Summary: What if Hogwarts was no more than your typical high school and Harry didn't get his letter to attend it until his Junior year? An HP, AU, slashy high school fic. Come on, you know you love it!

CHAPTER ONE: POOR LUCK AND PRANK LETTERS

Harry Potter, high school outcast and all around nobody, fell with a loud thud as Clay Roddick, jock, prep, and most popular boy in the whole damn school, pushed past him as if he were completely invisible. Harry sometimes wondered if he really was. The only time anyone seemed to notice him was when they were making fun of him, yelling at him, or roaring with laughter because he'd just made a complete fool of himself.

His books were now scattered across the bustling hallway being trampled on by the students brushing past him on their way to class, taking notice of him only long enough to send him a glare for having the audacity to have spilt his books across the floor. Needless to say, nobody bothered to stop and help him gather his things. Not that he actually expected anyone to.

By the time he had finally managed to get everything packed back into his bag and picked himself up from his position scrounging around on the floor, the bell had already rung. He was late again. Nothing new, but still mildly irritating. Today, like all days, was off to a great start for Harry Potter. And I do hope that you took note of the blatant use of sarcasm in that remark.

Harry Potter's life was made up of a series of bad, worse, and utterly humiliating why-doesn't-someone-just-shoot-me-now days. This day happened to be a schedule one: a UHW day. Not only had he been shoved to the floor with his things falling everywhere about him, a delightful occurrence which had now caused him to be tardy again, but his whole morning had just been shit. More shit than usual that is.

His hair, which never behaved as he would like it, seemed to be particularly unruly today, sticking up every-which-way as if he'd had a run in with the barber from hell. Not only that, but the only clean clothes he'd been able to find were the ones that his Aunt Petunia had dyed grey for use as a uniform during his brief stint at St. Brutus's. Despite the fact that he had grown some since Jr. High, the hand me down sweats 'gifted' to him by his whale-like cousin, who could put a Sumo wrestler to shame, still hung off of him like a gigantic sheet, with a hole cut for his head, had been draped over him. Overall, the get-up made it look like he was wearing elephant skin. If the whole experience hadn't been so utterly mortifying, Harry might have laughed at the thought of the elephant skin; Dudley could probably qualify for an elephant, though Harry preferred to think of him as a 'pig in a wig' instead.

Deciding that he had better get a move on, Harry let out a long suffering sigh before starting down the hall once more. He made it about halfway to his first period--pre-calculus with his favorite teacher Ms. Birch (a.k.a. Ms. Bitch as Harry preferred to refer to her as in the privacy of his own head)--when a loud ripping sound and the subsequent clattering of books, binders, and other school supplies hitting the floor alerted him to the fact that his book bag had just broken and spilt his things across the floor for the second time in the past five or so minutes. Yes, this day was off to a great start.

Not only was his bag completely ruined, but his pen had cracked, causing ink to seep onto the homework he had spent the better part of last night completing. Which meant another zero on all of his assignments for today. And to make matters worse, he would probably end up with another detention, since he would most certainly be truant by the time he managed to clean this mess up. It was at times like this that Harry Potter truly hated his life. Somehow such times seemed to occur quite often to him.

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Mow the lawn. Check. Do the laundry. Check. Clean the kitchen. Check. Put the roast in the oven. Bugger! He knew he'd forgotten to do something. Perhaps he could run down to the kitchen and start the roast before anyone noticed that he hadn't done so to begin with. Nobody was home yet...they'd probably never know.

Just as Harry began his decent down the stairs, the sound of a car pulling up into the driveway alerted him to his relatives' untimely arrival. Making a mad dash down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he almost slipped and landed on his bum, Harry hastily attempted to get the pot roast ready to be shoved into the oven in the thirty seconds that it would take for his uncle to barge into the house and check up on the state of things. That mainly consisted of making sure Harry hadn't been up to any 'mischief' and checking to see that he'd done all of his so called 'chores.'

"Boy!" the voice of Vernon Dursley, uncle to Harry and bane of his existence, bellowed out as soon as he'd managed to squeeze his way through the front door. "You'd better not have burnt the kitchen down or any other such nonsense or I'll have your hide!" he added threateningly, his heavy footfalls coming closer and closer to the swinging door leading into the kitchen where Harry was desperately trying to fix the roast before his uncle made his unfortunate appearance.

Too bad the damn roast didn't seem to want to fit in the bloody oven. "Bollocks," was all that Harry could think to say as the door swung open and the enormous round silhouette of his uncle came into view.

The walrus like man took one look at the scene before him--Harry halted in mid attempt to physically shove the pot roast into the oven--before his eyes bulged and a thick, purple vein popped up on his forehead. Blast it all! He was in for it now. But then again, that was nothing new.

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Being sent to bed without supper was really becoming an all too common occurrence for Harry's taste. At this rate he would remain a scrawny 5'5" and 115 lbs for the rest of his bloody life. Not that anyone would take any notice of him no matter how tall or muscular he was. Oh well, just one more thing to add to his list of unattainable goals. Bloody list almost took up a whole notebook now...he couldn't remember why he had started it or continued to add to it anymore. Another way of torturing himself more than he already was.

At least his punishment hadn't been that bad this time. They'd even let him check the mail, a task which they hardly ever trusted him with. And today of all days, he had actually received something...addressed to him...Mr. H. Potter, in a swirly, emerald green script. He couldn't remember ever having gotten mail before. Not even one of those stupid news letters detailing upcoming school events.

The letter didn't have a return address, and Harry couldn't possibly think of anyone who might even think of sending him something. It was probably a mistake, or some stupid prank. He wasn't sure that he really wanted to open it, just receiving it was satisfaction enough and he would probably only be disappointed with its contents. But what if it was for real? What if someone actually had meant to send him something?

Aware of the fact that his curiosity would be bound to get the better of him eventually, Harry decided that he might as well go ahead and open the letter now. Breaking the elaborate wax seal and carefully extracting the two pieces of parchment and what seemed to be an empty envolope which were bound within the tan envelope, Harry worked up the courage to take a peek at the contents of the first letter he had received in the entirety of his pathetic life.

Neatly typed and signed in the same green ink that had been used to address the letter, on the stationary of 'Hogwarts High School,' read as follows:

Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts High School for the '96-'97 school year. Due to complications with the release of your parents' records and funds, your acceptance was delayed until the Ministry could sort all necessary arrangements out. We are very sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you and hope that you will join us as soon as you possibly can.
All arrangements have been made and we are merely awaiting your reply before the start of term on September 1st to confirm your enrollment. All necessary books and equipment will be purchased for you should you wish to enroll. Please fill out the form provided and return it in the envelope enclosed post marked no later than August 30th. We hope to see you at the start of the new term.
Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress

So, according to this letter, some high school called, of all things, Hogwarts, wanted him to attend their school this year. Yeah, right. It looked legit and all, but even if it was, Harry would never be able to attend the obviously prestigious school that had sent this letter to him. It's not like he had any money or anything. And why had they even contacted him in the first place? It had said something about his parents and some sort of records and funds and such, though Harry, for the life of him, had no idea what this 'Minerva McGonagall' was talking about.

According to his aunt and uncle, his father had been an alcoholic bum and his mother a crack whore. Of course, Harry had never truly believed this 'fact,' though he had no evidence to prove otherwise. Actually, he had very little of anything concerning his parents. They had died in a car crash when he was one, the same crash that had given him his 'freakish' lightning bolt scar, and he had been dumped at the Dursley's doorstep by Lord knows who and had been living here ever since. End of story. He really didn't know much about them at all, except that his mother Lily had been Aunt Petunia's sister, because the Dursley's tended to refrain from talking of 'the abominable freaks.'

He thought of filling out the form and returning it anyway, just for kicks, but decided against it. At least this way he could pretend that they actually had wanted him instead of receiving a letter back from the school along the lines of: 'Mr. H. Potter, we are sorry to inform you that we made a slight error when sending out our applications. The letter you received was meant to go to a Mr. Hamil Potter and...'

Yes, Harry was most definitely a pessimist. Of course, considering his life so far, he had every reason to be. Anyway, he could always change his mind about replying to the letter later. It had said that his reply had to be returned by August 30th, which was still about a week away. So Harry stashed the letter in his rickety old drawer that hardly opened anymore in his rickety old nightstand that Dudley had beat the shit out of one time when he was throwing one of his all too common tantrums.

He didn't have time to dwell on a silly letter that probably hadn't even been meant for him. He had homework to do, and lots of it. Not only did he have to do today's homework, but also the homework from Friday which had been ruined by his leaky pen. And he'd have to do it all on an empty stomach. Great, just great. God how he hated Mondays.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Note: Yep, another new fic! I know I have tons of other fics to work on, but this idea simply would not leave me alone and I just had to write it. Anyways, this probably won't be updated for quite a while, though I'm sure I'll come back and work on it some more eventually. I just love HP AU, slashy high-school fics, so I just had to write one of my own. I hope you liked it so far!