High Hogwarts

~~~

It looked somewhat like any other school building. Stone walls, windows, the school's banner flying on the flagpole. There was a football field behind the school, along with bleachers in neat rows.

It smelled like any other school building. The scent of Wrigley's spearmint not-quite-masking the scent of marijuana and tobacco as a few boys in ratty leather jackets passed by. The soft, moist scent of grimy Reeboks mixed with the sharp scent of girls' leather pumps. And of course, the vague, part-bland, part-burnt scent of cafeteria food.

Harry Potter glanced uncertainly around the hallway, where a girl with purple hair (which, from the visible roots, used to be red) and a skateboard tucked under her tattooed arm, conversed with a preppy, fidgeting kid with a camera. "No, Colin... I'm not going to chem today. It's Monday. Snape's not going to notice if his hair's on fire or not.... hey, what're YOU staring at?" the girl suddenly snapped at Harry, her blue eyeliner-encircled eyes narrowing venomously at him.

"Er, nothing," Harry turned, and with that wonderfully-assured strut of new students, tripped down the hallway and fled around a corner.

He had not gone three steps when he was overtaken by a bossy-looking girl with brown, bushy hair, in designer khakis and an almost professional-looking white blouse. "Here you are. Harry Potter, is it?" she started, her voice rather fast and direct, used to getting what she wanted, "I'm Hermione Granger, student council president and government representative for your class. I'm showing you around today. Come on."

"Er... right." Harry made a mental note that Hogwarts High might not be as pleasant as most high schools. There hadn't been any sign of normal, good-looking, non-scary girls... yet.

"This," Hermione pointed one hand (and one very sharp pencil) at an open door, "This is your chemistry classroom. You won't be going here quite yet. We have to take you to the office and finish a bit of paperwork first... but that fellow in there with the black hair in the ponytail is Mr. Snape. He's the chem teacher. He's a bit... odd, but I don't think he's dispensed pot to the burnouts... yet." Hermione's voice was filled with thinly-veiled disapproval. "He knows enough about the subject though."

Harry wasn't quite sure he wanted to know HOW Snape knew about 'the subject', and so kept silent as Hermione dragged him down another hallway... and suddenly came to an abrupt stop...

And screeched, stamping her foot.

"OH GODDAMMIT FRIGGIN'..." Hermione seemed to realize that she had a rather frightened and bemused new student with her, and paused, eyes blazing.

"Er... what's the matter?" Harry ventured timidly, green eyes rather wide behind his glasses.

Hermione gave him a look as if questioning his intelligence, and pointed the pencil-bearing hand dramatically at one of the doors. On the formerly blank gray surface, rather artfully depicted, was a scene in which a blond figure with poms fell on his or her ass on the green grass of a football field.

"I. HATE. THOSE. THREE." Hermione's face was practically deadly in its malevolence, and Harry drew back slightly. "They think they're damned ARTISTS or something..."

"Er... who?" He was really saying 'Er' a bit too much. Should cut down on that.

"No one," Hermione's voice was clipped, although she'd once again pasted a chipper smile on her face, showing all her white teeth. "Graffiti on school property is against the rules, just so you know," she informed him primly.

"Gotcha," Harry muttered.

She smiled and grabbed his arm none-too-gently once more. "All right. Let's keep going. I have to be in World Lit in ten minutes."

They went up one hallway, down another, and came to an abrupt stop at an office. "Come on, in here. Principal Dumbledore will probably want to meet you, and then you can get your schedule from Mr. Lupin, the guidance counselor."

Principal Dumbledore turned out to be a cheerful-looking elderly gentleman, whose office had a very grandmother-esque oak rocking chair with purple cushions and a bright red parrot gaily swinging about in a large cage. "Welcome to Hogwarts High, young Mr. Potter. I'm Albus Dumbledore."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry should the man's hand, and was immediately offered a caffeinated peppermint.

Before he could speak more to the principal, Hermione, whose body-clock seemed to be set permanently at 'accelerated', tugged on his arm and, with a hurried farewell to the principal, took him to the guidance counselor's office.

The parrot bobbed its head as he stumbled out the door. "Fawkes says a merry day, and a long detention to ye!"

Harry, ten minutes later, learnt that he would be reporting to a Ms. McGonagall's homeroom at the end of the day, along with Hermione, and made his way towards history class, with a Dr. Binns.

And as he slid into the seat next to a pretty Indian girl with hair in a braid, who was doodling in a star-shaped notepad with a bright red gel pen, he listened to Dr. Binns lecture on Medieval Europe... and sighed in relief.

Well. History class would still be boring as all hell. Maybe with this bit of normalcy, Hogwarts wouldn't be so bad.