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 Two: Sixteen

Summary: A lot can change in a year. At 16, Harry Potter has loved and lost and lost again. As it happens, his second year at William McKinley High is shaping up to be as eventful as the first. OOC. Season 1 AU.

Rating: M for language, mild violence, character death, and adult themes.

Author: tlyxor-1.

Chapter One: Summer is Gone

Sophomore Year starts without fanfare. It's different, far from the anxiety and optimism from the year prior, but at the same time, it's exactly as Harry remembers it. There are football players clustered around the side of the school, an unfortunate, unsuspecting Kurt Hummel at their mercy, and as per usual, no one has moved to intervene.

Meanwhile, near the front steps, Quinn, Santana, and Brittany hold court among a gaggle of cheerleaders. In an uncharacteristic act of kindness, Coach Sylvester has granted them a respite from training for the first day of term, and they take advantage of the opportunity by scrutinising and labelling all of the fresh meat that wander past them.

Clearly, they've got nothing better to do.

"You remember where your locker is?"

Kate, dressed for the occasion in a pair of frayed denim shorts, a pretty blue-green blouse, and her faithful ballet flats, nods wordlessly. She's nervous behind her fringe, but she's already got plans to meet up with her friends, and Harry's sure she'll do just fine.

All the same, he walks with her towards the school building. Santana and Brittany greet them both as they pass, but Quinn keeps her distance, aware she isn't welcome. Harry may have moved on from her and her actions, but he's certainly not forgotten, and neither does he intend to.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Santana purrs. She offers Harry a friendly punch to the arm, and then slips that same hand into his back pocket. Even as she (shamelessly) squeezes one of his arse cheeks, her grin is bright and genuine. "Where the hell have you been?"

Meanwhile, Brittany greets Kate with an enthusiastic hug. They rock themselves side to side in that way girls do, and Harry smirks to himself. Brittany's a lot more intelligent and cunning than anyone gives her credit for, and if Kate hasn't just been granted immunity from the usual suspects, Harry's not a Potter.

"Oh, you know, kicking ass, taking names, slaying dragons. How was your summer, Satan?"

"Not as good as yours," Santana answers, "I saw the photos. I can't believe you and Puck were in France together."

"Happy coincidence," Harry answers, nonchalant, "Turns out we were only a couple hours apart, so Mr Dubois let he and Abby stay with us for a week. Apparently, Puck was complaining about being bored."

Santana scoffs, simultaneously fond and scathing. "Typical."

Brittany and Kate separate, and Brittany curls herself under Harry's arm. Harry presses a friendly kiss to her cheek, tugs her ponytail affectionately, and asks over her summer. As he does, Santana compliments Kate's outfit, gives her a brief side hug, and enquires about the family's wellbeing. In doing so, she's just confirmed and cemented the fact that Kate is entirely off limits to anyone who would otherwise seek to tear her down, and Harry has no idea how he can possibly thank her, or Brittany, for the effort.

"It was good," Brittany answers, "We went to Quay West for a bit. I had fun."

"I'm glad," Harry squeezes her briefly, steps away from her, and sighs reluctantly. "I've got to drop my shit off at my locker. I'll catch you two later, yeah?"

"Duh," Santana answers, "I want all the details about this Marie Bernard chick. You two looked pretty cozy in the photos."

"Ugh, they were nauseating," Kate contributes.

Although he knows full well that it's simply delaying the inevitable, Harry drags his sister away before Santana and Brittany can gleefully descend upon her, and he offers her an unimpressed scowl as they traverse the hallways of McKinley High. Kate's unrepentant, of course, and she offers him a shrug, shameless.

Harry rolls his eyes. He can't be bothered being irritated. "All right, I'm heading upstairs. Remember, don't let anyone give you a hard time. People here are jackasses."

"I remember," Kate answers. She brushes her hair behind her ears, offers Harry a grin that's only a little bit forced, and adds, "I've got this."

"Yeah, you do," Harry agrees, "Good luck, Kit-Kat. Have fun."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right. Get out of here, loser."

Harry jogs upstairs, sure Kate can handle herself, and traverses the second floor hallways until he reaches his locker. Brittany's and Puck's are only a stone's throw away from his, predictably, and as such, it's no surprise to find the latter already there, his headphones in his ears and jamming to Nirvana. He doesn't notice the quarterback's approach until Harry slams his palm against Alyson Prescott's locker, but his response is everything Harry hopes.

With a startled jolt and flailing limbs, it's only Harry's quick reflexes that spare him from a punch to the face. He's laughing, even as Puck promises retribution, and it's an entertaining start to what will hopefully be a monotonous, unremarkable year at William McKinley High.

"Good to see you, man," Harry says fondly, chuckling still. He shuffles over to his own locker, and empties out the contents of his backpack therein, "How was your weekend?"

Puck, preoccupied by the travesty that is his mohawk, shrugs. "It was fine. Just worked, really."

"And were you paid for your services?" Harry asks mildly. He's not exactly thrilled by Puck's endeavours in entrepreneurialism, but any concerns he has expressed have fallen upon deaf ears. It doesn't matter that Puck doesn't have a small business license, or the fact his 'extra-curricular' work is technically prostitution, and statutory rape besides. To him, cash and benefits is an irresistible lure, and Harry can only hope his friend is being as safe as possible.

"Duh," Puck answers, "I'm not about to offer my services for free."

"Of course," Harry drolly replies, "What was I thinking?"

There's an awkward silence wherein they both avoid eye contact, and Harry opts to focus his attention on the notebooks he unpacks from his bag. It's broken by the approach of Matt and Mike, the latter of whom has his arm slung over Hermione Granger's shoulders. They're still going strong after the summer, two of the brightest people Harry knows, and Harry envies them their relationship.

He doesn't have feelings for Hermione, mind you, but it's hard to imagine he'll ever find anything like it. Admittedly, a ridiculous concern given that he's only 16 years old, but Harry can't shake it for the life of him.

"Long time no see," Hermione greets him with a brief hug, "How was your summer?"

"It was good," Harry answers, "How was yours?"

"It was great," Hermione replies, "Italy is beautiful."

"That it is," Harry agrees.

The group of them chat for a time, about their respective holidays, about their expectations for the year ahead, and about the misery that was waking up that morning. It's a pleasant, carefree exchange, interspersed with greetings to friends and acquaintances who happen to pass them by, by observations regarding the wide-eyed, enthusiastic freshmen who wander the halls in search of their classes, and also by awkward, stilted exchanges between them and their teachers from the year prior.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione and Mike have no issues with the latter, brain boxes that they are, but Harry, Matt, and Puck aren't quite so fortunate. None of them have had any particularly notable clashes with their teachers (thus far), but among a cohort of exceptionally bright and talented peers, Harry, Matt, and Puck aren't academically extraordinary. As such, they haven't yet warranted the same amount of scrutiny as the likes of Hermione and Mike.

Moreover, neither Harry, Matt, or Puck are (or have been) particularly inclined towards developing lasting ties with the WMHS faculty, and thus, they've never tried to.

They probably never will.

In the din, the warning bell eventually blares loud and clear across the school grounds, and the five of them share grimaces, and reluctantly prepare to disperse.

"Back to the daily grind," Matt sighs, resigned.

Harry's smile is wry. "Is it Thanksgiving yet?"

Puck laughs, though there's not much mirth to the sound. "I fucking wish, man."

Mike rolls back his shoulders, cracks his neck, and rhetorically parries, "Don't we all?"

-!- -#-

As a sophomore - there's a certain familiarity with the WMHS system - an arrogant complacency, almost - that guarantees that they're entire cohort is already chomping at the bit to get the hell out of dodge. Freshman Year was new and exciting at one point, but the novelty hadn't lasted, and neither had it returned. Not for Harry, and not for almost everyone else, either.

The exception is the seniors, who proceed through the first day of term with an enduring sense of nostalgia. Among them, Cedric and Ethan, who greet Harry fondly, with handshakes and claps on the back all 'round. It's good to see them, and as they traverse one of WMHS' main thoroughfares between their respective classes, they three marvel over the absence of their graduated friends - Viktor and Fleur, Montague, and the like - discuss the possibility of a back to school party, and quiz each other regarding the events of their respective summers.

The encounter doesn't last - they each have places to be, after all - but Harry isn't particularly concerned. He'll catch up with them in time - Fred, George, and the others, as well - but until then, Pre-Calculus beckons.

"How was your morning?" Hermione queries.

Harry shrugs. "Same old shit, different day."

He drops into the available seat beside Puck, the row behind Mike and Hermione, and produces a blank notebook and the necessary stationery from his bag. He slumps back against his seat, then, bored and impatient, and already eager for his day to be over. Next to him, Puck dozes over his desk, his head in his arms, and Harry could laugh at the irony.

For once, Puck is actually living up to his legend, and sleeping through maths class.

"Are you going to join the Debating Team again?" Mike wonders. He and Hermione are angled in their seats, better to address Harry, but their teacher hasn't yet arrived, and therefore, no one cares.

Harry's not sure. He's still got his Karate and Judo classes two nights a week, and between his class work, football, his shifts at the Steam House, and the International O Levels to prepare for, he's not entirely enthused by the prospect of another commitment to worry about. As is, Harry's not sure when he's going to find the time to sleep, but he'll manage.

He hopes.

"I don't think I will," Harry admits, "Things are pretty crazy this year."

Neither Mike or Hermione appear surprised, but Hermione does look disappointed, and Harry tries not to feel guilty. The Debating Team isn't the worst thing he's ever done, but he'd not missed it, either. Better to give up his place to someone who would appreciate it more, and who actually has time to commit to it properly.

Hermione sighs. "I guess we'll just have to make do without you."

"I think you'll do just fine," Harry answers, "Great, even."

Hermione shrugs, her smile wry. "Fingers crossed, anyway."

Their teacher arrives, and calls them to order with a sharp whistle across the room. Puck jolts upright at the sound, people laugh, and Mr Vaughn is not impressed.

"Thank you for joining us in the land of the living, Puckerman," Vaughn says drolly, "My class wasn't quite the same without your inspiring presence."

"I do what I can, teach," Puck answers irreverently.

Mr Vaughn doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a near thing. "One day, I'll thank you for your sacrifice. For now, welcome to Honours Pre-Calculus…"

-!- -#-

In a meeting during his lunch break, Harry is appointed the quarterback of WMHS' varsity football team.

It's a new thing, having a Varsity, a Junior Varsity, and a Freshman team, but given the disparity in ages, sizes, and general athleticism, it's perhaps been a long time coming for McKinley High.

Admittedly, Harry's surprised that he, himself, has been given a place on the varsity team, but as his new coach points out, he's technically old enough to be a junior. That aside, he's also one of two QB's with seniority - Finn Hudson being the other - and at varsity level, the game is as much about technique and strategy as it is strength and endurance, and quite frankly, Finn Hudson doesn't have much going for him beyond his height and strong throwing arm.

But then, Harry's pretty sure he's not the best judge of character (or skill) where Hudson is concerned. Too much bad blood, and all.

In any case, to the coaching staff, Harry's placement is a no-brainer, and given the opportunity in question, Harry's not about to argue with them.

"I hope I won't let you down, Coach," Harry says, and shakes her offered hand. Her name is Shannon Beiste, she's taller than he is, and Coach Tanaka speaks highly of her.

"Just do your best," Coach Beiste answers, "That's all I ask of all my kids."

He offers her a lazy salute. "Aye aye, Ma'am."

She dismisses him with a laugh, and Harry retreats from her office with a grin on his face.

He can't shake it for the life of him.

Author's Note: I know I said November, but I'm too excited. Plus, I'm on a mission to increase my average word count per story, but never mind that… Hope you guys are looking forward to this. Until next time, -t.