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-Nine: Move Along

In the weeks that follow he and Quinn's breakup, Harry's life falls into a routine of school, work, and his various extracurricular activities. Ron and Hermione are both in the honeymoon phase of their respective relationships, which makes work occasionally awkward, but surprisingly, Kate doesn't suck as a coworker, and in fact, they're probably closer than they've ever been. They have inside jokes now, mutual friends and a lot of Steam House stories to tell, and if he's honest with himself, Harry doesn't hate it. He'll never admit it, of course, but it's not something he and Kate care to talk about, anyway.

Subsequently busy with everything, time flies. Before Harry knows it, it's almost Valentine's Day, and it only stings a little bit that he won't be spending it with Quinn. She's finally relented to Finn's overtures, though according to Santana, it's only because she doesn't want to be single on the 14th.

"And true to form, Hudson's too stupid to see through that horse shit," Matt glibly opines.

"Naturally," Santana blandly replies.

"Finn isn't Quinn's lobster," Brittany pouts, "I don't know why she's wasting her time."

There's a moment wherein Mike, Matt, and Harry share in each other's confusion, but Santana, who is apparently fluent in Brittany, is completely unfazed.

"Relationships are like trying on clothes, Brit," Santana gently informs her, "Quinn will have to try on a few dresses before she finds the perfect one."

"Ouch," harry mutters, wincing. Matt and Mike offer him sympathetic glances.

"Don't worry," Brittany consoles him with a one-armed hug, "You'll find your lobster, too."

"I hope so, Brit."

Mercifully, Mike starts talking about his plans with Hermione for Valentine's Day, and the subject entertains the girls until the first bell of the morning blares across the school grounds. Matt and Harry mostly occupy themselves with the breakfast croissants courtesy of Lily Potter, but they're both careful to listen, lest Mike call them out on their inattention later.

Until they're required to be elsewhere, anyway.

"We'd better go," Mike sighs, "Emily Dickinson awaits."

Don't front, dude, we all know why you really want to get to class," Matt teases, good-natured.

Mike punches him in the arm for the trouble. "Screw you, asshole."

They make their way towards the English Department among the throng the students, resigned to another day at William McKinley High. Santana and Matt heckle Mike as they walk, and around them, their classmates give their group a wide berth. The others are oblivious, Brittany content to swing she and Harry's linked hands between them, but Harry notices.

It would be amusing, perhaps, if not for the fact that Harry knows the precise reason why their peers avoid them like the plague, and it has nothing to do with common courtesy. It's their uniforms, actually - the Cheerio tracksuits and the Titans pullovers - and Harry bitterly wonders if anyone sees beyond the clothes to the students who wear them, or if they've all been tarred with the same 'brainless, douchebag jock' brush.

"This is us," Mike peels away from Santana and Matt, unabashedly grateful for the escape, "You ready, dude?"

"Yeah," Harry answers. Brittany gives him a hug before he goes, but he follows Mike into their classroom a moment later, and the others - Santana, Matt, and Brittany - wander off to their own class.

Mike sits in the empty seat beside Hermione, and Harry tactfully drops into a seat in front of them. He's seated beside Rachel Berry as a result, but at least this way, he doesn't have to watch his friends play footsie, or pass notes, or indulge in their weird, verbal foreplay.

As Hermione and Mike greet each other, Harry busies himself with a quick revision of his homework. Beside him, Berry taps out a beat on her desk with her glittery purple gel pen, and mouths lyrics to herself as she waits for their class to start. Harry watches briefly, inexplicably reminded of his sister, but then turns to speak with his friends before the girl can catch him out.

"Have you got plans for Valentine's, Harry?" Hermione asks.

"Santana's got some sort of singles thing at her place," Harry answers, "She said something about an orgy, but I'm pretty sure she was joking."

Santana's got no inhibitions regarding her sexual appetites, but she's always been very careful to make sure to avoid pressuring anyone into anything they may or may not be comfortable with, or prepared for. Consent is a very big deal for her, and coercion only makes her angry, so to invite people to a party with an orgy in the itinerary?

It doesn't seem likely. ,

"Matt's going to that, right?" Mike asks.

"Yeah," Harry confirms, "Brit and Puck, too. No dates allowed, and invite only."

"It'll probably just be drinking games," Mike determines.

"Joy," Harry deadpans.

Mike shrugs. "You never know, you might enjoy yourself."

"I'm sure," Harry replies, and they each pretend he's not lying. Their teacher arrives, their class begins, and the day drags on.

-!- -#-

Kate's actually got a date for the Valentine's Day weekend. He's a friend of hers, by the name of Colin, and he's tall and as skinny as a rake in that awkward, gangly way that speaks of puberty and rapid-fire growth spurts, and Harry sympathises.

"Hi," he greets Harry. He's a jittery mess, but he's tidied up for the occasion, casual as it seems to be. "I'm Colin."

"Hi," Harry greets him, "Kate's just getting her bag. She won't be a minute."

Indeed, Kate rushes downstairs with her satchel slung across her chest. She's clad in a pair of skinny jeans and her faithful purple high-tops, and the only indication she's made any effort at all is the light amount of makeup she wears.

"Hi, Colin," Kate greets him, "I hope Harry wasn't giving you any trouble?"

"I didn't get the chance to," Harry deadpans. Nor can he really be bothered to make the effort. As far as he is concerned, he'll leave the role of overprotective, intimidating relative to he and Kate's father, who actually has the credentials to back it up.

That aside, Kate can look after herself, and given that Harry knows exactly how good she is at Karate, Taekwando and Judo, he'd rather not get on her bad side..

Kate flashes him a grin as she brushes passed,

"Have fun tonight, Kit-Kat."

Kate shares a glance with Colin, and when she looks back at him, her smile is smaller - somehow gentler - but no less genuine for it. "We will."

-!- -#-

Harry's parents drop him off at Santana's on their way to a dinner date in Toledo, with reminders to call his grandparents if he needs help, and also to text one of them once he's safely home. Harry assures them he will with a roll of his eyes, bids them a good night, and leaves the car.

Unsurprisingly, they wait until he's been let inside the house to pull away from the curb, but Harry pretends he doesn't notice, and Santana doesn't bring any attention to the fact.

"Hey," he greets her, "You look nice."

Santana shows off her figure in a red, form-fitting blouse and a pair of black skinny jeans, but it's the dramatic makeup around her eyes that first captures his attention. It's tastefully done, carefully avoiding the realms of 'tacky' and 'overdone', and Dorea Black would approve.

"Thanks," Santana acknowledges, smiling, "You look good, too. Selfie?"

"Sure," Harry acquiesces. Nonchalantly, he slings an arm over her shoulders and they huddle in close for the photo. She smells like oranges.

With his longer reach, Harry takes the picture, and it turns out fairly well. Photography isn't his favourite medium, but he's learned a bit about angles and lighting and whatnot, and as they study the image on Santana's digital camera, they're both pleased with the result.

"This is going on Facebook," Santana says decisively. She hasn't moved from his side, and absently, Harry twirls a lock of her hair around his fingers.

"Sure," Harry acquiesces, drops his arm from Santana's shoulders, and shoves his hands in his pockets, "Should we join everyone else, or…?"

Santana leads the way to the living room, and Harry's a little surprised to find only a dozen others present. It's actually rather chilled out, far from the cheerleader hosted parties he's attended in the passed six months, but Harry can't say he's disappointed.

"You're the last one," Santana informs him, "Can I get you a drink?"

"Sure," Harry replies, "Whatever beer you've got is fine."

As Santana gestures for him to make himself comfortable, she retreats to the kitchen, and Harry settles on the floor by Brittany's feet. She's in an animated conversation with another cheerleader, but she acknowledges his presence by playing with his hair, and Harry is content to sit and people watch until Santana returns with a couple of drinks and a bottle of tequila under her arm, a bag of disposable shot glasses under the other, and a bowl of sliced lemons in hand.

Brittany cheers at the sight of Santana. "Body shots!"

Santana sets down her supplies on the coffee table, and offers Harry his drink. They share rueful grins, and Harry settles in for what is sure to be a long, entertaining night.

He isn't disappointed.

-!- -#-

Author's Note: Ugh, this one was hard to write. I'm hoping to have Chapter 40 up by the end of the year, but considering how long this one took, I make no promises.

Also, I'm writing so many #relationshipgoals couples, and they're not even the main pairings. They're not obvious yet, but they will be.

Before I go, happy holidays, everyone. I have no idea what you celebrate - if you celebrate anything at all - but whatever the case may be, I hope you have the pleasure of good food, good drinks, and good company. Thank you for all of your support and encouragement. Until next time, -t.