Kurt Hummel And The Boy Who Lived

The Other Boy That Lived

I have co-writtwn this story with gleefulmusings on Fanfiction. Com so all creds go to him! I am ready to answer any needed questions
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As the day of the death of the seventh month dawned, Kurt Hummel rolled over on his side, the light from the enormous bay window in his bedroom bathing his face. He blinked once, somewhat harshly, and startled awake. He yawned and sat up in his large oak sleigh bed before gently laying back against the overstuffed king-sized pillows, sighing gently.

He surveyed his room, pleased with how he had appointed it. The walls were a deep mustard with a teak wainscoting and crown molding painted in the shade of Devon cream. The carpeting was plush and was an exact match for the molding. Aside from the bed, there was a large armoire lining the wall opposite the end of his bed, which housed his entertainment system. The abutting wall, running the length of the room, held his rather large L-shaped mahogany desk, either side of which was flanked by enormous matching bookshelves.

The woods were heavy, antiques dating back centuries, but were durable and functional. The room was large enough that it wasn't dominated by the furniture, all of which had been placed for maximum efficiency and aesthetic flair.

He was going to miss this room; it had become the sanctuary of his often hectic life.

"Happy Birthday, Kurt," he whispered softly to himself.

He would be celebrating with the requisite party in roughly three weeks, but today was the true anniversary of his birth.

"Born as the seventh month dies," he murmured, feeling his world crashing in on him.

His restless mind settled on thoughts of his brother and he wondered what his missing twin, who should soon be receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter, was doing at that moment.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

He swallowed the sob threatening to erupt from his throat and forced down all maudlin thoughts. They had no place, not today, and Harry was closer now than ever before.

After questioning it for several years, Kurt still didn't understand how it was possible to miss so horribly someone he had never truly known. He and Harry hadn't been speaking very long before they were forcibly separated, so it wasn't as though they had ever held a real conversation let alone expressed any sentiments of brotherhood and family.

Instead there were feelings of unacknowledged love and devastating loss. He wondered if Harry had experienced those feelings as well, if his brother also felt as though a huge part of himself was missing.

Kurt himself felt as though he had been cleaved in half those ten long years ago, but could Harry miss someone he didn't remember? That was the curse of an eidetic memory, he ruefully acknowledged. He could remember the entire experience of his life thus far, everything he had had ever seen, read, touched, tasted, smelled, and felt.

He remembered Harry. He remembered Harry being born seven minutes after him. He remembered how their parents had passed their newborn twins back and forth between each other, marveling at what they had created together, counting fingers and toes, reciting the grand plans they had for their children.

He remembered the first time he had lain eyes on Harry. He remembered the way Harry had looked back at him, as though they recognized each other outside the womb they had shared for almost ten months. He remembered that Harry, despite being the youngest twin, had spoken first, walked first, and done so many other things before Kurt.

When Kurt had begun to speak, almost three months after Harry, he had spoken in full, grammatically correct sentences. When he had begun walking, it had directly proceeded creeping; there had been no real crawling.

He remembered the night Voldemort came. He remembered hearing his father engage the animal. He remembered the moment he felt his father perish - and he had felt it, as had Harry. He remembered the animal entering the nursery, admonishing Lily to move aside and assassinating her when she refused. He remembered Voldemort turning his wand upon Harry.

The events immediately following were unknown to him; he had most likely been unconscious. His next memories were of being put in the arms of Suzanne and Burt Hummel and being told they were his new parents.

He had never known what became of Harry.

By all accounts, mostly gleaned from that rag which passed itself off as the newspaper of wizarding Britain, Harry had no idea he even had a brother. Harry was the Boy Who Lived while Kurt had all but been forgotten. He didn't begrudge his brother the fame; he knew well given his father's career how fickle public opinion could be. In fact, he was sure that as soon as Harry reentered wizarding society, he would be immediately longing for obscurity.

And therein lied Kurt's true power: no one knew who he was save very few, and Britain certainly wouldn't be prepared for what he would unleash upon them.

Rage coursed through his veins, undiluted fury that he had been separated from his brother and given away like so much trash. Thankfully he had been adopted by Burt and Suzanne Hummel, who, as far as he was concerned, had been the perfect parents. Even after Suzanne had died, Burt continued to be nothing less than a devoted father, fiercely protective of his only child.

But what of Harry? No substantive information on his placement had been unearthed, despite numerous and insistent - though subtle - attempts. Had Harry been as lucky as he? Was he loved and cared for as he deserved? The thought that he most likely was not made Kurt want to howl with frustration. Soon he would know, however, and then appropriate action would be taken.

In roughly one month, he would be reunited with his brother, and woe betide anyone who interfered.

He, with the help of his advisors, had made numerous plans, both short and long-term contingencies, for his arrival at Hogwarts and what he would discover. He knew it would be exceedingly difficult to get close to Harry and most likely very dangerous to himself, but he would not be deterred. He didn't care that Voldemort was likely still alive, existing somewhere as a parasitic wraith. He didn't care about Britain and their stupid pureblood war and prejudices.

He was going to get his brother back and do everything in his power to ensure Harry's survival and happiness, no matter whom he had to destroy in the process. He smirked at the thought.

He nodded to himself and hopped out of bed, storming toward the bathroom. He had to complete his ablutions and get dressed before reviewing today's agenda.

In roughly three hours, he was certain Albus Dumbledore would be arriving to deliver his Hogwarts letter, expecting an easy sell. The man was in for a rude awakening. Kurt would be recalcitrant and unimpressed by the man's legend and the promise of a vaunted Hogwarts education. He would then proceed to make his demands, all of which he was sure Dumbledore would concede in order to secure his attendance.

Harry Potter was well and truly the Boy Who Lived, the child who had defeated Voldemort a decade previous; he had earned the title and respect that came with it.

Kurt Hummel, however, born Liam Potter, also fit the prophecy and was sure Dumbledore would want to keep him close at heel, along with Neville Longbottom, just in case Harry didn't survive his perceived duty.

His smirk bloomed into an anticipatory smile of bliss.

Matching wits with the most celebrated wizard of the last century? Not a problem.

He shut the bathroom door and turned on the shower, shrugging out of his pajamas.

"You have no idea what's coming, Albus, but trust me, my performances always deliver."