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 Twenty: All Good Things (Come to an End)

Finn doesn't show up to Tuesday morning's training session, and Coach Hooch isn't impressed. She works with the rest of them in the gym, pushing them through a series of progressively difficult calisthenics while she lectures them about the value of discipline, dedication, and commitment. It's gruelling, and by the time it's over, Harry's sure he's going to up-chuck all over the locker room.

That's where Cedric finds him, hunched over his knees while his teammates drag themselves through the showers. One of the reserves, Roger Malone, has already been sick in one of the toilet cubicles, and Harry's determined not to follow suit.

He just needs a minute. Maybe 10.

"Who bailed?" Cedric asks. He's drenched in sweat, having just spent the last hour alternating between weightlifting and spotting his varsity teammates under the supervision of HOoch's assistant coach, and yet, he looks refreshed and energised, and entirely too ready for the rest of his day. Harry can't comprehend it.

).

"Hudson," Matt answers. "How'd you know?"

"Because this?" He gestures vaguely at Harry, still hunched over himself, and Roger, who is still a concerning shade of greenish-grey, "Only happens when someone ditches a training session without a valid reason."

"I'm going to punch that fuckre in the face," Puck says decisively.

"I'll hold him down for you," Mike contributes.

Harry groans. "I'm dead. This must be hell."

"Should probably tell the dude that if he misses one more training session, he's benched. If he misses a third, he's off the team," Cedric advises, "Coach Hooch has no tolerance for deadweight. Oh, and he can kiss any chance of captaincy goodbye."

Matt, Mike, Puck, and Harry glance between themselves. They have no idea how many training sessions for football Finn had bailed on throughout the season, but there was definitely a lot more than three.

Evidently, Coach Hooch won't be quite as tolerant of Finn's nonsense as Coach Tanaka, and so long as he's on the team, they'll be the sorry bastards expected to pick up the slack.

To Harry, it's abundantly clear that something has got to give. Whether it's Finn's place on the team, or his lackadaisical attitude to everything, Harry doesn't give a shit. All he knows is that he can't and won't endure another training session from hell. Mike and Matt, when he glances at them, appear resolved - presumably for the same reason - but Puck's expression is inscrutable.

Unsure of what's percolating through his friend's brain, and not too eager to find out, Harry reluctantly gets to his feet, and trudges his way through a shower. Afterwards, he gets dressed on autopilot, and by the time he's ready to leave the locker room, almost everyone else is already gone.

The exception is Mike, who waits to talk to him by the doors.

"Puck's gone to talk to Finn," Mike informs him.

"Good luck to him," Harry answers.

"Hope he shapes up."

"He'd better."

They reach their English classroom as the first bell rings, and Harry has to smile at the sight that awaits him there. Quinn and Hermione are in the midst of an animated conversation in seats angled towards each other, and the fact is gratifying. It doesn't matter that Hermione's a so called loser, or that Quinn used to contribute to making her life miserable, because by some miracle, they've actually become friends.

Of course, Quinn hasn't stopped picking on other students - Rachel Berry, in particular - but this? It's better than nothing.

"We're getting our marks back today," Mike recalls.

"Yeah," Harry confirms. He drops heavily into the seat behind Quinn, and produces the things he'll need for class. "How do you think you went?"

"Guess we'll find out."

Hermione gets an A+. Quinn and Mike both receive A's. Harry scores an A-, and he's satisfied with that.

It's better than he'd expected.

-!- -#-

Until lunch, Harry's day passes slowly, monotonous and tiresome, as though he's trudging through molasses. Puck's in a shit mood through Geometry, and in Biology, they've got a substitute teacher. As such, they're stuck watching a video about the effects of smoking on the respiratory system, and Quinn spends the hour poking him awake every time he dozes off over his books.

Social Studies is a haze of names, dates, and locations, Japanese a tedious blur of aural repetition, and by the time his lunch hour rolls around, Harry's ready to stage a revolt.

"All right," Santana drops her lunch tray onto their usual table. She opts to sit directly in front of him, "Can you explain to me why the fuck Dorea Black picked you up yesterday?"

Finn blinks, bemused. "Who?"

There's a moment of dumbfounded silence where no one's sure whether or not Finn's joking, but it's quickly obvious that, actually, he's completely serious. Even Brittany, who spends most of her life off with the fairies, looks at Finn like he's an idiot, and Harry has no idea what to say.

Blessedly, Quinn doesn't have the same problem.

"Only one of the most inspirational women of her generation," she answers, "And I told you, Santana, you were imagining things. It was dark out. Why the hell would she be in Lima?"

Quinn gives him the perfect opportunity to lie, to brush it off as a result of the dim lighting and distance. It's tempting to, but realistically, if he does, it'll return to bite him in the ass later. Thus, he opts to tell the truth instead.

Harry coughs, awkward and uncomfortable. They all turn to him, expectant. "That'd be because she's my grandmother."

"I call bullshit," Santana insists.

Harry's irritation flares. "Why the fuck would I lie about that?"

"Why the fuck haven't you mentioned anything before now?"

"Because it's no one's goddamn business?" He thought that would be obvious. "I don't see you asking anyone else about their fucking grandparents, Jesus!"

They glare at each other for an interminably long moment, but as the others watch, Santana backs down, her gaze averted. She still has her arms crossed over her chest, defensive, but the air of confrontation bleeds out of her within the space of a few breaths, and in response, Harry tries to relax, too.

He mostly fails.

The silence that follows is uncomfortable, and Harry's careful to avoid eye contact with anyone else at the table. He picks mindlessly at his pizza instead, and contemplates a tactical retreat. He really doesn't want to deal with this.

Puck clears his throat, and says wryly, "Well, that was entertaining."

Mike elbows him in the side, unimpressed, but Harry relaxes enough to offer his friend a half-hearted smile. He's still careful to avoid Quinn and Santana's scrutinising glares, but he chats with the guys about their preferred version of Halo®, and the insuing hour is probably the longest of his life.

Eventually, however, the bell that heralds the end of lunch blares to life, and they disperse.

Quinn, before she heads towards her Home Economics class, wraps her fingers around his wrist. In response, Harry stops in his tracks, but he refuses to meet her gaze.

"Hey," she says, "Look at me, okay?"

Reluctantly, Harry acquiesces. Quinn's expression is difficult to place, but she doesn't give him much of a chance to decipher it.

"Okay, so we've kind of got to talk about this. Not now, obviously, but soon. Can we meet up when you're done with work?"

Wordlessly, Harry nods his confirmation.

"All right, I'll meet you out the front of the Steam House after your shift." She hesitates briefly, and then engulfs him in a hug. "Don't worry. You matter to me because you're you, not because of your family."

Then Quinn is racing out of the cafeteria, and Harry really needs to get to his art class, but his feet are rooted to the floor, because Quinn's last statement? It's the best thing he's heard all day.