Welcome to the Jungle

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or Glee. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Part One: 15

Chapter Three: Friend Like You

Thus far, Ron Weasley is probably Harry's closest friend at McKinley High. They share no classes and no extra-curricular activities, but they both work at Lily Potter's cafe, the Steam House, and they've bonded over unpleasant customers, closing shifts, and the manna that is the Steam House brownie. Their respective sisters are also friends, which is a special kind of hell that no one else really understands.

"Are you working today?" Ron asks. He's dressed in clothes for soccer training, and Harry needs to vamoose before he's late for work. It's Thursday afternoon, and after a day of coy glances from Quinn, and a whole lot of heckling from the entire football team, Harry is done. School, and all of its accompanying drama, can get bent.

"Always," he answers, "Closing shift."

They both grimace. The shift in question only allows for an hour and a half with customers before the doors are shut for the day. The remaining time is allocated towards clean-up and all the rest of those jobs that can't be done with customers on the premises, and although arguably better than the morning shift, it's still not what anyone prefers. Mostly because it means less tips, but it's better than nothing.

"Joy," Ron quips. "Have fun."

"I'll try."

The walk from McKinley to The Steam House isn't the longest walk Harry's ever done. It takes him about 15 minutes on a good day - 10 minutes if he uses his skateboard - which allows him just enough time to change into his uniform before he has to clock in for a three o'clock start.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione Granger is already behind the counter. She's pretty in that unassuming, girl next door kind of way, with brown hair and brown eyes, and she is probably one of the brightest people he knows. Not many people appreciate her intellect, but Harry's parents have taught him to respect, not only women, but intelligence as well, and Hermione has that in spades.

Upon sight of her, he wonders, not for the first time, how she always beats him there. SHe's in most of his seventh period classes, with the exception of Gym and Weight Lifting on Mondays and Fridays, and she's just recently turned 15. As such, driving is out of the question. Every time he asks, however, Hermione never answers.

"Better get a move on, QB," she teases, "You've got four minutes."

"Bite me, Granger."

"You couldn't handle all this, Potter."

Without time to really argue that, Harry concedes the point, and splits off to the bathrooms to change.

By the time he returns, dressed in his uniform and clocked in as well, his mother has left the back office in one of the t-shirts that distinguish her as a manager. As per usual, she is waiting to make sure he's made it there in one piece.

"How was your day?" She asks him.

"It was fine," Harry answers, "The usual.

Absently, he knots his apron behind his back. Nearby, Hermione greets a customer at the counter.

Lily rolls her eyes, simultaneously unsurprised and exasperated by his answer. He offers her an unrepentant grin, ducks behind the counter, and takes it upon himself to start preparing the waiting tea and coffee orders. Hermione occupies herself with plating up a brownie and a blueberry muffin, the pair squabble playfully as they work around each other, and their team supervisor, Penelope, offers Lily a long-suffering roll of her eyes.

Lily smiles wryly in turn, and gathers up her things to leave. Her assistant manager, Mary, is in the back office, and there are other places Lily needs to be.

"I'm off," she informs her son. "Behave."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Yes, Mum."

She offers him a condescending pat on the cheek. "Love you, baby."

Begrudgingly, he answers, "Love you too, Mum."

It's half past three, and 'Get Down On It' is filtering through the cafe's speakers. It's part of Penelope's 80's and 90's pop playlist, and in a lull between customers, Harry's jamming along behind the counter. It earns him a few bemused glances from the patrons who linger over their afternoon tea, but the Steam House is already established as a casual, trendy place, and no one's liable to take offence.

It's in the middle of the song, as Harry displays his embarrassing knowledge of old school pop songs, that Brittany, Quinn, and Santana Lopez step through the front door. As they do, Hermione mutters an uncharacteristic oath beneath her breath.

Harry doesn't like to think about it, but Hermione is an unfortunate target of the jocks' and cheerleaders' slushie facials. It drives him nuts because she's also his friend, and he hates the fact she has to endure that humiliation almost every day. Hermione has her pride though, and she's asked him not to interfere. As such, he can't do much at school, but in the Steam House, he can at least swap places with her.

She doesn't protest, and by the time the three cheerleaders are at the counter, Harry's situated behind the cash register, a polite smile on his face.

"Welcome to the Steam House," Harry greets them. "Are you ready to order, or would you like to take a look at the menu?"

Quinn runs her fingertips along the edge of the counter, and asks, "What would you recommend?"

He shrugs carelessly. "Depends on what you like. The brownie is always good."

"Can I get the raspberry muffin, Harry?" Brittany requests, "And a hot chocolate, please?"

"Sure, Brit," Harry answers. "Are you all paying individually, or…?"

After a brief conference between themselves, Brittany hands over a twenty, Harry returns it, and then stares, agog, as his spacey friend drops all her change into the tip jar.

"Brit," he protests, "That's too much."

She shrugs. "You're my friend."

And despite his efforts, she won't hear any more on the matter.

With a resigned sigh, he proceeds with Santana and Quinn's orders, offers them an order number, and directs them to sit anywhere they please. One of the waiters will deliver their food and drinks to the table when it's ready, but rather than concern himself with that, he instead helps Hermione prepare the actual food and beverages.

"I'm tempted to spit in their mochas," Hermione admits, "They're awful."

Harry frowns, deposits a couple of extra mini-marshmallows on the saucer of Brittany's hot chocolate, and answers, "I'm sorry."

Hermione's smile is sad, and tired. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah, but I feel guilty by association anyway."

It's disheartening, but with the cheerleaders' entry into the Steam House, they've brought with it he and Hermione's reality beyond the cafe's boundaries. He almost resents them for it, begrudges them for their unwelcome intrusion into he and his friend's safe haven away from the bullies, the peer pressure, the expectations that dog their footsteps in William McKinley High. It's irrational, because the separation between work and school couldn't last forever, but God, he wishes it could.

"You know she wants you, right?" Hermione says a few minutes later. She occupies herself with cleaning the coffee machines, and Harry glances up from where he's wiping down the counter.

"What?"

Hermione rolls her eyes, and with her voice high pitched and nasally, she mimics,, "'What would you recommend?' She wants you, stupid."

"She doesn't even know me," Harry protests.

"Harry, you're good looking, your smart, your QB. You're a nice guy, too, so of course she wants you. Almost every girl in our grade does to one degree or another."

He thinks, briefly, of Daphne Greengrass, and he wonders if she's one of them. He kind of hopes she is.

"It doesn't matter," he insists, and his face is burning, "I wouldn't date someone who thinks it's acceptable to pick on people just because they have interests that don't fit into their perfect, plastic life. Fuck that."

Hermione's expression softens marginally. "Maybe you shouldn't judge her by her actions in school. People do stupid things to fit in."

Harry stares at her, expression flat. "Are you seriously encouraging me to date a girl who treats you like you're something inferior because you're not a Cheerio?"

"I'm suggesting you keep your options open," Hermione insists, "You never know, she might be a decent human being under all that mean."

He thinks of the debate he'd had with Quinn in their English class the day prior, of her well-reasoned arguments and her justifications therein, and concedes that, if nothing else, she's not an idiot.

"I mean, if you can be friends with Puck and Hudson, who are arguably as bad as Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez, you could at least give her a chance, right? Otherwise, that's double standards."

He grimaces, unable to argue that point. The thing is, Puck and Finn already know Harry thinks all the dumpster tosses and the pee ballooning and everything else is bullshit, but as a fellow freshman, he doesn't have the authority to stop them. Moreover, if he tried, the upperclassmen on the football team would likely beat him to a bloody pulp, or at the very least, lock him in one of the portable toilets alongside the likes of Kurt Hummel and Jacob Ben-Israel, and that, frankly, is something Harry can't deal with.

"You're far too decent for this hellhole," he tells her. It's probably one of the most honest things he's ever said.

Hermione's smile is wry. "Yeah, you too."

Penelope appears beside them, her expression unimpressed. "As heartwarming as this conversation is, you two need to quit gabbing and start working."

Penelope's 20 years old, a former WMHS student herself, and a sophomore at Ohio State University's Lima campus. She works part-time to help pay her bills and the like, but she's got a full-ride scholarship to study Science, and that pays for most of her room and board.

The unfortunate truth is that she'd started out at OSU Cincinnati, but a family tragedy brought her back to Lima halfway through her freshman year, and she's not yet prepared to leave. It's left her somewhat jaded, but Harry likes her well enough anyway.,

He offers her a lazy salute. "Aye aye, Captain."

"Oh, and Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry about the cheery-hoes," Penelope advises, "When you're kicking ass at Stanford, or Brown, or where the hell ever, they'll be stuck in this dump, with kids they never wanted and husbands who will never appreciate them."

Hermione laughs, heartened by the older girl's words. "Thanks, Penny."

"No problem, Hermione. Now - get to work you two."

As Harry acquiesces, he ponders the concept of double standards, and he hates that Hermione is right.

Then again, he supposes, he ought to be used to it by now.