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-Three: Falling
Thanksgiving comes and goes. Harry's family doesn't celebrate it, and although he and his sister are encouraged to take some time out of their day to reflect on what they are grateful for, Harry spends most of his day lazing around in sweats and a T-shirt, catching up on TV, playing video games, and sporadically texting the friends whom, like him, aren't rapt up in family, holidays, and/or religious obligations (re: Mike). Kate hangs out with him some, and they spend a few solid hours duking it out on Mario-Kart before his sister gets bored, and all in all, it's a pleasant, restful way to spend his Thursday.
Excepting his two shifts at the Steam House, the remainder of the weekend passes in a similar fashion, barring a couple of hours each night begrudgingly occupied with revision for his upcoming exams. In all, it's a wrench to return to wake up on Monday morning, to the daily grind of school, work, and basketball. The debating season is over, at least, which frees up a few hours of his week, but the next three weeks are going to be a hellish slog of studying, tests, and holiday anticipation, and Harry's mind is already on Colorado.
In saying that, it's good to see Quinn, bundled up in what passes for the cheerleaders' winter uniform. It's actually just a pair of WMHS sweatpants and the accompanying jacket over a long-sleeved shirt, coloured black, red, and white, respectively. He can't imagine they're particularly effective at keeping out the winter chill, but he'd probably be slapped if he asks if she's wearing anything underneath, and thus he refrains, and assumes Quinn can take care of herself.
"Hey," he greets her. She curls herself up in his space, her arms twined around his middle, and relaxes into his hug. "Are you all right?"
"It was a crazy weekend," Quinn answers, "I missed you. Like, a lot."
He hugs her tighter, fondly amused but pleased all the same, and presses a kiss into her hair. "I missed you too."
After an explanatory text to Hermione and Mike, they forego their usual study session to catch up instead. Between stolen moments and languid kisses in shadowed alcoves, it's mostly Quinn talking, regaling him with all of the stories of her weekend in Cleveland as Harry listens, comments intermittently, and asks occasional questions. As they speak, they wander aimlessly around the school, their hands clasped between them, and it's actually kind of nice. There aren't many people around right now, and those who are don't pay them any heed. There are no stares, no rumours, and Harry could easily get used to this.
Alas, it doesn't last. They're joined by Santana, Brittany, Mike, and Matt when they round the corner to the school's main thoroughfare, and Quinn is swept away by the girls to catch up on gossip, and whatever else it is they talk about when clustered in packs like that.
"Where's Puck?"
"Dude's on a roll today," Matt answers, "He locked Jacob Ben-Israel in a port-a-potty about twenty minutes ago, and right now he's working on getting Kurt Hummel into a dumpster."
"Finn's with him," Mike contributes, "The usual suspects, too."
The usual suspects consist of Dave Karofsky, Azimio Adams, and a few other guys on the football team, too. The novelty's worn off for the rest of them, and they mostly just stick to themselves, the cheerleading team, and their assorted hanger-ons, but Harry doesn't think the others will tire of it any time soon.
"Must be pissed about something," Harry observes.
"Probably," Mike concurs.
Matt shrugs, grimacing. "Doesn't mean he has to ruin anyone else's day."
"Not justifying it, but no one's ever that considerate in high school," Harry answers, "Maybe ever."
Matt concedes the point with a nod. "Touché."
Harry checks the time on his phone, and then excuses himself to retrieve his things for class from his locker. He's still got a good half hour before homeroom starts, but before then, he intends to stop by the Guidance Counsellor's office. He's not sure who else to see about enrolling in next semester's Driver's Ed course, but if it's not Miss Pillsbury, than he's sure she'll have the information of whom, exactly, he'll have to talk to.
-!- -#-
Miss Emma Pillsbury is a doe-eyed redhead with an extreme case of OCD, and when he knocks on the frame of her open office door, he can't say he's particularly surprised to find her cleaning her windows. She's got a pair of those enormous, industrial style yellow gloves on her hands, wielding a bottle of Windex in one hand and a toothbrush in the other, and he silently wonders if he ought to come back later.
"Oh!" Miss Pillsbury exclaims. She convulsively clutches at her weapons against germs and filth, and then carefully, purposefully deposits them on a side table. He's a little impressed - He can't imagine that was easy. "May I help you?"
"Um, I was wondering, do you handle schedule changes?"
Miss Pillsbury blinks, guileless, and then nods. "I do, yes. Were you hoping to change subjects? I believe it's rather late in the term, but I can help organise things for the winter term…"
"No," Harry denies, "Not for this semester. I was hoping to switch out of my Weightlifting elective on Friday afternoons for next term's Driver's Ed course. I'll be 15 and 5 months on the 31st of December."
"Oh, of course!" Miss Pillsbury beams, "I can certainly do that. Take a seat, and it will be done before your first class. Your name is Harry Potter, yes?"
"My given name's Henry," Harry offers. He waits for her to take a seat in the swivel chair behind her desk, and then lowers himself into the stuffed armchair across from her. "And thank you, I appreciate your help."
Because the WMHS Guidance Counsellor is actually exceedingly efficient, it doesn't take much time at all, and before Harry knows it, he's got a pamphlet dubiously called 'So You Think You Can Drive', and Miss Pillsbury has sent him on his way.
"Took you long enough," Mike grouses, "Where'd you go? Antarctica?"
"Yeah," Harry answers, "I went penguin sledding and everything."
Mike pauses briefly, stunned, and then asks, "Was that an Avatar reference?"
They meet gazes, laugh, and bump fists as Harry drops into the seat beside his friend. The girls, Hermione and Quinn, watch them with humoured expressions, but make no move to disrupt them as they descend into an animated discussion regarding the show.
It's then, as Quinn observes their arguably nonsensical conversation with a fond, endeared grin, that it occurs to Harry that he could actually fall in love with this girl. He's not there yet, but if things progress as they have been, then it's only a matter of time.
The thought is exhilarating, and utterly terrifying.
-!- -#-
On the notice boards all over school, there are sign-up sheets for clubs and activities available the following term. Although he's sure to regret it later, Harry signs up for the Euro Challenge - a nation-wide competition to facilitate an awareness and understanding of the European Union and the Euro, specifically - with Mike and Puck, and then, on a whim, he signs up for the French Club, too. Puck follows suit.
"Where are you going to get the time?" Mike asks. Beside him, Puck is texting someone, a smirk on his face, and Harry can't work out whether or not his friend is about to get into a whole world of trouble, or if he's going to be the one to instigate it.
"I figured I'd cut down my availability to only weekend shifts. I've got a decent amount saved up already, and since Mum and Dad have already agreed to go halves with me…"
"Not going to take advantage of the free time?"
Harry laughs. "I'd be bored out of my mind."
"I hear you, man."
They disperse before the hall monitor can bitch them out about loitering, and Harry begrudgingly makes his way to History. Matt's already there, slumped over his notebook, listless gaze on one of the pages therein, and Harry drops gracelessly into the seat beside him.
"I saw you joined the African American Society," Harry observes.
"Yeah," Matt confirms, "The yOung Democrat's Association, too. Figure I might as well, you know?"
"You want to go into politics?" Harry's a little surprised, though he shouldn't be. None of them have talked about what they want to do when they finish school - mostly because he's pretty sure Quinn's the only person in their group to have genuinely and seriously thought about it by this point - but somehow, it hasn't occurred to him that his other friends - excepting Hermione and Mike, perhaps - might be interested in politics, too.
Matt shrugs. "Maybe. I've thought about it. Not sure though."
Harry can relate. It's an idea he's toyed with on and off for a couple of years, influenced by Charles Potter's political career. No doubt, his grandfather's idealised his past to the nth degree, but somehow, it's a thought Harry can't shake for the life of him.
"Got a while to think about it."
Matt smiles. "That I do."
Their teacher arrives then, and informs them that they've got the next two weeks to self-study in his class. They're blessedly not limited to his subject, but he also takes the time to remind them that they've got a major test coming up - short answer, multiple choice, and a 2000 word essay to wrap things up - before he lets them do as they please.
"What are you going to work on?" Matt asks.
"Visual Art," Harry answers. He's been tasked with analysing a realist art piece by Henri Matisse, examining the techniques used, the historical and modern perceptions of the piece itself, and then to offer his opinion and justification regarding Matisse's work, and realist art in general. He's also been working on a portrait in class, using the techniques he's learned about this term, and it's probably the term project he's most anxious about.
He's never been too keen on showing off his art.
"Good fucking luck, dude."
Harry smiles wryly. "Thanks. I'll need it."
They chat idly as they work, mostly about Matt's Thanksgiving in Chicago. Even then, it's mostly about how he hates having to share a bathroom with his three older sisters - 18, 21, and 22, respectively - and also how his younger cousins - all 11 of them - are Satan-sent little trolls spawned for the purpose of making his life miserable.
Harry, who has no sympathy, laughs until he is breathless, and he can't remember the last time he's laughed so hard.
His good mood lasts until, once again, Finn skips training.
Author's Note: Sort of a filler, sort of not. I'm having a hard time transitioning to the next arc of the story.