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 Thirty-Six: Rumour Has It
Harry receives a text from Matt early on Sunday, with a request to meet up after they both finish work for the day. Matt works at McDonald's, which turns out to suck as much as Harry imagines, but it guarantees spending money and work experience, and at 15, beggars can't really be choosers as far as employment is concerned.
In this particular instance, Matt begrudgingly endures the early shift, and Harry, a little bemused, agrees to meet with him after they've both clocked off for the afternoon. As is, Harry's got a few more hours left of his shift, and between serving customers, waiting tables, and everything else, the time passes quickly. Ron's distracted, his thoughts on Lavender and their (successful) date the night before, but it's easy to find something to talk about with his other coworkers, and eventually, Harry's shift comes to a welcome end.
Harry's mum, Lily, drops him off at Matt's, where the latter is freshly washed, and mowing his way through a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches, and where his mom, Maureen, greets Harry fondly.
As far as middle-aged women go, Mrs Rutherford is fairly attractive, short and curvy, with an open, expressive face and an unguarded, unassuming kindness. Harry's met her a few times now, during drop-offs and pick-ups and the like, and as far as parents go, she seems pretty cool…
"Hey, honey, how was your Christmas?"
"It was great, Mrs Rutherford," Harry answers, "I had a wonderful time. How was yours? Matt mentioned you guys had a full house?"
"We did, and it was great fun," Maureen replies, "Chaos, of course, but I'd say that was the best part."
"The food was better," Matt deadpans from the dining table. Mrs Rutherford flicks him on the forehead for the trouble, Matt scowls, and Harry grins despite himself.
"Anyway, hun, did you want something to eat?"
"No thanks, Mrs Rutherford," Harry denies, "We get a free meal with each shift, so I've already eaten. I appreciate the offer, though."
Mrs Rutherford eyes him doubtfully, but acquiesces with a shrug. "If you change your mind, just tell Matt. He knows where everything is."
Matt rolls his eyes, unimpressed and long-suffering, and Harry nods, laughing. "Will do, Mrs Rutherford."
She wanders off to do her own thing, and Harry idly wonders where her husband is. Matt finishes his lunch, and he leads Harry downstairs, into the basement Mr and Mrs Rutherford have converted into an impressively stocked media room. There are a variety of video game consoles, shelves upon shelves of games, DVD's, and CD's, and the centrepiece, of course, is the 54" LCD flat screen mounted on the back wall.
"Why do we never come over here for game nights?"
"Because I don't actually like Hudson, and if I invite Puck over, then I have to invite him, too."
"Touché," Harry concedes. "Are we playing games then, or…?"
Matt shakes his head, no, and gestures for Harry to get comfortable. As he does so, Matt explains, "I actually wanted to tell you something."
"Oh?"
"Have you heard much about the party at Tegan Spicer's place?"
"Puck and Santana were complaining about the police being called," Harry shrugs, "Other than that, not really. I haven't had much time to go online."
Matt nods, seeming unsurprised. "You know I went with Puck and Finn, right? San, Brit, and Q, as well."
Harry nods his acknowledgement, unsurprised by this fact. They'd been planning it all since Wednesday, and although he wasn't involved himself, Harry hadn't been able to avoid the details. "You crashed at Puck's."
"That's right," Matt confirms, "Hudson was supposed to, as well, but we lost him when we had to run. You know, from the cops. We thought he was caught, but he texted Puck later, said he just went home."
"Okay?" Harry can't figure out what Matt wants him to know, but he is inexplicably nervous. His hands tremble where they are clasped together between his knees, and there is a bubble of something - panic, maybe? - inside his chest that makes it kind of hard to breathe. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because San and Brit were separated from Q on Friday night, too, and she didn't crash at Santana's like she was supposed to." Matt sighs, and tugs roughly at the ends of his braids, "This really fucking sucks, dude, but they were looking pretty damn cozy on Friday. Puck and San were in a different part of the house, so they wouldn't have seen it, and Brit was trashed, but Q and Finn were dancing, and it wasn't exactly friendly."
Harry's first response is denial. What Matt is implying, it's almost ludicrous. Quinn's taken the 'Golden Promise' - or whatever the fuck it's called - and the thought that she'd have pre-marital sex despite her devotion to her faith, and her determination to abide by her vow? It's almost absurd.
'Almost' being the operative word, of course. The cause for doubt is the knowledge that Harry hasn't heard from Quinn all weekend, and he can't even justify the radio silence with knowledge of the disagreement that still festers between them. They'd still been talking on Friday afternoon, after all.
"So you think, what? Quinn slept over at Hudson's? That she had sex with hiM?"
"I don't know, dude," Matt answers, "I don't want to assume. I'm just stating the facts as I know them: Q and Finn were getting pretty frisky at the party, and they both went MIA when we all had to split. I don't know what you want to do with this information - if anything - but I figured you should know, either way."
Harry exhales through his nose, cards his hands through his hair, and tugs roughly at the roots. His hands shake, and it feels as though his heart is about to beat right out of his chest. He's surprised by Matt's revelations, but through it, the disappointment, the anger, and the sadness is an unpleasant churn in his gut. He can't tell who it's directed towards - Matt, Quinn, maybe himself - but Harry stews in it, unsure of what to do - or where to go - from there.
Matt sighs. "I'm sorry, man."
He looks it, too, his expression - and his whole body, really - racked with guilt.
"It's not your fault," Harry answers monotonously, stands abruptly, and hesitates. "Thanks for telling me, Matt. It's shit, and you didn't have to, so I appreciate it."
Matt's smile is small. "No sweat, dude. I got your back."
"I think I might go for a walk. I need to think, or something."
Harry would actually prefer to punch something - Finn Hudson's face comes to mind - but since that's not an option…
"Sure, dude," Matt acknowledges, and follows Harry to the door. Harry tugs his coat, beanie, and gloves on mechanically. It's cold out, but the sun is shining, and there is no indication of that day's predicted snow storm in sight. In the hallway, hands burrowed in the front pocket of his Cleveland Cavaliers pullover, Matt requests, "Be careful, yeah?"
"Sure thing," Harry shoves his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat, "Will do. Thanks, again."
Matt nods, and Harry meanders off the Rutherford's porch, content simply to head in the direction of home. His temper simmers beneath his skin, his thoughts circle around his head - Quinn, Finn, himself, Matt, the party, the truth - in a tireless, unending loop, and without conscious thought, Harry's feet lead him to Mr and Mrs Fabray's front door. He'd known, abstractly, that Matt and Quinn lived close to each other, but he hadn't realised exactly how close that was until he found himself wandering down Quinn's street, in front of her house, on her parents' front porch.
Now he stands there, probably under the scrutiny of the neighbours, and contemplating whether or not he should ring the doorbell, or if he should just continue on his way home. He has no idea whether or not Matt's non-assumptions are true, but the uncertainty isn't something he can live with for long. As such, and despite his misgivings, Harry mentally braces himself, and resolves to find out.
He rings the doorbell, and Mrs Fabray answers. She's still dressed in her church clothes, but her hair is down, and her face is bereft of makeup.
"Hi, Harry, honey," Mrs Fabray greets kindly, "What a pleasant surprise! We weren't expecting you."
"Hi, Mrs Fabray. I'm sorry to pop in unannounced, but I was in the area, and it was kind of a spur of the moment thing. How are you?"
Harry proceeds through the usual chit chat with Mrs Fabray on autopilot. Most of his focus is on the conversation (re: confrontation) he's about to have with Quinn, and the unerring feeling that regardless of how well it goes, he's going to be single when he leaves later.
If he's honest with himself, the awareness of that fact leaves him tempted just to make his excuses to Mrs Fabray, to retreat before he has to come face to face with Quinn, to shut her out until the situation resolves itself, but Harry can't do that. It's not fair on either of them - not that it's particularly fair right now, but whatever - and in all honesty, Harry would rather just get it - the unpleasantness and uncertainty - out of the way, and over and done with.
"I'll go get Quinn, shall I?" Mrs Fabray asks, and walks away before Harry can reply.
Harry, meanwhile, loiters in the hallway, studies the family photos there, and waits, anxiously, for Quinn's arrival.
It doesn't take her long.
"What are you doing here?" Quinn sounds hostile, and Harry responds accordingly.
"You weren't replying to my texts. I thought I'd check if you were still alive. Why do you think I'm here, Quinn? We need to talk."
Quinn flinches, though that's no particular surprise. Those words are portentous, predicting an unpleasant, unwelcome conversation ahead, and everyone dreads hearing them. Quinn is no exception.
She sighs, looking inexplicably weary, and resigns herself to it. "Let's go downstairs. My parents won't hear us there."
Harry nods his acknowledgement, and gestures vaguely, a sarcastic, insincere smile on his face. "Lead the way."
Author's Note: Last chapter was the first where I didn't get any reviews. Are you guys and gals all right? Is that weird to ask?
No lie, I'm about as annoyed that the current Quinn/Harry drama has been dragged out as long as it has. Next chapter will be the one, I hope.
Until next time, -t.