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 Fourteen: Kiss Me

That Friday, they do well in their football game. They don't win, but they're a better team than they were at the start of the year, more fluid, more cohesive, just more. Harry doesn't actually expect to win, so he's still fairly cheerful afterwards, and when he meets up with her, Quinn's all smiles, too.

"Hey," she greets him, "Good game."

"Thanks," Harry replies. "I like the paint."

Quinn grins. "I had hoped you would."

In black and red, someone's painted his jersey number on one of Quinn's cheeks, and the sight sends a thrill through him. It's possessive, a blatant indication that she's his, and he probably shouldn't appreciate it so much; particularly since they haven't actually defined anything yet. They're 'dating', and although Harry intends to ask her to actually give a relationship with him a go, he'd also like to see how a couple more dates turn out beforehand.

Around them, the football team and cheerleaders are mingling, along with their families, friends, and assorted hanger-ons. His dad's there, in conversation with Matt and Mike's parents, Puck's mom, and Coach Tanaka.

Harry should be concerned by it, but instead, he's more intent on he and Quinn's plans later that evening.

"Are we still on for bowling?"

"I'm keen," Quinn answers.

"Yeah? Me too. I do warn you, though, I'm a mean bowler."

Quinn laughs. "Bring it, Potter."

They're still heckling each other when the parents disperse, and they both turn towards the parking lot. James falls into step beside Harry, greets Quinn warmly, and then draws them both - Quinn and Harry - into a conversation about Literature.

It keeps them entertained until they reach the bowling alley. Quinn's perhaps as well read as Harry himself, and his parents, of course, are in a league of their own. Quinn's also very happy to debate her opinions until she's blue in the face, and Harry isn't afraid to disagree with her. The conversation remains mercifully lighthearted, however, and thus they're still in high spirits when they enter the Bowl-O-Rama.

In short order, a lane is allocated, shoes are rented, and bowling balls are acquired. It's not long before they're laughing, bantering, having a good time, and in the two games they play, Quinn kicks his ass. Evidently, it's payback for the ass-whooping he'd she'd received during their impromptu air hockey tournament, but Harry doesn't mind too much. They're having fun, and it's all that really matters.

"Dinner's on me," Quinn declares, "You paid for it last time."

"You sure?" Harry asks.

"Yeah," Quinn confirms, "What do you want?"

They wind up with burgers and drinks, with a bowl of fries to share between them. Quinn packs her meal away with unhesitating, absurdly tidy ease, and the fact is stupidly attractive. Coach Sylvester would probably have an apoplexy, but evidently, Quinn doesn't give a shit, and Harry's a little - or a lot - in awe of this girl.

-!- -#-

After eating, they leave the Bowl-O-Rama, and make the short walk to a nearby children's park. It's brightly lit, and there are some stoner kids making use of the picnic benches, but the swing set is free, and it's where Quinn leads him, his hand clasped in hers.

"Do you want me to push you?"

Quinn shakes her head. "That's okay. Probably not a good idea after eating."

"Touche," he concedes. As Quinn leans against one of the support posts, Harry shifts to stand in front of her, offers her a tentative smile, and reaches up a hand to brush his thumb over her painted cheek. "I know it makes me sound like a caveman or something, but I really like seeing my number on you."

Quinn's laugh is sheepish. "To be honest, I was kind of terrified you'd hate it. Santana said you'd think it's hot, but Santana's crazy."

"It's very hot," Harry assures. He drops his hand before he can do something stupid, like run his thumb along Quinn's bottom lip, "And you're very pretty."

Quinn blushes, and ducks her head. She's actually flattered. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me." He steps into her space, and his heart is racing. Quinn glances at him through her eyelashes, bites down tentatively on her bottom lip, and takes his hands in hers. "Did you have a good time tonight?"

"I did. Did you?"

"Without a doubt," Harry answers. He shuffles closer, twines together their fingers, and dips his head to Quinn's uplifted face. He can feel her breath against his lips, small, gasped breaths that indicate she's perhaps as nervous as him. "May I kiss you, Q?"

She nods, maintaining eye contact, and it's all Harry needs.

He bows his head to kiss her properly, and it's a rush. Quinn's lips are soft and plump, and she tastes like strawberries. He has no idea when she'd have had the opportunity to apply lip gloss since their dinner, but it's not exactly something he dwells on. Instead, as one of his hands cradle the back of her neck, and the other clutches the jersey material at her waist, he sips at her lips as he would wine, slow and lingering, and God, he loves this.

He reluctantly pulls back before he can get carried away, however, certain Quinn wouldn't appreciate any overtures of more. Not now, and perhaps not for a long time, but surprisingly, he can live with that.

Quinn exhales, tremulous. "Wow."

"Yeah," Harry agrees, oddly breathless himself. He laughs though, giddy and plainly relieved, and Quinn joins him, carefree. SHe's content, also, to lean against him, her forehead against one of his shoulders, and he can probably stay like this until dawn. Alas, the stoners are watching them, intent and discomforting, and Quinn's sister, Fran, is due to pick them up outside the bowling alley in 10 minutes. As such, he reluctantly guides Quinn the way they'd come, their hands clasped between them, and they return to the Bowl-O-Rama in an easy, companionable silence.

-!- -#-

Francesca Fabray is an older, softer version of Quinn, easy to laugh, to tease her little sister, to interrogate Harry with all of the unrelenting protectiveness of older siblings everywhere. She listens to Nora Jones and Stevie Nicks and Amy Whinehouse, and Harry's sure he learns more about Quinn in the 15 minute drive to his home than he has in the three months of actually knowing her.

"This is it," Harry says, and Fran pulls into the driveway, "Thanks for the lift."

"No problem," Quinn's sister answers lightly, "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

To his left, where Quinn is curled up behind the driver's seat, he offers his date a smile, lifts her hand to leave a kiss upon her knuckles, and bids her a good night.

Then he retreats from the car before things can get awkward, and waves as they pull away from the house. The two sisters disappear into the night, and Harry looks forward to the moment he can see Quinn again.

It won't be soon enough.

Author's Note: Horribly sappy. Cavity inducing. So hard to write. Thanks for reading. Review? Until next time, -t.