Author's Note:So this story is completely AU from either the Glee or Harry Potter universe (obviously). So far only the time pre-Hogwarts is written, but if enough interest is generated then I will continue it into Hogwarts and post-Hogwarts timeline. I would also like to thank 27quill, because reading her wonderful fiction: Summer Bonds inspired me to write this. I encourage anyone who hasn't to read this if they like the Harry/Kurt pairing.

Disclaimer:I own nothing.

Warnings: Timeline has been skewed to fit the story. You will see how. SLASH (homosexual relationship) though not full out for a while. Language. Abuse (emotional and some physical). Fictional medical and psychological diagnoses. Mentions of suicide and suicidal thoughts. Bullying.

Rating: T, PG-13

Summary: Harry wanted nothing more than to be a good boy, because good boys got hugs and kisses. But Harry learns there's something better, love. HP/KH kid!fic

Chapter: One: In Which Harry is a Bad Boy

When Adults looked at Harry the first thing they noticed was his wild black hair. It was long and shaggy, and it almost always covered his face. Not matter how many times his aunt tried to cut it to be more manageable, it would always grow back seemingly overnight.

The next thing most adults noticed was how small he was. Being small was nothing unusual for a six year old, but when compared to the other six year olds, and even some of the five or four year olds, Harry was smaller both in height and weight than most.

The third most noticeable thing, and most arguably his best feature, was his rarely seen eyes. Large eyes so green they caused most people to do a double take, just to be sure their own eyes weren't tricking them, but in the time it took for them to blink Harry's eyes were already locked firmly to the ground, hidden by dark hair and low self-confidence.

When Harry looked at an adult all he could see were featureless blurs.

Most days, especially days when his aunt and uncle were forced to take him out with them, were spent keeping his eyes firmly latched to the floor trying for all his worth not to trip. Harry learned early that tripping over things or falling due to his own clumsiness often gained him attention from people around him and his relatives.

Unwanted attention.

Something else Harry had learned early on was attention of any kind paid to him caused Uncle Vernon to become angry or caused Aunt Petunia to scold him and yell at him to stop causing trouble. Either way resulted in a sore bottom and time locked in his cupboard.

Harry's poor eyesight had one advantage. To make up for his damaged eyes his body made better use of his other senses, mainly his sense of smell and hearing. Harry could hear many things that his relatives could not.

Harry could hear his aunt's shows on the television from the living room while he was out in the garden tending to the weeding and up keep. In the garden he could hear soft whispers from the bushes that sounded like hissing. He could hear whenever Uncle Vernon was nearing the driveway, a sound he always listened for, as he didn't want to be accused of being slow with his chores. Harry's favorite thing to listen to had to be the radio. Often times Aunt Petunia would leave the radio in her room on when she took a nap upstairs while Harry cleaned or gardened.

Every now and then, while Aunt Petunia was taking a nap and Dudley was occupied with a new toy or the television in his room, Harry would sing along to the tunes he could hear on the radio. The days this happened tended to be dark overcast days that promised heavy rain. These days quickly became the small boy's favorite days. They were the perfect days to be outside working on the garden, at least until it actually rained, because the sun was not bearing down hotly on his skin and his aunt and cousin would be too tired to bother with him.

Sunny days usually meant he was locked outside to work in the garden or to cut the grass. Harry loved the being and outside and he loved the sun because he saw so little of it when he was locked in his cupboard. While he loved the sun, he hated how the sun would sometimes bake his skin into a painful bright red that would then peel and flake before it darkened.

It was on a sunny day that Harry was pulled from the garden by his Uncle Vernon, and shoved up the stairs with a quick smack on the back of his head for being slow.

"Wash quickly." Uncle Vernon said. " Wear this." He shoved some of Harry's clothing into his small hands. "Don't dawdle. If we're late because of you boy, you'll be locked in the cupboard without dinner!"

Uncle Vernon slammed the door loudly. Harry paid no mind as he turned on the water, shed his clothing and washed. The water was freezing, 'Probably because Dudley used all the hot water' Harry thought with an eye roll.

"Hurry up boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed a few moments later.

Harry quickly rinsed his hair and tugged on his oversize clothing. The clothing was old, well used and lightly fade. The best of his clothing, being only three sizes too big and with no rips or tears. Harry raised an eyebrow at the clothing, not sure why his uncle would want him to wear his best clothes. He only hoped that it was not to meet his uncle's workmates again. Those men gave Harry a bad feeling.

Nearly tripping down the stairs, Harry made it down in time to watch Aunt Petunia simpering over Dudley's new outfit. Noticing that Harry had finally made it down, she glanced down at him and sneered.

Cold water dropped from his shaggy hair and into his eyes, but Harry didn't dare wipe it away. Uncle Vernon turned to the boy and glowered. "Boy, you're getting the carpet wet!" He grouched, "Freakish boy, I told you if we're late you'll be locked in your cupboard with no dinner or breakfast tomorrow! Now go dry off!"

Harry mumbled a "yes Uncle Vernon," before running to the kitchen. With the added threat of no breakfast, Harry didn't hesitate to use a small kitchen towel to rub his hair dry.

"Vernon, I'll just a moment. I almost forgot the house warming gift." Harry heard Aunt Petunia enter the kitchen. She took the towel from his hands and rubbed his head vigorously. Harry winced as she tugged harshly on his wild locks but kept silent. He was thankful for the quick work.

Aunt Petunia threw the damp towel in the sink, grabbed a covered tray from the counter, and walked out of the room.

With his hair still a little damp, Harry trailed behind his aunt. His uncle sneered at his damp hair, but didn't say anything as Aunt Petunia grabbed Dudley by the hand and walked out the open door and down the street.

Harry was unsure of where they were going, but he walked a bit behind the rest of his relatives as they walked. He knew better than to be too close to them, providing an easy target to accidently trip for Dudley and with in easy striking distance for his aunt and uncle. He also knew better than to be too far, for then he would be yelled at for being slow or gain attention for being a small child walking alone.

As they walked, Harry began to recognize some of the blurs of color, smells and sounds they passed. They were on the way to Mrs. Figg's house, and older woman with more cats than Harry could count.

'Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon must be going on a trip again.' Harry thought as he continued to walk. It wasn't unusual for the Dursleys to leave Harry at Mrs. Figg's house whenever they left, but it was unusual for them to walk to her house rather than drive. It was even more unusual for them to go to her house without provided Harry with enough clothing to spend the days there. In all honesty, Harry would have rather been locked outside rather be left with Mrs. Figg, but his relatives refused to leave him by himself in their house.

It wasn't that Mrs. Figg treated Harry horribly; in fact she treated him better than the Dursleys. She only smacked him when he accidentally stepped on one of her numerous cats and most of her insults were actually quite funny. However, Harry was often bored to the point of tears when left in her care. He was not allowed outside, to watch the telly, or even to cook or clean. Most of their time was spent looking at pictures of her cats.

A high-pitched bark combined with a large yellow and blue blur signified the neighboring house to Mrs. Figg's house. Just as Harry was about to steel himself against the pungent odor emitted by the numerous cats, Harry noticed something unusual. The normally quiet street was filled with music and voices that melded together. 'A party?' Harry questioned himself.

Not unheard of in their small neighborhood, but Harry had never been allowed to attend a party before. His uncle said it was because no one wanted to allow a troublesome freak into their home. When Harry asked why Mrs. Figg and the Dursleys allowed him in their home Uncle Vernon replied it was because they had to, smacked him across his bum and locked him in his cupboard for the rest of the day for his cheek.

Harry was so engrossed in his memories and thoughts that he almost didn't notice when the Dursleys stopped at the red door of Mrs. Figg's house. He only just managed to not knock into Uncle Vernon as he rapped on the door. Harry could hear heavy footsteps coming toward the door. 'Mrs.Figg's footsteps have never been that heavy.' Harry tilted his head slightly and listened, 'I don't hear any of her cats either.'

Suddenly a large man opened the red door. Harry instinctively took a step back and didn't dare to raise his eyes. In his experience, adults were either like the Dursleys, in which case it was better to be as small and as quiet as possible, or like Mrs. Figg in which case they ignored you.

The Dursleys were quick to introduce themselves. Uncle Vernon shook the man's hand. Aunt Petunia nodded her head and pulled Dudley in front of her to show off her "little Dudders", who then also shook the man's hand. Aunt Petunia then handed the man the covered tray she had picked up from the kitchen. The man pulled back the cover and the smell of warm cookies wafted over to Harry.

A knot formed in the boy's stomach. Those were the cookies his aunt had him make earlier in the day. One of the very first things he had learned how to make, as he was too short to properly work the stove but the perfect height to operate the oven. They had also been the very first sweet Harry could remember having, before Aunt Petunia smacked the cookie out of his hand and said they were only for "good boys". Harry vowed on that day to be as good as he could possibly be so he could taste those heavenly treats again.

That was over a year ago. Harry was still a bad boy.

"And who is this?" the man's voice drew Harry's eyes up. Bright green eyes meet hazel eyes so close that the boy could actually see them clearly. Startled, Harry took another step back and began to fall off the raised step. "Whoa!"

A hand reached out and caught his wrist, pulling him forward and steadying the small boy with another hand on his shoulder. Harry froze. Panic raised within the boy and caught in his throat. The last time someone had grabbed him like this Uncle Vernon had smelled heavily of his favorite beer and Harry had nearly broken his leg from being pushed down the stairs.

"Hey little guy, it's alright. Don't worry, you didn't fall." The man let go of Harry's wrist. "Just don't cry, come on don't cry." The man pleaded.

Green eyes squinted up at the man. 'He's worried I'm going to cry?' Harry thought in confusion. The man pulled a cookie from under the tray and held it out to the boy.

Confused, and more than a little cautious, Harry glanced around for the Dursleys. He couldn't see their familiar blurs, nor could he hear or smell them anywhere near. They had apparently already gone inside, more than likely they had forgotten they had brought him along.

Harry shyly reached out for the cookie. He saw a flash of white and assumed the man was smiling. Harry felt his lips pull back slightly in an answer and took the cookie. He bit into the warm treat and nearly cried out at the sweet and explosive flavor of chocolate on his tongue.

"My name's Burt kid. Burt Hummel." The man, Mr. Burt, watched as the boy ate the cookie, savoring every bite like it might be his last. "What's your name?"

The small boy swallowed his bite. "Harry." He answered quietly and took another bite.

Burt smiled and ignored that Harry hadn't given a last name. "I think your mom and dad already went inside," he held out his hand, "lets go in and find 'em, eh? Then you can meet my son, he's probably closer to your brothers age but I'm sure you'll get along."

As Harry mournfully took the last bite of his cookie he blinked up at Mr. Burt not sure whether or not to correct his misconception. He decided no to say anything. Usually when he spoke out of turn he was being "cheeky" and would then be sent to his cupboard. Mr. Burt had been so nice to him; he'd even thought Harry was a good boy! At least good enough to be given a cookie, and he didn't want to appear cheeky.

Harry's hand was held lightly in Mr. Burt's grip as they made their way through the house. Harry smelled the combination of cleaners and the faded scent of cats. This was Mrs. Figg's house, or at least it use to be. The furniture was even in the same place. So where was Mrs. Figg?

Glancing up at Mr. Burt, Harry wondered if the big man killed Mrs. Figg like those men in the crime shows Aunt Petunia sometimes watched. Harry gulped. Aunt Petunia said those bad men would come after naughty freaky boys like Harry. Would Mr. Burt go after Harry? Would he kill him?

Harry dismissed the idea quickly. Mr. Burt had been nothing but kind to Harry so far, and he didn't give Harry a bad feeling like Uncle Vernon's workmates or the old man that always watched kids going in or out of the market. They made his skin crawl and his blood run cold. There was something about Mr. Burt, Harry noted, that made him feel warm and almost safe.

Almost.

Finding the Dursleys wasn't difficult. They were standing outside talking with what Harry knew, for some odd reason, to be a very pretty woman. The woman had a smaller child size blur wrapped around her legs. She smelled of perfume, flowers and berries, and radiated a warmth similar to what Harry felt in Burt but stronger. As Burt and he neared the small group, Harry heard other people around him speaking. A short distance away he could also hear some of the other neighborhood kids playing.

Some of the other adults noticed Burt holding Harry's hand. They assumed, logically if one believed the Dursleys, that Burt had caught Harry doing something naughty. Many felt a pang of sympathy for the Dursleys for having to deal with such a troubled child. Those with children near them made it a point to tell their children to stay away from what they considered to be a bad influence.

Harry's face grew hot. He ducked his head further down to allow his hair to cover his shame. He could only hope once the Dursleys told Mr. Burt about how bad he was that he wouldn't tell them about his mistake of giving Harry a cookie.

They stopped. Harry quickly pulled his hand from Mr. Burt's, silently cursing himself for not letting go sooner. He hoped Uncle Vernon had not seen.

The fire in the glare he felt Uncle Vernon give him left little doubt Harry would be answering for this once they got back to the privacy of their house.

"I found this little guy by the front door, thought you might like him back." Burt said in good humor.

Aunt Petunia laughed a bit too loudly to be genuine. Harry always thought it sounded like a horse's whinny. "That's our nephew, Harry." She simpered. "Poor boy is troubled."

Aunt Petunia grabbed Harry by his wrist and pulled him toward her. Narrowly missing tumbling to the ground, Harry was brought to his aunt's side. She subtly pushed him back. He took the hint and skirted behind his aunt.

"Troubled?" The woman asked.

"Oh yes, the poor dear." Aunt Petunia's hand patted Harry's a bit too forcibly. Harry barely resisted the urge to massage his sore scalp. "His parents were drunk behind the wheel one night. Had a terrible crash. It killed the both of them and must have knocked a few things loose with the boy. He hardly speaks to anyone who isn't family and he can't help himself from getting into trouble."

Harry glared at the floor. He couldn't help being naughty because he didn't know what was considered to be good behavior. When he tried acting like Dudley he got a thrashing from the Dursleys and a call home from the school, which resulted in another thrashing. He was near the point of giving up all hope of ever being able to be good, and thus, giving up all hope of ever getting hugs or kisses like Dudley and other good kids got.

"Oh." The awkward reply came from Mr. Burt.

Harry glared harder at the grass, face burning and heart bruised.

"Perhaps he just needs a friend his own age," the woman's soft voice sooth Harry's bruised heart and he began to hope.

"Best to not let him around other children." Uncle Vernon interrupted. "We have a hard time keeping him under control with our Dudders. Boy use to push him around, pull his hair, blame Dudders for breaking things. He can be a right handful if not watched properly."

Harry felt his hope die a fiery death as more heat flooded his cheeks. He never pushed Dudley or pulled his hair, in fact Dudley had done those to him! The only time he accused Dudley of breaking something was when Dudley broke a dish and blamed Harry first!

He kept silent. Harry knew going against whatever Uncle Vernon said usually ended with him in the cupboard with a throbbing bottom or head, and most likely a new bruise.

"Nonsense." Harry was startled when he felt a hand, too soft to be Aunt Petunia and too small to be Uncle Vernon, gently rub his hair before trailing down his face to grab his chin. The hand gently raised his face and he was greeted by the prettiest face he had ever seen. "Hello Harry, my name is Elizabeth Hummel. You may call me Eliza." She gave him a large smile and Harry felt his heart practically burst through his chest.

Harry swallowed hard. She must have been a princess from one of Dudley's storybooks. Or an angel he heard about from the television. She felt so warm. Her hand was soft on his face and her voice was musical. She stayed kneeling on the ground and Harry realized she was waiting for a reply.

Harry was torn. His aunt and uncle had made it clear he was never to speak with strangers. 'But she's not a stranger! She knows my name and she's even letting me call her by her first name!' His aunt and uncle had also made it clear that any rudeness from him would result in a thrashing. Was he being rude for making Mrs. Eliza kneel and potentially ruin her dress with dirt?

"My name is Harry." He finally said.

Mrs. Eliza's smile grew larger and Harry was very glad he answered. She pulled back and let go of Harry's face. Reaching out a hand behind her, Mrs. Eliza gestured for a small blur to come closer.

As the blur got closer, Harry realized that the child was a boy.

"This," Mrs. Eliza said, "is my son Kurt." The little boy reached out a hand. Harry hesitated briefly before holding it. "If you're a good boy Harry, you may play together."

Harry grew sad and dropped Kurt's hand. He didn't know how to be good.

"Just don't push Kurt or pull his hair, Harry." Harry looked back up at Mrs. Eliza's smiling face. "Be nice to Kurt and don't hurt him. That's how you become a good boy Harry."

The small hand returned to wrap itself around Harry's hand. "Come on." A soft and smooth voice said. "Let go play."

'He sounds like a girl,' Harry thought as he was pulled away from the Dursleys and the Hummels. He looked down at the pale hand holding his tanned one. 'I like it.'

Kurt pulled the dark haired boy to where the other children were playing. From how the boys and girls were running around, Kurt figured they must have been playing tag. Normally Kurt was against playing such games. He couldn't understand what was so fun about running around and shoving each other, but his mother had given him a new friend. He was determined to show Harry how fun a friend Kurt was.

"Hey guys!" Kurt called out, his hand still firmly around Harry's. He felt his new friend grow stiff. "Can we play?"

The other kids, only about ten in all, stopped playing. They all looked at each other before one boy stepped forward.

"You can play," he said, "but Potter can't."

Kurt turned to look at his new friend, who was currently looking at the ground again. "Who's Potter? Harry and I want to play."

The boy, who reminded Kurt of a rat, sneered. "Harry is Potter, and Harry Potter isn't allowed to play with us. The other kids nodded in agreement.

Harry tugged his hand, trying to get out of Kurt's grip. He just held on tighter.

"Why can't Harry play?" Kurt demanded with a glare. He was really starting to not like this rat face kid.

"Because he's a freak." The boy stated matter-of-factually.

Tears of embarrassment gathered in Harry's eyes. Kurt caught a glance of them out of the corner of his eyes.

Kurt glared at the rat-faced boy harder. " You can't say that about my friend!" He yelled. "Take it back you meanie!"

"Piers is right!" A girl said from somewhere in the crowd. "My momma said that Potter's a bad boy and that we shouldn't play with him! Even Dudley says that Potter's a freak because his parents told him so!"

Kurt shifted his glare from Piers to the whole group. He tugged at Harry's hand, bringing the smaller boy to his front and wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders and waist. "Listen up!" He yelled so loudly that even some of the adults stopped talking to see what was going on. " Harry is my friend! My mommy gave him to me, and she would never give me anything bad or freaky! That means that Harry Potter isn't bad or a freak, it means that Harry Potter is mine!"

Kurt ended his speech by sticking his tongue out at the other kids. He spun around, noticed the adults staring at him, stuck his nose in the air and dragged Harry by his shoulders back into the house.

Silence filled the backyard. A silence that was quickly broken by Dudley marching his way to Piers demanding to know what happened wit the freak and the new kid.

Slowly other parents return to their conversations. Vernon Dursley's face was turning an unattractive shade of purple, while Petunia Dursley forced out a strained laugh and sipped on her drink. Burt Hummel gazed after his son and his new friend. Elizabeth Hummel just smiled knowingly and his it behind her drink.

"That's my boy."

Author's Ending Notes: Please tell me what you think. Should I continue it or leave it how it is?