And, here it goes. My first attempt at a Glee fanfic and my first attempt at a crossover.

A little background info: for convenience's sake, consider all the important events of HBP, i.e. the discovery of horcruxes and Dumbledore's death lifted and mashed into the events of the fifth year, so that the events of the Deathly Hallows would have occurred in the sixth rather than the seventh year. Makes Harry a more convincing high schooler, I think.

This was the third time in two weeks that Harry had been summoned to the office of the Public Relations Department at the Ministry of Magic. It was the same old shtick, every single time. Sawyer, head of the department, would push a scalding cup of tea across his rosewood desk, which Harry would refuse. He would then knit those over plucked grey eyebrows and launch into a long, dull monologue about healing wounds and duty to the dead and a load of other pretty, useless rot, until Harry started nodding off in his chair, at which point Sawyer would wave Harry off with a long suffering sort of sigh, and Harry would head to the corner coffee shop, down a double shot of espresso, and promptly forget the morning's proceedings.

Today Sawyer was frowning, same as ever, but he had last morning's Prophet neatly folded in front of him. This could mean either trouble or amusement, depending on what kind of mood Harry was in. Today's mood: irritable. This morning's post had contained no less than forty-five fan letters, six Howlers, and three marriage proposals. The sender of the last marriage proposal had thoughtfully provided a pair of used underpants. Mrs. Weasley , bless her heart, had burned the lot of them, but that had still left the droppings of fifty-four owls to clean off the dining room floor.

Sawyer fixed Harry a sad stare with those droopy, hang-dog eyes of his. Harry was not moved. Sawyer gestured toward the flashing headline on the paper between them. "So, you decided to make it…official…at last night's press conference that you have no intention of joining with the Auror Department, directly contradicting the Ministry's latest press releases?"

Harry blinked sweetly at him. "That's correct…sir."

"And you also took the liberty of expressing to the reporters that you feel that the Auror Department is…ah…a 'passel of bloody fucking idiots who couldn't defend anyone from a team of Muggle children armed with nerf guns, much less a real threat.'"

"Did I say that?" asked Harry, twisting the corner of his mouth up into a satisfied smirk. "Well, it's true. The night that Tonks died and Kingsley left the department was the night you lost the last two competent Aurors. You traded them in for a bunch of arses who only know how to parrot whatever you say."

Sawyer, unsurprised and unfazed by Harry's distaste, pressed on. "Your little grudge with the Ministry is old news. Has it ever occurred to you that no matter what your opinion on the task force may be, it is to the Ministry's-no, to the magical community's benefit that you at least attempt to play nice?"

In fact, that was the first thing that had occurred to Harry, but he had no intention of letting Sawyer know that. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow, forcing Sawyer to explain.

"What I mean to say is that public morale is in the gutter. We won the war, yes, but no one will ever forget that You-know-who infiltrated the government, so it was the Ministry itself that was the enemy. Old habits die hard. It would help enormously if a powerful symbol of victory such as you allied with the Ministry-"

"Pardon?" asked Harry.

"I was saying, if a symbol of victory such as yourself allied with the Ministry and publicly supported the reconstruction effort-"

"I'm not a symbol," said Harry, his voice dangerously steady. He had no memory of getting to his feet, and yet there he was, staring down at Sawyer.

Sawyer gaped, those basset hound eyes now registering alarm. "That not-what the Ministry needs-"

Harry wanted nothing more than to upend the desk on Sawyer's head, but that would result in injury and a lawsuit. He settled instead for upending the chair. "I'm not a symbol. I'm not your pawn. I am a goddamn human. And let me tell you this; when I offered myself up to die, it wasn't for the Ministry, and most certainly not for this." He swept out, doing his best impression of Snape in a towering temper. Heads up and down the hall flicked up out of their cubicles to stare at him. He didn't particularly care, for once. He only hoped that he had broken the door when he slammed it on his way out. At least he could make the Ministry pay for that much.

"That was kind of a stupid move," said George Weasley, over a sponge cake and tea provided by Mrs. Weasley.

"I know," said Harry, massaging his temples in circles. "They'll be out for my blood now."

"Are you kidding me? It'd going to be the post-Triwizard press all over again."

"They had it coming."

"I never said they didn't. If you had asked Hermione, though, you probably could have gotten a more socially acceptable method of expressing your disapproval."

"Since when did you care about socially acceptable?"

"Fair enough," George shrugged, but Harry regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. George had been a changed man since the death of Fred. He never thought that he'd live to see the day when the word 'withdrawn' could be used to describe a Weasley twin, but there it was.

"I just need to get away," Harry muttered, talking more to his sponge cake than to anyone in particular.

"That's it, then," said George, waving his fork enthusiastically.


Just get away! Who's to stop you from moving to Siberia or wherever, where no one will give a damn about what the stupid Prophet says or where you went for dinner last Tuesday?"

"That's…not a bad idea," said Harry, chewing on his sponge cake thoughtfully. "I could move to a Muggle town or something. Go to school. Be normal."

"A Muggle high school? They won't know what's hit them." Harry didn't know whether to be heartened or frightened by the return of that old manic gleam to George's eyes.

The chapters will get longer, seeing as this is kind of an intro, I swear. Read and reviewwwwww, darlings, or I won't know what I'm getting wrong and what I'm getting right.