A/N: Now, for the fun lunch scene! Punks and preps don't mix, as we know very well. Oh yes... and we see a few more characters. Ehh... just read it.
Disclaimer: Whoever believes that I am brilliant enough to own the HP world, I'll thank them before killing them for their stupidity.
~*~
Hermione, her hand clamped around Harry's arm, pulled him down the hallway towards the cafeteria. There were more students here... gathered in groups and clusters about the hallway. As they went along, Hermione inclined her head towards various groups of people, generally with a toothy smile, and whispered to Harry their names and characteristics.
"That's Emma Dobbs and Seamus Finnigan over there," Hermione indicated a couple standing by a drinking fountain. The boy Harry vaguely recalled as from his History class, with sandy blond hair falling in his eyes. He had his arms around a girl in a green dress, with brown hair flowing down her back. They were doing quite the impression of 'sickeningly cute couple' without even making out in public. Harry had to admire their skill.
"She's younger than we are," Hermione whispered, "Don't know where Seamus met her, but they've been surgically attached at the tonsils for months."
It was indeed a lovely bit of information to be presented, right before lunch at a new place.
Hermione continued on, past the cuddling couple, and stopped dead in the hallway, her eyes starting a slow burn.
Harry didn't see anything particularly gruesome down the hall. There was a fellow with dark, slightly wavy hair in torn jeans and a muscle shirt, an intricate tattoo of barbed-wire tracery and thorny roses encircling one forearm. Sure, he was smirking at the wall, but he didn't look particularly dangerous. Why Hermione was trying to kill him with her venomous glare was just another of the myriad mysteries of the place.
"Terence Higgs!" Hermione evidently decided that non-verbal aggression would not suffice, and barked out a name. The guy with the tattoo turned slowly, and raised his eyebrows.
"Yes?" His voice was smooth, almost oily, like that of someone used to charming people to get his way.
"On Mrs. Pince's door! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THAT?!" Hermione the angry avenging goddess now advanced towards the seemingly-unconcerned Terence Higgs, her face ablaze with righteous indignation.
"What's the matter with Mrs. Pince's door?" Terence's eyes were as wide as a lapdog's, and almost as innocent.
"THE GRAFFITI! THE CHEERLEADER!" Hermione apparently decided that getting to the point in this situation was the best way of going about it.
Terence gave a mock-gasp of horror, even as his eyes glinted, "I am completely unresponsible for THAT piece of distasteful wall colouration, thank you very much!"
"Oh, don't LIE to me, Terence Higgs," Hermione was quite close to poking the boy in the chest now, and Harry wondered if he could pry his wrist from her grasp and sneak away.
"Dude, I'm NOT!" Terence argued, "You might have noticed the distinct lack of aesthetic feminine pulchritude in that picture!"
"Lack of your soft porn aside," Hermione hissed, "Do NOT spray-paint around this school any more. And same for Warrington and Montague, once I get my hands on them..."
"I'll let them know that you want to touch them, babe." Terence smirked again, "Have fun corrupting that kid with you, Granger." And with that, he departed, leaving a fuming Hermione and a half-confused, half-terrified Harry standing in the hallway.
Finally, they made it to the door of the lunchroom, which was packed with students and smelled of very greasy fries and pizza. Hermione pointed at the very long lunch line. "Well? Go on, then. I have a meeting with Principal Dumbledore, but I'll be back to take you to your next class after you eat."
Harry dug a few crumpled dollar bills out of his backpack, and shuffled into line. He found himself standing right behind the Goth boy from his biology class, who nodded a curt greeting as he adjusted one of his earrings.
"Weasley, PLEASE tell me you're not trying to grow dreadlocks!" Another male voice, snooty, sounded behind Harry. Harry turned around to see a head of blond hair. Ah... yes, preppy boy. "Both of you are from my biology class," he blurted out.
The preppy boy gave him a cool, appraising look. "Why, yes. I..." the pronoun was spoken with great gravity, "am Draco Malfoy. And you are..?"
"Harry Potter. Who are you?" Harry looked at the Goth boy.
"Ron Weasley," came the response. "Welcome to the fiery depths of generic educational hell."
"Ignore Weasley," Draco interrupted, "He's quite the loser. If you're new here, I can show you the ropes... if you will. I can guarantee your social status, too."
"Only YOU would be concerned with such transitory, puerile things such as social class... when there is actually no class, and everything is a lie. What does that MATTER, anyway?"
"Oh, I suppose that social class doesn't matter to those who have none," Draco sniffed. "And you really should get rid of that NASTY dye job in your hair."
Despite his conviction that Ron the Goth boy was a few swords short of a weaponry rack, Draco's snooty attitude rather irked Harry. Perhaps some of that sentiment showed in his face, for when Draco repeated his offer, he raised his eyebrows in a slightly challenging manner.
"It's all right," Harry replied coolly, "I'll deal."
The blond boy's face took on a miffed sort of expression, and he pointedly looked away from both Harry and Ron until Harry had paid for his food and left to find a table.
He sat down at the end of a table where the scary purple-haired girl from that morning, along with the smiling camera boy Colin, and Ron were all sitting. Ron gave another grunt and nod in acknowledgement, Colin smiled (although he seemed to he the type to smile at everyone) and the scary purple-haired girl ignored him altogether.
It was a very silent meal.
Pizza grease was fascinating.
Really.
~*~
Harry was just throwing his styrofoam tray into the trash, when purple-hair, pulling a skateboard out from underneath a sticker-emblazoned binder, bumped into Draco Malfoy at the lunchroom door.
Malfoy gave HER a long look, as he appeared to habitually do. But unlike with Harry, he sneered outright with the girl. "You know, Virginia, you could almost pass for appealing if you did something with yourself. I mean, vintage is one thing, but those jeans you're wearing would be rejected by Goodwill as being too foul."
"Malfoy," the girl's voice was calm, but Harry noticed that the hand on the skateboard had tightened. "If one day I feel the burning need to look like a rock video ho, I'll be sure to ask your master opinion. Until then, shut up."
"ROCK video? PLEASE... I've TASTE..." Malfoy looked positively insulted. "I know you can't afford good designers, but if you sell your brother for primate research, maybe you can get a couple of decent pieces from Abercrombie and Fitch."
The skateboard had come in contact sharply with Malfoy's head, even as the girl kicked him with one combat boot in the knee. The blond boy doubled over in pain, and the girl shoved past him down the hallway, muttering about pretty boy jerks, her face flushed.
"...A'ercrom'ie an' BITCH..." A groan from the ground.
"Good going, sis," Goth boy Ron Weasley grunted at the girl as she passed. She stopped and glared at him in turn.
"Don't call me 'sis'. Tell mom I'm not coming home for dinner." And the girl Virginia disappeared out a side door.
Ah... heartwarming domestic scenes. Harry smiled behind the copy of the school map he held.
He was feeling slightly more at ease when Hermione, stalking over as he bit into his last fry, told him in no uncertain tones that he had to follow her to English with Dr. Flitwick.
"He's also the basketball coach, if you're at all interested in trying out," Hermione told him. "Our varsity team nearly made it to state last year. But Wood, Flint and Chuck Weasley have all graduated... there are a few openings..."
They reached a door where there was a sign reading "Dr. F. Flitwick, English", and Hermione pulled it open. Harry peered inside, and stared.
He hadn't expected this celebrated basketball coach to be only about four and a half feet tall.
Disclaimer: Whoever believes that I am brilliant enough to own the HP world, I'll thank them before killing them for their stupidity.
~*~
Hermione, her hand clamped around Harry's arm, pulled him down the hallway towards the cafeteria. There were more students here... gathered in groups and clusters about the hallway. As they went along, Hermione inclined her head towards various groups of people, generally with a toothy smile, and whispered to Harry their names and characteristics.
"That's Emma Dobbs and Seamus Finnigan over there," Hermione indicated a couple standing by a drinking fountain. The boy Harry vaguely recalled as from his History class, with sandy blond hair falling in his eyes. He had his arms around a girl in a green dress, with brown hair flowing down her back. They were doing quite the impression of 'sickeningly cute couple' without even making out in public. Harry had to admire their skill.
"She's younger than we are," Hermione whispered, "Don't know where Seamus met her, but they've been surgically attached at the tonsils for months."
It was indeed a lovely bit of information to be presented, right before lunch at a new place.
Hermione continued on, past the cuddling couple, and stopped dead in the hallway, her eyes starting a slow burn.
Harry didn't see anything particularly gruesome down the hall. There was a fellow with dark, slightly wavy hair in torn jeans and a muscle shirt, an intricate tattoo of barbed-wire tracery and thorny roses encircling one forearm. Sure, he was smirking at the wall, but he didn't look particularly dangerous. Why Hermione was trying to kill him with her venomous glare was just another of the myriad mysteries of the place.
"Terence Higgs!" Hermione evidently decided that non-verbal aggression would not suffice, and barked out a name. The guy with the tattoo turned slowly, and raised his eyebrows.
"Yes?" His voice was smooth, almost oily, like that of someone used to charming people to get his way.
"On Mrs. Pince's door! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THAT?!" Hermione the angry avenging goddess now advanced towards the seemingly-unconcerned Terence Higgs, her face ablaze with righteous indignation.
"What's the matter with Mrs. Pince's door?" Terence's eyes were as wide as a lapdog's, and almost as innocent.
"THE GRAFFITI! THE CHEERLEADER!" Hermione apparently decided that getting to the point in this situation was the best way of going about it.
Terence gave a mock-gasp of horror, even as his eyes glinted, "I am completely unresponsible for THAT piece of distasteful wall colouration, thank you very much!"
"Oh, don't LIE to me, Terence Higgs," Hermione was quite close to poking the boy in the chest now, and Harry wondered if he could pry his wrist from her grasp and sneak away.
"Dude, I'm NOT!" Terence argued, "You might have noticed the distinct lack of aesthetic feminine pulchritude in that picture!"
"Lack of your soft porn aside," Hermione hissed, "Do NOT spray-paint around this school any more. And same for Warrington and Montague, once I get my hands on them..."
"I'll let them know that you want to touch them, babe." Terence smirked again, "Have fun corrupting that kid with you, Granger." And with that, he departed, leaving a fuming Hermione and a half-confused, half-terrified Harry standing in the hallway.
Finally, they made it to the door of the lunchroom, which was packed with students and smelled of very greasy fries and pizza. Hermione pointed at the very long lunch line. "Well? Go on, then. I have a meeting with Principal Dumbledore, but I'll be back to take you to your next class after you eat."
Harry dug a few crumpled dollar bills out of his backpack, and shuffled into line. He found himself standing right behind the Goth boy from his biology class, who nodded a curt greeting as he adjusted one of his earrings.
"Weasley, PLEASE tell me you're not trying to grow dreadlocks!" Another male voice, snooty, sounded behind Harry. Harry turned around to see a head of blond hair. Ah... yes, preppy boy. "Both of you are from my biology class," he blurted out.
The preppy boy gave him a cool, appraising look. "Why, yes. I..." the pronoun was spoken with great gravity, "am Draco Malfoy. And you are..?"
"Harry Potter. Who are you?" Harry looked at the Goth boy.
"Ron Weasley," came the response. "Welcome to the fiery depths of generic educational hell."
"Ignore Weasley," Draco interrupted, "He's quite the loser. If you're new here, I can show you the ropes... if you will. I can guarantee your social status, too."
"Only YOU would be concerned with such transitory, puerile things such as social class... when there is actually no class, and everything is a lie. What does that MATTER, anyway?"
"Oh, I suppose that social class doesn't matter to those who have none," Draco sniffed. "And you really should get rid of that NASTY dye job in your hair."
Despite his conviction that Ron the Goth boy was a few swords short of a weaponry rack, Draco's snooty attitude rather irked Harry. Perhaps some of that sentiment showed in his face, for when Draco repeated his offer, he raised his eyebrows in a slightly challenging manner.
"It's all right," Harry replied coolly, "I'll deal."
The blond boy's face took on a miffed sort of expression, and he pointedly looked away from both Harry and Ron until Harry had paid for his food and left to find a table.
He sat down at the end of a table where the scary purple-haired girl from that morning, along with the smiling camera boy Colin, and Ron were all sitting. Ron gave another grunt and nod in acknowledgement, Colin smiled (although he seemed to he the type to smile at everyone) and the scary purple-haired girl ignored him altogether.
It was a very silent meal.
Pizza grease was fascinating.
Really.
~*~
Harry was just throwing his styrofoam tray into the trash, when purple-hair, pulling a skateboard out from underneath a sticker-emblazoned binder, bumped into Draco Malfoy at the lunchroom door.
Malfoy gave HER a long look, as he appeared to habitually do. But unlike with Harry, he sneered outright with the girl. "You know, Virginia, you could almost pass for appealing if you did something with yourself. I mean, vintage is one thing, but those jeans you're wearing would be rejected by Goodwill as being too foul."
"Malfoy," the girl's voice was calm, but Harry noticed that the hand on the skateboard had tightened. "If one day I feel the burning need to look like a rock video ho, I'll be sure to ask your master opinion. Until then, shut up."
"ROCK video? PLEASE... I've TASTE..." Malfoy looked positively insulted. "I know you can't afford good designers, but if you sell your brother for primate research, maybe you can get a couple of decent pieces from Abercrombie and Fitch."
The skateboard had come in contact sharply with Malfoy's head, even as the girl kicked him with one combat boot in the knee. The blond boy doubled over in pain, and the girl shoved past him down the hallway, muttering about pretty boy jerks, her face flushed.
"...A'ercrom'ie an' BITCH..." A groan from the ground.
"Good going, sis," Goth boy Ron Weasley grunted at the girl as she passed. She stopped and glared at him in turn.
"Don't call me 'sis'. Tell mom I'm not coming home for dinner." And the girl Virginia disappeared out a side door.
Ah... heartwarming domestic scenes. Harry smiled behind the copy of the school map he held.
He was feeling slightly more at ease when Hermione, stalking over as he bit into his last fry, told him in no uncertain tones that he had to follow her to English with Dr. Flitwick.
"He's also the basketball coach, if you're at all interested in trying out," Hermione told him. "Our varsity team nearly made it to state last year. But Wood, Flint and Chuck Weasley have all graduated... there are a few openings..."
They reached a door where there was a sign reading "Dr. F. Flitwick, English", and Hermione pulled it open. Harry peered inside, and stared.
He hadn't expected this celebrated basketball coach to be only about four and a half feet tall.
