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-Seven: Truth Hurts

The basement in Quinn's home has been converted into a small apartment, used predominantly by Quinn's older sister, Fran, whenever she visits Lima. Quinn, however, has taken to using it - barring the bedroom, anyway - in order to give herself a bit of space from her often overbearing parents.

Harry knows this, not because she tells him as she leads him there, but because she's explained it to him in the past. Their walk, meanwhile, is spent in an uncomfortable, unpleasant silence, and the quarterback wonders sardonically if it's too late to leave.

When they reach the basement, Harry discovers that Quinn's made up a nest of blankets in front of the TV, 'Gossip Girl' on pause, and a chocolate sundae (with all the trimmings) haphazardly deposited on the coffee table. Accompanied by the clothing she wears - nondescript sweats, an old T-shirt, and fuzzy socks on her feet - it paints the picture of a quiet, lazy day spent in comfort and solitude.

Harry almost feels bad for disrupting her plans.

Almost, being the operative word.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn repeats. She holds herself defensively, arms crossed over her chest, expression guarded, and he wonders when he became the enemy.

"I told you," Harry answers, "We need to talk, but you weren't answering my texts or calls. I decided to be proactive."

"You should have called."

"Why, so you could ignore that call, too? Or so you could tell me not to come, and confirm that you've actually been receiving my texts - you're just not replying to them?" Quinn flinches. Harry pauses. "I think not, Q."

Quinn sighs, retrieves her ice cream, and wanders into the kitchenette. She deposits it - bowl, spoon, and all - in the freezer, and then returns to the living area. There, she drops onto the couch, gestures vaguely for Harry to make himself comfortable in the armchair, and acquiesces, "Let's talk, then."

It's tempting to remain standing, but Harry's been on his feet all morning, and the walk over hasn't exactly done him any favours. As such, he settles himself in the seat offered, rolls back his shoulders to try and relieve the tension that's built up there, and meets Quinn's gaze.

"What's going on, Q?" Harry asks, "You've been acting weird ever since I got back from Breckenridge."

"There's nothing wrong," Quinn insists.

"Really? Because the silent treatment says otherwise." He drops his phone and wallet onto the coffee table, right beside his coat and scarf, "But if you're not going to answer that, can you at least explain to me what the deal is with the silent treatment?"

Quinn averts her gaze. "I just needed some alone time. I'm sorry."

"You just needed some alone time," Harry repeats, flat and unimpressed.

Quinn shrugs, defensive, but mostly just weary. She's probably about as over this conversation - such as it is - as Harry himself. All the same, they both persist. "What else did you want me to say?"

What does he want her to say? He wants her to explain why she's been acting so hot and cold since his return from his family's holiday to Colorado. He wants to know where she went on Friday night, if she spent it with Finn Hudson, and if so, what she did with him. Mostly, though, he wants to know where her head and heart are at, if he's just wasting his time here, if they should just cut their losses, to put this relationship behind them and move on with their lives.

Strengthening his resolve, Harry goes for broke. He's probably going to end up single either way, he might as well leave an impression.

"Did you spend Friday night at Hudson's place, Quinn?"

"Where did you hear that?" Quinn's gaze - startled, horrified, and damningly, blatantly guilty - meets his, and the fight leaves Harry in the blink of an eye. He can't even muster up the energy to be angry, though he's sure that will come in time. Mostly, he's just sad, tired, and stupidly, inexplicably disappointed.

"Right," he acknowledges her unspoken answer, "And did you have sex with him, too?"

Even as Harry mentally cringes at his confrontational, caustic tone, he doesn't retract the question. He needs confirmation, verification that he's not jumping to the wrong conclusion. It could be that Quinn was just plastered, and Finn took her to his place to sleep it off. He needs it to be the case, because he's not sure how to cope with the alternative.

Quinn flinches, but does not reply. She is not offended by the question, she is not irate by his audacity in asking, not outraged by his doubt. She is mute, her gaze on the coffee table, and it is all the answer he needs..

"Right," Harry repeats, and he kind of wants to throw up. He doesn't though, and instead, he reaches forward to retrieve his phone and wallet, stands up, and pockets them without looking at the blonde. He dons his coat and scarf, ensures his beanie and gloves are secure in his pockets, and adds, "Thanks for your time today, I guess. I'd better go."

"Already?" Quinn asks. She looks startled, and he wonders, bitterly, what the hell she expects from him.

"Why the bloody hell would I stay?"

Quinn averts her gaze again, but she nods. She doesn't say anything else.

Harry knows, distantly, that he ought to be angry, to rant and rage and what the fuck ever else, but as his new reality washes over him, Harry's just numb. The anger will come later - probably when he next sees Finn Hudson's stupid, annoying face - but for now, he walks to the door, desperate to leave the stifling confines of Mr and Mrs Fabray's basement.

At the door, Harry hesitates, and without looking back, he informs her, "I hope he was fucking worth it, Q."

Harry leaves then, through the back door in order to avoid her parents. He doesn't look back, but behind him, Quinn drops her head into her hands, and starts to cry.

-!- -#-

It's all rather anticlimactic, Harry reflects on his way home. There isn't a fight, there isn't any melodramatic begging to stay. There isn't even a declaration that they're over. There are just questions, there is just the truth, and there are the jagged edges of his trust, broken and scattered, and unlikely to ever be repaired.

Somehow, it feels worse than he imagined it would.

Because they hadn't fought it out, Harry hasn't had the opportunity to vent his hurt, and so it festers inside him instead, a pulsing, throbbing thing. He is undeniably upset - close to tears, even - but as he dwells on it, as he broods over all that he's learned today, the anger builds up, simmers beneath his skin, a wild, frothing creature that is desperate to break free, and Harry has no outlet for it.

All he has are his thoughts, and a long, exhausting walk home. He could call for a lift, of course - between his parents and grandparents, there will be someone available to retrieve him - but the last thing Harry wants right now is to deal with people, and the inevitable questions as to why, exactly, he's decided to walk the streets of Lima's northern suburbs in the middle of winter.

Harry just wants to be alone, actually, and so he keeps on walking, and eventually, he makes it home. There, he has a shower, and afterwards, he makes himself some hot cocoa. Both are mostly to warm up after his walk, but he liberates a couple of the chocolate pecan brownies his mother had made for Kate's birthday thing, and they're entirely for his own (emotional) comfort. As such, he enjoys them as Kate watches an episode of 'Futurama' and then retreats downstairs to be alone again. Not before he refuses to answer all of Kate's questions about what was wrong with him, how he'd gotten home, and where he'd been, however.

-!- -#-

In the solitude of his bedroom, Harry blasts a playlist of loud, angry music through his speakers, strips down to his sweats, and attempts to sweat out everything he's feeling through exercise. He can't beat the shit out of Finn Hudson - doesn't even want to make the effort, really - and Mike's got another date with Hermione, so a spar's out of the question, as well. It means, however, that exercise is probably the least destructive outlet of his temper available to him at present, and so Harry loses count of all the push-ups, sit-ups, and crunches he does.

Through it all, he does not feel better. Instead, he is plagued with questions he'll probably never get answered, but he wonders all the same. What is so deplorable about him that Quinn found it in herself to seek comfort in someone else's arms, in spite of her commitment to not only him, but also to herself and her Faith? How long had it been going on for? When did it all go wrong, and the most persistent: why the fuck was it Finn Hudson? What is so special about the jolly fucking giant that makes girls bend over backwards to receive even a scrap of attention from him?

Harry groans, stretched out on his floor, head in his hands. He's exhausted - physically, mentally, emotionally - and he can't find the energy to haul himself off the hardwood. He's drenched in sweat, his entire body the consistency of jelly, and if any more emotional turmoil is thrown his way before this hellish weekend is over, he might just start crying.

With that in mind, Harry closes his eyes, tries hard to fall asleep, and prays that tomorrow will be better. His playlist hadn't continued after the first cycle through, and no one's sought him out for their usual - more or less mandatory - family night. As such, he falls asleep quickly. The next thing Harry knows, it's barely dawn, his body fiercely protests all of the exercise (and his sleeping arrangements, too), and nothing has changed..

.

Author's Note: Quinn and Harry's confrontation was never going to be a huge blow out fight or whatever. Mostly, it's because I'm non-confrontational to a literal fault (like, it's actually a problem), and I therefore have no idea how to write them with the appropriate expression and emotion. Also, in my head, it didn't fit their relationship. They never reached that point where they're both comfortable with yelling at each other, you know what I mean?

Anyway, I imagine this chapter's disappointed a fair few of you, but I've spent a great deal of my weekend (before I got sucked into the Bucky/Darcy time travel trope in the Avengers universe, anyway) fretting over it, and I'm just so done. Not exactly thrilled with it, mind you, but I'm not very good at writing the intense emotional stuff. Why did I decide to include romance, again?

Hope you enjoyed it, regardless.…

Thanks for all of your lovely reviews. I wasn't expecting that. Virtual hugs, folks, because I can't give you the real sort. You're all wonderful, and I'm so grateful for your support.

All right, I think I've said everything I want to, so peace out, and all that. Until next time, -t.