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.

Warning: Possible trigger in this chapter, and in the chapters ahead. Oblique references to abortion, and frank discussion later on.

… Is it too late to say spoiler alert?

Part One: Fifteen

Chapter Thirty-Three: Drunk

Bewildered, horrified, and a little bemused (because what the actual fuck?), Harry sets aside his empty beer bottle, approaches the older girl, and gently tugs her into an awkward, one-armed hug. It's uncomfortable for a variety of reasons, but even as Harry tries to comfort her, and to figure out what the hell is wrong, a part of him - incredulous, baffled, and utterly clueless - is preoccupied by the question of why he always winds up as the poor sod left to comfort emotional women.

Cho tries to speak through her waterworks, but she's utterly incomprehensible with the mix of alcohol and tears. It's that drunk kind of cry that guarantees there's no end of her bawling in sight, and Harry resigns himself to helping.

He's never been able to walk away from a damsel in distress.

He guides her to a seat at the dining table, and Frankie - who has appeared in the interim - offers him an unopened bottle of water and a packet of serviettes. As he does so, he quietly assures Harry that he'll keep everyone out of the kitchen for a bit, and then makes himself scarce.

Harry, meanwhile, drops into the seat beside Cho, slings an arm over her shoulders, and waits for the emotional whirlwind to pass. He regrets, briefly, not asking Frankie to seek out Cedric, but as Cho continues to try and explain what's wrong, it doesn't take Harry long to figure out that it's probably for the best that he hadn't.

Whatever it is that has Cho in hysterical, drunken tears, it has everything to do with Cedric Diggory.

"Did you want me to go punch him for you?" Harry asks, and he's only mostly joking.

Cho, who is calmer now, laughs wetly, and wipes at her eyes with a crumpled serviette. She's still upset, and there's a grief in her eyes that Harry can't fathom, but at least she's no longer hysterical."Thanks for the offer, Harry, but that's not necessary."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Cho answers, "Things are just a mess right now. It's not Ced's fault. It's just… Things really suck at the moment, and I guess neither of us really know how to make it better."

That, he is sure, makes things about as clear as mud, but Harry isn't about to ask for clarification. He can probably count on one hand the number of conversations he's had with the girl, and they've all been the perfunctory, awkward small talk sort during those occasions wherein he's actually in her company to speak with Cedric. As such, they're friendly, but they're not exactly friends, and therefore, it would be overstepping bounds Harry has no desire to cross.

Cho's nice and all, clever and snarky and athletic, somehow detached from the usual social politicking that is rampant in WMHS, but there's something unattainable about her that puts him off.

It's not because she's Cedric's girl, because Harry has no real qualms about befriending his friends' romantic partners, but it's Cho, herself. She has a bearing about her that leaves him rather reminiscent of his grandmother, Dorea, and he usually avoids those women who've been raised surrounded by wealth. Not because he doesn't know how to deal with them - because, in actuality, he's been pretty much groomed for it - but because he doesn't want to. It's social politicking of an entirely different sort, and Harry's sure he's going to spend the entirety of his adult life putting up with it. As such, he would sooner not start until he has no other choice.

"I'm sorry." As he speaks, he wonders how everything can possibly have gone to shit in only two weeks. He goes away for Christmas, and upon his return, it's as though everything's been turned on it's ear. The term 'trouble in paradise' has never seemed so appropriate.

Cho shrugs, and her smile is bleak. "It's not your fault. It just… is."

Unable to find an appropriate response to that, Harry nods his acknowledgement, and the pair of them sit in a surprisingly companionable, thoughtful silence. Harry drinks his beer, and Cho sips mechanically at her water.

"Where is Diggory, anyway?"

Cho sighs, weary and sad, and slumps further down in her seat. She's lethargic - boneless, almost - and he wonders how much she's had to drink. It's still fairly early. "He's outside. Utterly plastered, last I saw him. Ethan said he'd make sure he wouldn't hurt himself."

Seamus set up the outdoor heaters on his parents' patio, and there's a whole lot of people outside, smoking and what have you. Ethan Summerby is also one of the designated drivers for anyone who needs a lift home. As such, Harry tries not to worry.

He mostly fails.

"He hasn't been okay this last week. Not acting himself, or whatever."

"I know," Cho answers. She picks at the label on her water bottle, and then she laughs, mirthless. "We're a mess, him and I."

"It'll get better."

Cho smiles, and Harry gets the impression she doesn't believe him. "I hope so."

He squeezes her shoulder, again lost for words, and Seamus sings a mellowed down, acoustic rendition of 'Slide' by the Goo Goo Dolls in the next room over.

"Don't you love the life you killed? The priest is on the phone

Your father hit the wall, your Ma disowned you

Don't suppose I'll ever know what it means to be a man

It's something I can't change, I'll live around it…"

Next to Harry, Cho bursts into tears all over again, gut-wrenching and inconsolable.

Harry drains his beer, because he's sure he's not nearly drunk enough for this, and even as the puzzle pieces click into place, he doesn't want to understand. He wants to close his eyes and shut off his ears to this epiphany, because the explanation of Cedric's - and now Cho's - behaviour is worse than he'd imagined and he doesn't want to deal with this.

Hell, he doesn't know how to deal with this.

"Shit," Harry mutters, low and drawn out, because what can he possibly say? He's fairly certain there are no words in any language known to man that will make this okay. "Did you…?"

Cho nods wordlessly, and she's hyperventilating and crying, and Harry has no idea what to do. He gently guides her head between her knees though, because that's what people do, right? And then he rubs circles into her back, and works at getting her breathing to match his own.

As Harry does so, he's fairly certain she can't tell he's trembling about as violently as she is. He hopes as much, anyway, and he hopes, also, that she can't tell he wants to cry, too.

Author's Note: So… that happened.