Harry wasn’t all that surprised to see Unsorted children hanging about the entrance to the Great Hall. “Harry!” Lilac squeaked.

“I told her we oughtn’t to sit with the Gryffindor table every day,” Ewan began, “but she seems quite taken with you.”

Harry peered about for the third of their trio, but she was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Rae?”

Lilac frowned, and Ewan looked unhappy. “She’s... we don’t know,” he finally managed. “She’s upset. We can’t figure why.”

Surrounded by the children, Harry almost forgot about Draco Malfoy and all things Imperio. He could almost imagine that this was going to be like any other day.

That beautiful dream was swept from his mind when he saw the blond-haired Slytherin rise from the table and make his way towards him. Harry froze, feeling the color drain from his face, as an unfamiliar, tantalizing summons gripped him. With surprise, he realized that he was experiencing the urge to perform Imperius again. His wand hand twitched.

“What’s wrong?” Ewan murmured in a concerned voice. Harry shushed him.

“Good morning, Potter,” Draco said with bright, false cheer.

“G-G’morning,” Harry stammered.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Harry added. “Stunning.”

“I hear your punishment is incredibly apropos.” A wide grin was forming on Draco’s features.

“Apropos?”

“Appropriate,” Ewan supplied.

Draco blinked, looking down. The menace he seemed to carry about him like a dark cloud lifted slightly as he peered at the pair of first years. “It’s a sorry thing, Potter, when an eleven-year-old has a sharper vocabulary than you.”

Ewan snorted. “You’re Draco Malfoy,” he announced.

“And the cleverness keeps coming!” Draco said, but he seemed genuinely pleased.

“I’m Ewan Jones, and this is Lilac Johansen.”

“Are you two friends with Potter, here?”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but he could hardly protest. He wasn’t even sure what it was he was upset about Draco doing. The blonde boy’s expression was friendly, and he seemed to be teasing more than terrorizing the first-years.

“I’m his friend,” Lilac said to Draco with a grin.

“Friend?” Ewan queried, considering. “Well...” He eyed Harry. “We’re acquaintances. We met at the Quidditch pitch the other day, and he’s incredible on a broom, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes,” Draco agreed affably, sneaking Harry an amused glance.

“Harry seems afraid of you,” Lilac commented bluntly, eyeing him. “You’re Slytherin, aren’t you?”

Draco bowed slightly.

“The King of the Slytherins, or something like,” Ewan tacked on contemptuously.

“And you,” Draco replied, “would have undoubtedly been my successor if the blasted Hat hadn’t destroyed itself.”

Ewan looked shocked by this news.

“I thought it was brilliant, what the Hat did,” Lilac nearly growled, stepping in front of Ewan. “The Houses are stupid, no mistake. Even Hermione says so.”

“And you would be Gryffindor,” Draco mused.

Lilac looked startled. “Really?”

“In any case, I invite you both to be the guest of the King of the Slytherins,” Draco said, “at breakfast today.”

Lilac, won over again already, managed a giggle.

“I don’t think–” Harry began.

“You too, slave.”

Harry winced, but followed Draco, nodding at Ewan reassuringly when he looked like he might stay behind. Together, he and Draco and the two Unsorted made their way to the Slytherin table.

There was a flurry of murmurs as Harry sat by Draco, but once again, Harry couldn’t bring himself to care.

Ewan, apparently, was far more interested. “Lose a bet, Harry?”

“Sort of,” Harry murmured, picking at his food. He chanced a look up, where Crabbe and Goyle were staring at both he and Draco like they’d lost their minds. Then, he glared back down at the plate.

“Let me see,” Draco intoned. “As you are now my slave, I think I’d like to set down some ground rules before we go any further.”

Harry had expected something of this nature, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. He flicked his eyes up to Snape, who seemed to think this entire business hilarious. It was the happiest he’d ever seen the man.

“Well, first of all, I think I’d like you to call me ‘Master’ for the duration,” Draco began.

Harry choked on his food; Lilac thumped him helpfully on the back.

“Let’s have a go now, shall we? Say it for me: ‘Master’.”

Harry sensed he was chalk-white, but he certainly had said he would obey Malfoy, and this wouldn’t hurt anything but his pride. He gulped the remaining food in his mouth and tried it out: “m...M...”

Ewan snorted. “He literally can’t.”

Draco nodded, looking down at the younger boy. “You may be right. We’ll start off with a bit less humiliation and work our way up, how does that sound?”

Ewan nodded. “Reasonable,” he replied.

Harry restrained the urge to growl at the younger boy, who winked at him. He straightened as he realized that Ewan was purposely charming Draco into making Harry’s punishment less harsh.

“How about this: he must call me ‘Master’ in private?”

“I think that should do,” Ewan replied with a giggle and a winning smile.

“Done, then,” Draco said. He turned to Harry. “Very lucky, aren’t you, that your young friend is doing the negotiating.”

Lilac, Harry noted, was paying very close attention to her broccoli sprouts, completely ignoring the proceedings.

“Anything else, Ma...” Harry coughed. He’s right, I’m actually physically incapable! “Malfoy?”

Draco looked pleased at the effort, anyway. “You’ll in general be my secretary during classes. I won’t bother taking notes when you could simply do that for me.”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t imagined Draco would want to use him to cheat in class, but really, he should have, he realized. “Okay,” he replied, trying to keep ahold of his temper.

“Excellent. Oh – and don’t speak until you’re spoken to, of course, that’s simple servant etiquette, though I wouldn’t expect you to know, Muggle-born as you are...”

Ewan’s pleased grin died, and he shifted slightly away from Draco.

Draco didn’t seem to notice. “...and you’ll take your meals with me from now on, so that you’ll be nearby in case I need anything.”

Harry groaned.

“What was that?”

“You didn’t say no groaning,” Harry protested. “You said, ‘don’t speak until you’re spoken to.’”

“No groaning, Potter.”

Harry scowled and finished eating. Staring at his plate, he realized he’d only managed about half this time. He placed the fork down with a small clatter.

“Well? Finish. I don’t care if you’re hungry or not.”

Lilac looked considerably less entertained, and Ewan’s flush betrayed his discomfort at the casual way Draco ordered Harry. “I’m...” Lilac’s blonde pigtails waved to and fro as she shook her head. “’Bye, Harry.” She gave a sharp hand-motion to Ewan, who stood as well.

“Thank you for your kind invitation, Draco,” Ewan said with a nod. “See you, Harry.”

Harry could only feel relief when the Unsorteds were absorbed by the Gryffindor table. He slowly picked at his food until it was completely gone, but he felt sick to his stomach. Harry resolved in the future to put a bit less food on his plate.

“Come, Harry,” Draco ordered, and with a sweep of his robes, they were headed off to Potions class.

It was the first Harry had seen of Hermione since last night’s dinner, but Draco urged him to begin setting up for class and taking out their books, so he could only manage a small nod to her before he began. It was just as well; she didn’t appear to be speaking to him. When Yolande entered the room, she made a beeline for Hermione’s hunched shoulders and began leaning in, talking quietly to her.

“What’s that all about?” Harry wondered to himself, eyeing the pair of them, the Slytherin’s sheet of pale gold hair brushing Hermione’s riot of dark curls as Yolande leaned close.

Draco made a small noise in the back of his throat; whether he’d meant it as a laugh or some more derisive sound, Harry couldn’t be certain. “A charity case, nothing more,” he replied. “The Zabinis are an excellent, pureblooded family, but Zabini women are well-known for their contributions to charitable causes... undoubtedly it is this impulse that moves her now.”

Harry frowned.

“Sit here, Potter.”

Harry took the seat directly beside Draco, then edged his chair slightly to the left, scooting as far away as he could without sitting at another two-person table. Draco rolled his eyes, but made no more of this before Snape swept in. They were still doing review, but Snape was moving so quickly through magical theory and general use of Potions ingredients that Harry found his head spinning after the first ten minutes.

Draco leaned close to Harry, observing his paper. “No – he said that loosestrife’s leaves are used, not its roots – ah, I see, you’ve mixed it with the damiana.” Draco’s pen moved to Harry’s paper and began filling in little notes in the margins. “Idiot. One would suppose you never saw magic before you came to Hogwarts. But that would be correct, wouldn’t it? These are to be my notes, Potter. Pay more attention.”

Harry held his tongue. Nothing he was likely to say was bound to be of any use to him or to Draco.

“Mister Malfoy,” Snape cut in. “Anything you’d like to share?”

Draco straightened and issued his most charming, smarmy smile. “Just noting Harry’s deplorable lack of concentration, sir,” Draco said.

“Very well. Five points to Slytherin.”

Harry was still wondering how Snape could justify that, even in his own mind, when he realized that, however nastily Draco had put it, he was still helping Harry correct a mistake.

The class ended with a half an hour of actual Potion-making. Harry fetched Draco’s Potion ingredients, and did menial work like light the fire under Draco’s cauldron and mince Draco’s false unicorn root. Just when he was getting started on his own Potion in earnest, Draco called him over.

“It seems I’ve added too much sulfur,” Draco said ruefully, and indeed, his cauldron was emitting clouds of yellow smoke. “Would you mind terribly getting me the ingredients over?”

Harry didn’t mind when Draco put it that way, and he was beginning to wonder if obeying Draco was going to be that bad after all. He fetched the ingredients, prepared them, then anxiously moved back to his own potion, which was starting to burn.

“Oh, Potter?” Draco wanted to know.

“Malfoy?”

“It looks like I somehow managed to halve the amount we need. Do you suppose you could get me some water and a bit more of the guar so I can fluff this up?”

Harry shook his head and moved quickly to the supply cabinet, but by the time he’d apportioned the respective ingredients, his own potion was beyond repair and he was obliged to start again.

“Potter?”

Harry paused in chopping his false unicorn root. “Sir,” he said, surprised at how easily this word came to his lips when ‘master’ had so categorically refused to surface.

Draco gave him a delighted smile that transformed his whole face. Harry couldn’t help but feel, somehow, that he’d delivered the other boy an unexpected treat, and his lips quirked a bit ruefully in return.

“Never mind,” Draco said, turning back to the potion that was simmering on his desk. “I’ll get it myself.”

The class ended without incident. After all was said and done, Harry and Draco both had serviceable potions, although Snape called them ‘barely acceptable’ before sweeping on to terrorize Hermione, whose potion was not even the proper colour. He headed off to Charms, feeling a burgeoning joy that Draco would not be there to order him into doing something stupid. He was wondering why Draco wasn’t taking far worse advantage of the situation than he yet had, although he could see why, from a Slytherin point of view, it might make better sense to start slow as Draco had. Moreover, Potions was a small class, especially with Justin out with a cold; Draco seemed to enjoy an audience. Harry strongly suspected that the worst would come in his Defense classes, in front of his former students.

“Lose,” he said.

Harry glowered in return, but if Draco thought that this was going to break him, he was mistaken. It wasn’t as though Harry never lost in anything before. Besides having a seeming talent for losing people, he lost regularly to Ron in wizarding chess, to Hermione in grades, and he certainly felt like he’d lost something every time he left Snape’s dungeons.

“Come to think of it,” Draco said. “Lose believably.”

Well, that dashed Harry’s hopes of collapsing immediately onto the ground to avoid the humiliation.

By the end of Defense, Harry had been Bat-Bogey Hexed, turned pink with green spots and set on fire.

“That was pathetic,” Draco hissed when Harry incanted a stream of water out of the end of his wand. “Do you think anyone bought that for a moment? You’re the worst liar I’ve ever seen!”

“I wasn’t speaking, so I wasn’t lying,” Harry countered angrily. “Besides, that wide-eyed innocence of yours doesn’t exactly make your case, either.”

“It got us paired, didn’t it?” Draco demanded.

“And I lost – believably!” Harry shot back, barely noticing as students began to break up and move inside; the class was over. “Trust me, they all believe it! Why they believe I lost, now, that may well be another question...” he trailed off suggestively.

Draco stared. “You...” Then he laughed.

Harry couldn’t help but stare in surprise. It was the first time he’d heard Draco Malfoy laugh in a way that wasn’t rather obviously put-on. The sound was warm and almost infectious, the same way Draco’s one, genuine smile had been.

It was incredibly off-putting.

“A bit more Slytherin than you let on, aren’t you?” Draco said.

Harry wondered what Ron and Hermione would have to say about that. Indubitably, he’d just tricked Draco, but certainly for a worthy cause.

Suddenly, he wondered if Hermione would consider salving his pride a worthy cause... Or if Lupin would... or Professor Snape...

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled.

“Come again?”

“Sorry.” Harry’s glare blazed at Malfoy, just to make certain that the blond-haired boy would be definite concerning how he felt. “This is my punishment, and I deserve it. I shouldn’t be trying to get around it.” Harry swallowed. “When I put you under Imperius, I could have told you to murder your own mother, and you would’ve done it for me. Next time, I’ll do as you say.”

Draco’s silver-grey eyes assessed him, coldly and quietly. For a moment, he looked almost precisely like Lucius Malfoy. “I wouldn’t have done it for you,” he finally replied, tossing his pale hair back. “But you’re right. I would’ve done anything.” He took a deep, unsettled breath. “A proviso to your initial set of commands, then, Potter: you shall do not just as I say, but as you believe I mean. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied meekly. He paused. “Can I... can I say something, though?”

Draco looked startled and gratified at the tone of Harry’s voice, but he nodded readily.

“It’d be – erm, better – if you didn’t ask me to do things that injure my pride like that.”

Draco snorted.

“I mean it. It’s – it’s my weak point. Things’ll go – easier – on both of us! – if you give me orders I can actually obey.”

“Well-reasoned, I suppose.”

Harry jerked his head up to stare at the Slytherin boy, who was frowning in thought. Harry had to admit that he’d thought Draco would toss this away out of hand.

“We can work towards enhancing your servile tendencies; we do have all week.” Draco eyed him. “Although I must say, you’re doing startlingly well.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. His features crumpled in confusion. “I think.”

“One would almost imagine you’ve had experience,” Draco murmured.

Harry’s head jerked up as he thought of Number Four, Privet Drive, but Draco’s words were a throwaway comment, not meant to poke fun at him. Then again, he supposed, Malfoy’s got no reason to belittle me now. He could tell me to do the hokey-pokey and turn myself around – that’s far more humiliating than jibes on my parentage. Harry chuckled quietly to himself.

“What?”

“Oh – I was just thinking – if I were in your position, I’d have thought up a couple of things by now.”

“Oh, really? Such as?”

Harry laughed again. “I’m not telling–”

“Oh, but it’s an order, Potter.”

Harry froze, feeling his face heat. “Er... I was thinking of... a Muggle dance,” he replied, miserably. “An embarrassing one.”

“You tell me not to injure your pride; then you intimate that doing so would be the best revenge. You’re rather paradoxical, do you know that?”

Harry sighed.

“Don’t you suppose,” Malfoy continued, in an infuriatingly reasonable tone, “getting over this excessive pride thing might be of benefit to you in the long run?”

“And what about you?” Harry returned, stung. “What about your pride, you hair-gel infested twit? You, who can’t walk out of a room with an entourage–”

“Look who’s talking, Potter. Up until third-year, Goyle was convinced you and Weasley and Granger were actually one person. One really fat, redheaded, bucktoothed person. Besides all that, I can muffle my pride if and when I have to. The fact that you can’t – physically cannot – call me ‘Master’, even for a punishment that you genuinely believe to be justified, is pathetic.”

Harry bit his lip, feeling cornered. “It reminds me of Voldemort, that word!”

“Oh, of course,” Draco murmured. “And we certainly want to distance ourselves from Dark wizards. Well, then, I suppose ‘sir’ will have to do in public.” He glanced around the empty Quidditch field. “We are in private, now. Try the other.”

Harry closed his eyes tightly, his fingers curling into fists. A vague tremble had taken hold of him, very faint. “M...aster,” he managed, then took a huge gulp of air.

Draco was observing him with what looked like startled concern, but the expression was gone so rapidly that Harry couldn’t quite have been certain it was there. “Don’t tear yourself apart, now,” the Slytherin mumbled, and now Harry was certain. There was fear someplace in the back of Malfoy’s voice, behind the sarcasm, faint but unmistakable.

“It’s fine... Master,” Harry said clearly, tilting his chin slightly up. It was only a word. The word didn’t have to mean anything to him if he refused to let it.

Draco frowned, and then he shivered, a full-body shiver much like Harry’s. “Good,” he breathed. “You’ll get the hang of this, Potter. In no time.”