A/N: So, this one is a little different, guys. I don't want to spoil too much for you, but if you get confused, I'll be glad to answer any questions you might have, and I'd welcome your feedback. Happy Quitt week! Enjoy!


'cause all I know is we said hello

and your eyes look like coming home

all I know is a simple name, everything has changed

Even though school has been in session for weeks now, Quinn is still homesick.

She feels like she must be the only one.

Everyone she meets is bubbling over with excitement – most of them have never been so far away from their homes and families, or for such a long time. It's still a big adventure for them.

It's not that she misses her parents – quite. Her parents are hard people, sometimes , to get along with; and Quinn admits, in her quiet moments, that being at home makes her feel small, somehow.

She feels small here, too, but in a different way. Small because she's a stranger, and there's so many people, and everything is sort of new and everyone seems to be having so much fun – except for her.

It doesn't help that her roommates happen to be friends from before the semester started. She shares a large dormitory with girls named Rachel, Santana, and Sugar (Quinn still thinks that is a ludicrous name, though it fits the girl perfectly), who are – in spite of their constant squabbling – like peas in a pod. Even when Santana is sneering and spitting judgments about the way Rachel braids her hair, or how Sugar wears too much big, gaudy jewelry, there's a familiarity between them that makes Quinn ache for the house she grew up in, and people who have known her for her entire life.

Maybe not her parents so much, but she does miss her older sister, Julia, who goes to a boarding school in Arizona. Quinn wanted to follow Jules there, but her mother – a paragon of wisdom – decided it would be better for Quinn's "development" to send her here. To the middle of nowhere. In Alaska.

Quinn doesn't mind the school – she knows that it's one of the most prestigious private academies in the country. She's heard that several of the teachers are legendary in some capacity or another. Her own dormitory regent, Sue Sylvester, coaches one of the most successful cheerleading squads in the nation. Quinn is also half in love with the old stonework of the school itself and its high, gothic archways – sometimes, when she's alone, she imagines that she's a princess from another time, walking the grounds of her castle on the way to one errand or another.

There are downsides, though, like the fact that she only has a velvet curtain separating her privacy from that of the other girls', and that she can always hear them giggling and whispering – or, in Santana's case, snapping and shouting – when she's trying to sleep. Oh, they're nice enough to her face, but Quinn gets the impression that they're always laughing at her. Even Rachel, the least imposing, smiles at Quinn like Quinn is a novelty, or an amusement. It rankles Quinn in a peculiar, unnamed way – it makes her biting and sharp, and overly prickly; she has watched Rachel recoil from her after something she's said, and almost immediately regretted it – but she can't help herself. Sometimes her own words surprise her, and she's left feeling like a venomous, hateful stranger has possessed her for a few seconds.

She hasn't made any friends with the older girls, either, and she rarely interacts with people outside of her own house.

Monday finds Quinn groaning and rolling into a sitting position, using the flat of her hand to press down her hair before sweeping back the russet-colored curtain. Directly opposite her, Sugar is already dressed and primping, powdering her nose behind a small, compact mirror. Quinn can't quite hide the grimace that takes over her face at the image of a huge pink bow in Sugar's tawny hair, but she bites her tongue. On the other side of her bed, she can hear Rachel singing in the tiny adjoining bathroom that the four of them share, and Quinn is grateful for the muffling effects of the thick granite walls that surround them. She stands up, wiggling her toes against the cold that seeps past her socks, and pulls a robe out of her wardrobe. Quinn hates the fact that they're cream, which isn't a particularly flattering shade on her, but she supposes that she has the next four years to get used to wearing them.

After a round of stretching, she finally dresses, and by now, Santana is awake. Even Sugar looks at Santana with wide, cautious eyes first thing in the morning – mostly because her hair takes on the likeness of a small, but enthusiastic, bush – and Quinn feels her shoulders tightening with tension. She finishes fastening the tiny, elaborate ruby and silver pin to the breast of her school robe before she turns around to face Santana.

"Not today, Fabray," Santana grumbles, without looking up. Her eyes are swollen and tired, but even beneath the messy frizz of her hair, Quinn can see that Santana is inherently beautiful. She has skin that stays a warm, golden tan – even here, in this dark, cold place – and hair, that when it behaves, is thick and rich, a color somewhere between true black and deep brown. Her eyes are slanted and catty, quick shadows, and her lips are soft and full. Quinn has seen dimples in each of Santana's cheeks when she smiles, which is the sort of smile that makes everyone around want to smile with it.

Quinn envies Santana her simple beauty – and her biting wit.

"It isn't my fault you slept all morning," Quinn replies, trying to remain calm. She can feel her heart start to thud in her ribcage.

Santana stands up mutely and begins walking towards the bathroom.

Quinn's muscles bunch. She sees Rachel out of the corner of her eye – she stands with her hands squeezed together, her lip caught between her teeth.

"Santana," Quinn's voice is louder, now. "It's my turn. Let me in the bathroom."

"Up yours." Santana grunts.

Quinn narrows her eyes, and then takes five long steps before she shoves Santana out of the way.

"Hey!" Santana is indignant. Quinn speeds up, slamming the door shut only inches in front of Santana's face. Quickly, she turns the lock, and she grins at the rush of triumph she feels at the outraged fist pounding against the door. "Let me in! I'm going to be late!"

"Not my problem," Quinn murmurs. She turns to face herself in the mirror.

She rides on the tiny wave of euphoria for exactly three minutes before she hears muttering outside the door –

"—don't know why she didn't just go in when she first woke up –"

" – takes so long to get dressed, anyway –"

" – it's like she wants to piss me off."

Quinn's smile dies, and her heart sinks in her chest. She stares at herself in the mirror for a long moment before she sighs, and then turns towards the sink, gripping the marble handle of the faucet. When the water comes on, it's a gurgling rush, and it drowns out the voices of her roommates.

Her heart squeezes, and she remembers her ranch back in Lima, where she never had to fight for the bathroom, and her smiles were stolen from her by a grown man instead of girls who are, somehow, supposed to become her friends.


Quinn really hates crazy Mrs. Schuester's potions class. Really. It was a subject she did well at in her old middle school – she won a prize, once, for her forgetfulness potion – but she finds herself struggling to do well in this one. She isn't sure why, exactly, except for the fact that Mrs. Schuester is a scatterbrained, manic teacher who doesn't take the time to explain much, and she rarely teaches from the book. Quinn is too stubborn to say anything about it, but she can tell that most of the other students find the lessons as nonsensical as she does.

She happens to have Rachel in this class, and they're the only two from Ignis house. Rachel spends most of the free time chattering about the other students and their houses – the big guy, Finn Hudson, is in Talamh, and Quinn feels like she practically knows his entire life due to Rachel's gossip. She squints at her textbook, looking up to the white board at the front of the class, where Mrs. Schuester is using her wand to animate the blue marker. Quinn doesn't recognize the formula being scrawled out. She suppresses a groan.

"That boy, Samuel Evans, he's in Senset," Rachel's voice is loud and animated, and Quinn wonders if she really imagines that she's being discreet at all. "He keeps looking at you, Quinn. I think he has a crush."

Quinn raises an eyebrow and glances up – her gaze following Rachel's, to the table by the windows. Sam Evans is a tall, broad-shouldered boy with a messy flop of wheat-colored hair. He grins at her with big, soft lips, and Quinn feels herself respond – almost. He certainly is good-looking, and his lapis eyes are definitely aimed at her.

Quinn is distracted, however, by the girl sitting just to the right of him. She has long, straight hair, the color of honeysuckle flowers; it falls to just above her elbows. She sits with her chin resting on the meat of her palm, while she stares outside – the sky is dank and gray, the thin sunlight barely illuminating the ice-encrusted valley below. At this angle, Quinn has a good view of her profile – she can make out the delicate line of her jaw, the sharp curve of her nose, the soft pink of her lips; Quinn even glimpses the spattering of golden freckles across the bridge of her cheekbones. There isn't a trace of a smile to be had on that face, and Quinn feels like – she feels that she knows, somehow, that the girl is intrinsically sad.

"Who's that?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Who?" Rachel's voice is loud and curious. "I already told you, tha –"

"No. Next to him."

Rachel pauses, frowning. "I don't know her name. Maybe his sister? Or his cousin?"

"What house is she in?"

Rachel leans forward, glancing around Quinn, and squints. "Senset, with Sam."

Quinn hums to herself.

"Thestera Schuester! You crazy old hag!"

Quinn whips around just in time to see the Care of Magical Creatures teacher barge in – her name is Roz Washington, but she lets the students call her Miz Roz because Miss Washington makes her feel too much like "some old honky grade school teacher from the Midwest" – and she can't help the way shock transforms her features at the blatant confrontation.

"You got these kids doin' some kind of love potion! These children is freshmen, you washed up old loon, and this is illegal –"

"I am not!" Mrs. Schuester's voice is shrill and defensive. Her giant eyes, which have always reminded Quinn somewhat of marbles, widen and take on a maniacal gleam – she gestures wildly, her navy robes billowing with movement. "Get out of my classroom, Rosalyn!"

"I knew it!" The girl sitting directly behind Quinn shouts. She stands up, her face animated and excited – Quinn gets an impression of long, black hair and full cheeks plump in a smile – "This is amortentia!" She uses her hand to gesture to the tiny cauldron boiling in front of her.

"Shut up, Tina!" Mrs. Schuester shrieks.

"Ha!" Roz gloats. "You just wait 'til the principal hears about this –"

"You can't prove anything!" Mrs. Schuester shouts. She leaps up from behind her desk and dashes wildly to the first row of two-person tables, using her arms to scatter the ingredients and boiling potion mixtures to the ground. Quickly, children fly backwards, and a wail of pain is heard above the general commotion – Quinn pulls Rachel backwards just as Mrs. Schuester gets to their desk.

"Not my cauldron!" Rachel yells, and Quinn grunts with the effort to hold her back. "That was my mother's! No!"

Mrs. Schuester doesn't listen, and Rachel's cauldron – which is more elaborate than the average one, a silvery gray, with engraved stars and whimsical designs all along the outside – clatters to the ground.

"This child needs medical attention!" Roz hollers above the general din. Quinn releases Rachel and Rachel dashes forward, crouching down to cradle the upturned bowl. She cries out immediately and yanks her hands back, but Quinn can already see the redness on Rachel's fingertips.

"Rachel," Quinn squats next to her, trying to pull her robes close. The classroom is in complete chaos by now; Mrs. Schuester is making her way to the back of the class – and most students have jumped away from their tables, and the open flames – but the clatter of broken pewter, granite, and stone bowls can still be heard, along with someone's choked cries and too many voices raised in alarm and shock. "It isn't broken. See?"

Rachel has tears pooling in her large, expressive eyes. "It's chipped. She chipped the edge."

"It's okay." Quinn wants desperately to get out of the middle of the floor – she can't see what Mrs. Schuester is doing, now, but she can hear the clanging of equipment falling to the ground and other kids recoiling in shock and fear – but Rachel won't budge. "It'll still work. It's just a tiny chip."

"No," Rachel's voice trembles, and fat tears roll down her cheeks. "That was my mom's. It was special."

"Oh." Quinn lets out a breath. "Maybe we can fix it."

Rachel tries to bite back a sob by pressing her fist to her mouth.

"Here,"

Quinn glances up at Tina, the girl who had contributed to this whole mess. She aims her wand at the upturned cauldron, and Rachel sniffles, staring at it. Quinn does, too – and she's a little perplexed that nothing happens immediately.

"You can pick it up now," Tina says, by way of explanation.

Tentatively, Rachel reaches out, and Quinn can tell that it's cool to the touch now. Quinn had expected Tina to fix it, but – well, this is helpful. Somewhat.

"Sorry about that. I didn't know what would happen." Tina shrugs.

"It isn't your fault," Quinn says with a sigh. She pulls Rachel up. Rachel cradles the bowl against her chest, heedless of the mucky green fluid seeping into her cream robes, and her other hand hangs limply by her side. "This teacher is just crazy."

"Tell me about it." Tina tries to smile. "I'm Tina Cohen-Chang. Senset house."

"Senset?" Quinn's voice rises in curiosity. "Do you know -?"

Quinn turns to look for her, but the beautiful girl with the sad eyes is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Sam.

"My name is Rachel Berry," Rachel says forlornly. "My companion with no manners is named Quinn Fabray."

"Nice to meet you guys. Ignis, right?"

"How could you tell?" Rachel's voice cracks, and she pushes at the tears on her face impatiently.

"Oh, you can kind of always tell, with Ignis girls," Tina says, smiling mysteriously.

Quinn narrows her eyes. "What exactly does that –"

"It just means that our star quality is easily recognized," Rachel interrupts.

Quinn quirks a brow, and Tina snorts.

"Yeah, something like that. Hey, is your hand burned?"

Rachel nods, lifting her palm. Quinn flinches at the appearance of a blister, already forming, on the pads of two of her fingers.

"Better go see Madam Pillsbury," Tina advises. "She'll get you taken care of."

"Thanks again." Quinn says, though she isn't sure she should be thanking Tina.

"See you around," Tina smiles that strange smile at them as they walk away.


Altogether five of the students in their morning potions class were injured badly enough to be seen by Madam Pillsbury, and that, along with an unfortunate event in the herbology class with Mr. Tanaka and his sophomore students, meant that the infirmary was more than usually busy until just before lunch time. Quinn decided to stay with Rachel, for support – and Rachel didn't object. She sniffled and cried more about the chip in her cauldron, though Quinn couldn't get out more than a few words in regards to why it being Rachel's mother's was so important.

"Tsk tsk, you girls," Emma Pillsbury speaks with a funny little voice, and if Quinn didn't know any better, she would say that Madam Pillsbury is at least half nymph. She has a willowy look about her, somewhat insubstantial, with orangey-peach colored hair and large, watery green eyes. She's pretty enough, and Quinn has always liked her, but she was raised with an inherent mistrust of most non-human races. Something about the nurse puts her on edge. "Another victim of Terri Schuester?"

"Yes," Rachel sniffs. "She broke my cauldron, Miss Pillsbury."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Rachel," Madam Pillsbury pulls Rachel's hand away from her chest, inspecting her wound. By now the burn has turned the majority of Rachel's hand a bright, fluorescent red, and the blisters are swollen. "Your hand looks pretty bad, too."

Rachel doesn't seem to care much about the physical injury. She continues to look sadly at the tiny crack in the lip of the cauldron.

"What ever set her off, anyhow?" Madam Pillsbury says it so nonchalantly that it seems forced, and Quinn has never stopped being surprised by the level of intrigue going on at this school, even by the adults. "I heard something about a love potion?"

Quinn had nearly forgotten about that. "Oh, yes," Quinn frowns. "She had us making amortentia – which is a junior-level potion. She told us it was something silly.. de-swelling tonic, right?"

Rachel shrugs.

"I knew there was something not right about that class," Quinn huffs. "I knew there was a reason why it didn't make any sense."

Emma muffles a laugh. "Imagine, Terri Schuester trying to dupe a class of freshmen into making amortentia. How silly! How quaint!"

"Why would she do that?" In spite of her melancholy, Rachel had caught some excitement from the way the nurse was acting.

Emma chuckles, and uses her fingers to spread a thick white paste over the meat of Rachel's hand. "I imagine she hoped one of you would brew one good enough to be used."

"Isn't amortentia – isn't it illegal?" Quinn asks.

Miss Pillsbury nods slowly. "Some people don't care about the law, Quinn."

"But why? Who is she trying to use it on?"

Miss Pillsbury glances around quickly, before ducking her head. "Do either of you girls take classes with Mr. Williams?"

"The history of magic teacher? Yes." Quinn nods.

"Well, his name isn't actually Mr. Williams. It's William Schuester."

Rachel gasps dramatically.

"That's right," Emma nods. "They were married for many years. He actually divorced her about sixteen months ago, and when she refused to change her name, he started going by Williams. Will Williams, isn't that funny?"

"Hilarious." Quinn is still trying to wrap her head around the revelation.

"And Will has been quite busy in these last sixteen months," Emma continues, using a white cloth to wipe away the cream from Rachel's hand in slow, deliberate strokes. "I heard he had a fling with Miss Holliday –"

"No!" Rachel's eyes widen. "The kooky divination teacher?"

"Yes," Miss Pillsbury nods solemnly. "And not only that, but the transfiguration teacher too, and the quadpot coach."

"Coach Beiste? No way," Quinn refutes.

"Yes way. Believe it." Madam Pillsbury nods once more, and with a final flick of her wrist, Rachel's hand is clean. There are no signs of a burn left – only the skin seems very tender. It gleams, shiny and pink, beneath the light of the oil lamps floating above their heads.

Quinn is watching Miss Pillsbury's face, though, and she gets an odd notion – "Have you and Mr. Williams had a fling, Madam?"

"Oh, no, no," Emma tuts nervously. She quickly begins cleaning up the soiled cloths and leftover cream. "We're just friends, is all."

"But you think he's handsome," Rachel grins. "Who wouldn't?"

Quinn smiles, too. "Why don't you talk to him?"

"Me?" Miss Pillsbury squeaks. "He isn't interested in me. He has all those other girls –"

"Give yourself some credit," Quinn tells her. "You're lovely."

"You should try it," Rachel says, cocking her head. "You never know what might happen."

"I'm not sure," Emma bites her lip.

"Look, you can be brave. Like Quinn here – she's going to talk to the cute boy in our potions class." Rachel grins knowingly.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Stop it, Rachel."

"But why not?" Rachel shrugs, raising her eyebrows. "Why not just take a chance? You never know what might happen!"

Quinn's response is quick on her lips – a flat denial – but in the moment, she remembers the girl; the sunny, yellow-haired girl with the sad face and freckles. Something inside of her twists and twinges, and she swallows, her mouth suddenly dry.

"See?" Rachel's smile takes over her whole face.

Quinn blinks, shaking her head. She tries to clear her mind – tries to push the girl away, for now.

"What about you?" Quinn challenges. "When are you going to talk to Finn?"

"Finn?" Rachel makes a face. "I don't like Finn at all, Quinn."

"Then who? I hope it isn't that disgusting Avir boy, Noah –"

"Oh, Puck?" Rachel makes an even more appalled face. "No, not a bit."

"Well, spill the beans," Miss Pillsbury encourages with a smile.

Rachel goes suddenly shy, ducking her head. "It's a boy in Ignis."

Quinn thinks, her mind running over the handful in their grade – but before she can mention a name, Rachel says: "Jesse St. James."

"The senior? Rachel!"

"Scandal!" Emma claps.

"Absolutely you cannot have a crush on a senior, Rachel. What would your dads say?"

"Oh, I knew it would be a bad idea to tell you," Rachel sighs. "Please, just don't say anything to Santana. I don't want to hear her."

Quinn's laugh is short and sharp. "That makes two of us. I never want to hear Santana talk."


The meals at the Nerivik Academy of Magic might be Quinn's favorite thing so far. She wasn't allowed to eat anything that wasn't considered healthy at home, because her parents lived in constant fear that she would burst into obesity at any moment. Just because she carried around a little baby fat into her thirteenth year –

Well, that isn't a problem here. Quinn is already imagining the BLT with french fries she's going to eat, and her mind is more on that than the constant drone of Rachel's gossip as they stand in line, waiting their turn at the food.

The caferia is a huge room, consisting of several small round tables scattered about and with booths lining the walls. It has a sky light – for all the benefit it does, because right now, at nearly noon, the sky is a watery gray. In a few weeks, Quinn knows, there will be hardly any light to speak of at all. She wonders if she'll start to miss the sun after a while. The tall, angled ceilings give the impression of airiness and space, though, without being overwhelmingly claustrophobic – like some of the classrooms located in the interior of the castle are.

Quinn carries her tray through the line, barely noticing the little House Elves who serve the food. They're cheerful and chipper, but Quinn hardly pays them any mind.

"I think it's so cute they let them out in the open like this," Santana's tone is dry and sarcastic. "I miss the old days, when they stayed out of sight and out of mind."

Sugar looks at Santana. "We were five when the House Elves Liberty Act passed. You don't remember the 'old days.'"

Santana shrugs. "Don't tell that to Zetsa. We don't let her leave the house."

Quinn looks up sharply at that.

Rachel's eyes are nervous, darting between Santana, Quinn, and Sugar. Santana's shoulders are bunched, but the expression on her face is defensive.

"It was a joke, guys," Santana says, holding her tray out. The House Elf puts a plate full of nachos on it.

Sugar tilts her head. "It's not very funny."

Rachel shakes her head at the offer of meatloaf, and instead indicates the plastic bowls of pre-prepared salad.

"It's a major violation to keep a House Elf without standard wage and hours," Quinn says.

"Jeeze. I didn't know you guys were such advocates for the lower species," Santana's voice is low and rough. "Even you, Fabray?"

Quinn is suddenly uncomfortable. Rachel is looking at her with soft, pained eyes, and Sugar's are direct and calculating. Santana doesn't look at her at all – instead she gazes away, as if this conversation is beneath her.

"I just know that it's illegal," Quinn says in a rush. "My father built the House Elves their own separate quarters on our property and he pays them weekly. Above the minimum wage."

"Saint Fabray," Santana's tone is full of irony.

"Let's go sit down." Sugar pulls at the crook of Santana's elbow. Quinn frowns, trailing behind them. She doesn't understand what just happened – how did that get turned around on her?

Of the three of them, Rachel is the most tolerable, and even though Quinn can barely stand her, she wishes – often – that it was just the two of them at times like this. Sugar and Santana come from very prominent wizarding families in New England, and their behavior often reflects that.

The Fabrays are wealthy, but they're what is considered nouveau riche by some of the more traditional circles – and though a few of Quinn's ancestors can be traced back to the Mayflower, they were never particularly influential until more recent generations. Santana claims distant relation to the royal family in Spain, and Sugar likewise states that she shares blood with the old Savoys of Italy.

Rachel, on the other hand, is the child of a pair of instrument merchants, and she never makes loaded references to her villa in Sicily or her summer home in Naples. Quinn doesn't understand how Santana and Sugar can be such easy friends with Rachel, but seem to despise her – Quinn, at least, comes from the same circles; and even if they had never met each other before the first day of class, Quinn had certainly heard of Santana Lopez and Sugar Motta.

Quinn sighs, shoving a fry into her mouth.

"And she broke my cauldron!" Rachel says emotionally, recounting the story from this morning. Quinn rolls her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," Santana is so sincere it just might make Quinn gag.

"I can have my dad take care of her," Sugar offers.

Quinn grimaces. Why are they so sympathetic? Why are they so nice to her?

"What is the big deal about that cauldron, anyway?" Quinn can't help how hard her voice is, or the way her eyebrows wrinkle.

"It was my mom's," Rachel says, pointedly, as if she hadn't been saying that exact thing for the last three hours.

"Yes, you've made that clear," Quinn snaps. "That just means it was old, anyway."

Quinn isn't exactly surprised when Rachel stands up and hurries off, tears streaming down her face, but she is a little exasperated. And she feels bad. As insufferable as she is, Rachel really is the closest thing to a friend Quinn has around here.

"Rachel, wait," Sugar scoots herself away from the table and jogs after Rachel.

"Listen up, blondie," Santana spits. Quinn doesn't know if she's ever seen Santana this angry – she has an almost electric glare in her eyes. "You leave Rachel alone about her mother, you hear me? She's allowed to be upset that something of hers got broken."

"Oh, whatever. If it had been me crying about my broken cauldron – even if it was my mom's – you would have laughed at me. What makes her any different?"

Santana stares at Quinn with cold, assessing eyes for a very long moment. Quinn has dealt with her share of catty, bitchy girls in her lifetime – being the daughter of Russell Fabray put plenty of them in her path – but she thinks Santana might be one of the most impressive ones she's ever encountered.

"Her mother is dead."

Quinn feels like she was doused in cold water.

"Oh, my god," Quinn whispers. "I didn't know."

"You knew that she has two dads!" Santana seethes. "What did you thinkhappened?"

"I thought her parents got a divorce!" Quinn throws her hands up. "She never said anything! I'll apologize!"

"Don't bother," Santana shakes her head, pushing her tray away and standing up. "You'll probably make it worse."

Quinn feels both extremely heavy and strangely empty as she watches Santana walk away.

Her sandwich sits untouched on the plate in front of her. She isn't hungry any more. She stands up and stacks all of the abandoned trays, heading towards the trash bin.

It's only by the greatest luck that she spots her – the girl from her potions class. Quinn's head snaps in the girl's direction, her eyes widening; she feels her heart quicken behind her breast bone. She nearly stumbles into a sophmore Talamh before she shakes out of it, and even though she feels like her legs are tingly and insubstantial, she manages to make it to the trash without killing herself.

Quinn wants to talk to her – she can't explain the strange, magnetic pull she has towards this other girl – but she feels nervous and has no idea why. These are entirely new sensations for Quinn; never has she ever actually wanted to seek out the company of another person (they usually come to her, after all), and she can't even begin to understand why her heart pulses erratically, and there's a fluttery, tense feeling in her stomach.

Still, it's as if she has no control over her own body, and she makes a beeline for the pretty girl who seems so inherently sad.

She sits at a table with Sam and another girl who seems vaguely familiar. Quinn only has eyes for her, though.

Once she arrives, she feels her tongue dry up, and suddenly she's forgotten every word of English she's ever learned. Her eyes go wide and her cheeks flush, because every one of them pause to look up at her. Quinn feels time crawl to a halt the moment her eyes meet with the girl from potions. Her heart thuds painfully, and her entire body throbs with – what? Quinn doesn't know.

"Quinn, right?"

Quinn sucks in a breath at the sound of her name, blinking to clear the haze from her vision. She turns to look at the second girl, focusing on her for the first time. She has long, straight hair, the color of upturned earth, with sculpted, pointed features. She smiles at Quinn with open friendliness – and Quinn sees that her eyes are the strangest hue, caught somewhere between blue and purple.

"Y-yes," Quinn swallows once she finds her voice. "Yes, I'm Quinn."

"Right. We have transfiguration together."

Quinn has no idea what her name is.

"And you're in our potions class, right?" Sam asks. His grin is huge. Quinn blinks, because she isn't sure if his smile is serious or mocking due to the giant size of it.

"Yes," Quinn nods. "Th-that's why I came over here – to make sure you two are all right." Quinn turns to look pointedly at her target. She hasn't said anything yet. Quinn gets another jolt (like touching the tip of a tsu-tsu tail) when their eyes connect. This girl has eyes the color of electricity, the same blue that's found at the quick of a candle flame, and Quinn knows that if she had the chance, she would spend hours looking at them.

"We're fine." Sam's mouth is so big that it's a little distracting. "Your friend got hurt, though, didn't she?"

Quinn nods mutely.

"Well, sit down," the second girl insists, gesturing to the chair next to Sam.

Quinn debates briefly before she slides into it. Being next to Sam and across from the nameless Transfiguration girl is not exactly where she wants to be, but it's progress.

"Did you do the assignment?"

It takes Quinn a long beat before she realizes the question was for her.

"O-oh. For Miss Corcoran's class? Yes," Quinn responds absently.

"Did you have any trouble with it?" she frowns, using a fork to cut into her lasagna. "I couldn't get them to switch correctly."

Quinn forces herself to try to focus on what this girl is talking about. The transfiguration lesson?

"My pattern switched just fine," Quinn says. The task was to take two objects made out of cloth – Quinn chose pillows – and switch just the fabric from one to the other.

"Oh."

Quinn looks more closely at her, and she tilts her head. "If you want, I can help you. I have a knack for transfiguration."

"Really?" The transformation on the girl's face is extreme. "I'd like that."

"Marley is a nerd," Sam provides with a secret smile. "She gets upset if she doesn't make straight As."

"I'm the same way," Quinn smiles, relieved to finally have her name.

"She's going to work herself to death some day."

Quinn feels a flood of unexpected warmth for the brunette.

"I can help you after classes tonight, if you want."

"Sure." Marley beams.

"Maybe you could help us with potions –" Sam says suggestively.

Quinn cocks her head, turning her gaze back towards the other blonde. She isn't paying much attention to the conversation at hand, instead staring upwards towards the skylight.

"I can't help you there," Quinn murmurs. "Nobody knows what they're doing in that class."

"Oh!" Sam stands up suddenly. "Let's get ice cream!"

"Okay," Marley agrees.

"No thanks," Quinn smiles, a little bemused.

"It's too cold for ice cream," the blonde says, a tad morosely.

Quinn squints. She isn't cold at all.

"Are you sure?" Sam says, his voice gentling. "I can get you an ice cream sandwich."

She shakes her head.

"We'll be back," Marley assures Quinn.

Quinn watches them for just a moment before she turns back to the other occupant of the table.

"You're in Senset, right?" Quinn says, mostly because she can't think of anything better.

The girl nods mutely.

"I'm in—"

"Ignis. I know." she sighs.

Quinn frowns. "How?"

"It's easy to spot Ignis girls," her voice is flat and monotone. She glances around the cafeteria and gestures. "You can pick them out easily."

Quinn turns to look, scanning the crowd. She sees the girls from her house, sure, but doesn't know what's different about them.

"I don't understand," Quinn tries to smile. "Do we have some kind of mark?"

The girl looks at her curiously, running her eyes over Quinn's face, before she shakes her head.

"It's your pin."

Quinn looks down, remembering that it's fastened to the lapel of her robes. She rubs a finger over it absently.

"Our dormitory regent gave it to us. Don't you have one?"

The girl nods. "Everyone has one. But nobody else wears them except Ignis girls."

Quinn raises her eyebrows. "Really? I didn't notice."

For the first time, the shadow of a smile flicks across the girl's face.

"I thought everyone wore theirs," Quinn admits, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "I thought it was part of the wardrobe."

"It isn't," she seems a bit more cheerful now. "And they're usually ugly. Have you seen Avir's? What is that thing, anyway?"

"It's a garuda," Quinn answers. They all had to attend an entrance orientation that went over the history of the school and information on each of the four houses and their mascots before the semester started.

"It looks like a blue Pidgeot to me," the girl shrugs.

Quinn is baffled. "A what?"

She sighs, obviously disappointed. "You, too," she doesn't sound surprised.

Quinn feels more awkward and out of place now than she ever has in her life.

"I got you a snow cone anyway," Sam says, plopping down beside Quinn. He offers the blue treat to the girl, who takes it reluctantly.

"I got you an ice cream sandwich," Marley offers shyly. Quinn smiles, but it's only perfunctory. She's both grateful and disappointed to have them back.

"Thank you." Quinn begins to unwrap it.

"It's so funny that so much of our food is the same," she stares at her snow cone, not eating it. "But nothing else is."

Quinn frowns. "What?"

"Oh, she didn't tell you?" Sam smiles widely. "Britt here is a muggleborn."

Britt – that's her name? – gives Sam a look.

"Oh." Quinn blinks. "Oh."

"Tell her it doesn't matter," Marley says quickly. Her eyes are nervous and jittery, and Quinn finds herself responding.

"Of course it doesn't matter – nobody cares."

Britt sighs. "I care."

Quinn looks at her. "Didn't you get a letter when you were eleven?"

"Yes," Britt responds morosely.

Quinn can't understand how things about the wizarding world still baffle Britt, if she's been going to magic school since sixth grade.

"She isn't normally like this," Sam tells her. "She isn't so mopey back home."

"I see."

"We're cousins. I'm muggleborn, too," Sam offers.

"Nice." Quinn smiles. It isn't really polite to announce blood purity like that – but she isn't surprised that he would do it. Sometimes it takes muggleborns a little longer to catch on to polite etiquette. Quinn wonders if she's ever met a self-admitted muggleborn before.

She doesn't think so.

"I'm from Westerly Point," Marley offers.

Quinn smiles. Westerly Point is a wizarding city in New York.

"West Point is a military school," Britt interjects dully.

"Military?" Marley asks, curiously.

"It's like a group of aurors.. for the government.. doing.. stuff.." Sam tries to explain using his hands, but Marley stares at him blankly.

"There's a school for aurors? For muggle aurors?" Quinn asks.

Sam laughs. "No."

Quinn is perplexed.

"It's okay," Marley says, smiling. "You get used to it, mostly. I've been trying to have them explain to me what a slinky is for weeks now."

"Slinkies are awesome. I'm totally bringing you one back after Christmas," Sam says.

"I miss my Game Boy," Britt says, her eyes sad.

"Bring it back with you," Sam encourages her.

"Electronic things go poof," Britt sighs. "I brought a watch with me, just to see. It almost melted my arm off."

"Oh, right," Sam nods. "Well, I don't really miss it. Being here is better than any video game."

"It's dark," Britt's voice gets smaller with every word. "It's cold."

"I know, Britt." Sam sighs. "It'll get better."

She nods glumly.

"We have to get going," Marley says, glancing up. Several students are leaving the cafeteria. "C'mon, Sam, or we'll be late for defensive magic."

"All right." Sam stands up. "Catch ya later, Quinn."

"Goodbye." Quinn watches them go. She turns to Britt, trying to find something to say. "What's your next period?"

"Study hall," Britt responds.

Quinn smiles. "Me, too. Do you want to go to the library?"

Britt looks at her, really looks at her, for the first time. Quinn holds her breath, waiting for Britt to respond – she feels like she's strangling.

"Yes," Britt says, and her lips tug upwards, almost as if she wants to smile. "I'm Brittany Pierce, by the way. I don't know if you knew that."

"I'm Quinn Fabray." Quinn likes the sound of Brittany's name much better when it comes out of her own mouth – because her voice is soft, and sweet, and it makes Quinn feel like her head is full of vibrations.

"I've never been to the library," Brittany admits as they stand up and begin wading through the line of students leaving the cafeteria. "This will be fun."

"You haven't?" Quinn looks at her curiously. "How do you get your homework done, then?"

Brittany shrugs. "I think homework is more optional than necessary."

Quinn's laugh is startled. "That is absolutely not true."

"Don't try to force your beliefs on me," Brittany says seriously. "I'm resistant to indoctrination."

Quinn pauses, confused, before she finally laughs.

Brittany seems to smile without actually doing so, as if she's pleased that Quinn enjoyed her joke.

"Really, though," Quinn presses. "How can you get your homework done without going to the library?"

"I just do it," Brittany shrugs. "It works out for me."

Quinn has never met anyone so nonchalant about their grades. She can't imagine not caring to the degree that Brittany seems to not care.

"I have Sam and Marley check it," Brittany confesses, just as they round the last turn in the corridor leading to the library.

"They're good friends," Quinn smiles, but can't keep the wistfulness out of her voice.

"Yes, sometimes," Brittany agrees. She is immediately distracted by the huge double oak doors hanging in front of them. Quinn brushes past her and turns the soft, brassy doorknob, pushing it open silently.

The library is huge – easily the biggest room with doors on the entire premises. The librarian's desk is immediately to their right, and the room is filled with dark wood and bright, contrasting golden plates, with shelves of books reaching up towards the ceiling. Tables and chairs are scattered throughout the space, and further back are rows and rows of desks with reading lamps.

Quinn is smiling when she turns to look at Brittany, because she loves the way it smells in here – she loves the look and the texture, too.

Brittany looks disappointed.

"What's wrong?" Quinn asks.

"There are computers in libraries back home," Brittany's voice is forlorn.

"Computers? What is that?"

Brittany shrugs.

"It's nice in here," Quinn insists. She tugs gently at Brittany's elbow, pulling her into the room. Brittany looks bored – she lets Quinn drag her through the rows of tables and shelves of books without much resistance. Quinn dodges and weaves through the stacks, until she finally stops them in a corner that has a few love seats and a fireplace. "See?"

"It's nice," Brittany agrees, but doesn't seem very enthusiastic.

Quinn doesn't know why she feels so distraught at the idea of Brittany not loving the library.

Brittany moves forward and plops down, sitting in such a way as to take up the entire love seat. Quinn settles into a nearby armchair, reaching into her shoulder bag for her notebook. "Do you need to study for anything?"

"No," Brittany replies immediately, with a sigh.

Quinn frowns and bites her lip.

"Where are you from?"

"California." Brittany's voice is coated in longing. "It's always sunny there."

"Oh." Quinn nods. She thinks she's beginning to understand some of Brittany's listlessness. "What is your favorite thing about California?"

"Well, it's never cold," Brittany begins, wrinkling her nose. "Sometimes it's overcast or rainy, but not like it is here. We get a lot of sun. It's always pretty green. I never have to wear a coat."

Quinn nods, listening. She's been to California, but she likes letting Brittany talk about it.

"There's a lot of space, when you want it." Brittany scuffs the bottom of her shoes against the thick rug between them and the cold stone floors. "But when you don't want it, there's people and buildings everywhere – lights and noise and movement." Brittany still doesn't smile, but her face takes on a strange quality – she seems more animated. She almost glows.

Quinn smiles, bemused, and nods. "I've been to muggle cities before."

"Have you ever been to L.A.?"

Quinn shakes her head.

"It's the greatest." Brittany lets out an airy hum. "It's really dirty and grungy and packed full of people, but nobody stands still there. It isn't quiet."

Quinn thinks that most wizarding folk avoid muggle cities like the plague for this reason – they don't understand the lights and noise, the movement, the jarring crush of bodies associated with muggles and electricity. Quinn has never spent much time inside of one. She also hasn't spent much time thinking about what wizarding towns and communities must seem like to muggleborns.

"I'd like to go, someday," Quinn says, and she is surprised that she means it.

Brittany's face changes in such a way that Quinn thinks she might actually smile – until she doesn't. But the corners of her eyes go soft, and her features relax, and it makes Quinn's heart stutter painfully behind her ribcage.

"I'll take you. I'll show you the city." Brittany looks past Quinn, as if she's seeing it etched into the fireplace. "And the flowers."

"The flowers?"

"Yes," Brittany nods. "They're my favorite part. I love them – they're wild and crazy, and grow everywhere. Nothing stops them, not even magic," Brittany's tone of voice is rueful, almost.

Quinn nods, and while looking at Brittany – her face glowing with dancing shadows, making it seem much more dramatic and miserable than it actually is – she begins to formulate a plan.


Quinn has nearly forgotten about Rachel and the incident at lunch by the time she makes it back to her dorm that night. She spent her evening classes scribbling furiously on parchment and flipping through several textbooks, nearly ignoring the teachers, and only participating when she was absolutely forced to. She made good on her promise to Marley after class, and then spent the evening meal with the three students from Senset. She likes Marley quite a bit – Marley is quirky and a little self-effacing, and quiet, but she's sweet. Sam is a dork in a less adorable way, but Quinn is learning to tolerate him.

Quinn still thinks Brittany is beautiful and somehow tragic.

The atmosphere of the freshman quarter of Ignis house is chilly when Quinn finally slips inside. The common area is deserted, and she climbs the three steps up to the room she shares with the others in a kind of weighted silence.

It's too early for any of them to be sleeping except for Sugar, who routinely passes out much sooner than anyone else, but the room is dark. Quinn stills herself, listening, trying to determine if they are actually asleep or just pretending – but she doesn't hear anything. Carefully, Quinn picks her way down the center of the room. Santana's bed is directly across from hers, and Rachel sleeps across from Sugar – Quinn chews on her lip as she passes them, peering into the murky blackness.

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, Quinn tip-toes back towards her bed, wearing her pajamas and bundling her robes in a wad. She tosses them to the corner of the room, approximately at the hamper, and then goes to climb into her own bed.

She hesitates, for just a moment, frowning hard in the direction of Rachel's bed.

Finally, after an interminable moment, she creeps towards Rachel, holding her breath. After a moment, she peels back Rachel's curtain, and carefully sits on the mattress.

Rachel is very still, which makes Quinn think she isn't actually asleep. Rachel is a fitful sleeper, kicking and jostling the blankets the entire time. But Quinn watches the rhythm of her back, moving up and down, and it's so steady that Quinn thinks she might be wrong.

"Rachel?" Quinn breathes, so low that it's nearly inaudible. Rachel doesn't move.

Slowly, Quinn lies down next to Rachel. "I'm sorry, about your mom."

Rachel shifts, and Quinn knows that she is still awake.

"I am sorry." Quinn whispers.

"I know." Rachel says weakly. "It's all right."

"It isn't." Quinn sighs. "I'm such a bitch."

Rachel is quiet for a long moment, and Quinn is left to study the back of Rachel's head. Her hair is long and thick, and Quinn has always wanted to touch it – she thinks about doing it, but doesn't.

"Sometimes you are." Rachel murmurs. "But you're really nice, too, Quinn, when you let yourself be."

Quinn lets out a huff of air. "Maybe so. I'll work on it."

Rachel rolls over, and Quinn can see the wetness on her cheeks. Rachel's eyes are swollen and her lips are a dark red, and Quinn can tell that she's been crying most of the day.

"I probably overreact about my mom. She's been gone for a long time." Rachel rolls her eyes.

"No," Quinn shakes her head. "It's important to remember her. It's okay to be upset."

Rachel nods, wiping at her face.

"Why is Santana asleep?" Quinn asks, frowning. Santana is usually the last one to fall asleep, staying up until Rachel gripes at her to turn the lights out and lay down.

"They both decided I needed to rest." Rachel shrugs, a watery smile on her face.

Quinn feels a tightness in her chest at Rachel's words, imagining that Sugar and Santana care for Rachel enough to put her to bed. Quinn closes her eyes against the flood of emotion, hot and scalding, behind her eyelids.

"But I'm not asleep!" Santana grumbles, loudly, from her bed.

Rachel lets out a short laugh.

Quinn chuckles, too.

"Get some sleep, Rachel. You had a long day." Quinn rolls into a sitting position, smoothing back her hair.

"You had a long day, too, Quinn," Rachel says, smiling a little oddly. "I noticed how you tried to take care of me in potions –"

Quinn just smiles, shaking her head. "You were emotional and upset. You don't remember it properly."

Rachel laughs, and this time it has a little more life to it. "All right, Quinn. I'll keep your secret."

Quinn's cheeks hurt from smiling when she finally crawls into her own bed. She falls asleep listening to Santana talk across the room to Rachel in the dark, and for the first time since she came to live here, she feels peaceful – almost like she's at home.


TBC Day 02: Crossover