Welcome To The Jungle

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or Glee. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Part One: 15

Chapter 6: One Of Those Days

As a general rule, Harry tries to avoid violence. His father has had him in Martial Arts training from the age of six, and perhaps the most pivotal lesson he's learned from them is that physical violence should only ever be treated as a last resort, when words and diplomacy have failed, when his safety depends on it, or that of those surrounding him.

His family's move from Chicago has brought a halt to those lessons, but a few months is not enough to diminish the martial skills Harry has obtained over the years. He's got a red belt in Taekwando, blue belts in Karate and Jujitsu, and he's earned those ranks through hours upon hours of hard work, through bruises and blood and sweat, and he is proud of them.

In saying that, it is exceedingly tempting to seek out Brittany's would-be rapists that Monday, to employ those skills he's acquired in order to teach them a lesson in consent and respect for women. The only reason he doesn't is because Puck and Santana have surely beaten them to a pulp already, and Brittany's staying hand, her open, unguarded expression, her plea to stay by her side, is impossible to refuse.

He shares a glance with Santana, drapes an arm over Brittany's shoulders, and walks her to class..

If it is the only way she can feel safe in the same halls as the assholes who had thought to take advantage of her intoxication, then come hell or high water, he'll walk her to class every day until they graduate.

Harry drops her off at her classroom, sure of her safety under the watchful, protective eyes of Santana, Puck, Matt, and Finn, and makes his way to his English class. Mike and Quinn are already there, as is Hermione, and he settles into the seat beside his fellow footballer with a sigh.

It's sure to be a long, exhausting day, and Harry's already over it.

"Is Brittany all right?" Mike asks.

Harry shrugs. "As well as she can be, I expect."

Mike nods his acknowledgement, drums his fingers on his desk, and watches silently as their teacher starts writing notes on the whiteboard. "They'll probably find it really difficult to get laid for a while."

Harry smirks despite himself. Santana, ruthless and devious, used their phones to take photos of them on Friday night, beaten bloody and with 'RAPIST' written on their foreheads in permanent marker. She also used those same phones to hack their MySpace and Facebook profiles, changed their profile photos to the afore-mentioned pictures, and then dropped them (the phones) in the toilet. It was glorious.

"What's the fall out? Do you know?"

"They were booted off the hockey team," Mike answers, "Behaviour like that - even rumours - can't be tolerated by the school. Summerby was pissed as all hell, girls are avoiding them like the plague, and their friends dropped them like hot potatoes."

"Good. It's the least they deserve, pricks."

Mike nods his agreement, their teacher calls their class to order, and Harry settles in for another discussion surrounding the themes within 'To Kill A Mockingbird'. Hermione participates this time, animated and invested as she debates with Harry, Quinn, and Rachel Berry, and before Harry knows it, their class is over, and Harry is on his way to Geometry with Mike and, pleasantly enough, Hermione.

"You never said, how long have you and Krum been going out?" Harry queries.

"Since the summer," Hermione replies, "He's actually my neighbour, so…"

"Convenient," Mike quips.

Hermione laughs, sounding vaguely sheepish, and they reach their classroom without incident. Dave Karofsky and Azimio Adams had each moved to approach, slushie cups in hand, but Mike and Harry's presence is, as it turns out, an effective deterrent. Thus, they turned their attention to another unfortunate, unsuspecting victim, and Hermione remains slushie free.

"I can't imagine Krum is particularly thrilled by the fact his girlfriend regularly gets slushied," Harry observes.

Hermione offers him a fixed smile. "He's not, but most people only tolerate him because of his soccer skills. What do you think would happen if he wasn't McKinley High's star striker?"

"He'd be treated like the rest of the international students," Mike concludes.

Mike would know exactly how they're treated, too. Not because he cops it, but because he tutors a number of those students in English, and he has therefore gotten to know them fairly well. As it happens, Mike is fluent in Mandarin and Spanish, the latter because he was raised in Puerto Rico until he was 10, but like Harry, he has to endure a Foreign Language class at the behest of parents who have high, unrelenting expectations of their only son.

"Of course," Harry acknowledges, disgruntled, "Why did I expect anything else?"

"No idea," Hermione answers, "I mean, it's Lima."

And after that, what else was there to say, really?

-!- -#-

Their lunch hour starts out fairly unremarkably. They gather in the cafeteria, purchase their sub-par meals, and make themselves comfortable in the centre of the room, which is when things take a turn for the unexpected.

Harry eats his chips mindlessly, thoughts on the rest of his day, as Puck and Finn organise a COD marathon, and as Matt attempts to talk Mike out of his most recent business venture. He is jolted out of his daze, however, when Quinn, Santana, and Brittany settle in the available seats at their table, apparently heedless of all the attention that has suddenly turned their way.

"Hey," Quinn greets, "You guys don't mind if we join you, do you?"

"Why the fuck not?" Puck shrugs. The other guys, likeminded and disinclined towards confrontation besides, offer similar sentiments, and Harry does the same.

"How's your day going?" Quinn asks. He notes, absently, that Santana and Brittany are already in conversation, and the guys have returned to their respective conversations too, and he wonders if this is how it's going to be from now on.

Harry glances up from his cardboard-style pizza, shrugs nonchalantly, and replies, "It's fine. The usual. I'm ready for it to be over. How is yours?"

"About the same. What have you got next?"

"Visual Art and Gym," Harry answers, and braces himself for the inevitable teasing that is sure to follow.

"You're an artist?" Quinn prods.

He shrugs, sure Brittany's already told her all of this, and answers, "I suppose so."

"You suppose so?" Quinn echoes.

"It seems kind of pretentious to call myself an artist," Harry explains, "I mean, yeah, I like to drawn and paint, but whatever, you know? It's not like I'm being paid for it."

Quinn hums. "I suppose that makes sense."

Harry affects a weak smile, but he doesn't really feel it. He isn't feeling much of anything, really, uninterested in the small talk with Quinn, or in any of the other conversations around him either. It's a strange state of being, but no one seems to notice how off he feels, and he's not about to bring attention to it. Instead, he endures, and he waits for this day to be over.

It can't end soon enough.