Welcome to the Jungle
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Part One: Fifteen
Chapter Thirty-Two: Heartache Tonight
There's a 'Back to School' party on at Seamus' place on Friday. It's invite only, and the guest list consists mostly of Seamus' friends on the WMHS soccer teams. Harry's been invited, as have a few other classmates unaffiliated with the soccer team, and he's been told to bring a plus one if he feels so inclined.
When he asks, Quinn is mostly ambivalent. She's already committed to attending the Head Cheerleader's party with Santana and Brittany, and she doesn't seem particularly inclined to change her plans. it results in another fight, because although Quinn seems to expect it, Harry doesn't intend to change his, either.
It's a disagreement that hasn't been resolved by Friday. It festers instead, leaves them both tense, uncomfortable, and agitated, and if Harry's honest with himself, by school's end, he's kind of relieved to get away from her, and from the stifling tension between them, too.
At the same time, Harry's baffled. He's been back home for a week, and they've already had two arguments. Before Christmas, they hadn't fought at all, and the change is as bewildering as it is unwelcome.
"Rough day?" Ron asks.
"Rough week," Harry answers. He drops onto the cracked leather back seat of Fred and George Weasley's Ford Anglia, and greets the twins with a fist bump each. They aren't close, but they're friendly, and it's not difficult to like them besides. "How are you guys?"
"Better than you, I imagine," George replies. He tinkers with the car's ancient radio as he does so, and Third Eye Blind filters from the speakers. "Why so glum, chum?"
Harry sighs, resigned. He has no real desire to talk about it, but Fred and George are his ride to Seamus', and it seems kind of rude to brush off the enquiry. "Quinn and I have been fighting. It's just… draining."
"It always is," Fred answers. He would no, presumably; he's been in a relationship with Angelina Johnson since they were both 13 years old. "The make-up is always great, though."
Ron and George simultaneously roll their eyes and groan, and Fred laughs, unabashed.
"No one wants to know," Ron informs his brother, "Keep that shit to yourself."
"Aw, but sharing is caring, ickle Ronnykins," Fred parries.
Ron gives Fred the finger through the rearview mirror, and mercifully, conversation turns to their respective plans for the rest of the weekend. They've all got work at one point or another, but Harry's got Kate's 14th birthday party on Saturday evening to look forward to (re: dread), and as it happens, the others have plans, too.
"Ronny's got a date," George says, and he wears an impish grin, "With that cheerleader girl he's been messing around with. What's her name?"
Ron scowls. "How did you even know about that?"
"An actual date?" Harry clarifies.
"I know everything, Ronny, didn't you know that?" George asks at the same time.
Ron, who is actually bright red, shrugs and stares out the window. George is ignored. "Yeah. Figured, why not, you know? It's not like either of us are seeing anyone else."
Harry slumps further in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest, and leans against the car door. Noncommittally, he acknowledges, "I guess that makes sense."
Fred pulls up in front of Breadsticks, and they shuffle inside for an early - and affordable - dinner. The twins' usual company is already gathered, and the four of them pull up seats at their table.
"Took you guys long enough," Lee Jordan greets them, "What, did you take the scenic route?"
"Yeah," Fred deadpans, "That's exactly what I did."
A waitress arrives to take their orders, and once she's left again, conversation naturally turns to soccer. Lee doesn't play, but he's an avid fan, and as players, the rest of them are fairly invested, themselves. There's a heated debate about who will win the 2008 FIFA World Player of the Year, set to be announced the following Monday, which somehow segues to that day's revelation from Coach Hooch, received via email.
"What do you guys think about soccer in the spring term?" Angelina asks. Fred and George both shrug, generally ambivalent and adaptable.
"It'll be weird," Katie Bell answers. She's a sophomore - blonde, blue eyed, and beautiful - but she's particularly close with Angelina and Alicia, and through them, Fred, George, and Lee, as well. "But, you know, if that's what the OHSAA wants, what can we do about it?"
"Nothing, really, and it's not a big deal, I guess, but it'll definitely be an adjustment." Alicia twirls her pasta around on her fork, "I'm just not sure of what I'm going to do in the fall, you know? To stay in shape, I mean."
"There's always hockey, I guess," Angelina's expression is dubious though.
"I'm going for the cross country team," Katie contributes, smiles wryly, and adds, "We already train with them, so it shouldn't be too hard."
"Touché," Angelina concedes, "I might join you."
"Same," Alicia opines.
"What about you?" Ron asks Harry in the conversational lull that follows, "Since the soccer season's been moved, will you try out next year?"
"I think I will," Harry answers. The thought has been percolating in his mind since he'd learned of the shift from Ron that morning, but it's only now that he's come to a decision. "Viktor graduates this year, so I'll actually have a chance at making striker. That said, I don't see any reason why I wouldn't want to."
He's not sure he'll continue with baseball alongside soccer, but the option is there. Baseball games are on Saturdays, soccer games on Fridays, so the only overlap would possibly be in training. Even then, that's not a certainty. He has a long time to decide, in any case.
"Are you any good?" Angelina asks curiously.
Harry shrugs. "Good enough."
"He's good," Ron contributes, "Good as Krum, at least."
"High praise," Lee observes, an eyebrow arched in surprise.
"Warranted," Ron answers, and his certainty is humbling.
"In that case, I look forward to seeing you in action," Katie winks suggestively, and Harry smirks despite himself. Bell's not subtle in the slightest, and he definitely shouldn't encourage her, but…
"In that case, I pray I don't disappoint," he answers. He maintains eye contact as he does so, and the moment that follows seems to last an age.
It's broken by Alicia, who laughs a little nervously and then stares determinedly into her soda. Fred and George briefly glance between Katie and Harry, curious and concerned, but they revive the conversation by regaling the rest of them with the story of a prank they'd pulled on their (apparently incompetent) Spanish teacher, and the moment is quickly forgotten in the light of good conversation and good company.
-!- -#-
The gathering at Seamus' is fairly tame, as far as high school parties go. It's chilled out, with weed, drinks, and good music, and no one's outwardly smashed. Yet.
As it happens though, the people invited seem content just to hang out, to toke up and have a few drinks, to enjoy some good music and shoot the breeze.
It's different, in all, but Harry finds he actually prefers it this way.
"Seamus, hey," Harry greets his friend with a clasp of hands that turns into a brief hug, "Thanks for the invite, mate."
Fred, George, and Ron greet him as well, familiar and fond in that way of teammates. They wander off quickly though, in search of drinks, or weed, and in order to greet the others who've already arrived, too.
"Thanks again for coming, man," Seamus says. He holds his guitar in his lap, but he doesn't play. Not yet.
"I'm glad I did," Harry answers, and Ron returns with a couple of Coronas, "How were you able to swing it?"
"My parents are in Belfast," Seamus answers, "Mum's sister just gave birth, so…"
"So she had to fulfil her filial duty," Harry concludes.
"Exactly," Seamus confirms. "My older sister, Maggie, is supposed to be here, but she decided to spend the weekend at her boyfriend's instead."
"Convenient," Ron glibly opines.
Seamus shrugs. "I'm not about to complain."
"No," Ron huffs a laugh, "I wouldn't, either."
Frankie and Dean wander over, and it's fun just to hang out. Seamus plays his guitar, sings occasionally, and even banters with the guests who wander in to watch and listen to him play. He's a good performer, talented when he's singing, and entertaining when he's not. Harry might be biased, but he's sure he's seen worse shows.
"Do you want to make a career out of it?" Harry gestures vaguely at Seamus' guitar.
"Ideally," Seamus answers, "But I doubt I will. I'm no Damien Rice."
"You could always try," Dean contributes, "You're good, and you never know, you might just be discovered one day."
"Dad wants me to go to school. Make something of myself, or whatever."
"Why don't you study music?" Harry suggests.
"Mate, I haven't even thought about it," Seamus answers, "I'm only a freshman, you know? I don't even know what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow."
"Understandable," Frankie acknowledges, , "You've got time to think about it. Don't stress about it now."
Seamus plucks idly at his guitar strings, nods, and answers, "I won't."
As Ron wanders off to find the bathroom, and Dean and Frankie descend upon the snack table, Harry meanders towards the kitchen to acquire himself another beer. It's empty, for the most part, everyone else in the living room, or on the back patio toking up, but Cho Chang is there, and she appears distressed. Harry hovers in the doorway, uncertain. He's not at all equipped to handle overwrought women, but he'd feel like an ass if he just left her alone. "Is everything all right, Cho?"
"No," Cho answers, and Harry's surprised by her honesty. He's even more surprised when, a moment later, she bursts into loud, hysterical tears.