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 Seventeen: Ode to My Family
Harry receives the news on the way to the Steam House. Overnight, in the UK, there was an attempted break-in at his grandparents' townhouse, in Cardiff, and they are on their way to Lima, to stay indefinitely. They're his father's parents, affluent, distant, and successful, and the plan is for them to stay in the apartment over the garage while the rest of them continue on with their own lives.
On the surface, the relocation is an extreme reaction, but as it turns out, Charles and Dorea have recently received a series of increasingly violent threats, and no one wants to know if the assailant - or assailants - intend to try again.
"Do they know who's behind it?" Harry asks. His mind wanders to the conversation with his father from weeks prior, and his stomach churns. He can't tell if it's from the alcohol, or from the fear, and the threat suddenly seems a lot more real than it had been beforehand.
"No," Lily frowns, "Your grandparents are far too well known; it could be anyone. They're still investigating."
Charles Potter, by birthright, is the Earl of Ceredigion, in Wales. Although it doesn't mean much as far as the government is concerned, the man's dedicated most of his adult life to representing the county in question as an MP, and he's made a lot of political adversaries in the process. That aside, he's also the spouse of Dorea Black, who has developed her own cosmetic label that has transcended the riggers of time, socio-economic boundaries, and international borders. She's a public figure in her own right, a household name and an outspoken advocate of marriage, racial, ethnic, religious, and gender equality, and she, too, has her own share of professional rivals.
And then, of course, there is the threat his father had spoken of, and Harry knows nothing where that particular possibility is concerned.
"When will they arrive?"
"This afternoon," she answers, "They took the first flight out. Your dad's picking them up from Dayton."
"I wonder how they'll handle the apartment?" Harry muses. The place is decent, with the most modern of amenities, finely furnished and all that, but Charles and Dorea Potter are undeniably accustomed to a lifestyle far more luxurious than what Lima, Ohio can provide them, and he can't imagine either of them comfortable in the (comparatively) humble home his parents have made for themselves, and for Kate and Harry, too.
His mother laughs. "I guess we'll find out."
"Guess so."
-!- -#-
Between work, Ron and Hermione, Harry doesn't get much of an opportunity to brood over the news. Instead, he waits tables, mediates their squabbling, and finds it in himself to laugh. Evidently, Hermione disapproves of Ron's on and off again, friends with benefits, pseudo relationship with one of the freshman cheerleaders, Lavender, and she has no qualms about admitting it. He's not sure why she's only opted to speak up now, when it's something they've known about for a while, but he's not about to ask her.
In any case, Ron doesn't appreciate Hermione's opinion, of course. In his opinion, it's none of Hermione's business whom he chooses to spend his time with, and is he criticising her for her relationship with someone two years older than her?
Harry's sure the only reason they haven't devolved into a no holds barred screaming match is because they're both entirely aware of where they are, and also because their weekend supervisor, Gemma, is kind of terrifying.
Alas, his shift ends, and with it, his distraction, and before Harry knows it, he's on his way home in the passenger seat of his mother's car. He spends the trip texting Quinn, who has no idea about his heritage, and Harry has no idea how to keep it that way. He has no desire to endure the scrutiny he'll inevitably receive if (or when) word gets out of his family's noble title and/or accomplishments, and God help him, but someone in Lima is bound to realise whom, exactly, his grandparents are.
It's only a matter of time.
-!- -#-
The place is empty when they get home. Kate's evidently decided to accompany their father to Dayton, and the pets have made themselves comfortable on the patio furniture. His mother proceeds to fret over the cleanliness, unfathomably nervous, and Harry is roped - begrudgingly - into ensuring the house and apartment are immaculate. It's a ridiculous endeavour, because Charles and Dorea Potter adore his mother as though she were their own daughter, and the house is already spotless.
His dad and Kate have obviously already gone over everything with a fine-toothed comb, and there are a lot of other, more productive, things Harry could be doing with his time.
"Maybe you should practice your piano," his mother muses.
Harry groans his displeasure. He hasn't played in ages - literally months - and the thought of having to perform for his grandparents fills him with dread.
It's not that he dislikes performing, per se, but rather, it's the fact Charles and Dorea Potter are exceedingly particular about what they like to hear, and more so over the quality of the music in question. Mozart and Bach and all the rest of the classic composers are ridiculously difficult to learn, and the disappointment on his grandparents' faces every time a piece doesn't meet their lofty standards?
It's the worst.
"You know they'll ask for you to play for them while you're here," Lily reasons.
"I'm never here," Harry answers, "Maybe they'll forget to."
His mother laughs, and offers him a couple of condescending pats to the cheek. "Keep dreaming, honey."
"Make Katie do it."
Kate's a performer, and she always has been. She's dynamic and dramatic in ways that serve her well on stage, and she's always expressed a desire to be famous in some way, shape, or form. She attends a variety of dance, acting, and music classes outside of school hours, she's in her school's concert band, the choir, and the drama club, and a show for their grandparents? It's right up her alley.
"She'll do it anyway," Lily flippantly answers.
"That's true," Harry concedes. He runs his fingers along the ivory keys of their upright piano, and then plays out an easy, mindless tune. He plays the chords and melody with ease, and he smiles to himself. It's been a long time, but as it always will, the piano has welcomed him back with open arms.
-!- -#-
Every summer, Harry and Kate usually spend a month in Wales, visiting with their grandparents there. They spend a fair bit of time in Cardiff, and occasionally London, but Most of the holiday is spent in the family's ancestral seat of Cardigan Castle, in Cardigan, and it's a month spent fishing, hiking, riding, or swimming, and it is idyllic. Afterwards, they spend another two weeks in France, on the Riviera, doing more of the same and then some, before they are required to return home, to their parents, to the end of summer, and to their inevitable, begrudging return to school.
Despite his family's move from Chicago, Illinois to Lima, Ohio, the summer just passed is no exception. As such, it's only been a few months since Harry has last seen his grandparents, but it's evident quickly that their recent trials have taken a toll on them both. They look older than Harry remembers, with more grey in their hair and lines on their faces. In their 70's, they're not exactly spring chickens, and the sight is grounding.
He's never thought much about human mortality before, but he wonders how much longer he's got with his Nain and Taid.
"Henry," Charles Potter greets him with a firm squeeze of his shoulder, then just goes for broke and tugs Harry into a hug. It's one Harry reciprocates gingerly, painfully cognisant of the frailty he's never truly noticed before. His grandfather is old, and the truth hurts.
"Hi, Taid," Harry acknowledges, the words choked out around the lump in his throat, "How was your flight?"
"Uneventful," Charles answers. He manages a laugh. "Probably for the best. I don't think my heart can take any more shocks."
Nearby, James frowns. "That's not something to joke about, Dad."
"Life's too short to dwell on the unfortunate things, Jimmy."
As both men begin to 'debate' the issue, Harry greets his grandmother in a similarly tentative embrace. Contrary to her larger than life personality, Dorea Potter is rather petite, and she is almost engulfed in his hug.
"You've grown," Dorea observes, and absently smooths out creases in his shirt, "You Potter boys; always so tall."
"It's good to see you, Nain," Harry informs her, "I'm sorry the circumstances are so unfortunate."
"We'll manage," Dorea answers, "We always do."
And really, that's all Harry needs.