Welcome to the Jungle
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Part Two: Sixteen
Chapter Five: Drunk
When Harry and Kate arrive at the party, Harry is dragged into the kitchen by his teammates, and handed a celebratory shot of tequila. He downs it quickly, accepts the accompanying congratulations, back thumps, and the bottle of beer, and then wanders off in search of his friends.
He finds them on the back porch, Mike, Matt, and Puck, Santana and Brittany. Hermione's there too, curled up against Mike's side, nursing a solo cup of beer. Finn and Quinn are as well, sober and somehow exuding a sense of superiority because of it. Harry's tempted to turn around, to walk away, find some of his other friends instead, because he can't be bothered with this shit.
Really, he can't.
Unfortunately, Santana spots him before he can take his leave, and Harry resigns himself to his fate.
"The man of the fucking hour," she greets him with an unapologetic kiss, slow, and lingering, and probably more sensual than really warrants for a pair who, despite everything, are only friends, "Congratulations, QB. You kicked ass."
"Thanks, Santana," he acknowledges, hugs her fondly, and then settles himself on the chair she'd vacated. She scoffs at him, unimpressed, and makes herself comfortable in his lap. They both fidget to get comfortable, bickering all the while, and heedless of the observation of their friends.
They eventually relax, settle in to ignore Quinn and Finn, and to shoot the breeze with the others gathered with them. It's pleasant, interspersed with visits from friends, with drunken cheerleaders content to drape themselves over Puck and Matt. Harry and Kate text intermittently; until she informs him she's left, anyway. At that point, Harry is dragged into a game of beer pong with Matt, and for a variety of reasons, checking on his little sister is more or less the last thing he wants to do.
Puck, meanwhile, has disappeared upstairs with one of the senior cheerleaders, Mike and Hermione to locations unknown, and Finn and Quinn to revel in their superiority with people who actually give a shit. It's just the four of them, therefore - Santana, Brittany, Matt, and Harry himself - getting increasingly trashed in their host's basement turned rumpus room.
"Where's Kate, anyway?" Santana asks at one point. Her gaze is unfocused, and they've all had too much to drink. Harry knows it in that distant, abstract sort of way, but he doesn't make any move to cut them off. He drains what will be his last beer though, and helps himself to one of the full bottles of water on the coffee table. He's got work in the morning.
"With Colin," Harry explains. He slumps further into the couch, and Brittany curls up beside him. She cuddles with a bottle of vodka, "I don't want to think about it. Don't make me think about it."
Santana cackles unapologetically, leant against his legs. Matt's head is in her lap, and he looks on the verge of passing out. "Wanky! Good for her."
"Screw you, Lopez." Harry grimaces at his friend, combs his hands through Brittany's blonde hair, and is then entirely unsurprised to find she's fallen asleep against him. In another few minutes, Matt's out as well, snoring in Santana's lap,
"Fuck, I love these guys," Santana says fondly. She tilts her head back to look at him, "Don't you? They're the best. Them and Chang, and you, and even Granger. Even if she is fucking uptight sometimes. Don't you think so, QB?"
"Sure, San," Harry indulges her, "We're all the best."
"And hot as fuck," Santana adds, "Even Brit and Granger. I'd do them."
"I think Mike would have something to say about that," Harry says mildly. The mental image is glorious, though.
"Mike can get fucked, he and Brit weren't ever serious."
Harry shrugs, and concedes, "Who am I to get between three beautiful women?"
As Harry drains a second bottle of water, Santana hums her agreement. Her eyes are closed. "Damn right."
Although not before a third bottle of water for Harry, they fall asleep there, with Brittany and Matt, though Harry can't remember when, exactly, his day had finally caught up to him. Rather, the next thing he knows, it's morning, and Kate's calling him to come pick her up from Colin's. She wants to go home to freshen up before work.
With his entire body aching from the game yesterday, or perhaps the hangover, Harry wants to go home, too.
-!- -#-
The trip home is quiet. Kate's curled up in the passenger seat, eyes on the scenery passing them by. Harry's hungover, nursing a headache, yet another bottle of water, and the unshakeable paranoia that he'll be pulled over by the police, and neither of them are up for much conversation. Kate's been crying though, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and Harry feels he needs to say something. He's just not sure what.
He reaches their house before he figures it out, and as Kate approaches the front door ahead of him, Harry's opportunity to say something at all vanishes like smoke in the wind.
Inside the house, Harry and Kate avoid their parents' scrutiny with the excuse of freshening up before work, and Harry retreats downstairs to do just that. The shower is only marginally rejuvenating, but breakfast and coffee help, and he and Kate are out the door half an hour after they'd gotten there.
-!- -#-
At work, Harry's not the only one nursing a hangover. Ron's in far worse shape, actually, with the explanation that after breaking up with Lavender, he, Fred, and George had gotten completely trashed at Lee Jordan's place.
"You broke up with Lavender?" Hermione asks. Harry's glad he's not the only one surprised.
"Yeah," Ron confirms, shrugs half-heartedly, and smiles feebly, "Apparently I don't spend enough time with her."
Ron's on the Chess and Cross Country teams, he works a couple of afternoons a week, and most weekends, and he dedicates a fair bit of time to his schoolwork. He's not part of the AP or Honours programs, but he's maintained a B+/A- average since the start of freshman year, and with hopes for at least a partial scholarship to college, he's determined to keep it.
Apparently, Lavender Brown couldn't appreciate that sort of determination.
"That's nonsense," Hermione huffs, rolls her eyes, "She's an idiot, Ron. Clearly, she doesn't know a good thing when she has it."
"A fucking moron," Kate concurs. She's hidden most of the evidence of her crying behind her makeup, but her eyes are still bloodshot, and Hermione's eyeing her as though she knows exactly what's going on. She probably does.
Ron blushes, but his smile is a little more genuine. "Thanks."
Harry claps him on the shoulder, squeezes supportively, and says, "You'll be all right, Ron. I'm sorry it didn't work out, though."
Ron shrugs. "It happens. I'll live. If this hangover doesn't kill me, anyway. God, I hurt."
They trudge through their respective shifts slowly, but eventually, they all clock out, and pile around a four-seater table for lunch. They're all quiet, lost in their own thoughts, eventually broken by Harry.
"So, I think I'll audition for the Glee Club."
Kate brightens. "You will?"
Harry shrugs. "Why not? I've already changed my availability to weekends only, and Heidi's agreed to cover my shifts for next week, so…"
"Not a lot of people will like it," Hermione warns him.
Harry nods. He's well aware of that fact. He just doesn't care enough to worry about the opinions of people he can hardly stand, anyway. The exceptions are his friends, of course, but other than a healthy amount of teasing, Harry doubts they'll pay his choice much attention. They've all got far more important things to concern themselves with. "They can suck it up, then. It's none of their business."
"Damn right," Ron concurs. He's gotten a lot of flack for joining the Chess Team.
"Suit yourself," Hermione shrugs, unruffled, and takes a healthy pull of her milkshake.
Kate starts babbling about how he won't regret it, and the rest of their lunch, although pleasant, is uneventful. They're all tired though, for different reasons, and disperse shortly after they've finished eating. Kate, on their way home, continues talking about the Glee Club, it's current members, their hopes for others to join them, and Harry listens absently, sure he's already beginning to regret his choice.
He can't bring himself to let his sister down, though - not when his decision has seen the most enthusiasm out of her all day - and he only prays no one else makes as much of a big deal about it than Kate. Harry doesn't think he'd be able to handle it, and he certainly doesn't want to find out.
One could only hope, anyway.