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.
Chapter Four: Just Give Me A Reason
"Nominations for the Homecoming Court are open," Santana announces. She drops into the empty seat beside Harry, helps herself to his fries, and adds, "You're one of the favourites to be voted Homecoming King, you know?"
Harry is nonplused. He'd been thinking about the football game later that night - the first of the season, and his first without his friends - and Santana's declaration is jarring. "Why?"
"You're hot, you're QB, you're not a jackass. Who else would it be? Hudson?" Santana scoffs at the thought. "Not fucking likely."
Harry shrugs, nonchalant. "I haven't thought about it."
"Maybe you should. You'll need a date."
Homecoming isn't until the end of October. It's the beginning of September, at present, and the dance isn't exactly high on his priority list. All the same…
"You offering, Satan?"
"Sure, why not," Santana shrugs, but then she looks at him, eyes narrowed, "You'd better impress me though, Potter. No half-assed bullshit because we're not doing the horizontal tango, you got me?"
Harry scoffs. "Give me some credit, Lopez."
Santana snakes an arm around his shoulders, leans over, and presses a smacking kiss against his cheek. "I'm going to go tell Brit somewhere Fabray can hear."
Harry nods his acknowledgement, and answers, "Have fun."
Harry hadn't noticed it, too rapt up in his own hurt, and too determine to avoid Quinn Fabray and everything to do with her, besides, but somewhere over the last year, Santana and Quinn's friendship had chilled to glacial proportions. They're civil, because the cheerleading team demands peaceful coexistence, if nothing else, but the rest of their interactions involves veiled (and not so veiled) insults, glares, and a hostility so thick it could probably be cut with a knife.
Santana flounces off with a grin, somehow simultaneously cheerful and malicious, and Harry returns to his lunch with an inaudible sigh. His teammates converse around him, some animated, loud, and cheerful, others quiet, thoughtful, and distracted. They're all nervous though, cognisant of the pressure and expectation to succeed, but determined not to show it. Not now, and maybe not ever.
Harry picks listlessly at his meal, sighs, and pushes himself to his feet. "I'm going for a walk. Get some fresh air before the pep rally."
"All right, dude," Morgan, their captain, acknowledges, "See you later."
Harry wanders through the hallways of WMHS, aimless, and eventually finds himself near the choir room. He can hear Kate inside, chatting with a few others Harry can't place, and Harry approaches on quiet steps, curious, and in want of distraction.
Inside, Kate is seated on one of the risers, accompanied by the rest of Mr Schuester's Glee Club. Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry, and Mercedes Jones are among them, but the other two are freshman, and they watch him warily.
They're not hostile, at least. They have learned not to trust the people clad in letterman jackets and/or football jerseys, but Harry's not participated in the slushie facials and/or general harassment, so they are on guard, but they're willing to give him a chance.
In their place, Harry's not sure he'd be so magnanimous.
"Hey," Kate greets him absently. Most of her focus is on the songbook in front of her, "What do you want?"
Harry shrugs. "Nothing. Just walking around, heard you in hear. What are you doing?"
"We're supposed to be brainstorming ways to recruit new members," Kate explains, "Any ideas?"
"None." Harry drops into the empty space beside his sister, leans over to study the music in front of her, and grimaces. "Maybe you can start with performing songs from this decade, though?"
None of the sophomores seem particularly surprised to see Kate and Harry interact, but the two freshmen watch with wide eyes, speechless but dumbfounded.
"Mr Schuester won't let us," Kurt Hummel interjects, a haughty sneer on his face. Harry can't tell if it's directed at him, or at the absent Mr Schuester, but he's unruffled, either way. "We've asked. Repeatedly."
"That's shit."
Kate hums her agreement. "Tell us something we don't know. Are you sure you're not interested in joining us?"
"You sing?" Hummel wonders.
"He can dance, too," Kate confirms.
"I'd need a really good incentive," Harry reminds her, "I've told you this."
It's not that Harry isn't opposed to performing. He just… Doesn't love it. Not like Kate. As such, the Glee Club alone isn't worth the negative attention he'd receive from the narrow-minded idiots on his football team, on the hockey team, among the cheerleaders.
But if there was a good reason…
Kate doesn't acknowledge him right away. She stares into space instead, her gaze narrowed in thought, before she asks, "Do you still have that thing for that girl in your Art Class?"
Harry flushes, and carefully avoids eye contact with anyone else in the room. "How the hell do you know about that?"
Kate is nonchalant. "Brit told me. She pointed her out, too. You know she's in the school's band, right? She plays the bass guitar."
Harry rolls his eyes. "Believe it or not, I'm not stalking her, so no, I didn't know that, but why is it important?"
"They help us with our performances. Sometimes we have to adjust the instrumentals, so they come to our Thursday rehearsals. We bribe them with baked goods. It'd be an opportunity to talk to her outside of class…?"
Harry squints at her, reluctantly impressed. "You're good."
Kate preens, and asks hopefully, "So you'll join?"
"I'll think about it." The warning bell rings then, loud and shrill, and Harry steps off the riser with a sigh. He's nervous for the afternoon and evening ahead, and Kate can see right through him. "I'd better go, though."
His sister offers him an encouraging smile. "You've got this."
God, he hopes so.
-!- -#-
They win the game. Between Coach Beiste's intensive training regime, her game plans, and the skill and competence of McKinley High's new varsity team, the win is unequivocal. It's a rush, too, gratifying after a year on a losing team, and Harry leaves the locker room with a smile he can't shake, revelling in their win, and optimistic for the rest of the season.
"Congratulations, Harry," James says, claps him on the back, and offers him an unfettered grin. The man has no interest in American Football beyond Harry's games, but he's never failed to encourage and support Harry, has regularly suffered the noise and the crowds at his games to do so, and with the perspective gained from Marlene's death, Harry's not sure he's ever appreciated the effort more.
"Thanks, Dad," Harry replies. Lily tugs him into a hug, offering similar sentiments, and Harry returns the embrace with a laugh, heedless of the peers who surround him. "I'm starving. Where's Kate?"
"I'm here," Kate arrives, looking a little frazzled, "I was just saying bye to Colin. Are we going?"
"We're going," James confirms, "Are you getting a lift with your brother?"
Kate looks at Harry, expectant, and Harry shrugs in turn. They're going to the same place, before Harry splits for the afterparty, and he can't really care less.
"i'll go with Harry," she decides.
"We'll meet you at Marco's, then."
Marco's is a small restaurant not far from the steam house. It's Italian, authentically so, run and owned by an immigrant couple his parents have befriended over the last year or so. It's pricier than most of his classmates can afford, so it's not exactly a hotspot for Lima's restless youth, but the food's fantastic, and his parents are buying, so Harry doesn't complain.
"Are you going to this party, too?" James asks Kate.
"Yeah," Kate confirms, "I'm meeting the girls there. It should be good."
"And you'll watch out for your sister, won't you?" James asks Harry, though it's not much of a question.
Harry doesn't even think about refusing. Not just because his father's intimidating when he wants to be, but also because he remembers perfectly well what could have happened to Brittany the year prior. There have been incidents since, as well, unconfirmed rumours and the like, and Harry's not particularly overprotective of his sister, but he'll certainly beat the crap out of anyone who thinks to intentionally hurt her. "Of course."
Kate rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "I can take care of myself."
"Nevertheless," Lily opines, "You're younger than a lot of the people there, and not everyone has been raised to respect women."
"Or alcohol," James contributes, "Humour us, Katherine."
Kate huffs, but acquiesces without further protest, and the rest of their meal passes uneventfully. Kate and Harry are quizzed about school and work, Harry about the game, both of them about their continuing martial arts classes. Kate's quizzed about her dance and music lessons, about the Glee Club, and the Drama Club, and the friends in the school band she'd made before she'd quit to focus on Glee and Drama. She's teased about Colin, Harry's playfully interrogated about his own love life, and although the dinner is pleasant, both siblings are relieved when it's over.
"Take care of yourselves, and look out for each other," Lily says. She hugs Kate, and frets over her hair, and clothes, and lipgloss.
"Give us a call if you need anything," James adds, "I don't care what time it is."
"Yeah, okay," Kate rolls her eyes, impatient, "We'll be fine. Let's go, Harry."
"Thanks for dinner," Harry rolls his own eyes at his sister's back, and calls over his shoulder, "Goodnight. See you tomorrow."
They reach his car, and pile inside. Kate fusses with the radio, Harry lets his friends know he's on his way, and he pulls out of the lot as Kate plays Hellogoodbye from his speakers.
"What's the rush?" He wonders.
"I'm meeting up with Colin," Kate explains, "We have plans."
"I don't want to know."
"I wasn't going to tell you."
He grimaces at her, unimpressed, because her reluctance to do so is indication enough of her plans. Kate is generally an open book; there are few reasons why she'd not elaborate. He sighs though, unwilling to talk about it, and requests, "Just let me know when you're leaving the party, okay? So I don't have to go looking for you."
""Yeah, yeah, okay, you're as bad as Mum and Dad."
Harry doesn't think so. He's just not really interested in negotiating his way through a mass of his drunken, uninhibited classmates if he doesn't have to. His request, therefore, is mostly pragmatism, and only a little bit protective.
Harry's not about to admit as much, though.