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: Fifteen

Chapter Eleven: Autumn

He meets Quinn outside of the restaurant, inexplicably nervous. He's gotten to know her over the last month or so, even considers her a friend, but he's never actually been on a date before. He's attracted to Quinn, certainly, and he enjoys her company, but he's kind of terrified by the possibility that this date could end in disaster. As she approaches him, however, Harry firms his resolve. He's not about to bail on her, and moreover, he doesn't actually want to.

"Hey, Quinn," he greets her, and again, it feels as though he can't get enough air in his lungs, "You look really pretty."

She's dolled up, in a powder blue dress that hugs her figure, but floats loosely around her knees. She wears a cream coloured cardigan as well, to fend off the autumnal chill, and her blonde hair is pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck. She's left a few curls to float around her face, accented by a light layer of makeup, and indeed, she looks lovely.

"Thanks," Quinn answers, smiling, "You look great, too. Are we going inside?"

"Yeah," Harry confirms. He offers her his arm, and she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow. As she does, there is a bemused smile on her face. "I made reservations. Have you ever had Spanish food before?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"You're in for a treat, then. It's fantastic."

Inside Hermosa, they're seated near the back, in a table set for two. It's a nice place, with darkly polished floors and paintings on the walls. There's a small stage set up on the other side of the restaurant, where a dark haired, dark eyed man plucks away at an acoustic guitar. It's busy, too, mostly with coupled off twenty-somethings, but Harry tries to pay them no heed.

Instead, he pulls Quinn's chair out for her, slides it forward as she sits, and then settles in his own seat across from her.

"How has your weekend been?"

"It's been pretty good," Quinn replies, "San and Brit slept over last night, and we went to the mall this morning. It's been a while since we just hung out like that. How has yours been going?"

"It's been all right," Harry answers, "I had work this morning, but I had lunch with Ron, Hermione, and Viktor afterwards. They're probably the only other people in Lima who follow the European Leagues, so it was fun to catch up with them."

"European Leagues?"

"Soccer," Harry clarifies, "Other than that, I haven't done much. Dave Karofsky is a douche, so I didn't go to his party, and just hung out at home. Played some games, did some homework. Nothing too thrilling."

"How is your Biology paper going?"

He shrugs. "It's going. Slowly. I'm looking forward to handing it in."

"You and me both," Quinn commiserates.

Their waitress, with curly dark hair and a nose piercing, arrives with a bottle of water and a pair of glasses, and chit-chats with Harry and Quinn as she fills them. She leaves them to their own devices as quickly as she'd come, however, and Harry briefly examines the menu their hostess had provided.

Quinn studies hers more intently, and he's surprised when she addresses him. "Do you know what you're getting?"

"I do, yes. I really like paella, and my mum says it's really good here."

"She's been?"

"Yeah," Harry confirms, "They were here on opening night or something. Mum's a foodie, so she's always game to try something new."

"And your dad?"

"He's not a professional or anything, but I think he likes food as much as mum. He never complains, anyway."

"What's the worst food you've tried?"

Harry ponders that. "I don't know. I've worked hard to avoid the truly exotic stuff, but dad once dared me to try camel. It was… an experience."

Quinn goggles. "Where was that?"

"Morocco," he answers, "Casablanca, specifically."

It had been Spring Break during seventh grade, and his father had dragged him along on a business trip, acting as the representative of Peverell Industries in Charles POtter's stead. They'd had time to site see while they were there, and Harry had quickly learned that without the influence of his level-headed mother, Harry and his father were more libel to do stupid shit, like eat roasted camel in the middle of Casablanca's Central Market. It's not an experience he'd soon repeat, but he can at least laugh about it now.

"Dad couldn't stop laughing," Harry recalls, chuckling. It had been nice, because he'd spent the whole day up until that point as taut as a bow string, uncomfortable by the crowds, by the noise, by all the similarities to his life during his SAS days. "There's probably video footage somewhere. I know he took pictures."

"To be unearthed on your 21st?"

"Something like that," Harry confirms, "How about you? Any mortifying experiences you wish everyone could forget?"

"Ugh, so many," Quinn laughs, chagrined, "My older sister, Fran, was eight when I was born, so she pretty much remembers all the stupid things I did. She's probably looking forward to the opportunity to share them."

"In that case, I'm very glad I'm the oldest."

Their waitress returns to take their orders, a chicken and a seafood paella, respectively, and a lemonade each to wash it down. Their conversation continues afterwards, about friends and family, about school and hobbies, about places they both want to visit someday, and it is easy. Perhaps it's because he already knows Quinn, or because between their study sessions and occasional weekend hangouts, they've already been sort of dating, but by the time Harry's finished his paella, he can't quite remember why he was so nervous.

"Did you want to grab some dessert, or…?" He asks.

Quinn shakes her head, no. "I'm so full already."

Acquiescing, he asks only for the bill when their waitress returns, declines Quinn's offer to split it, and then relents when she insist on leaving the tip. It's a light-hearted debate that leaves him chuckling, and he's still got a smile on his face when he pulls open the restaurant's front door.

Quinn steps through, he follows, and they step out of the way of any pedestrians coming and going.

"All right, so to be honest, I didn't really plan anything out beyond dinner," Harry admits, "I wasn't sure how you'd feel at this point, and I didn't want to, I don't know, make you feel pressured to spend more time with me, or whatever."

"I've had a good time so far," Quinn answers. She wears a smile on her face. His heart races.

"I'm glad," Harry acknowledges earnestly, "I have, too. So I guess the question is, would you like to do something else?"

Quinn briefly glances at her phone. "Well, my curfew's at ten, and it's half passed eight now. The arcade's close by, did you just want to hang out there for an hour?"

"Just as long as I get to kick your arse in air hockey."

Quinn laughs, links her arm through his, and challenges, "I'd like to see you try, Potter."

As he slows his stride, he grins. "It's so on, Fabray."

Author's Note: Yeah, writing first dates is hard. Too many feels. Also, chapter title comes from 'Autumn' by Ben Recktor. Season aside, it was oddly appropriate. Review? -t.