuck back into his own room, which was closest to their vandal. He gave his fathers time to get downstairs. Remus would probably take the side door and stick close to the house until he reached a ladder. When he reached the bottom of his count he easily slid the window open. He'd taken the time to make sure all of the parts were well greased and noiseless in case he wanted to sneak out, of course.

Predictably, the bloke was supposed to grab his tools and immediately take off, but maybe he was a little slow. Instead, the mohawk'd juvenile turned and blinked, as if what he was doing wasn't a crime.

"Hullo," Harry offered. He wasn't' sure if he was supposed to threaten him until he got with the program and tried to flee or what.

"What up, dude?" the vandal replied, he smiled in a charming way and didn't turn away.

"I'm not sure what that means," Harry replied honestly. Perhaps Sirius would have an idea.

"Are you going to tell your parents about this?" He asked without any signs of nervousness, but it was as if he were waiting for some explosion of anger.

"No," and that was the truth, because his parents had already figured it out for themselves. "Should I?" he asked, because he as genuinely interested in what the vandal would say. So far he hadn't followed the pattern.

The vandal thought about it for a moment, glancing between Harry and the window to Remus' room. "Give me a second to finish up before you start hollering. Okay?" Harry just nodded and rested against the window frame to watch. "Awesome," he cheered and went back to carefully hammering the patio furniture to the roof, using a pillow the muffle the sound.

It took only a minute, and he was done. He collected his things and gave a quick 'thanks' before he made his way to the ladder. Harry watched until the mohawk sank bellow the roofline before he stood and made his way to the kitchen without bothering to mask the sound of his footsteps or staying close to the shadows. When he reached the bottom and turned directly into the kitchen Sirius had already put the coffee on and pulled out the required amount of cups. They didn't have to wait long until Remus burst through the front of the door with the vandal by the back of his shirt.

He gave Harry a betrayed look when he caught sight of the smaller boy just standing there. Clearly he thought Harry had told on him, which wasn't the case at all. Harry simply looked away and collected his cup, adding a massive amount of sugar before holding it out for Sirius to fill. He moved out of the kitchen without looking at anyone and into the library, to rekindle the fire. From the kitchen he heard Sirius ask, like a proper host "how do you take your coffee?"

"Uh, two sugars and some cream," the vandal replied, the sound of a new voice reverberated though Harry's skull until it was committed to memory. Nothing else was said while Sirius fixed Remus a mug and they all settled down in the library. Remus had to nudge the vandal behind the knees for him to understand that he was to sit on the floor with them, Sirius was obviously the exception until his nether regions healed up.

Remus took a drink of his coffee and got comfortable before he began. "Your lookout, that large boy, took off as soon as he caught sight of me coming around the corner," he confessed.

"Fucking Shane," the vandal cursed, looking deeply into his coffee mug. He didn't even try to deny that anyone else was involved, Harry noticed, so he and that Shane fellow probably weren't close.

"Yes, well. Pick a better lookout next time, preferably someone you have closer tries with and would actually care if something happened to you," Sirius advised, "someone who can think ahead, and have some lies prepared. If they're new and still have some sort of moral compass teach them a code with lights or inconspicuous sounds."

"Lights are easier," Harry butted in. He had some experience with pranks, he was a Marauders child. "You have to be conditioned to notice the sounds and that takes time, and light can travel a further distance. I would have placed one person at the end of the street with a pair of binoculars and had someone watching the side door from the roof next door."

Harry watched as the vandal looked up and at him in confusion, wondering why Harry was offering advice after he'd already been caught. Harry couldn't help but think the confusion was adorable, how he founded with his entire face but his brown eyes betrayed his lack of understanding. It was a solid caveman expression.

"There's also the issue of only having one escape route," Remus continued down his list of all things wrong with that prank. "You had a single ladder. In this situation there wasn't a lot of room for a secondary, but Harry probably would have let you through his room and right out the front door if you asked." He didn't mention that Harry also would have followed him home, at a covert distance, for retribution at a later date. Harry didn't articulate that and just nodded. "Take advantage of unexpected allies."

"You seemed to know what you were doing, too. Repeat pranks are always harder to get away with," Sirius lectured, "if you get caught once, any follow-ups can be traced back to you. Catching shit for things you haven't even done is worse than getting caught for a proper prank you actually did."

The vandal was still unsure, but he was lapping up all of the information Sirius and Remus were giving him. He looked to them like they were the guest lecturers he'd been waiting for his entire student career, like he was seeing the light. "So," he began unsure, and Harry watched as he glanced around and spoke before he was entirely positive he wanted to ask. "I'm not in trouble?"

"Of course you are," Remus replied, "a botched prank is very offensive." To a Marauder it probably was, considering they spent their entire childhood perfecting the art, and even utilized their methods during the first rising of Voldemort.

"I mean, are you going to call the cops?" the vandal clarified, as if anything else was no big deal. If he inquired about the authorities, Harry brainstormed, it could mean he already had a record and further damaging it was truly hazardous. Remus and Sirius frowned in similar thoughts.

"No," Remus answered honestly, "but you are going to have to make up for it."

"You want me to take it down?" the vandal continued to inquire. He was confused by their threat for a punishment, but all of the regular avenues were being extinguished.

Sirius and Remus had been trading Marauder signs the entire time, Harry realized as Sirius tapped his ring finger against his thumb in morse code. They hadn't taught that to Harry, probably holding out as the last line they had to communicate privately. "What you're going to do to make it up to us," Sirius said solemnly, "is take Harry shopping for school clothes and furniture."

"You serious?" the young man asked, looking between Remus and Sirius like they had to be joking. Unfortunately, Harry thought, that vandal didn't know his dads.

"No, I'm Sirius," Harry's dad said, holding out his hand, "Sirius Black." The vandal stretched out a hand to shake Sirius' while he worked out the difference between Sirius and Serious.

"Remus Lupin," the only reasonable adult claimed, nodding to the young man before taking another deep drink of his coffee. "If your parents say it's alright, you can stay in our guest room and start first thing."

"Call me Puck and I don't got a dad," the kid confessed, "and ma's got an eighteen-hour shift at the clinic tonight, so it's just me and my sis is at summer camp." Remus and Sirius just looked like that was the saddest news they'd received all day.

"Right then, to bed with you then," Remus said, and the kid looked like he would do just that. Then Sirius let out a frustrated huff, like he was a toddler and he just wasn't tired. He set his mug on the floor and bit out a playfully resentful 'fine' and rolled himself to his room. Remus just shook his head and picked up his friends mug, setting them both in the kitchen sink before making his way to upstairs.

Harry stuck around a little longer, finishing off his own mug while staring the Puck character down. There was something a little bitter about the boy, something he could identify with. He knew first hand that the absence of parental figures was hard. Not while it was all going on, but once Molly Weasley settled into being his mother he realized how hard it was to do everything solo. He was sure that Puck hadn't realized how hard life was, yet. There, he'd gone and ruined a perfectly prank-ful night with sad thoughts.

"I'm Harry," he said carefully. Too nice and the vandal would think of it as sympathy, too mean and he'd assume Harry was pissed off. "Let me show you to your room," the nearly disgustingly Gryffindor room, he thought as he stood up and politely offered a hand.

"Sure," Puck said, and took his outstretched hand. 

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><p><strong>To Those Who Just Read:<strong>

Just little things to know, in case you were curious. I'm sure I'll get around to writing it all out eventually, but…the car the Black-Lupin's drive is a 1961 DKW Junior. According to google it's an Audi, and I almost called out of the country just to figure out how much it costs. I think the person who pays my phone bill wouldn't like that very much though. I'm also not sure whether or not using a pillow would muffle a hammering sound, but feel free to test that and get back to me. Legally. Test it…legally.

I think I spent half the time it took to write this chapter just staring down at my own boobs.

The end might be a little rushed. Hmmm…maybe, but it'll have to wait until later for me to reexamine.

If you're going to review, please do so in complete sentences.

I sure hope this story works out well.

The Black-Lupin's arrived in front of the big house at 1427 West Eureka Street late, on a stormy day. Children peeked out of the windows to watch as they unpacked their old Audi. Mothers, those who weren't working, rushed their kids away because they weren't going to be that nosey neighbor. It was a curious sight though, and some folks couldn't help but pause and observe.

It was a man that slowly unfolded himself from the behind the drivers seat and stared up at the old American foursquare house. He was tall, with broad shoulders to cling to and narrow hips to…no, those were bad thoughts. He had sandy brown hair and a thin line of mustache, viewable from a distance, that could make things interesting. His casual clothes were wrinkled slacks and a button down with the sleeves rolled up. There was none of that sagging jeans or greasy shirt business. There may have also been something unusual about his face, but it was too dank and dark to see just what it was.

A small boy had squirreled out of the car quickly afterwards, and bounced in place excitedly. He was thin, and any curves or sharp angles that existed were hidden underneath the normal teenage garb. Dark pants that clung a little too tightly and threatened to expose his ankles, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. His black hair hung limp in stubborn curls and neighbors watched (while pretending not to) as he waited by the car and the man with the lighter hair quickly made his way to the house first.

That was good thinking, because their neighborhood wasn't the safest. It wasn't terrible, but it certainly wasn't the best either and it had it's reputation. It also meant the brown-haired man had a protective instinct, and onlookers realized why, when he returned to unload and unfold a wheelchair from the cars small trunk. Some residents recognize it as a hospital issue wheelchair. It was very minimal, with a leathery plastic seat and back, and a frame of stainless steel. So either they didn't need it for long or they didn't feel they needed better. Some of the nosier neighbors watched as the boy held the back of the chair and the man with the brown hair transferred his friend (lover, husband, brother?)

The man in the wheelchair was likely the boys father. They had the same pale skin and inky hair. He appeared to be clean shaven, his wild mane of hair trailed over his shoulders and quickly feel limp and plastered to his scalp in the drizzle. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top and the sleeves were rolled up, exposing lines of blank in in foreign patterns. So maybe they would fit right in.

Just as soon as the man was released he was in motion, pushing his chair to the mailbox, to the curb, up and down the sidewalk, observing everything as the boy and the brown-haired man maneuvered three boxy suitcases from where they'd been shoved. He was like a toddler, just running around. The boy was also just as mobile, but the other man directed him to help with their scant belongings. Perhaps the moving truck would arrive later, because that couldn't be everything they owned.

Eventually the newcomers made it into the house with their outdated luggage and their childish invalid. There was no yelling, no fussing, but a lot of energy and a careless disregard for the climate. Mothers went back to their own business, sometimes dragging their children, and everything went back to the way it was only ten minutes prior. The only difference was there was a new family at old 1427. 


	2. Chapter 2

**To the Masses:** I'm working on this story so soon because I really don't want it to get away, and in a couple of days I'll probably go back to Supernatural, and dude...I'm going to stop now before this turns into a rant.

**(Look Here)**I fixed a lot of the grammatical errors in the first chapter, but I didn't catch them all. Thanks to Tahari for pointing out a couple of the spelling errors. They've been corrected.

As it turns out that hammer over a pillow thing does not work. Go figure.

Soundtrack: Miss Argentina (Iggy Pop), Where Friend Rhymes With End (Ane Brun), and Marvin & Miles (Gare Du Nord). Lots of blues today.

Warnings: AU and OOC (all fanfics are), slash, confusion, cultural misunderstandings, and more.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Harry Potter. So sad.

* * *

><p><strong> Chapter Two<strong>

_ "The greatest healing therapy is friendship and love." Herbert H. Humphrey, Jr._

Noah Puckerman was not; get that right,_ not_ a morning person. Morning people were lame and annoying, and sometimes they got punch in the face. So no, Puck wasn't a morning person, he just didn't make a fuss about having to get out of bed like most teenagers did. It was probably because he had so many responsibilities. Well, one big one.

Sarah, his sister, wasn't a morning person either. By that, Puck meant a construction crew could tear down the house around her while blasting tunes from the 80's and maybe she'd exert the effort it took to roll over and glare. Sarah Puckerman was the type of not-morning person that fell asleep in the shower , more than once, who put her shirts on inside out or backwards (sometimes both), who forgot which brush was for her hair and which was for her teeth, and Puck could forget about getting her to eat for at least an hour. So his responsibility was to get her up, dressed, and to second grade before class started. He also made sure she had a snack, her lunch was carefully packed in her Wizards of Waverly Place lunch box, her homework as ready to turn in, and anything else she needed was available. That was all before nine, when he had to be at his school. There was no way his sister was going to grow up to be like him, and if that meant getting up at six-thirty every day without complaint, fine, but he still wasn't a morning person.

That morning after he got caught nailing his sixth set of lawn furniture to someone's roof was an abrupt break in his pattern. Instead of six-thirty, noise startled him awake around six, according to his internal clock. It took him only a second to remember why he was laying on a mattress in a violently red and gold room; the two grown dudes wanted him to take their kid shopping to make up for his stunt. Hopefully they meant just 'taking' and not the 'taking' that girls used that really meant 'paying.'

Puck contemplated the task as he crawled out of bed and made his way down the purple stairs. At least they didn't call the cops, he kept thinking, because if they had he'd be taken straight back to juvie. No, he'd turned eighteen not that long ago, so they'd take him to jail. Then his sister would never get to school on time, he'd probably never graduate, and he really needed to think about those types of things before he decided to pull criminal pranks. So yeah, he should probably just take the kid to the mall.

He reached the kitchen, all brick-tiles and yellowish stucco that most of the ladies he banged would detest. There was only a table, with no chairs, and a bare minimum of dishes. That Harry kid was standing over the stove, a coffee mug in one hand and a spatula in the other. His eyes were closed, Puck noticed as he moved closer, and his black hair was all over the place.

"He's not a morning person." Puck jumped at the sound of a voice, and turned to see it was that Serious guy in the chair. He was dressed for the day, and now that his arms weren't covered Puck could see the markings in shapes he'd only glimpsed in world history books. Back when actually attended.

"Nice ink," Puck complimented tiredly.

"Thank you. I got it done in prison," Sirius replied, far too chipper for six in the morning and certainly too gleeful for the context of his words. Puck didn't say anything about that; he just gulped a bit nervously. Then Sirius ruled rolled around him to get himself a cup of Joe and, because he felt stupid just standing there, he followed suit. Puck leaned back against the counter when he was done, because they hadn't bothered getting any chairs.

He stood in an awkward silence until Remus clamored down the stairs a bit later. He looked a lot like one of those coffee-driven not-morning people .He made a bee-line for the coffee pot, with total disregard for everyone else.

It seemed there was a lot he missed the night before, mostly because the crazies that caught him apparently didn't believe in electricity. They had lit the fire in the big ass living room and that was it. He had noticed the scars though. They were kind of hard not to see, and pretty badass in his opinion. Puck had to wonder what caused them, they looked kind of like claw marks, but that may have been a little bit too personal to ask after only one prank.

He had also noticed how each of them looked a bit haunted in the firelight, and just a tad underfed. He noticed how Remus hadn't offered to shake his hand, and how Harry sat just out of arms reach until his dads had analyzed his intentions and probably figured he wasn't a threat. Puck wasn't stupid. Also, he probably did the same thing to Sarah when his mom brought boyfriends home.

The kitchen was too quiet, he thought, sipping his coffee and wondering if Harry was really awake after all. The kid moved around as if his eyes weren't open, and he made an awful lot of racket.

"Someone should probably wake him up and tell him there's no food in that pan," Sirius commented casually, in a tone that implied he knew it had to be done but he just didn't feel like getting around to it.

"Dude, why is he even doing that to begin with?" Puck asked, automatically assuming he wasn't included in this 'someone' category that was allowed to touch a strange guys kid.

Sirius just shrugged, Remus was still catatonic at the moment, and replied "he's used to it...Get on with it then. I had to do it yesterday, and if we wait for Remy to wake up he'll be at it for another hour."

Puck shot him his caveman look of confusion, but it didn't seem like the wheelchair-bound man was joking. He didn't retract his statement though; he just refilled his Sirius Satellite Radio mug.

Puck squared his shoulders, challenge accepted.

H carefully approached his target from the side. He checked to see if the burner was on, it wasn't, and the contents of the coffee cup were long emptied. First he tugged the spatula way. It was a potential weapon. Harry was a bit more reluctant to release his empty cup, but he managed and both were set aside. Puck turned back to Sirius, who just stared back with amusement written all over his face. He was probably missing something, but he couldn't see what. So he grabbed hold of Harry's shoulders to pull him away from the stove, and when he hoped his eyes a second later he was on the floor.

Sirius Black was laughing his ass off from the table and Remus joined with a tired chuckle. The best Puck could guess was that the small kid had just karate flipped him onto the floor, which explained why no one else wanted to wake him.

It worked though, because pale green eyes were staring down at him in confusion. Yeah, that kid certainly wasn't a morning person.

"I'm sorry," he said weakly, pulling away and running off into some other room.

"_That's_ what he finds embarrassing?" Sirius asked aloud, disbelief becoming more pronounced with every syllable. He turned to his person, Puck didn't know what those were to each other, and asked "_really_?"

Remus just shrugged and didn't answer. He gave Sirius a pointed look then, and the man in the wheelchair rolled after their kid with a minimum amount of petulant grumbling.

"Never underestimate the people around you," Remus spoke up from behind his coffee mug, sounding a bit bored with the current lesson, "Especially if they have something to compensate for."

Puck nodded, it sounded like something wise, and picked himself off the floor. He hadn't been tossed around like that since he and Finn were still young enough to wrestle, before teen boys began to question who was gay. Oh, and Lauren Zizes, who saw fit to dump him right before summer vacation. In the following silence they could hear Sirius speaking in indistinguishable tones. He might have been apologizing, or telling the kid to get over it. Puck could only imagine.

Remus started on his second or third cup of coffee, and Puck didn't refill his own. He would have stood around awkwardly, waiting for the next step, until the dad with the scars opened his mouth to speak.

"We're not going to suddenly start yelling at you," Remus told him calmly. Puck wondered if the awkward waiting he'd been doing was that obvious. "We've already discussed your indiscretions, given your punishment, and once you follow through it's over."

"It's never just over," he replied, maybe a little too bitterly.

Remus gave him a saddened look. "We all have our own experiences with those who just can't let go of the past. All of us." He thought of Voldemort, Snape, and Petunia. They were all evil, mean, or insane in their own ways. "It's not pleasant. Sirius and I also take into account that you're very young, and that he and I did a lot worse when we were your age."

"Oh yeah?" Puck challenged, doubting him rather seriously.

Remus gave him a secret sort of smile. They'd broken so many laws as children. Even Harry stole school property, broke into a top-secret government facility, engaged in conflict with wanted criminals, and destroyed an awe-inspiring amount of irreplaceable government property. That was all just a little over a month prior. "Certainly," Remus said, decidedly more awake. "How old are you? Nineteen?"

Puck puffed out a bit, pleased to know he looked older than he actually was. "Eighteen," he corrected bravely, without any of his normal signs of teen arrogance.

Remus looked thoughtful. When they were eighteen Sirius was trying to live on his own, James was proposing to Lily once a week. Peter had already begun his decent into the dark, and that hurt to think about, and Remus had just been trying to hold down a job in the research department. "I think that was the year Siri stole a motorcycle and drove it into a lake, while James Potter and I made off in the other directing with crates of stolen moonshine."

"Yeah" Sirius shouted in recognition as he rolled back into the kitchen. The emotional shit with his kid was resolved, probably, and he heard the sound of someone climbing up the stairs. Sirius continued with the story while they waited. "Frank Longbottom drank so much he went blind for three days."

Remus nodded, "His mother was very upset." Furious, actually, and she'd hex'd Sirius' hair off. Best bald week ever. He added for Puck's benefit, "She is Siri's second cousin, so family things were a little tense afterward."

"Family things were always tense," Sirius corrected with a tad bit of mockery, "not only did my father have a sting of all male lovers that resembled my cousin Narcissa's husband, but half of the women were certifiably insane, and they all teach their children pureblood supremacist bullshit."

Puck gave an impressed whistle, "and I thought my family was fucked up."

"It probably is," Sirius said in all honesty. In retaliation Remus stuck his foot out and pushed at the footplate of the wheelchair, which drove Sirius back into the living room. "I was just being honest," he whined from the other room.

Remus stormed into the living room after him, Puck followed out of sheer curiosity. Immediately his eyes caught on to the differences, instead of the scolding to his side. The familiar wallpaper and graffiti from the football teams last party was all gone, replaced with shades of red and some awesome artistic thing (not just because of the detailed lady that was almost naked). "Hey," he said, interrupting the seething lecture the coffee-addict was giving the wheelchair guy. It wasn't as if he cared if someone else just said that his family might have been as fucked up as he always thought, because that was kind of nice. "You guys kept the Puckasaurus," he said happily. It was a lot better drawn, but the green dinosaur with the familiar mohawk'd spikes was a welcome sight.

"You did that?" Harry said just as he returned from getting dressed. He sounded almost cheerful about someone breaking into an empty house and drawing shit all over the walls. "But why?" the kid wondered.

Puck actually thought about what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. Usually he didn't care, but these dudes that didn't call the cops on him were kind of cool, and he didn't want to taint their kid with an answer like 'because we were drunk off our asses.' Yeah, he didn't want to ruin the semblance of acceptance just yet, so he shrugged and said "just felt like leaving a mark on something."

Harry wondered about that a bit. Leaving a mark sounded rather important, and he wondered if he'd left any in the world he left behind. Not the 'Boy Who Lived' lark, but Harry Potter -the orphan from Surrey. Had 'Just Harry' ever left something about himself? Something someone could stare at like Harry had stared at Puck's terrible 'Puckasaurus.'

"What a wicked idea, "Sirius said. Graffiti was nothing new to him, but the reason -even if it wasn't the kid's gut response, was catchy and meaningful. He probably liked it most of all because it was a criminal offense.

Harry suddenly imagined what it could be like to pass by the old billboard on the way to the art supply store and look up at something he did. Like a mural, only everyone would see it and not just his dads and the guy that nailed their porch furniture to the roof. Butterflies fluttered around in his stomach. "Yeah," Harry agreed, "wicked."

"Right well," Remus said. He didn't disagree that vandalism was pretty cool, he'd been the perpetrator of such acts before, but he was supposed to be the reasonable one (because Sirius could try, but he'd never manage). So instead of egging them on he reached around the pocket of his housecoat for the card he'd put there, and handed it out to Harry.

Puck had never seen a kid so reluctant to take their dad's money, as he watched Harry walk towards them awkwardly and stare at the card as if it were a scary thing. Remus just stood their patiently, as if Harry were a scared animal and making a sudden movement would scare him off. "Dude," he said a moment later, and swiped the plastic from Remus' hand and shoved it into the pocket of Harry's tartan pants. "There, and can we go now? I still need to get out of my roof-nailing clothes."

Harry turned to Sirius and hugged his father without any reservations. "Go on then, get the fuck out of the house and go have some fun. Treat yourself and the vandal to some breakfast and make sure you're home for dinner. Remy's getting Chinese take-away." That was apparently news to Remus, as he stared down at his person as if to day 'oh, I will? Are you certain?'

Remus turned to Puck then, giving him a look that felt a lot as if he were getting ready to be assigned homework. "Make sure you both eat lunch, as well. Knowing Harry he'll forget he needs to eat, and don't let him fool you. He needs nearly everything."

"I'm standing right here," Harry interrupted Remus' instructions and waved towards his own person as if to say 'I can certainly see me.' "And I don't see what's wrong with the clothes I already have."

"There's nothing wrong with the clothes you already have," Remus reasoned, ignoring Sirius' protest, "except you only have two pairs of pants, a handful of shirts that didn't previously belong to your obese cousin, and one pair of trainers." Yeah, ouch. That sounded really bad, and even Puck's family wasn't that bad off. These guys didn't look poor though. Sure, they didn't have a TV, but they were going furniture shopping, and they had all those books that probably cost a lot. Puck wouldn't really know, he wasn't much of a reader, but he did make his sister read and they added up.

"Alright," Harry caved, "we're leaving all ready." He didn't bother taking Puck by the arm and dragging him out, which is what some of his friends would have done. Instead he just walked out, after giving Remus his hug, and waited for Puck to follow him. However, Puck did reach up to press his hand against the back of messy black hair and push him in the right direction when they got to the end of the cracked driveway.

He only lived two streets over, and they cut through a few back yards to shorten the walk. Harry was pretty good at jumping fences, Puck noticed, doing so casually and with no complaints. He didn't try to make any useless small talk, and when they reached Puck's house, he didn't say anything about the pealing wallpaper or the ancient furniture. Puck was kind of nervous to have a stranger in his house, but the kid's dads were actually doing him a favor by not calling the po-po so he sucked it up and told the kid to say in the front room while he went to go shower and change.

Fifteen minutes, tops, Puck thought as he climbed the stairs two at a time and went straight to his own room. His mother still wasn't home, and wouldn't be for another few hours. Sarah was at camp for another two days, but if she were home he damn sure wouldn't have left some new kid in the living room alone. He gathered a pair of maybe-clean jeans and an old Jefferson Airplane shirt and made his way to the bathroom.

Downstairs, Harry sat awkwardly at the end of a well-loved couch and quietly observed his surroundings. He'd noticed the outdated furnishing, but he wasn't a shallow sad-sack that cared about such things. He was more interested in the photos along the far wall, mostly of a little girl as she grew though the years, some of a boy that was likely Puck, and occasionally of a tired looking woman. There was no sign of father, which likely meant that he'd left. If the father had just passed away there would have been at least a couple. He noticed the hand knitted throw blankets, the childish drawings on the fridge, the sports equipment by the door. He was reminded of the Weasley's, who were hiding out in Egypt with Bill, and felt a burst of nostalgia. He missed the Burrow, but he would selfishly refuse to trade his adoptive dads for more time with his first real family.

Puck had done all he needed to do and descended the stairs to see Harry sitting on his hands at the end of his old couch, staring intently at the photographs of his family. He was pretty proud of that feature, actually, since he'd taken some of those pictures, and paid for the school photos of his sister with the money he'd earned himself.

"It's too early for most places to be open," it was just barely seven-thirty, Puck realized. He hadn't gotten his teenage-summer morning lay in, which was sort of okay because he wasn't the type to stay still, but it was still unreasonably early on a Wednesday. At least that meant he could get all this shopping done before his peers rolled out of bed and got themselves down the mall. "We'd better get something to eat," because there was no way he was going to pass up a free breakfast, and it was probably be of his choosing since the kid was new to town. "We're getting waffles," he added sternly.

Harry stood and ran his hands down the side of his gray tunic, to wipe the sweat off his palms, and waited to follow Puck out of his house. In the past, when Puck brought friends home and with the exception of Finn, who had been around forever, guys couldn't help but comment on the old television. Asking about things like resolution and how he could stand to watch the game on such a crappy screen. Heaven forbid they find any of Sarah's things lying around, because they'd give him shit for the rest of the week. Once, his sister left her tan-Barbie (because fuck if he actually knew what she was called) on the couch. Azimio had picked it up and was waving it around in Puck's face, asking if he liked to dress her up and shit like that, when Sarah came bounding down the stairs and told that big idiot that he'd better put her doll down or she was going to 'go all Puckerman on his junky face,' and that he better not have ruined her hair.

This kid said nothing about his Bubbe's knitted blankets and he'd been sitting on the questionable stain that most people tend to avoid. He was alright, maybe. His dads were weird, so he probably was too, but it was a cool kind of weird. Like, the kind that shook things up. He thought about things like that as he pushed the kid by the back of his head again, this time towards the door, and grabbed his keys. The state hadn't wanted to give him his license back, but his probation officer explained his family's sob story to a judge and they'd reinstated it for him. He just had to go to some anger management classes and retake his driving test.

"So, we're going to some local diner," Puck told him, not knowing what to expect. A lot of the kids their age liked to go to the Lima Bean, because it had all that fancy shit. He preferred the old gutted house at the edge of town, which had been transformed into a restaurant by an old black woman in the early 50's. It's where his Bubbe had taken him every Saturday as a child, before she started to forget.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Puck asked moments later, while they were still bumping their way out of the neighborhood.

"On the contrary," the kid replied, "I can, I'm simply can't think of anything to say at the moment that's not just one gushing apology for Remus and Sirius' -my dads', casual treatment. If I'd warned you about Remy, you wouldn't have been tangoed into clothes shopping."

Puck's eyes were glued to the road. He'd thought the kid a betrayer at first, but wasn't really surprised. He'd been ratted on more times than he could count, most of all by his best friend, the dense Finn Hudson, by accident. He just thought it was cool that this kid had just stuck his head out the window and didn't automatically start shouting at him. He was even remorseful that Puck's on wrong doings ended in a punishment that was kind of weird but not all that unpleasant. Besides, he took his sister shopping for clothes before, he knew what was up.

"Dude, you're just tired. It'll pass," he said, still moving on. They'd had already passed the school, which Puck didn't bother pointing out, the kid could read the name on the side of the building and stared at it with a curious sort of analytical gaze. They passed the courthouse, which Puck stubbornly refused to spare glance at. After they made their way around the local Wal-mart and into Old Dude territory they reached an old place that the ancient locals just called Mama's.

Puck parked his rust bucket and was out and to the door, knowing the kid was going to follow him. He couldn't wait to get through the doors and the smell of black coffee and fried foods hit his nose. He didn't move until a bony hand pressed between his shoulder blades, and immediately he stepped forward.

"Could we take that back booth in the corner, over there?" Harry asked. Puck was kind of surprised he had a preference. He didn't know the kid well enough, but in their limited interactions he hadn't asked for anything. He was reluctant to take his dad's money, even though that's what parents were usually for, and was treating, so Puck shrugged and they made themselves comfortable.

A girl around thirteen showed up at their table a moment later, a half apron tied over her pink shirt and faded jeans and a notepad in hand. "Hey Marly," Puck greeted cheerfully. He'd known the girl just about all his life, knew her mother, who stood just behind the register, and her uncle, who currently owned Mama's. "Just some milk and the usual plate."

"Hi Noah," she returned, writing down his order. Then she turned to Harry with suspicious eyes, because they lived in a pretty small area and he wasn't a regular.

"Hullo," Harry greeted politely, and the girl's eyes widened at his accent. "Coffee and water please, and whatever the special is." The girl nodded as they exchanged questions and answers like 'what kind of eggs would you like' and flounced off happily afterwards, giving the top sheet to the man behind the serving window. "Is this your regular place?" he inquired, because it sure seemed like it was.

"Yup," Puck said happily, "been coming here since before I even had teeth." He admitted. He brought Sarah most weekends, when he could afford to. "They've got the best waffles."

It was nice, Harry thought, to have a regular place. He'd never had a stable enough environment to find the crown jewels; places with his favorite brew, best food, or anything. He had the Leaky Cauldron, but everyone had that, it was the nexus between Diagon Alley and muggle London. The closest he ever came was the Hogs Head, and that was mostly a dump that students congregated at because Aberforth hated Albus' lurking teachers, so it was more private.

"So what's up with having two dads?" Puck asked. It wasn't like he was against queers, because Kurt Hummel was gay as a rainbow parade and the ballsiest guy in the entire town. Rachel's two-gay-dads were pretty cool too, from what he knew from Temple over the years. They were good dads, he knew that for sure, and they tried their best, which was more than his own old man did. Rach's dads actually acted like a couple though, at most Black and Lupin seemed more like partners in crime. He suddenly had the mental image of the scarred dude and his accomplice on wheels kidnapping the tiny person across from him, dragging him to the butt-fuck middle of nowhere.

"They adopted me," Harry admitted happily, like he was completely over the moon about it. "My relatives were deemed unfit," which was true, but wasn't why they'd left, "and the family that unofficially adopted me couldn't really afford to do it properly. Sirius is my godfather, him and Remus were best mates with my dad in school, so stepped up."

"So they're not doing it?" Puck wondered aloud. He'd never seen parents that weren't fucking, unless they were divorced, getting ready to get a divorce, or were screwing around behind each other's backs. So yeah, happy parents that lived in the same house, didn't want to rip one another apart, and weren't getting sex out of it was another weird thing.

Harry made a face that pretty much every kid makes when they think about their parents in that type of situation. "No," he said lowly, with tightness around his eyes. Puck hoped he wasn't a homophobe, because he'd sworn off hanging out with those types of people once Kurt returned to New Directions from Gay Prep-School. "They'd probably argue about who did what, when, and where all day, and that's not anything I think I could stand hearing form my dad's." Oh, so it wasn't because they were both dudes.

Puck laughed, because he'd already met them and they probably would talk about all that stuff, at least Sirius seemed like he would. Marly returned with their drinks a moment later, and unloaded the cream and sugar substitutes she's crammed into the pockets of her apron. "Food'll be done up in a jiff, Noah and British Person."

"It's Harry," the kid shouted after her.

"Then maybe you should shave it," the cheeky girl shouted back, from across the restaurant.

Puck, and several of the old locals that were hanging about, chuckled deeply at the pun. Harry didn't turn red or anything, like Puck had expected him to, he just smiled kindly with laughter dancing around behind his eyes. It was kind of like he'd heard it before, but it never got old. Living with a guy who's name was Serious, he probably got it a lot.

"So I mean to ask you," Harry said casually, while doctoring his coffee up. He didn't take it all sugary like Sirius, or black like Remus'. He was more of a regular kind of guy, Puck noticed, which was a good sign. That meant he wasn't a picky bitch who only wanted the overpriced shit that the pretentious dicks at the Lima Bean served. "What do you mean to do to this Shane fellow for abandoning you to your doom?"

"What?" Puck asked a bit surprised. He sort of assumed that the kid would be sort of anti-revenge, because it was risky and not always worth it. "I mean, why?" It certainly wasn't the first time his lookout had made like a pussy and ran the fuck off. It was sort of one of those topics the football guys didn't talk about, just figured it was one of those 'every man for himself' type things.

"A good lookout would never just run off," Harry said sternly, as if it were a commandment. It probably was at the Black-Lupin house. "You need to choose more carefully in the future. As it stands right now, the bloke that just left you at the mercy of a stranger is the prime target."

Puck could get with that program, especially because Harry talked about it like betrayal was the worst sin imaginable. It might have been, for all he knew, but he was absolutely certain he never wanted to get on the bad side of this kid. Just how old was he, anyway, Puck wondered. He probably should have asked earlier. He should probably also clarify if the kid was a girl or a boy, or what.

Initially he thought 'girl', to be honest. He'd only seen the long curls in disarray, the pale green eyes that were puffy with tiredness, and the sleep swollen lips. Of course he'd assumed girl, because those eyebrows were a little too thin and his cheekbones were high and sort of pretty. Then he thought maybe Harry was a dude because he had no boobs, even though he was about five-seven. His shoulders were broader than any chicks and his hip bones jutted out from underneath his pajamas like a really skinny guys would. After he got dressed in some day clothes Puck assumed he was a really flat chick, because he wore those tight pants and a fancy looking shirt that covered his crotch -so he didn't have an accurate picture of where he hung his dangly bits. Yeah, he should probably figure that out. "Are you a dude or a chick?" Puck blurted out.

The kid didn't get passed off like Hummel would have. However, Hummel was distinctly male, despite his cloths. The same went for his prancing hobbit. Comparatively, no matter what anyone said about Rachel's man-ands, she was still obviously a girl. This kid was androgyny like Lima had never seen before.  
>"That doesn't matter right now," Harry said, "you need to focus on this Shane fellow and figure out how you're going to handle the situation. He has to know that it's not alright to tuck tail and run."<p>

Marly arrived with a plate. She was still pretty young to figure out how to balance them all at the same time on those skinny arms, but Puck didn't mind if she took her time. They didn't speak as Harry inspected his biscuit and gravy plate with scrambled eggs, they waited until Puck received his towering stack of blueberry waffles (oh, how he missed them), and tucked in.

"I think our _numero uno_ goal for today should be just to get you all the things you need, and then we'll talk revenge," Puck said around a mouth full of food. It didn't hinder Harry's understanding any, as he'd been friends with Ron and they'd managed to communicate with massive hangovers and Ron's refusal to remove his breakfast fork from his mouth.

Harry thought about how his dads were trying really hard to make him happy, and he was, but there were the lingering lessons from his time with Petunia. He thought about how Puck seemed to be making the best of this pseudo-punishment, and how he'd been relatively kind considering they didn't know anything about one another. He thought about how brilliant his room would look, how it would be just the way he wanted it to be, and he'd call 1427 Eureka home. "Right," he replied, shifting his primary focus on himself for once, "so do you know any thrifty places to get clothes and furniture?"

"I'm _Jewish_," Puck replied, "_of course_ I know."

* * *

><p><strong>To Those Who Just Read:<strong>

I was going to let Sarah be just another Hannah Montana fan, but I remembered a conversation the family had on the way to Arkansas.

"Harry Potter? Isn't he the wizard from Waverly Place?"  
>"I thought he was the one that escaped to Witch Mountain."<p>

(They were joking)

Yup. Yay for chapter two? I think Puck's coming across as too nice...

**Edited 2/13/2012**: I didn't realize that ffnet took all my italics out, because I can't really see them all that well. Anyway, I fixed that, and used my schools Microsoft Word to correct the major spelling mistakes. It doesn't help that lazy American's usually speak in fragments, but whatever. I'm a lazy American, so I'd know. Anyway, yay for spellcheck.

You folks make fun of me all you want, but I like reviews to be written in complete sentences.


	3. Chapter 3

**To the Masses**: my project group ditched me, so I have some time at school to start chapter three. I was going to update a different story, but…well, I didn't feel like it. The last chapter was edited for grammar and spelling errors, and I'll do my best while proof reading the next chapter. I only have about an hour left on this computer, so I'm sure the top half won't look so bad.

Special thanks to ForeverEmrys, because he calls me on my bullshit and asks a million and one questions so I can fill my own plot holes. Thanks to JasonDragon64, for helping with pranks. Also 27quill, for the help with British idioms and all of those details I can never remember.

Oh no, only 57 minutes left. I lost time, because I needed to use the restroom. (Later: I got about 1400 words done.)

Soundtrack: Turn Me On (Nicki Minaj), Glad You Came (The Wanted), Smooth Criminal (Glee Version).

Warnings: OOC & AU, slash, confusion, illegal activities (that you shouldn't try at home), cultural misunderstandings, and more.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Glee.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

_"A good friend is cheaper than therapy," Unknown._

Puck decided Harry was a cool little dude, as they lounged on the new couch at 1427. Sirius and Remus had left not soon after they had, taking their own truck down to some auction house to fill in the blanks of their house. They found this awesome couch, ugly as all hell, but it was deep enough for Puck to lay on his back and fit comfortably. There was some butt-ugly stain down the side, but he'd seen Remus' calculated gaze and figured it would be gone soon. They'd also purchased one of those wing-backed chairs that old people liked, a sturdy coffee table, and mismatched chairs for the kitchen. They'd stopped by long enough to drop that stuff off, make sure they had both eaten lunch, and were gone again.

Harry hadn't found any furniture he liked for his room at the thrift stores or the warehouse overflow places, except for a lantern shaped light fixture. He did find a deep chair with a Union Jack pattern for the living room, a hookah shaped lamp that was sitting against the far wall, and a giant wooden mushroom they were using as a side table. One thing was apparent, when Sirius had rolled into the house and seen that fungal shaped piece of furniture and his entire face lit up, they were weird. It was still the cool kind of weird, because no one was touching him in a naughty place or looking at him like they were wondering how many limbs they'd have to chop off before he fit in a trashcan, so Puck didn't mind.

They had to stop off at a craft store on the way back, much to Puck's annoyance, because the kid wanted thread and sewing needles. That might have just been an excuse to scope out some paint supplies, because he ended up buying plenty of that too. Puck could respect that though, because his sister had to wear a lot of his old hand-me-downs and taking the sides in made all the difference, and his Bubbe told him that shit was hard work. Harry was all the cooler for not even thinking about taking the easy way out (which, to Puck, involved stapling the hems rather than sewing them properly) and getting shit done. That was why they were camped out on the funny smelling couch instead of vegging in front of a television. He was almost desperate enough form something to do, to contemplate pulling down one of those books and finding out what words looked like.

Puck had planned to spend the second half of his day doing just that, back at his own place. His end of the deal was over and the kid had four big, black trash bags full of new (to him) clothes. He would have been happy to stop by later, when the needle and thread was put away and maybe they'd purchased a television (as old as it was likely to be, with dudes like the Black-Lupins) but the kid stopped him when he was just about to leave, with a simple question.

"Shall we talk about Shane now?" the kid had apparently been waiting the six hours it took for them to shop to ask that question, if his tone was any indication. Puck wondered what kind of person would rather plot revenge than buy new clothes. So he asked. "It's not revenge," Harry spat out a little bitterly, "it's justice. What kind of teammate runs at the first sign of danger, not that Remy is dangerous (that was a sack of lies), instead of helping a friend?"

"We're not exactly friends," Puck told him. That was when he kicked back on the sofa and propped his feet up on the kids lap without asking. Harry didn't push his feet off, he just continued to thread the needle and got to work on whatever it was he was doing to that black shirt.

"You're on a sports team with him. You said so earlier," Harry pointed out. They had talked a little bit about what kind of character Shane Tinsley was, but then Harry would lose focus on what he was supposed to be doing and Puck would change the subject. Otherwise they'd still be at the diner and clothes shopping would have extended another day, and he had work then.

The way Harry said it though, it was as if friend was implied just because they played ball together. There was a time he would have believed that, but then he joined Glee and realized that they weren't as tight as he'd always thought. Those guys on the team never stuck up for him, they would have sooner joined forces against him. At one point they did, and he'd ended up locked in a porta-john. He didn't want to think about that, but just because Tinsley was on the same sports team as him didn't make them bros. He'd only considered taking Shane with him because none of his gleeks would even think about pulling a prank like that, and Shane had actually volunteered.

"Nah, the football teams not all like that," Puck explained, "me and a few of the other guys actually catch a lot of shit for being in Glee club." He paused and raised his head just enough to see Harry's confused stare directed at his clothing. He'd been explaining a bit about American culture to the kid, because he didn't have any previous exposure like most people with televisions did. "That's a show choir. We pick songs to perform at competitions and stuff, with a bit of choreography."

"Why is it called a Glee club then?" Harry asked him. Harry had actually been asking a lot of questions. It was kind of hard to convince him that Puck wasn't going to rip his head off just because he didn't know, but once he opened up Puck actually had to start telling him to shut up.

Puck shrugged, "because music makes people all happy, I guess. Not that depressing piano shit though," he added for clarification. "That shit makes me want to set someone on fire."

Harry grinned a bit, remembering the Yule ball and how his peers went crazy for the music. He'd never felt that, but perhaps that's because the wailing of the band made him want to light someone on fire as well. Several someone's in fact, most of them had started calling him a 'crazy midget' not too long after the first task. He also remembered the classical music, which reminded him that he needed to suggest to his dads that they get a piano. "So you were saying," Harry reminded him, as they both seemed to get lost in thought.

"Yeah, so football's kind-of split up now. You've got football players that only play football and maybe do some other extracurricular. Then there are guys like me, who do Glee. Shane's one of the sports only guys. He's got decent grades and all, but he's not very street-smart. He actually called me up and offered when he heard I was planning something on the new neighbors." Puck lifted his head again, "No offense."

"None taken," Harry said. He'd reassured Puck a few times already that none of them were mad, but the bloke kept expecting them to suddenly blow up in his face. "You do know that the only reason Sirius and Remus were annoyed was because you got caught, right?"

"No shit," Puck sounded surprised, as if they hadn't been trying to explain that all along. "So you're saying if I pulled it off clean they wouldn't have gotten mad at all?"

"They would have thought it was brilliant," Harry established, "you even leveled the furniture with wooden blocks. They would probably have been impressed. Remus has really good ears though, so you never would have gotten away. There's nothing they hate more though, than a Wormtail."

"A wormtail?" Puck asked, as if he couldn't believe that combination of words had just come out of his own mouth.

"Yeah," Harry explained, "a betrayer, someone who turns on their friends because they're scared and pathetic." There was a story behind that, Puck could tell, but the kid was all flushed in anger just thinking about it and he was holding a sharp thing, so he didn't comment. He would later though, like he would do a lot of things, when the needle was gone. Wormtail was kind of fitting. It sounded slimy and unreliable, and kind of reminded him of Wormtongue from Lord of the Rings. Speaking of, that was an old copy of some Tolkien he spied in the corner, maybe he would return later with his reading glasses and nerd out a bit.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Obviously it was his operation, because Puck was so used to people bailing on him that he almost didn't care anymore. All that was left was an occasional pang of some unpleasant emotion, and then he'd move on. "Slash his tires?" he suggested, mostly because he knew how.

Harry made a face as he resumed his sewing, Puck was sure that was fifty cents wasted because the kid wasn't measuring. At least it would still make a good grease rag. "No, that's obviously illegal."

Puck was tired of raising his head just to gauge the kids facial queues, so he abandoned the comfort of lying flat on his back and sat up, turning to the side so he could get a better look while the kid kept on with his art project. "So what are you saying?" he was getting a little fed up with all this confusion, and what was so wrong about a good old tire-slashing job anyway?

"It's too obviously illegal, and easily detected," Harry explained. He didn't use that tone most people did, that implied he was stupid. Like the way Rachel talked all slow and tried, but failed, to use simpler words. Usually she just ended up talking herself into circles, and Puck would just be annoyed. Nah, Harry set about explaining it to him like he was just kind of new to the game, which he wasn't, but he also had the feeling that if there were professional pranksters then the Black-Lupins would be it. Mushroom shaped furniture aside. "If we go about with a series of smaller, less obvious things, we could carry the farce on longer. It would prolong his suffering, and I've the feeling it's not expected of you."

"Yeah, I'm more of a 'punch you in the face' kind of dude, so whatever," Puck agreed. Yeah, that kid may know what he was talking about. "So you want to soak his underwear in liquid heat?" That usually got the guys clutching at their junk in confusion and pain.

Harry thought about that one for a moment and shrugged. "I might be able to get a hold of some swelling solution. We could save that one for later, and use it on the entire rubbish-football team. When your dancing friends are conveniently occupied with something else, of course." He held up the black shirt and admired his work, Puck couldn't really tell the difference though. "If Remy were home, he'd say we need to collect the essential information first. Like, when is he out of the house, what toothpaste does he use, when are his parents at work."

"What does it matter what toothpaste he uses?" Puck wondered. The other two questions make sense, and he knew getting Tinsley out of the house would be easy enough, he did still have some connections.

"To replace it with a duplicate full of foot cream, of course," Harry said nonchalantly, he pulled the shirt back in his lap and began the process of threading his needle again. "Or a red iso-active dye. So when it comes in contact with his saliva it turns red and he thinks his mouth is bleeding. Oh! Perhaps put gelatin in his toilet."

"Okay, you're getting way too happy. Cool it a bit." Puck advised rather crudely. There was nothing wrong with being a little excited for a project like that, but Harry was almost bouncing in his seat. "So you're saying we need to do some recon?"

Harry nodded, "we can start with what you already know and collect the rest a bit later. I have to be here at ten, unless his house is within a one mile radius." Yeah, Puck wasn't even going to ask. Harry knew though, that Sirius and Remus had set up a ward at that distance, that detected persons with evil intent and Harry's own specific location. They were even working on a Marauder Map type project that they had hanging in the office, just in case their location was made known to the wrong people.

"Right, so Tinsley is kind of an idiot. He's got decent enough grades and enough sense in him to make it through the day. He hangs out mostly with Adler and Ramirez," and Puck went on to outline everything he had ever observed about Shane Tinsley, including his height, weight, and usefulness as a sports player. It only too half an hour and when he thought he'd run out of things to say Harry would prompt a question and Puck would do his best to find an answer in his own memories. The black shirt was deemed done, even though Puck had no idea what was done to it, and Harry had started to work on matching pants. Puck got into a little bit of what he knew about Tinsley's closest friends, his schedule, and then they finished that all up with what Puck new about the next day.

"Karofsky's having some kind of going away party, apparently his folks want him to transfer to some other school 'cause of all the trouble he was in last year," Puck added. "He'd be gone most of the day."

Harry smirked a bit, in a creepy kind of way. Usually the kid looked vaguely confused or just plain happy, like being in Lima was the best thing that ever happened to him. It wasn't so bad though, Puck admitted, because he was a pretty cool kid and he did have a point about the wormtails, and team mates. The Glee crowd probably would have stuck by him, except maybe Artie, but he needed a head start anyway. Even goody two-shoes like Hummel an Berry would have stuck around, they'd have been shaking where they stood at the very least, but they'd have stayed. Except they wouldn't have even gone in the first place, because they knew better. If they had though, Puck kept thinking as he ran down the internal Glee cast list as he waited for Harry to come right out and say what nefarious little thing he was plotting.

Sadly enough, Puck thought, he already recognized that look of evil.

He'd only seen in once, when a sales lady at one of those warehouse overflow stores had looked down at him and wanted so badly to refuse to let him purchase that Union Jack chair. Harry had that same little look on his face right before he opened up his pie hole and a steady stream of condescending wrath had poured out. It sounded so nice when delivered with a silky voice and British accent, but he'd told her in no uncertain terms that he was going to purchase that chair and she had no right to assume he was up to anything. Furthermore, just what did she think he was going to do with that chair, she was in luck that he was feeling gracious enough to overlook her presumptuous treatment of him, also her hair looked like something had crawled through it and died. Yeah, that was an expression worth remembering, especially now that the kid knew where he lived. He really should have thought about that earlier. He didn't really have to worry though, because Harry also seemed to have some pretty strong morals and turning on Puck might make him a betrayer.

He was safe, for the moment. Most likely.

"I've got lock picks if you've got the bollocks to sneak into his house while he's otherwise occupied," Harry challenged. "We should plan a preliminary round of mishaps before we go in, so the pain of the trip isn't completely worthless. Then return later with a second wave of misfortune." It sounded almost musical, the way he spoke about it. Mishaps and Misfortune, Puck played with those words in his mind, of course the challenge was already accepted. He didn't have to say it out loud, the part he planned to play didn't have to be put into words.

Keys rattled just beyond the front door and they both turned to watch Sirius and Remus' grand return. Remus pushed his friend through the door while Sirius was holding onto a cardboard box that looked to be full of random bits and bobs. From where he was sitting, Puck could clearly see a silvery hand sticking out from over the top. "There's another chair and an French armoire in the back of the truck."

Naturally Puck had to see what he was talking about. The chair, of course, was an old electric chair from he-didn't-want-to-know-where with the leather straps still attached, and apparently an armoire was a gateway to Narnia. Harry took the chair and placed it at the far end of the long library, and placed some paisley cushion on it, like that made it any better. Puck helped Remus with the armoire, which they moved up to Harry's room.

"Dude," Puck shouted when the portal to Narnia was finally placed on the floor, "did you hand paint all this? Fucking awesome!" When he didn't come back downstairs Harry grabbed a hold of one of the trash bags full of clothes and hauled it upstairs, because he might as well put some stuff away while he went to retrieve the older boy. Puck's face was only an inch away from the wall when Harry finally got there.

"Yeah," Harry said casually, only slightly embarrassed at the enthusiasm. He looked around at his replica of the Forbidden Forest, with it's lush trees and magical flora. He slid a hand down a painted trunk and remembered what it was like to meander through the outskirts with his friends, helping Hagrid out when he needed some extra scouts, and the fun they had just wondering. There was a pixie here and there, as well as other tiny magical beings that lurked about. It was the most peaceful place he knew.

Harry set the bag down on the floor and pushed it against that wall. He'd alter those clothes when it became too late to sit in the library and he just couldn't get to sleep. The rest would stay downstairs, since it was apparent most of his time would be spent there. Remus was still there, waiting for Harry to tell him where he wanted the elegantly carved second closet. Harry would probably use it for art supplies, or maybe he'd use his larger closet for those. There were a lot of clothes though. So Harry and Remus pushed it against one wall while Puck walked around the room and investigated the mural until he felt awkward standing in someone else's bedroom by himself.

"So are you joining an art club?" Puck asked when he reached the library again, the electric chair was still there and still creepy. Sirius had gone about setting his little trinkets around, so a golden frog on the mantel, and what looked like a human skull sitting on their kitchen table. Harry was eyeing the last piece, and he really needed to stop. It was creepy enough without having drawn the attention of one of the most mischievous people Puck ever had the misfortune of coming across.

"Is there an art club?" Harry asked, which Puck found unusual because he'd never heard of a school without some sort of creative program and art was usually at the top of the list. McKinley had one, but wasn't all that great, but they had one. Harry could totally take them by storm and show all those country hicks how it was done, like a British Invasion of Awesome.

"Hell yeah," Puck said. He didn't mention that the art kids usually got a wide berth because some of them regularly forgot to shower and the other kids were spaz's. The art track wasn't as hated as Glee, because nothing was as hated as Glee, but they were pretty low on the food chain. Puck had a feeling that if he did join he'd be considered one of the creepy artsy kids that would probably go all Columbine on their asses if anyone made fun of him. He didn't seem the type, cause he had a strong family structure and all, and he seemed really happy, but the allusion of being an unstable psycho might work in his favor. Harry would need it to, because he crossed certain gender lines, was tiny, and didn't look like he could take care of himself at all. Puck knew better though, which was awesome.

"You should join," Sirius encouraged, pulling a stone idol out of his box. He spent a moment admiring the curves of the tiny Venus before setting it on the kitchen table. Then came another book, old and cracked, with no title. He turned to Puck, "His old school had no art program, purely academics. How any creative types flourish there is a mystery."

"We flourished," Remus reminded him, picking up the idol and carrying it onto the living room to place it on the mantel.

"Oh yeah? What did you do?" Puck asked them. They didn't seem like the artist type, despite the fucking weird things they kept bringing into their house.

"We are the humble purveyors of mischief, perfecting the art of no-good for twenty five years," Sirius replied proudly. Then is disposition sagged, and he said "holy fuck I'm old."

"We're not even forty yet," Remus said, bored as he walked through the kitchen with Harry's completed shirt and pants, and into tossed them into the laundry room. "Speaking of," Remus said when he'd settled himself in an orange table chair, "what have you planned for that," he paused to think of a word.

"The wormtail?" Puck supplied, remembering the word Harry had taught him earlier. Sirius tilted his head back and belted a barking laugh, with no reservations.

Remus smiled in a sad sort of way, "yes, the wormtail. What do you have planned for him?"

Puck felt nervous, like he was turning in a homework assignment he didn't know was due. Like that essay in freshman year that he actually did, about Jews after World War II. He'd poured his being into it, and he failed. The teacher never told him why, but it felt like that moment right before he got his grade back.

Harry brought his sewing with him and sat in the lime green chair, still keeping eyes on the skull. Puck sat across from him, in the Titan red chair, and when he did Harry prompted him to answer with bony toes to his shin. So Puck outlined what they had worked on earlier, including the summary of what he knew about Tinsley, concluding with their plan to scope out his place the next day.

"Not bad," Remus congratulated. Puck wilted just a bit, but in all appearances he hardened. That was the most thought he'd put into anything in a really long time, but it was just 'not bad.'

"Moony," Harry said in a heavy tone that he tried to make light and positive, but felt like he was asking for more. "Moony, he did a good job and you know it."

Remus broke into a grin, "it's not bad," he repeated, but the way he said it made Puck feel thign there was a bit more. "He can do better," Remus, but Harry had called him Moony, didn't say it like he was disappointed. He sounded like couldn't wait for the better. It was nice. Strangers who let him into their home and punished him with shopping, after knowing them for less than a day, and he had expectations that didn't include him going to jail.

Puck nodded and the tension around his eyes was let lose.

"There is definite room for improvement," Sirius agreed without malice, and admiring a white ceramic cup. He placed it on the table and pushed it towards Harry, "do something with that, pup."

"Sure," Harry said, dropping his sewing needle into it just before he began pulling at the fabric and giving his clothes a critical look. "Noah and I have everything under control," he reassured, then correct himself, "under as much control as he could possibly have."

"Noah," Sirius said and turned to Puck with a curious expression. Then he traded some look with Remus, probably exchanging some unknown Marauder signs. "It's a good name," he finally said.

"And you both got weird names," Puck returned. that was the end of that conversation.

Puck had to leave not long after, he needed to get some grocery money from his ma while she as home. Then he needed to get some laundry done, and fix that damn bathroom door for the sixth time.

They'd see each other the next day anyway, after Puck dropped his sister off at a friends place. They still had to scope out Shane's place. It reminded Puck of a few of the military based video games he'd played in the past, so he knew the value of collecting information. His least favorite missions had been all about that type of work, but it was necessary. They were talking about a real life campaign though, and that was fucking exciting.

All the while he was pciking up food he wondered if he needed to wear his porch-nailing clothes, which were used for other pranks too, usually the night time excursions. The more he thought about it hte more sure hew was that he shouldn't. They could get caught, and his no-good ways weren't exactly a secret. there was a chance that set of clothes could be identified for exactly what they were.

Yeah, he'd just dress normal. That way, if they were seen, he'd just say he was showing Harry around. They probably should have worked on a cover story. It helped that he knew where Harry lived, so he'd just walk over there and ask. It would be even better if they'd get a freakin' phone, or at least get Harry a cell or something. If they didn't they might have to work out some old school short wave radio thing, or train up some birds or something.

Just as he was contemplating their long-distance communication issue his phone went off, playing 'Don't Stop Believing,' so he knew it was Finn. Probably asking about how the visit to the new neighbors went down, and he wasn't really sure we wanted to tell him that he'd been caught and spent a day with some pretty wacky people who treated him like he had a brain.

He answered anyway, giving a standard greeting of 'You got Puck.'

"Hey," Finn's voice filtered through. He sounded a bit nervous, but he probably expected the worst, like Puck getting caught and sent to the slammer for vandalism. His step-brother probably didn't help a lick, probably outlined all the things that could go wrong as some sort of sly, shorter brother type retribution. "Drove by the old Attaway House today, saw your work."

Attaway was the creepy old dude that lived there before, and died when they were still Freshman. That house had been empty since then, because all the locals thought it was haunted and not problem telling anyone looking to buy it. Usually high school kids partied there, but no one ever spent the night. Not until Puck, anyway. With the obvious exception of the familiy that lived there. "Yeah, the dudes there aren't so bad," Puck certainly wasn't going to tell him that they were the coolest old guys since their Glee instructor, because he felt a sudden urge of protectiveness. A split second of self evaluation and he decided he liked having them to himself, and he worried a bit that Harry would find Finn way cooler and decide to take him on the Tinsley Mission.

"They saw you? You talked to them?" Finn asked, and Puck could hear Kurt in the background shouting questions he wanted Finn to ask. Even the rainbow parade of Lima was curious to know what kind of family would move into the death trap that was the old Attaway house. "What are they like?"

Puck didn't really want to say, he decided as he calculated prices of generic cereal compared to the rich-white-folks brand. "Yeah, my lookout tucked tail and ran, didn't even give a shout when some guy walked up. They let me go, figured I was just some stupid kid," it wasn't strictly true. They did let him go, with a punishment that was actually kind of fun once he got past Harry's jumpy tendencies, and most people their age thought all kids were stupid, so there -no lie.

"Bro, you got to stop jerking around like that," Finn warned. Puck was touched, he truly was, as he decided on the generic fruit loops, and not because the colors reminded him of the chairs surrounding an old wooden table at the Black-Lupin house.

"Yeah, I fucking got the memo," he replied, "I figured it was way too close a call, and I got like -responsibilities and shit now." He knew Finn would just assume was talking about Beth, but he also knew how well Puck too care of his mother and sister, but he wasn't going to say anything about either, because he had a badass reputation to uphold. He didn't say a word about the things he'd learned about planning better and shit.

"Okay bro, just," Finn didn't know what to say next, because he was hardwired to avoid emotional things like 'be careful,' especially when he knew damn well that Puck wouldn't. "You up for some Modern Warfare?"

He was, but he had priorities. "Can I use your washer?" he asked, because they had one of those awesome energy efficient Maytag's that could fit an entire elephant.

"Of course dude," Finn replied, "see you in an hour?"

"Yeah, an hour," Puck confirmed, and they hung up without saying goodbye because they were hard like that.

An hour later and Puck was observing the enemy, checking his surroundings, and kept a look out as best he could, just like he'd been taught.

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><p><strong>To Those Who Just Read:<strong> I didn't get done what I wanted to, but I can just add that to the next chapter. That draws things out a bit...oh well. Nobody worry about Hedwig! I have a plan!

Song suggestions are welcome.

If you're going to review, please do so in complete sentences. Thank you,

The Administration (Al)


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Glee, Harry Potter, Family, Supernatural