Authors Note: RIGHT. So this was supposed to be posted last week, and I'm really sorry for the delay. I literally finished this chapter maybe ten minutes ago, ran through it quickly, then posted it on here. I am so, so, so sorry, everyone! Don't worry, I didn't forget the story. It's just this past week and last weekend were insainly busy for me and I didn't have time to sit down and write. If you follow me on Tumblr, you know I posted a quick video explaining whats going on. But yeah, I'm sorry and this chapter is longer than normal because you're all awesome!
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Rachel Berry and the Victimizing yet Erotic Glares of Quentin Fabray
Alice Inamorata
She lay awake on a night, staring at the carefully crocheted cloth draped over her bed. She would notice each and every stitch, remembering how her grandmother tried to teach her one time. For the little Rachel was only five and was intently curious how her Grandma had made her that beautiful pink hat with a star on it, so she sat there and let the old woman attempt to teach her.
"See, Rachey," she said, her voice slightly trembling. The woman had suffered a stroke weeks earlier and was still recovering, "You just do this…and this…"
"Gamma!" Rachel cried, stomping her patent mary janes on the floor. "I can't do it!"
"Of course you can , Rachel." The woman smiled, putting her needles and yarn down, cupping the little girls face in her hands. "You're a Berry. And Berry's can do anything they put their heart into."
Rachel smiled at the old memory, but then frowned when she realized that was Christmas Eve. The following morning, Rachel woke up to find her two fathers crying on the couch, surrounded by wrapped presents that were begging to be opened. The little girl had run down the stairs, jumping up and down. "Presents! Presents!"
"Baby girl…sit down," her father, Leroy, gently spoke to her. "We need to tell you something."
At five years old, it's hard to comprehend death. Rachel admits to herself she didn't understand why Grandma wasn't waking up and why she was cold. She didn't understand why Grandma had blue lipstick on and wore too much powder. She didn't know why she didn't respond at her touch or why the room smelt odd. But as she reaches the age of eighteen, she now understands death.
She understands things that ordinary people don't understand.
Simply because she's been exposed to too much.
She's been exposed to beautiful Christmases that eventually turned to dust. She remembers walking into the house on Christmas Eve after doing last minute shopping, smelling the meatless vegan lasagna that her Daddy cooked. She smelt the steamed vegetables tossed in a luscious garlic sauce that accompanied that lasagna. And for the non-vegan guests of the hour, there was a large ham coated in a sweet orange glaze. Rachel always cringed when she saw her Aunts and Uncles eating the poor sliced pig, but it only made her crave her lasagna more.
But slowly the beautiful Christmases vanished. No more home made lasagna – it was replaced with some vegan egg substitute with salt and pepper. Her father didn't try on Christmas anymore once his father died; he simply sat in front of the TV, staring at the moving screen and somewhat wishing that his father would reach out for him once more.
And Hiram, he would be working in the kitchen trying to make Christmas somewhat bearable. He would smile at Rachel and offer her a vegan cookie with green icing on it – in the shape of a star of course. He would tell her that people would be over soon and to change, but when Rachel turned around to head back up to her room, she would look at Leroy and sigh.
"Daddy, why is he always like this on Christmas?"
Hiram turned to Rachel, "He just misses Grandpa, baby girl. Now go change."
Rachel found herself tossing and turning in her blue covers and eventually ripped them off of her. Sliding her feet into her golden slippers, she slowly crept down the stairs and walked into the common room. Sighing, she opened a novel and read.
Quentin felt his heart beating in his chest. His breath becoming heavier.
It's a dream, he thought. It's a dream. I need to wake up.
But he couldn't.
He was pinned down to a gurney, nurses looking down at him with smirking faces. Above him, the ceiling was a bright white and his eyes flinched as a bright red light was flashed into his face. A nurse grabbed his arm, slamming it down and tying it down. The rope was tied tight, cutting off circulation to his hands.
They felt cold and dead within seconds.
Another nurse did the same on his opposite arm and then his legs, pulling them apart.
He was concealed over his chest and between his legs; he could feel the air rushing around him – it stabbed his body.
The gurney started to turn colder, colder, freezing. His body stuck to the gurney and he had no option to run now. With his head thrashing from side to side, he tried to scream out for help but he couldn't.
In the real world, Quentin wanted to scream but his dream had him clenched in its hands.
"Are we ready for the operation..?" A voice spoke. Quentin tried to sit up but he couldn't, but he knew that voice.
"Dad? Dad! What are you doing here! Dad!"
"Hush, Q. Let me take care of you." The masked man that sounded like Quentin's father turned to the nurse, "Give me the scalpel."
"Dad!"
Quentin's hazel eyes watched as the nurse handed the man, Russell, a large knife. "That's not a scalpel, but it'll do." Russell smirked, looking to his son and holding the knife upwards over his head. "Take a deep breath, Q. This will only hurt a bit."
A large smirk spread over his face as Quentin screamed, feeling the knife pierce through his chest, through his sternum, into his heart. He saw a flash of white followed by the taste of blood welling up in his mouth. Turning to the side, the nurse watched as a stream of blood poured out of Quentin's pink lips, his eyes softening before turning a bright yellow.
"It's okay, Quentin.." she whispered, pulling the mask off. Judy Fabray looked into her sons eyes. "It'll all be over soon."
Real time once more, Quentin screamed a blood-curdling scream in the middle of his dormitory. Everyone woke up, noticing the blonde coated in a cold sweat, chest rising and falling violently. Brian looked to Quentin, "Are you okay?"
Quentin nodded, taking a couple deep breaths, reliving the dream over and over again. "Y-Yeah…fine…"
Brian raised an eyebrow, "I may be dumb at times, but I'm not stupid."
"I'll be fine," Quentin sighed, ripping the covers off of him, "I just need some air."
Brian nodded, not giving the boy any second glances as he fled down the steps, through the common room and into the castle.
That dream, he thought, why am I having it again?
He padded through the abandoned cooridors with a lit wand in hand to guide the way. Though he knew the ins and outs of the castle, Quentin found himself walking in circles with thoughts running through his head.
This doesn't make sense, he thought once more, turning a corner and walking to the gently lit bridge. It rattled beneath his soft steps, gently cracking when he stepped too hard. Going outside of the castle after curfew was forbidden, but Quentin just had to think.
I haven't had that dream in about, he stops to think, seven or eight years now?
Another turn led him to the garden outside of the Herbology classroom. He let himself fall to the ground, surrounded in the cool, dewy grass.
Why is my mind getting nervous all of a sudden?
Quentin merely sighed, leaning up with his legs outstretched in front of him. He smiled to himself noticing the small cat he had seen days earlier. "Hey there.." The cat had obviously noticed him; it was staring at him with wide, green eyes; standing its ground, surrounded with small flowers that yet towered over the tiny cat.
"You know, I know almost everyone in this place and I still have no idea who you belong to." Quentin spoke, reaching his hand out to gently coax the cat into coming near. The small cat was apprehensive, gently taking one step before backing away.
It meowed and Quentin reached out slightly further. "I won't hurt you."
Then, happily, the cat trotted over and nuzzled its face into Quentin's hand. He scratched the cat beneath its chin, making it pur in delight. A laugh erupted from his throat when the cat rolled onto its back, gently clawing at Quentin's hand. "You're playful tonight, aren't you?"
The cat meowed in reply before Quentin pulled away, merely looking at the cat. "I wonder what it's like…you know, being like you." Tilting its head to the side, the cat peered up at Quentin with curious eyes. "Like, just watching everything happen around you… do you understand what goes on?" Another tilt of the head. "Can you think?"
With two blinks, the cat walked over to the flowers once more, raising its paw to gently claw at the petals. "I think things are better that way. If you can't think, you can't worry."
The cat looked back at Quentin and saw him walking away. It cocked its head to the side and trotted quickly over to him, meowing and rubbing its body against his leg. Quentin smiled softly, leaning down and running his nails through its fur.
"I can't name you. It means I'm too attached."
Santana sighed, sitting on Brian's bed as Quentin tightened his tie around his neck. "Why are you doing this again?"
Quentin turned around, looking at Santana before crossing his arms. "Look, I feel bad for her, okay?"
"Why? She's a dwarf who thinks she's God's gift to the universe. You can do better than that, Quentin."
"Why are you all of a sudden being so nice?" Quentin looked at the Latino oddly, pulling his jacket over his shoulders and buttoning the center. "I mean, normally you're threatening me."
"My Christmas present to you is being nice for the day." Santana stood up, smiling. Or sneering.
A Santana Smile is normally a combination of the two.
"Okay…" Quentin gave himself one more check in the mirror, pulling at his coat to make it more comfortable. "It's nice when you're being nice. I feel like we're kids again."
"Yeah, like we're kids…" Santana said to herself before Quentin offered her his arm. Guiding her downstairs, Brian waited patiently for the two. He too extended his arm to the Latino before pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.
"You look beautiful, San." Brian commented, looking at the girls ironic red dress.
There was a theme for Christmas Dances: Black, white, red or green clothes only.
Quentin thought it was stupid, but he abided by the rules anyways because he was in the choir. So suited in a pair of black pants, a crisp white shirt, black dress jacket and a red tie, he walked through the grand doors of the Great Hall only to be surprised with the most beautiful scene he's seen in all his years at Hogwarts.
The ceilings were manipulated to portray a winter night sky – dark blue with silver stars winking in appreciation. There were no clouds in sight, but three feet from the ceiling, snow cascaded down only to disappear with a whisper. A large tree was centered in the middle of the room; an icy white color with red and green ball ornaments hanging from the sides. Around it were fake presents, colored gold and black to highlight the most delicate features of the tree. Silver stars also hung from the walls, shining with every turn, and Quentin couldn't help but feel he was in amidst a winter wonderland.
"Wow…" he breathed, his eyes glancing all around him. Even Santana was in shock for a couple seconds before grabbing Brian's hand and suggesting they find a place to make out.
"Well, well!"
Quentin turned his head and smiled, noticing a rather cheery Rachel Berry running up to him. "What do you think? Pretty good for a days work, right?"
"You did this, Rachel?" Quentin questioned, surprised. "It must have taken a lot of work."
"Not really," Rachel smiled, clasping her hands in front of her, "I mean, the tree isn't real, it came in this morning. Then people levitated the ornaments and the angel on top," she raised a finger and pointed it out, "Of course, the music will be playing in the background and the stars we also ordered. It only took this morning to put everything together. And Mr. Schue enchanted the ceilings just an hour ago."
"It's…nice," Santana said, looking down at her, "For a hobbit."
Quentin rolled his eyes, but Rachel smiled softly and looked up at Quentin. "Shall we? The song begins at promptly seven. Help yourselves to some pumpkin juice and punch."
"Punch?" Brian asked, "Why would we want to punch ourselves?"
"Brian…" Quentin sighed, "Punch is an American-Muggle term for this drink made with different fruits."
"I made it like my mother did," Rachel commented, "It's sherbet that has melted. Yummy!" She smiled happily, taking Quentin's hand. "See you guys later!"
Quentin felt a zap of electricity course through his veins before Rachel had closed the door behind them. The room behind the Great Hall was small and it had many odds and ends in it. Within it, the whole choir was speaking avidly about their Christmas vacations. Quentin then felt elated to go home and see his family for the two weeks.
"What are you doing for Christmas?" he asked, sitting down beside the girl. Raising an eyebrow, he gestured to the drink in her hand.
"Oh, this?" she raised the cup, "It's lukewarm tea with honey. And I'm staying here for the two weeks. I can get some work done and relax."
"You don't want to go home?"
Rachel shook her head, looking downward, "Hogwarts is my home."
"Alright everyone!" Quentin and Rachel's heads snapped up to look at the petite professor in front of him. He too was clad in the appropriate dress, as well as a rather large smile. "Gather 'round, gather 'round."
Rachel downed the rest of her drink before standing beside Quentin, smiling happily up at him.
He never knew how much music meant to her.
"Now, I'm sure all of you remember the set list, we begin…"
"Hey Rachel?" Quentin whispered, leaning down and looking at her. Rachel peered up at him, tilting her head to the side. "You look really nice."
She blushed, gesturing down to her outfit. It was nothing special; she was clad in a red knit sweater, long sleeved, that came down to her hips. Upon the sweater was a white reindeer – it made Quentin snicker. Her skirt was a black and white plaid, short, and on her feet were a pair of silver flats. It broke the dress code, but Quentin thought it was her. "I don't see you out of uniform much."
Rachel shrugged, "People make fun of the way I dress. That's why." Then she smiled, "But I am who I am. I won't change it."
"Now let's go!" The professor cheered, clapping commencing before the doors opened. Quentin felt his heart race as the hundreds of Hogwarts students clapped for their arrival. In front of him, he watched Rachel smile happily and wave back, Tina giggling at the girls outgoing nature. Inwardly, Quentin felt himself smiling as he took his place beside Rachel.
"Quentin?" she whispered, noticing the professor raising his arms. "Thanks."
Quentin smiled as notes began to fly out of his mouth, singing in tune with everyone else. Their opening rendition of 'Most Wonderful Day of the Year' earned cheers and whistles alike, but that was the number that came before Rachel's version of 'O Holy Night.'
She stepped forward once the hall was quiet, looking in front of her with her head held high. Her hands were promptly at her sides, back straight. The piano began to sound, it's beautiful melody almost putting Quentin to sleep. Rachel then began to sing,
"O holy night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
'Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth."
Quentin watched her carefully, watching her sing. Yet, she was not simply singing. It was as if she was physically wounding herself and bleeding her heart and soul out to those who watched her. He watched emotion fall over her features, tears threatening her eyes, and as one fell, Quentin held back to reach forward and hold her.
"A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! O hear the angels' voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born;
O night divine, O night, O night Divine."
Santana wasn't stupid. She saw the way Quentin watched her sing, the way he smiled as she bounded up to him earlier. She had to stop what was beginning to form. Anger seething through her veins, the Slytherin slowly pulled Brian's wand out of his coat jacket, pressing a kiss on his cheek to divert his attention. He wrapped his arms tightly her, pressing a kiss back to her lips. Inside, Santana smirked: ultimate revenge.
"Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother;
And in His name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name."
As he watched her perform, he did smile. He felt warmth wash over his whole body, his cheeks turning red. Was this what love felt like? No, never love, he thought. This is too fast for me.
Shaking his head to himself, he looked to Santana who smiled at him and waved. Brian waved too.
And Santana, he thought, she has something up her sleeve. Something isn't right with her today. She's being too nice.
And then Rachel belted, earning claps and cheers in her favor.
"Fall on your knees! O hear the angels' voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born;
O night divine, O night, O night Divine."
Every person in the great hall stood to their feet, some people on the verge of tears, clapping their hands together until they were red and raw. The choir clapped as well, Tina walking up to Rachel to hug her. Quentin watched the scene, smiling to himself and winking at the singer when their eyes met.
And then the scene unfolded slowly.
Rachel pulling away to walk forward and bow to the students and faculty of Hogwarts.
Clapping, cheering. Smiling.
Then there was a flick of a wand.
And silence. A cry out.
And then laugher.
Rachel looked down, shocked, seeing that her skirt now lay on the ground. Her panties were revealed, her virginal white panties that earned laughs instead of cheers. Her first instinct: to run. But the decision was not the best, for the young girl tripped and fell off of the higher ground, landing on her face.
Quentin rushed to her aide as people continued to laugh, taking off his coat and covering her below the belt. A few yards away, a smirking Santana laughed with the others, Brian looking at her confused.
"Rachel, are you okay?" Quentin asked, wrapping her up in his coat. The young Berry stood up, pulling up her skirt and pushing him away. Blood now stained the white reindeer that was upon her sweater, fresh blood sill running down her lips and chin.
"Don't play stupid!" She cried, cupping her hand around her nose. In pain, she winced, "I should have never given you another chance."
Two professors escorted Rachel to the Hospital Wing where her nose was pronounced broken. Immediately, she had to be sent home.
That was the first time Rachel ever dreaded going home to her family.
"You did this!" Quentin screamed, Santana looking up at him, smirking. "How could you!"
"I did nothing. Her skirt was simply too loose. Not my fault the girl is a midget."
"We're done, Santana." Quentin hissed, looking down at her. Brian looked at Quentin.
"But…we're the Unholy Trinity. You can't break us up."
Quentin glared at Brian, "Watch me."
And he turned on his heels, walking quickly out of the Great Hall. Santana called after him, "Your secret is done for, Fabray!"
Quentin didn't hear that last part. He would have turned back if he did.
Going home to Lima was Rachel's biggest fear. It wasn't her family or the underdone Christmases, it was her father, Leroy, who she slowly watched waste away over the years.
Thankfully when she was accepted into Hogwarts, she only had to spend the summers home. Not even that if Tina's parents were happy to have her for the three months, but the months when Tina couldn't have her, the trip home was much dreaded.
She smelt the vegan-egg substitute and the chopped vegetables. The vegan lasagna was now too expensive since Leroy had lost his job. Hiram was working in the kitchen as the girl padded down the stairs and into the living room where her father sat.
It smelt like alcohol.
"Daddy?" Leroy raised his head to speak to his daughter before he noticed that she meant the other one. In the kitchen, Hiram turned to his daughter and smiled.
"Yes, Princess?"
"Have um.." she motioned her head towards the other room, indicating her other father. "You gone to see someone about him?"
Hiram sighed, pulling the eggs off of the pan and piling them on a large plate. Rachel grabbed the salt and pepper, seasoning them to her liking before taking a bite.
Moving her lips hurt her nose a little bit, but now that the doctor had set it back in place, it seemed to slowly be getting better. But she still had to wear a brace on it.
"I need to tell you something, sweetie." Hiram took her daughters hand and lead her into the living room. Leroy looked up at the man with disgust, and then at his daughter with adoring eyes. "We need to tell her, Leroy."
"You tell her," Leroy spat, taking a sip of his beer. "I'm not hurting my daughter."
"She's our daughter, Leroy. Not just yours." Hiram motioned to Rachel to take a seat; she did apprehsnively, but with her eyes darting between the two, she couldn't help but be caught in the web of tension.
"Baby…your father and I have made a decision."
Rachel felt her stomach sink.
"We can't work things out."
The tears began to well up in her eyes. A knot in her throat.
"We've filed for divorce."
And then the tears fell harder than ever before.