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

Chapter Seven: Bad Day

Leo's been on something of a songwriting spree since Marlene's death. It's his emotional outlet, the same way Harry uses sketching, Kate uses piano, and Ursa uses photography. He's completed dozens of compositions since May, scrapped even more, and shared with Harry all of those he - for various reasons - believes Harry might perform well.

In that regard, Harry is skeptical, but he tries. He doesn't learn them all - he doesn't have the time - but he learns those that particularly resonate with him, records them, and sends them off to Leo to do with as he pleases.

The Thursday after he'd joined the New Directions, Harry's in the auditorium with Seamus, and they're busying themselves with brainstorming the guitar accompaniment for Leo's most recent composition. The vocals are done - courtesy of Leo - and they have time to kill before the other members of WMHS' Glee Club joins him. It's a fun, carefree way to pass the time, and Harry's surely going to regret it later, but for the moment, they're both enjoying themselves, playing guitar, shooting the breeze, killing time with good music and good company.

As they tentatively settle on a guitar arrangement they're both happy with, Seamus looks at him expectantly. "Well, are you going to give it a whirl, or…?"

Harry frowns, hesitant, but acquiesces with a sigh. He studies the lyrics again, strums his guitar once, and then starts the (possible) guitar introduction to Leo's newest song. Seamus taps out the beat, plays the baseline, and harmonises when he sees fit, and although it's rough, it turns out all right. Not great - Harry needs some more practise with the guitar accompaniment - but good enough that he's only marginally embarrassed when Daphne Greengrass, a number of her fellow orchestra members, and a couple of Harry's fellow Glee Club members wander into the auditorium throughout the song.

"I lost my shoes last night, I don't know where I put my keys

I was tired and fell asleep beneath an oak tree, I'd bet my mother's proud of me

From each scar upon my knuckle and each graze upon my knee

And all I know is I got a cab, then threw up upon his car seat

He kicked me out, and then I walked in the rain

I tell myself in every way I won't be doing this again, and tomorrow's a brand new day…"

"That was good," Seamus says when the song's come to an end, "You should stick with that accompaniment, I think. Who was your friend writing about, anyway?"

Harry shrugs, clueless. "No idea. He knows a lot of people, so it could be anyone. Thanks for helping me with it, though. I owe you one."

Seamus waves him off. "It's all right, mate. It was interesting; kind of makes me want to get serious about writing my own stuff, you know?"

Harry shrugs. He's been there, done that, and established that he hasn't got the talent for songwriting, but each to their own. "What's stopping you?"

"Nothing, I suppose," Seamus answers. He moves to pack up his guitar, and observes, "I guess I'd better take off. Don't want to crash the nude erections."

"New Directions, jackass," Harry punches him in the arm, and Seamus laughs, unapologetic, "You sure you don't want to join?"

"Hell no. I'm a one man act, and I don't think I can deal with a team name like 'New Directions'."

"I hear you," Harry grimaces. He can't really deal with it either, but at this point, he's made the commitment, and he'll at least stick it out until the end of the year. "If you change your mind though…"

Seamus nods his acknowledgement, shoulders the strap of his guitar case, and makes to leave. They knock fists before he does so, Harry thanks him for the help once more, and Seamus waves him off with a roll of his eyes. Then he leaves, and Harry is descended upon by Kate, Rachel, Mercedes, and Kurt.

"Is that one of Leo's?" Kate asks. She tries to get a glimpse of the printed music sheets, "It was good."

"Yeah, bit more upbeat than his usual stuff, of late," Harry confirms.

"Is Seamus Finnigan joining the New Directions?" Rachel questions him, "He has a reputation for recreational drug use, and I'm firmly of the opinion that the Glee Club should not be associated with such debauchery."

"No, he's not joining the Glee Club," Harry dully replies. Rachel's like a more high-strung version of Hermione, albeit laser-focused on the Arts rather than Social Sciences, and after one practise session, her behaviour, attitude, and priorities leave a lot to be desired.

"It's too bad," Mercedes opines, "White boy's got talent, and we could definitely use the numbers."

Harry bites his tongue on the response that that 'White Boy' also has a name, and maybe she should use it. He can't be bothered with the drama that would follow, but honestly, he'd love to see whether or not Mercedes would appreciate being regularly addressed as 'Black Girl'. He doubts it.

"He's cute, too," Kate contributes. She and Colin are still together - closer than ever, even, if Kate is to be believed - but she's got eyes, and apparently a lot of his friends are rather attractive. "Are you sure he's not interested in joining?"

"Pretty sure," Harry confirms. In the orchestra pit, the jazz band is busy setting up, chatting quietly among themselves. Daphne Greengrass is smiling, laughing with a short, curvy brunette by the name of Tracey Davis, and Harry looks away before she catches him out. It wouldn't be the first time, admittedly, but it would be no less embarrassing. "He's a solo artist, I guess."

Kate pouts theatrically. "Poo."

"You'll live."

In the orchestra pit, the tall, rail thin form of Theodore Nott wraps himself around Greengrass. He's a fellow sophomore, and a frightfully good musician - on par with Leo or Kate, if Harry's being honest - and if the smile on Greengrass' face is anything to go by, they're an item.

Harry turns away again, pretends not to notice the leaden weight that's settled itself against his chest, and says goodbye to any hopes of getting to know Daphne Greengrass better.

As he does so, he also makes the decision to attend Friday night's afterparty. He'd not intended to, originally - he has a lot of homework to stay on top of - but he has the sudden desire to get wasted, or to find a girl to share a bed with for the night - either or, really - and Ethan Summerby's parties are good for both.

"It's just annoying because we only need four more members to be eligible to compete," Kate explains. Harry's heard it all before, though - in the car, over the dinner table, between serving customers at work - and he doesn't want to hear it all again. He tunes her out, Kate realises soon thereafter, and punches him in the arm. "You're not even listening to me."

"Tell me something I don't already know, and then I'll listen to you," Harry argues, scowling. He grabs her wrists before she can hit him again, and they tussle for a bit in their seats.

"Let me go, or I'll tell Mum."

"I'll tell her you hit me first."

They glare at each other for a moment, hazel on green, but it's long enough for their ire to fade, to realise how ridiculous they're both being, and for both of them to start laughing.

Kurt, perplexed after their display, frowns, and wonders aloud, "What just happened?"

Mr Schuester arrives before Kurt can get an answer. He brings with him Finn Hudson, who has just been manipulated into joining the club, more or less, and Harry's levity evaporates like smoke in the wind.

Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, Harry wonders if it's too late to quit.