Fic: We Are Nowhere (And It's Now): Part 2
Title: We Are Nowhere (And It's Now): Part 2
Author: antipamphlet
Rating: PG
Length: 4000+
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Fox and not to me. Title is taken from the song by Bright Eyes.
Summary: Hogwarts AU: In which the romantic entanglement between prefect Rachel Berry and quidditch captain Quinn Fabray develops and Santana is briefly turned into a toad.
A/N: Again, I must apologise that it is not betaed. I should think about getting a beta, but as it is all the typos are mine, so if anything is out of place then please just say. Sorry for the horrible delay between the chapters, but hopefully Part 3 will be posted with less of an interval.
Part 1
We Are Nowhere (And It’s Now)
Part 2
The next time that Rachel saw Quinn was not actually on Saturday, at the appointed time and place that Rachel had specified - she was very specific - before Quinn had become annoyed with the, so-called, ‘excessive planning’.
On the Thursday, when Rachel was heading to the Great Hall for dinner, she witnessed the doors from the grounds burst open, revealing the form of Sue Sylvester, in full quidditch garb and nearly pulsing with fury.
She swept into the corridor, raising her arms threateningly as students slid, ran and dived to the sides to get out of her way, with the girls’ quidditch team, all clustered together, hurrying behind her.
There they all were, the popular girls in their emblazoned quidditch jumpers, black trousers and leather boots, the uniform that every first year hoped someday to wear. Rachel had never really wanted it; she’d realised that though she had a vast array of talents, quidditch playing was not included, and when she had entered Hogwarts for the first time, quidditch had been a purely house-driven activity. Then Coach Sylvester had arrived, like some crazy, power-hungry eagle, and suddenly there were inter-school tournaments and day-long training sessions and ungifted players turned into newts or sometimes a salamander.
It had been the dawning of a new hierarchy at Hogwarts. Rachel thought that this was astronomically unfair, because there were many people in the school far more worthy of social position than quidditch players, herself included, although, she could concede, Quinn and Finn as quidditch captains were unlikely to be toppled.
Speaking of Quinn, she was normally at the front of the group, but as they passed Rachel on the staircase, she caught a glimpse of Quinn, hands loose over her nose and her lower face encrusted with blood, before the other players ushered her on.
“Want to see what happened?”
Rachel started as Jacob Ben Israel literally popped up behind her, camera hanging over his green lined uniform and his leering eyes focussed on Rachel.
“How do you know what happened?” She asked sceptically. Jacob did generally know all of the happenings in the school, but there hadn’t even been any time for him to gather information in this case.
“I was at the quidditch pitch, taking some photos. I saw it.”
“Show me then.”
“What are you going to give me in return?”
She cringed at the attempted seductive tone, which, she was sure, no one considered attractive.
“Nothing. I know you’re too much of a gossip to keep it to yourself. It’s getting you to keep quiet which is the problem.”
For a moment he looked vaguely resentful as he drew a photo out from within the folds of his robes.
Rachel grabbed it, looked it over and at once wished she hadn’t.
“Santana Lopez just smacked it straight at her. Hit her right in the face.”
She could see that from the moving photo, which showed Santana beating one of the lead bludgers calculatedly towards Quinn so that it cracked her over the face. It looked as if it had broken the captain’s nose instantly from the copious amount of blood which commenced spurting down Quinn’s face.
“Coach Sylvester was furious. Everyone knows they don’t have a chance of winning without Quinn Fabray,” Jacob wheezed with glee.
“What did she do?”
“Nothing yet.” A shiver shot down Rachel’s spine. “I suppose she’ll deal with her after she’s got Quinn to the hospital wing. Which means it will probably be worse for Santana; Sylvester hates to wait.”
As if on cue the Coach’s angry roar echoed down the corridor, followed by a bang, a shriek and then a croak which sounded very much like it came from an actual toad.
Passing her in classrooms and on the way to her lessons, Rachel saw that, the next day, Quinn was sporting a white plaster over her nose, which looked a lot better than it had the previous evening, as well as a mauve coloured bruise over her eye, which Rachel hadn’t noticed before.
While this wasn’t very surprising - bludgers tended to hit quite broadly - the fact that she was still going everywhere with Brittany and Santana, suggested that they’d made up, which rather confused her.
Rachel didn’t even want to fathom what kind of twisted friendship Quinn and Santana shared in which a broken nose was no big deal.
Rachel had wondered if this outing with Quinn was going to be awkward, but then the first thing out of Quinn’s mouth was, “What the Potter are you wearing?” she wondered if it would be plain torturous.
She still didn’t quite know why she had accepted. It was mostly due to curiosity, she supposed, but there was also the fact that Quinn was the only person (minus Jacob, but she preferred not to count him) to express that sort of interest in her during the whole time she had attended Hogwarts.
It also couldn’t be denied that Quinn Fabray was exceedingly aesthetically pleasing, from a purely objective point of view. And she did look nice - rather less intimidating - in jeans and a jacket, blonde hair straight, but released from its normal tight ponytail.
“Jacket and skirt, Quinn. If you haven’t yet realised.”
Quinn sent her a withering look, before scrunching her nose in distaste.
“That jacket is argyle. People shouldn’t be allowed to make things like that and other people should have the good common sense, and the decency, not to buy them.”
She tipped her head and moved off into the town, Rachel falling into step with her after a few seconds.
While Rachel didn’t go to Hogsmeade very often, not having had many companions to go with, she remembered enough to know that Quinn was directing them to the mostly deserted area of the town, the part devoid of other students.
In a way it did sting somewhat that Quinn didn’t want to be seen with her, though she knew she shouldn’t have expected from the other girl; Quinn, like all the other popular girls, was pretty focussed in her attempts to maintain the Hogwarts social system, and being seen with Rachel Berry, would not have aided her in that endeavour. Questions would have been asked and, it struck Rachel, that while Quinn would get away relatively unscathed, Rachel really didn’t need ‘lesbian’ added to her numerous other social achievements.
So she was content when Quinn sat opposite her at a small table in the rundown ‘Truckletwigg’s Teacakes’ which was out of favour with the mass student population because of the limited choice of food; the menu consisted solely of teacakes.
“Your nose looks better.” Rachel pointed out, after a minute of stagnant silence from Quinn. “Actually it looks perfectly back to its normal state. Your eye too.”
Relief that the imposed silence had been lifted was evident in Quinn’s reply.
“Yeah. I was worried when Coach Sylvester suggested fixing it on the spot instead of going to Madame Pomfrey. I like my nose and knowing Coach Sylvester it might have turned out really horribly, like-”
Rachel caught her eye and she floundered for a moment, a quick one to her credit.
“- Brittany’s.” She finished lamely, looking off to the side with a grimace.
Rachel kicked her heels ineffectually. The teacakes arrived, and then the drinks and Rachel just hated silence.
“May I inquire why Santana hit you in the first place? There was gossip going around the school, but no one really knows.”
Quinn’s smile was beautifully and insufferably smug, knowing that the whole school gossiped about her, were borderline obsessed with her.
“She was angry with me. You know, for the whole Brittany thing.” As red rose to Rachel’s cheeks she felt somewhat foolish, because Quinn looked nonchalant as ever, unmoved by the mention of the incident.
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“Santana’s just really weird when it comes to Brittany. Protective, I guess.”
But it seemed from Quinn’s overly flippant expression that she knew more than she was letting on.
An hour later, an hour filled with sporadic and uncomfortable discussion, Rachel felt both relief and disappointment as she followed Quinn back: relief that she no longer had to make clumsy conversation with Quinn, who appeared just as inept as she: disappointment because there was no way that Quinn would want to repeat that experience. She would probably brush off the event, brush off Rachel and go back to throwing drinks and hexes at her.
It was rather a shame, Rachel thought, because although Quinn was catty and had been relatively mean to her for the past few years, she could be quite amiable when she tried, when she insisted on paying and pulled Rachel’s seat out for her. It was bizarrely adorable, the way that Quinn didn’t quite know how to look at Rachel, her expression slipping between haughty and something soft at odd intervals, so that she ended up looking severely ill at ease.
Now she just looked tense, furrowing her brow slightly and so it came as a surprise when, before reaching the end of the cobbled street, Quinn turned to her, gripping her shoulders firmly and staring right down at Rachel.
“I know that this was a failure, Berry, but it was the jacket. It put me off. You shouldn’t have worn it.”
Rachel looked up, mildly outraged and about to speak, but was silenced by Quinn licking her lips and dipping her head to kiss her.
Quinn’s hands were still on her shoulders and Rachel had to think hard, which was difficult for her when she felt a tongue swipe across her bottom lip, to think where to put hers, finally clenching them in the open front of Quinn’s jacket.
She lifted her head, craning up to achieve a better angle, but was foiled when Quinn pulled back, lips a little swollen and eyes quivering with uncertainty.
“You’ll come out with me again, right?”
Breathless and cold in the November chill, Rachel only nodded, being rewarded with a smile, before it fell and was replaced with a sheepish glance.
“We should get back and... you know we can’t turn up together. It will look odd.”
Again she nodded, loosening her hold on the folds of fabric in her hands and feeling that sourness in her stomach again, until Quinn kissed her chastely, colouring instantly and turning away.
“Plus, if I have to look at that jacket again, I’ll have an aneurism and die. Burn it.”
Rachel did not, in fact, burn the jacket, but she made a conscious effort not to wear it when around Quinn after the first time, when the blonde had taken it upon herself to try and incinerate it.
Three days of being ignored at choir was enough to coerce Quinn into promising not to do it again and she had restrained herself admirably over the last month.
Despite her frequent, though decreasing, snipes over Rachel’s clothes Quinn had, in general, stopped calling her insulting nicknames - she had learnt that the hard way, through another bout of the silent treatment - with her friends, even the really vapid ones.
Rachel had also noted declining numbers of pumpkin juices that had been thrown over her, but she believed that this was more to do with the choir’s increasing presence within the school than anything to do with Quinn.
Still, Quinn was nice to her, for the most part, when they went for walks around the school grounds and, when the December weather proved too cold for them, through the winding passages of the school.
Being prefects did have its perks. No one questioned them on being out of their dormitories later than usual and the halls and stairs were deserted when Quinn backed Rachel into a cold stone wall and kissed her until they were both flushed and warm.
No-one knew and Rachel could deal with seeing Quinn and Finn make out in the corridors as long as she had this Quinn to herself. Not to say that this Quinn was really very different - she was still dismissive and possessed an awfully acerbic tongue - but if everybody knew, Rachel was sure that they would laugh and pick and point until there was nothing left, and there would be no soft body and fluttering eyelashes pressing against her in the candlelight.
“What are you thinking about?” Quinn was close enough that Rachel could feel her breath on the side of her cheek.
“Nothing.” She didn’t want to share all that with Quinn, who would probably shrug off her concerns, because she was assured enough in her position not to have to worry about daily jeering if anybody found out. “Just my future career on the stage. I hate to say anything negative about one of the great singers of our country, but Celestina Warbeck is really getting on, so when we graduate I think there’ll be little competition of my calibre. The Weird Sisters are unforgivably outdated and I know that they have a sturdy fanbase, but I really think that people will welcome a change.”
Quinn, leaning further back now and staring at her with amusement, smirked.
“I don’t think anyone else would call that nothing.”
“Well, it’s hardly anything compared to the years of extensive research I’ve carried out in readiness for when I leave Hogwarts.”
“I know. I hear it all the time at choir. Professor Schue probably thinks you’re crazy.”
“Professor Schuester takes any possible opportunity to hinder my musical development.”
She watched carefully as Quinn drew in her lips at Rachel’s bitter tone, the way she did when she was trying not to say something (usually an involuntary expulsion of ‘Man-Hands’, ‘Krum’, ‘Nargle-Nose’ or the lesser known ‘Flubberworm-Face) and didn’t look back up to Quinn’s eyes until she changed the subject.
“I got you a present. I’m going home for Christmas, so I thought I’d give it to you now.” She said and drew from her satchel a parcel wrapped in brown paper and ribbon.
“I didn’t get you one.”
Quinn said nothing but pressed it into Rachel’s hands, nodding her head to indicate that she could open it.
“It’s a jumper.” She commented, with a manner of mischief, as Rachel pulled the blue wool free from its confines. “A plain one, to replace that other one which I unravelled at choir.”
“That was you?”
“It was a collective effort, for the good of wizard-kind, but I thought you might like a new one.”
No one could resist that smile, Rachel was sure, even when the girl had just admitted to destroying a prized garment. She beamed back up at her.
“Thanks. It’s really nice of you, Quinn.”
Rolling onto the tips of her feet she brushed her mouth over Quinn’s cheek, seeing the tip of her ear turn pink - the telltale sign of her embarrassment.
“You’ll owl me over Christmas, won’t you?”
“If I have time. I’ll be vastly busy with my singing.”
The momentary confusion in Quinn’s eyes vanished when she saw Rachel’s mouth twitch upwards and Rachel found herself smoothly pulled forward by the hips and into another heady kiss.
Christmas passed quickly, Rachel at home with her dads, helping to cook and decorate, but left with a lot of free time. She wrote to Quinn as promised, but her notes came back unanswered, still clasped in Paracelsus’s talons as the owl swooped through her window. She was slightly miffed, as Quinn had specifically requested that she do so, but upon seeing a very sullen quidditch captain on the first day of term, she decided not to address the issue straight away.
Except Quinn didn’t seek her out, just came to choir and looked distracted throughout the hour-long rehearsals and then left with Santana and Brittany, or sometimes by herself. It left Rachel at a loss, as she had never before had to go and find Quinn when she wanted to see her; her and Quinn had a sort of standing appointment twice a week after choir and it just... always happened.
Now it hadn’t happened for a fortnight.
She’d hung around with some of the other choir members a couple of times, having found herself with a lot of time now that Quinn being elusive and being rather more inclined to partake in conversation instead of singing alone in the choir room than before. They were nice enough to her - nicer than they’d been at the start of the year - but it was clear that they were much better friends with each other than they were with her.
Sometimes when she spoke Kurt or Mercedes would give her this look and then there’d be a pause. And then they’d start talking as if they hadn’t heard her. It wasn’t all the time, but it was enough for Rachel to miss that Quinn always listened when she talked; she still made fun of the brunette when she got into a lengthy rant, but Rachel did think that Quinn at least took in what she said, even if it did amuse her.
Doing prefect duty with Artie, who made scant, though vaguely interesting, conversation with her, just made her wonder, during the protracted silences, why Quinn was avoiding her.
Apparently it wasn’t just her that Quinn was avoiding, she found out upon visitation to the quidditch pitch.
Rachel had at last exhausted her patience at the situation and, very suddenly, had rolled up the parchment she was working on, stuffed it in her bag and marched down to the grounds, only to be met by Santana and Brittany outside the doors to the broom-shed. Their twittering ceased as soon as Santana spotted the oncoming figure.
“What are you doing here, Krum?”
“I hardly think that my presence really merits such hostility from you, Santana. I’m looking for-”
“Quinn? Maybe she’s realised she is way out of your league and decided to dump you.”
“Or maybe she’s still haunting the owlery like a vampire. It’s weird.”
She was doubly stunned, firstly that Santana knew - it made her question how many other people knew - about her and Quinn, and secondly that the almost unbelievably nice Brittany had come out with the mocking comment that the two were now giggling over. Mind you, Brittany sometimes just did these things, odd things, like the time that Professor Pillsbury had found a Cornish pixie in her trunk. For what reason it was there, no one knew, and Brittany still refused to explain.
Finding their laughter exceedingly inappropriate, she cut in.
“Why is she in the owlery?”
“Her dad shot her owl with an air rifle. But, really, she should just get over it. She’s about as exciting as a ghoul at the moment.”
And they went right back to laughing, so Rachel turned on her heel and stormed off towards the owlery. She had no idea what an ‘air rifle’ was, or why anyone would shoot an owl, but she was steadfastly determined to get to the bottom of this little mystery.
She hardly ever ascended the stone stairs to that small turret and her feet skidded on the uneven steps, made worse by a sheen of ice, but she made it up to the top without incident.
Brown eyes met hazel as Quinn’s head whipped around at the sound of footsteps. Loose blonde curls tumbled over shoulders, cheeks were pink and ruddy from the cold and Rachel felt a jolt in her chest, a figurative stab at the fragility now displayed in front of her. Rachel wasn’t one to get too caught up in things, excepting her precious musical career, but there was something so appealing about the way Quinn looked just then and it made Rachel want in a way she had never wanted before.
Quinn turned back around, but the ache lingered on as she went to stand by the taller girl. Her fair hands, quivering from the brisk air, were laid out gently on the stone wall and Rachel wondered whether she should put her own hand over one. It wasn’t strictly what they did - mostly they just made out and talked and sometimes Quinn would just walk with her in silence - and yet Rachel figured that it couldn’t hurt.
So she raised her arm and, with an attempted casual air, curled her fingers over the ones that were damp from the light snow. She could see Quinn regarding the action from the corner of her eyes, though her face remained impassive.
“I haven’t seen you around for a while.”
“I’ve been busy. Coach Sylvester’s been working us really hard for the interschool tournament. She needs the prize money to buy herself a dragon.”
She reined back the urge to ask why Coach Sylvester needed a dragon, thinking of the havoc she would unleash if she acquired one. Instead she tried to catch Quinn’s eyes, but her gaze was directed straight outwards over the field.
“I thought you might be avoiding me.”
Quinn’s brow creased in that endearing way. Her hand flexed under Rachel’s own.
“No... no. I just haven’t felt like doing much at the moment. I’m tired.”
“If it’s simply a case of fatigue, I might recommend diluted mandrake root. I drink it every morning when I wake up at 6.00”
While she hadn’t been joking it was refreshing to see the blonde’s mouth slide up into a half smile.
“I’m not that type of tired.” Seriousness pervaded Quinn’s voice and Rachel found herself as nervous, as uneasy, as when Quinn was solely the girl who picked on her. She felt almost queasy, but she tightened her grip on Quinn. She sounded... lost, and while Rachel had never actually experienced it - being lost - she knew that when she was upset she had always wished she had someone to share it with.
“You know you can tell me, right. I’m pitch perfect, so I can be a really good listener.”
They must have stood there for a good few minutes, surrounded only by the increasingly strong wind, before Rachel received a response.
“I feel like I don’t... belong anymore. My dad shot Gandalf,” a little choked whine rose from Quinn’s throat, “with an air rifle. He doesn’t understand. None of them do. All they can see now is that they’re muggles, they’re normal, and that I’m a witch and I don’t belong there.”
Quinn's voice trembled, as did her chin, and Rachel quickly sought for something comforting to say.
“Family isn’t everything, Quinn.”
“No, but it’s important. Both of your dads are wizards, and they love you, so I don’t think you’re really in a position to preach that particular sentiment.” Her tone softened again. “My parents are Christians, they look at me like they want to burn me at the stake. I’ve waited for five years for them to get used to it and they just can’t. I guess I realised that I’m not really their daughter anymore. I don’t fit, and they don’t want me to. It’s just... sad.”
Rachel could tell that much, because Quinn had turned her face away, discreetly wiped it with her free hand.
Rachel’s immediate feeling was embarrassment for supplying such a useless piece of advice when, in fact, Quinn was right; she had no clue what Quinn felt at that moment. It was unthinkable to her that anybody would be opposed to possessing something as great at magic, that Quinn’s family would alienate her as they quite obviously had. Of course Rachel had been shunned by her peers, but she mused that a family estrangement, to her, would be unbearable.
She licked her dry lips, considering what to say next, when Quinn’s hand slipped from beneath hers, Rachel’s fingertips landing on the rough surface of the wall instead of the warm skin they had just been covering.
Quinn shifted to look at her fully for the first time that day, something hard and cheerless settling over her face, making Rachel’s breath catch.
“Listen. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
She hadn’t expected that. That was the last utterance she would have anticipated after Quinn’s previous speech. Why would Quinn want to exacerbate her own loneliness by sending her away? The absurdity of it made Rachel stutter.
“Wh-why?”
“Because... I think I like you a lot more than you like me. And that’s not something I want just now.”
Rachel thought about how utterly silly and heartbreaking Quinn’s profession sounded, thought about saying ‘That’s not true’.
But her mouth refused to open and she watched silently as Quinn left in a flurry of owls and snow.
End of Part 2.
Author: antipamphlet
Rating: PG
Length: 4000+
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Fox and not to me. Title is taken from the song by Bright Eyes.
Summary: Hogwarts AU: In which the romantic entanglement between prefect Rachel Berry and quidditch captain Quinn Fabray develops and Santana is briefly turned into a toad.
A/N: Again, I must apologise that it is not betaed. I should think about getting a beta, but as it is all the typos are mine, so if anything is out of place then please just say. Sorry for the horrible delay between the chapters, but hopefully Part 3 will be posted with less of an interval.
Part 1
We Are Nowhere (And It’s Now)
Part 2
The next time that Rachel saw Quinn was not actually on Saturday, at the appointed time and place that Rachel had specified - she was very specific - before Quinn had become annoyed with the, so-called, ‘excessive planning’.
On the Thursday, when Rachel was heading to the Great Hall for dinner, she witnessed the doors from the grounds burst open, revealing the form of Sue Sylvester, in full quidditch garb and nearly pulsing with fury.
She swept into the corridor, raising her arms threateningly as students slid, ran and dived to the sides to get out of her way, with the girls’ quidditch team, all clustered together, hurrying behind her.
There they all were, the popular girls in their emblazoned quidditch jumpers, black trousers and leather boots, the uniform that every first year hoped someday to wear. Rachel had never really wanted it; she’d realised that though she had a vast array of talents, quidditch playing was not included, and when she had entered Hogwarts for the first time, quidditch had been a purely house-driven activity. Then Coach Sylvester had arrived, like some crazy, power-hungry eagle, and suddenly there were inter-school tournaments and day-long training sessions and ungifted players turned into newts or sometimes a salamander.
It had been the dawning of a new hierarchy at Hogwarts. Rachel thought that this was astronomically unfair, because there were many people in the school far more worthy of social position than quidditch players, herself included, although, she could concede, Quinn and Finn as quidditch captains were unlikely to be toppled.
Speaking of Quinn, she was normally at the front of the group, but as they passed Rachel on the staircase, she caught a glimpse of Quinn, hands loose over her nose and her lower face encrusted with blood, before the other players ushered her on.
“Want to see what happened?”
Rachel started as Jacob Ben Israel literally popped up behind her, camera hanging over his green lined uniform and his leering eyes focussed on Rachel.
“How do you know what happened?” She asked sceptically. Jacob did generally know all of the happenings in the school, but there hadn’t even been any time for him to gather information in this case.
“I was at the quidditch pitch, taking some photos. I saw it.”
“Show me then.”
“What are you going to give me in return?”
She cringed at the attempted seductive tone, which, she was sure, no one considered attractive.
“Nothing. I know you’re too much of a gossip to keep it to yourself. It’s getting you to keep quiet which is the problem.”
For a moment he looked vaguely resentful as he drew a photo out from within the folds of his robes.
Rachel grabbed it, looked it over and at once wished she hadn’t.
“Santana Lopez just smacked it straight at her. Hit her right in the face.”
She could see that from the moving photo, which showed Santana beating one of the lead bludgers calculatedly towards Quinn so that it cracked her over the face. It looked as if it had broken the captain’s nose instantly from the copious amount of blood which commenced spurting down Quinn’s face.
“Coach Sylvester was furious. Everyone knows they don’t have a chance of winning without Quinn Fabray,” Jacob wheezed with glee.
“What did she do?”
“Nothing yet.” A shiver shot down Rachel’s spine. “I suppose she’ll deal with her after she’s got Quinn to the hospital wing. Which means it will probably be worse for Santana; Sylvester hates to wait.”
As if on cue the Coach’s angry roar echoed down the corridor, followed by a bang, a shriek and then a croak which sounded very much like it came from an actual toad.
Passing her in classrooms and on the way to her lessons, Rachel saw that, the next day, Quinn was sporting a white plaster over her nose, which looked a lot better than it had the previous evening, as well as a mauve coloured bruise over her eye, which Rachel hadn’t noticed before.
While this wasn’t very surprising - bludgers tended to hit quite broadly - the fact that she was still going everywhere with Brittany and Santana, suggested that they’d made up, which rather confused her.
Rachel didn’t even want to fathom what kind of twisted friendship Quinn and Santana shared in which a broken nose was no big deal.
Rachel had wondered if this outing with Quinn was going to be awkward, but then the first thing out of Quinn’s mouth was, “What the Potter are you wearing?” she wondered if it would be plain torturous.
She still didn’t quite know why she had accepted. It was mostly due to curiosity, she supposed, but there was also the fact that Quinn was the only person (minus Jacob, but she preferred not to count him) to express that sort of interest in her during the whole time she had attended Hogwarts.
It also couldn’t be denied that Quinn Fabray was exceedingly aesthetically pleasing, from a purely objective point of view. And she did look nice - rather less intimidating - in jeans and a jacket, blonde hair straight, but released from its normal tight ponytail.
“Jacket and skirt, Quinn. If you haven’t yet realised.”
Quinn sent her a withering look, before scrunching her nose in distaste.
“That jacket is argyle. People shouldn’t be allowed to make things like that and other people should have the good common sense, and the decency, not to buy them.”
She tipped her head and moved off into the town, Rachel falling into step with her after a few seconds.
While Rachel didn’t go to Hogsmeade very often, not having had many companions to go with, she remembered enough to know that Quinn was directing them to the mostly deserted area of the town, the part devoid of other students.
In a way it did sting somewhat that Quinn didn’t want to be seen with her, though she knew she shouldn’t have expected from the other girl; Quinn, like all the other popular girls, was pretty focussed in her attempts to maintain the Hogwarts social system, and being seen with Rachel Berry, would not have aided her in that endeavour. Questions would have been asked and, it struck Rachel, that while Quinn would get away relatively unscathed, Rachel really didn’t need ‘lesbian’ added to her numerous other social achievements.
So she was content when Quinn sat opposite her at a small table in the rundown ‘Truckletwigg’s Teacakes’ which was out of favour with the mass student population because of the limited choice of food; the menu consisted solely of teacakes.
“Your nose looks better.” Rachel pointed out, after a minute of stagnant silence from Quinn. “Actually it looks perfectly back to its normal state. Your eye too.”
Relief that the imposed silence had been lifted was evident in Quinn’s reply.
“Yeah. I was worried when Coach Sylvester suggested fixing it on the spot instead of going to Madame Pomfrey. I like my nose and knowing Coach Sylvester it might have turned out really horribly, like-”
Rachel caught her eye and she floundered for a moment, a quick one to her credit.
“- Brittany’s.” She finished lamely, looking off to the side with a grimace.
Rachel kicked her heels ineffectually. The teacakes arrived, and then the drinks and Rachel just hated silence.
“May I inquire why Santana hit you in the first place? There was gossip going around the school, but no one really knows.”
Quinn’s smile was beautifully and insufferably smug, knowing that the whole school gossiped about her, were borderline obsessed with her.
“She was angry with me. You know, for the whole Brittany thing.” As red rose to Rachel’s cheeks she felt somewhat foolish, because Quinn looked nonchalant as ever, unmoved by the mention of the incident.
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“Santana’s just really weird when it comes to Brittany. Protective, I guess.”
But it seemed from Quinn’s overly flippant expression that she knew more than she was letting on.
An hour later, an hour filled with sporadic and uncomfortable discussion, Rachel felt both relief and disappointment as she followed Quinn back: relief that she no longer had to make clumsy conversation with Quinn, who appeared just as inept as she: disappointment because there was no way that Quinn would want to repeat that experience. She would probably brush off the event, brush off Rachel and go back to throwing drinks and hexes at her.
It was rather a shame, Rachel thought, because although Quinn was catty and had been relatively mean to her for the past few years, she could be quite amiable when she tried, when she insisted on paying and pulled Rachel’s seat out for her. It was bizarrely adorable, the way that Quinn didn’t quite know how to look at Rachel, her expression slipping between haughty and something soft at odd intervals, so that she ended up looking severely ill at ease.
Now she just looked tense, furrowing her brow slightly and so it came as a surprise when, before reaching the end of the cobbled street, Quinn turned to her, gripping her shoulders firmly and staring right down at Rachel.
“I know that this was a failure, Berry, but it was the jacket. It put me off. You shouldn’t have worn it.”
Rachel looked up, mildly outraged and about to speak, but was silenced by Quinn licking her lips and dipping her head to kiss her.
Quinn’s hands were still on her shoulders and Rachel had to think hard, which was difficult for her when she felt a tongue swipe across her bottom lip, to think where to put hers, finally clenching them in the open front of Quinn’s jacket.
She lifted her head, craning up to achieve a better angle, but was foiled when Quinn pulled back, lips a little swollen and eyes quivering with uncertainty.
“You’ll come out with me again, right?”
Breathless and cold in the November chill, Rachel only nodded, being rewarded with a smile, before it fell and was replaced with a sheepish glance.
“We should get back and... you know we can’t turn up together. It will look odd.”
Again she nodded, loosening her hold on the folds of fabric in her hands and feeling that sourness in her stomach again, until Quinn kissed her chastely, colouring instantly and turning away.
“Plus, if I have to look at that jacket again, I’ll have an aneurism and die. Burn it.”
Rachel did not, in fact, burn the jacket, but she made a conscious effort not to wear it when around Quinn after the first time, when the blonde had taken it upon herself to try and incinerate it.
Three days of being ignored at choir was enough to coerce Quinn into promising not to do it again and she had restrained herself admirably over the last month.
Despite her frequent, though decreasing, snipes over Rachel’s clothes Quinn had, in general, stopped calling her insulting nicknames - she had learnt that the hard way, through another bout of the silent treatment - with her friends, even the really vapid ones.
Rachel had also noted declining numbers of pumpkin juices that had been thrown over her, but she believed that this was more to do with the choir’s increasing presence within the school than anything to do with Quinn.
Still, Quinn was nice to her, for the most part, when they went for walks around the school grounds and, when the December weather proved too cold for them, through the winding passages of the school.
Being prefects did have its perks. No one questioned them on being out of their dormitories later than usual and the halls and stairs were deserted when Quinn backed Rachel into a cold stone wall and kissed her until they were both flushed and warm.
No-one knew and Rachel could deal with seeing Quinn and Finn make out in the corridors as long as she had this Quinn to herself. Not to say that this Quinn was really very different - she was still dismissive and possessed an awfully acerbic tongue - but if everybody knew, Rachel was sure that they would laugh and pick and point until there was nothing left, and there would be no soft body and fluttering eyelashes pressing against her in the candlelight.
“What are you thinking about?” Quinn was close enough that Rachel could feel her breath on the side of her cheek.
“Nothing.” She didn’t want to share all that with Quinn, who would probably shrug off her concerns, because she was assured enough in her position not to have to worry about daily jeering if anybody found out. “Just my future career on the stage. I hate to say anything negative about one of the great singers of our country, but Celestina Warbeck is really getting on, so when we graduate I think there’ll be little competition of my calibre. The Weird Sisters are unforgivably outdated and I know that they have a sturdy fanbase, but I really think that people will welcome a change.”
Quinn, leaning further back now and staring at her with amusement, smirked.
“I don’t think anyone else would call that nothing.”
“Well, it’s hardly anything compared to the years of extensive research I’ve carried out in readiness for when I leave Hogwarts.”
“I know. I hear it all the time at choir. Professor Schue probably thinks you’re crazy.”
“Professor Schuester takes any possible opportunity to hinder my musical development.”
She watched carefully as Quinn drew in her lips at Rachel’s bitter tone, the way she did when she was trying not to say something (usually an involuntary expulsion of ‘Man-Hands’, ‘Krum’, ‘Nargle-Nose’ or the lesser known ‘Flubberworm-Face) and didn’t look back up to Quinn’s eyes until she changed the subject.
“I got you a present. I’m going home for Christmas, so I thought I’d give it to you now.” She said and drew from her satchel a parcel wrapped in brown paper and ribbon.
“I didn’t get you one.”
Quinn said nothing but pressed it into Rachel’s hands, nodding her head to indicate that she could open it.
“It’s a jumper.” She commented, with a manner of mischief, as Rachel pulled the blue wool free from its confines. “A plain one, to replace that other one which I unravelled at choir.”
“That was you?”
“It was a collective effort, for the good of wizard-kind, but I thought you might like a new one.”
No one could resist that smile, Rachel was sure, even when the girl had just admitted to destroying a prized garment. She beamed back up at her.
“Thanks. It’s really nice of you, Quinn.”
Rolling onto the tips of her feet she brushed her mouth over Quinn’s cheek, seeing the tip of her ear turn pink - the telltale sign of her embarrassment.
“You’ll owl me over Christmas, won’t you?”
“If I have time. I’ll be vastly busy with my singing.”
The momentary confusion in Quinn’s eyes vanished when she saw Rachel’s mouth twitch upwards and Rachel found herself smoothly pulled forward by the hips and into another heady kiss.
Christmas passed quickly, Rachel at home with her dads, helping to cook and decorate, but left with a lot of free time. She wrote to Quinn as promised, but her notes came back unanswered, still clasped in Paracelsus’s talons as the owl swooped through her window. She was slightly miffed, as Quinn had specifically requested that she do so, but upon seeing a very sullen quidditch captain on the first day of term, she decided not to address the issue straight away.
Except Quinn didn’t seek her out, just came to choir and looked distracted throughout the hour-long rehearsals and then left with Santana and Brittany, or sometimes by herself. It left Rachel at a loss, as she had never before had to go and find Quinn when she wanted to see her; her and Quinn had a sort of standing appointment twice a week after choir and it just... always happened.
Now it hadn’t happened for a fortnight.
She’d hung around with some of the other choir members a couple of times, having found herself with a lot of time now that Quinn being elusive and being rather more inclined to partake in conversation instead of singing alone in the choir room than before. They were nice enough to her - nicer than they’d been at the start of the year - but it was clear that they were much better friends with each other than they were with her.
Sometimes when she spoke Kurt or Mercedes would give her this look and then there’d be a pause. And then they’d start talking as if they hadn’t heard her. It wasn’t all the time, but it was enough for Rachel to miss that Quinn always listened when she talked; she still made fun of the brunette when she got into a lengthy rant, but Rachel did think that Quinn at least took in what she said, even if it did amuse her.
Doing prefect duty with Artie, who made scant, though vaguely interesting, conversation with her, just made her wonder, during the protracted silences, why Quinn was avoiding her.
Apparently it wasn’t just her that Quinn was avoiding, she found out upon visitation to the quidditch pitch.
Rachel had at last exhausted her patience at the situation and, very suddenly, had rolled up the parchment she was working on, stuffed it in her bag and marched down to the grounds, only to be met by Santana and Brittany outside the doors to the broom-shed. Their twittering ceased as soon as Santana spotted the oncoming figure.
“What are you doing here, Krum?”
“I hardly think that my presence really merits such hostility from you, Santana. I’m looking for-”
“Quinn? Maybe she’s realised she is way out of your league and decided to dump you.”
“Or maybe she’s still haunting the owlery like a vampire. It’s weird.”
She was doubly stunned, firstly that Santana knew - it made her question how many other people knew - about her and Quinn, and secondly that the almost unbelievably nice Brittany had come out with the mocking comment that the two were now giggling over. Mind you, Brittany sometimes just did these things, odd things, like the time that Professor Pillsbury had found a Cornish pixie in her trunk. For what reason it was there, no one knew, and Brittany still refused to explain.
Finding their laughter exceedingly inappropriate, she cut in.
“Why is she in the owlery?”
“Her dad shot her owl with an air rifle. But, really, she should just get over it. She’s about as exciting as a ghoul at the moment.”
And they went right back to laughing, so Rachel turned on her heel and stormed off towards the owlery. She had no idea what an ‘air rifle’ was, or why anyone would shoot an owl, but she was steadfastly determined to get to the bottom of this little mystery.
She hardly ever ascended the stone stairs to that small turret and her feet skidded on the uneven steps, made worse by a sheen of ice, but she made it up to the top without incident.
Brown eyes met hazel as Quinn’s head whipped around at the sound of footsteps. Loose blonde curls tumbled over shoulders, cheeks were pink and ruddy from the cold and Rachel felt a jolt in her chest, a figurative stab at the fragility now displayed in front of her. Rachel wasn’t one to get too caught up in things, excepting her precious musical career, but there was something so appealing about the way Quinn looked just then and it made Rachel want in a way she had never wanted before.
Quinn turned back around, but the ache lingered on as she went to stand by the taller girl. Her fair hands, quivering from the brisk air, were laid out gently on the stone wall and Rachel wondered whether she should put her own hand over one. It wasn’t strictly what they did - mostly they just made out and talked and sometimes Quinn would just walk with her in silence - and yet Rachel figured that it couldn’t hurt.
So she raised her arm and, with an attempted casual air, curled her fingers over the ones that were damp from the light snow. She could see Quinn regarding the action from the corner of her eyes, though her face remained impassive.
“I haven’t seen you around for a while.”
“I’ve been busy. Coach Sylvester’s been working us really hard for the interschool tournament. She needs the prize money to buy herself a dragon.”
She reined back the urge to ask why Coach Sylvester needed a dragon, thinking of the havoc she would unleash if she acquired one. Instead she tried to catch Quinn’s eyes, but her gaze was directed straight outwards over the field.
“I thought you might be avoiding me.”
Quinn’s brow creased in that endearing way. Her hand flexed under Rachel’s own.
“No... no. I just haven’t felt like doing much at the moment. I’m tired.”
“If it’s simply a case of fatigue, I might recommend diluted mandrake root. I drink it every morning when I wake up at 6.00”
While she hadn’t been joking it was refreshing to see the blonde’s mouth slide up into a half smile.
“I’m not that type of tired.” Seriousness pervaded Quinn’s voice and Rachel found herself as nervous, as uneasy, as when Quinn was solely the girl who picked on her. She felt almost queasy, but she tightened her grip on Quinn. She sounded... lost, and while Rachel had never actually experienced it - being lost - she knew that when she was upset she had always wished she had someone to share it with.
“You know you can tell me, right. I’m pitch perfect, so I can be a really good listener.”
They must have stood there for a good few minutes, surrounded only by the increasingly strong wind, before Rachel received a response.
“I feel like I don’t... belong anymore. My dad shot Gandalf,” a little choked whine rose from Quinn’s throat, “with an air rifle. He doesn’t understand. None of them do. All they can see now is that they’re muggles, they’re normal, and that I’m a witch and I don’t belong there.”
Quinn's voice trembled, as did her chin, and Rachel quickly sought for something comforting to say.
“Family isn’t everything, Quinn.”
“No, but it’s important. Both of your dads are wizards, and they love you, so I don’t think you’re really in a position to preach that particular sentiment.” Her tone softened again. “My parents are Christians, they look at me like they want to burn me at the stake. I’ve waited for five years for them to get used to it and they just can’t. I guess I realised that I’m not really their daughter anymore. I don’t fit, and they don’t want me to. It’s just... sad.”
Rachel could tell that much, because Quinn had turned her face away, discreetly wiped it with her free hand.
Rachel’s immediate feeling was embarrassment for supplying such a useless piece of advice when, in fact, Quinn was right; she had no clue what Quinn felt at that moment. It was unthinkable to her that anybody would be opposed to possessing something as great at magic, that Quinn’s family would alienate her as they quite obviously had. Of course Rachel had been shunned by her peers, but she mused that a family estrangement, to her, would be unbearable.
She licked her dry lips, considering what to say next, when Quinn’s hand slipped from beneath hers, Rachel’s fingertips landing on the rough surface of the wall instead of the warm skin they had just been covering.
Quinn shifted to look at her fully for the first time that day, something hard and cheerless settling over her face, making Rachel’s breath catch.
“Listen. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
She hadn’t expected that. That was the last utterance she would have anticipated after Quinn’s previous speech. Why would Quinn want to exacerbate her own loneliness by sending her away? The absurdity of it made Rachel stutter.
“Wh-why?”
“Because... I think I like you a lot more than you like me. And that’s not something I want just now.”
Rachel thought about how utterly silly and heartbreaking Quinn’s profession sounded, thought about saying ‘That’s not true’.
But her mouth refused to open and she watched silently as Quinn left in a flurry of owls and snow.
End of Part 2.