No one could have been more surprised than Draco Malfoy, himself, when - on the order of Harry Potter – he had willingly offered his hand to the youngest Weasley boy. Draco could hardly believe that he had seemingly made such an overblown token of friendship, besmearing his pureblood lineage in such a public way. Draco flushed with shame at the memory of touching that blood-traitor’s hand – a Weasley no less! He had voluntarily made physical contact with the sworn enemy of his father!

Still, Draco mused, his father would be most satisfied about Potter. Draco let himself experience a fleetingly moment of pride that he had succeeded in laying the foundations of a future alliance with the Boy Who Lived. After all, his father had said that it would be fortuitous to forge a friendship with the boy. Yes, Draco, was sure his father would be more than happy at the news Draco was yet to owl him.

Draco was both delighted and disgusted at the thought of befriending the raven-haired wizard before him. He was trying his utmost to refrain from regarding the scruffy boy with the trademark Malfoy smirk of disdain. Potter really was not as he had imagined him to be. This scrawny half-blood seemed to have no idea of the correct behaviour and deportment belonging to someone of his social standing. Draco supposed that he would have to rectify that fairly quickly, for as Harry Potter stood in his baggy muggle tee shirt and ripped jeans, he was not even fit for entering the scullery of Malfoy Manor – let alone the drawing room! Draco wondered how this stunted, ignorant boy could have conquered the Dark Lord at infancy? Really, he thought, the apparent saviour of the wizarding world looks more like a Knockturn Alley street urchin than the Light’s poster boy. He half expected Potter to turn to him beseechingly begging for a spare Knut or two!

Draco smoothed a stray strand of silver hair with a bony finger and wrinkled his nose slightly at the spectacle before him. Harry (was he already Harry, not Potter?) and Weasley (the red-haired pauper would most definitely not be addressed by his Christian name) were animatedly discussing the forthcoming Sorting. It was those eyes, those ever so hopeful emerald orbs squinting with childish wonder through broken glasses, that ragamuffin’s eyes prevented Draco from spitting out a humiliating and purposely hurtful remark about Harry’s unkempt appearance. Those eyes drew Draco to the boy, filling his head with a thousand questions that he hoped would not be left unanswered.

“I wonder which House I’ll be sorted into?” Harry half-murmured, more to himself than his companions.

Weasley gave of grunt of amusement, and Draco understood why. The idea of a Potter in any House other than Gryffindor was a preposterous notion! Draco scrutinised Harry. Surely he need not give a moment’s thought to the matter of House affiliation? The boy was descended from generation upon generation of Gryffindorks, albeit neglecting his Mudblood mother’s lack of wizard ancestry. Thus by rights, Harry should be as much a Gryffindor as Draco felt Slytherin…

Draco flashed Harry’s worried face a lazy smile, and shrugged his shoulders in response, feigning ignorance.

“Hagrid said there wasn’t a dark wizard who didn’t come from Slytherin… Is that really true?” Harry looked at the other boys in askance.

Before Draco could respond, the Weasley Spawn threw his Knut into the cauldron, mumbling some vague half-truth in a confidential tone, and shaking his head solemnly.

“You-Know-Who was a slimy Slytherin, if ever there was one… it’s not called the ‘Dark House’ for nothing, mate. Everyone knows that it’s a right nest of snakes, if you ask me, I’d---”

“Really Weasley, and what about Sirius Black, ay? Or Jugson? Everyone knows that there are plenty of Gryffindors in Azkaban, and even more who should be! Do not be so obtuse. There’s no such thing as a singularly bad House, Harry, they each have their own merits.” Draco glared at Weasley, daring him to challenge his accusation.

“And what would you know about Azkaban Malfoy? Everyone knows that it was only a pile of gold that kept your father out of there. Everyone knows he was right up You-Know-Who’s arse…” Ron trailed off, his ears blushing a furious red as he saw the disappointment etched on Harry’s face.

Harry looked sadly between the two boys. Draco felt a strange feeling rise up inside him. It was those eyes again, he thought. They made his stomach ache with guilt at the thought that he had, in part, brought about such a pained expression.

Harry ran a hand through his messy mop of hair and opened his mouth to speak.

“I’d like to meet this ‘Everyone’ you both know, he seems to know an awful lot.” Harry softly rebuked the two boys.

Draco was positive that his cheeks were colouring, he sat back in his seat and tried to look suitably mollified. Weasley’s ears were practically glowing; it looked like he had just consumed a pepper-up potion. Draco sighed, it hurt his pride to do so, but he would have to make the first move.

“I apologise,” Draco said stiffly, reaching into the pocket of his cloak and procuring a box chocolate frogs. He ripped open the packet and offered them to the other boys.

Weasley stared open mouthed at Draco. Weasley looked rather like a frog with his mouth gaping like so widely, thought Draco, as Harry took a chocolate and flashed Draco a friendly grin.

Harry nudged Ron playfully, in the ribs, with his wand. “Come on Ron!” Harry cajoled, looking from boy to boy in exasperation.

Ron huffed and threw himself back in his chair, his antics greatly amusing Draco, who really could not have cared less if Weasley took a frog or not.

Finally, as if hours later, Ron begrudgingly muttered a quick “Sorry,” before reaching into the box and snatching a frog before Draco changed his mind.

Draco wondered why it was so important to Potter that he and Weasley were civil to each other. It was not as if the two of them had anything in common! That thought horrified him! He supposed they shared a similar desire to befriend Potter, but really, half of Hogwarts probably had that goal in mind.

“Will you both be my friends even if I’m not in the same House as you?” Harry asked, looking nervously between Draco and Ron.

Draco smiled at the thought of himself and Harry ending up in the same house. A Potter in Slytherin was as far fetched as a Malfoy in Hufflepuff! Of course he would continue to seek the boy’s companionship, regardless of the question of House. It was the course of action that he had expected, after all.

“Certainly, Harry. Though, the idea of associating with a Hufflepuff somewhat amuses me.” Draco drawled, watching Weasley to see his reaction. Draco wondered if the boy realised that his facial expressions were as easy to read as the Daily Prophet. Draco watched Weasley’s features rearrange themselves from pure shock to a brief glimmer of mirth, and then back to the token dim-witted ‘frog’ look.

Ron cleared his throat. “Sure, mate. I mean you’re still Harry whatever House you belong to. Don’t expect me to hang around the dungeons though… not that I’m saying you’re a Slytherin!” Weasley quickly added, looking nervously at Harry in case he had offended him.

Harry narrowed his eyes, in a rare moment of irritation. He looked at Ron squarely, and fingered his wand.

“Would there be a problem if I was? Slytherin, that is. Or Hufflepuff!” He said, extending his glare to also encompass Draco.

Draco and Ron looked at each other, scowling at first, and then nodded their heads encouragingly at Harry. Harry smiled. It was one of his radiant smiles, wide and relaxed - brimming with such delight that it made feel Draco slightly uneasy, and yet at the same time it made him swell with happiness at being the cause of such a smile.

Draco could barely contain his need to send his father an owl, his little hand was itching to hold a quill and put his thoughts to parchment. Potter was proving to be far more than the cutout Gryffindor hero he and father had presumed the boy to be. There was something about Harry that puzzled him, something he could not put his finger on. Potter was so easily content; playing with his chocolate frog like it was an antique snitch or a similarly treasured object. It made Draco want to close his eyes and shy away in mortification that something as mundane and meagre as a simple piece of confectionary could bring the boy so much pleasure.

Yet Potter was not entirely made up of smiles and friendly nudges. For one thing, the way he had engineered the situation between himself and Weasley. Draco was not quite sure how he had ended up in this carriage, without his old playmates Greg and Vincent, conversing over chocolate with scummy Ronald Weasley and the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. Harry was cunning, no doubt. He also had a sharp mind to match his equally sharp tongue. The boy was loyal in his defence of Weasley and himself, and brave enough to break up their fight. Draco wondered if the Sorting Hat might have a hard time of it, placing Harry Potter into any single category.

Draco was looking forwards to being a Slytherin, despite widespread prejudice as exhibited so explicitly Weasley, Draco was proud of his heritage. Slytherin’s were closely knit, a tightly bound community, father had said. Housemaster Severus Snape was an old friend of Draco’s father, and he had known the man since birth. Draco had heard that many students considered Snape to be an unkind man, except his prized Slytherins. For his Snakes, Severus Snape was the sole protector in a world full of bias and preconceptions. Draco was keen to impress the man, to prove that he was more than his father’s son. Certainly Draco revered and respected Lucius, however, he had a thirst for success in his own right. This was something that Draco sensed he had in common with Harry. Potter has crying out for recognition, and that perplexed Draco.

Draco’s own need to step away from his father’s shadow stemmed from his longing to live fully up to the expectations of the Malfoy name, or perhaps to even surpass the glory of those before him. At age eleven, Draco was sure he was destined to achieve great things; he would be bitterly disappointed if he did not, that was certain. He doubted that Potter shared that same motive. The boy could barely tell his wand from his arse, he was no better than a muggle-born in that respect – ignorant of even the most basic information. Draco felt that strange feeling again; he was still no closer to placing it. Potter was an enigma, all doe-eyed and smiling sweetly yet manipulative at the same time. Draco considered him sincere, his smiles and his laughter had no trace of malice or stage planning. His appearance confused Draco, also. He did not have much experience of muggles but those mudbloods he had seen at the train station were not as dishevelled as Potter so it could not be down to fashion that he was dressed so poorly. Potter’s parents did not have a patch on the Malfoy fortune, but neither were they on the same level of destitution as the Weasleys. Potter had a fair amount of gold, and yet one would never presume so! Draco had to admit that even Weasley was better dressed than Harry. The thought made him shudder.

“Are you cold Draco?” Came a quiet voice, pulling Draco out of his reveries. Draco blinked and looked into a pair of inquisitive green eyes that studied him with concern.

“It’s the wind, Harry. We’re as far north as Yorkshire now, not very long until we reach Cumbria and then we’ll be in Scotland. So much colder up there, Fred and George told me they practically froze their first year…” Ron answered before Draco could speak for himself, eager to impart his second-hand knowledge with Harry.

“The temperature is fine Weasley, we don’t need you to give us a weather-forecast.” Draco snapped, and carriage suddenly felt bitterly cold.

“Well, seeing as we’ve a few more hours to go… should we play a game or something? Snakes and Ladders? Monopoly? Scrabble….” Harry tried, listing his cousin’s favourite games.

Draco presumed that muggles had their own variety of games, for Weasley was proffering his gormless amphibian face and staring at Harry like he had grown a second head.

“Chess?” Harry guessed, tentatively.

Seeing Harry’s discomfort Draco sought to appease him before Weasley shook himself out of his stupor.

“Very good idea. I have a brand new chess set in my trunk. Father bought it for me in Diagon Alley last week.” Draco smirked, proudly, reaching into his trunk and resurfacing with a smart looking chess set in one hand.

“So…. The snakes climb up the ladders? Or do the players climb ladders to get away from the snakes?” Ron asked, lagging a few minutes behind the boys’ conversation.

Draco could not help himself and gave in to a snort of laughter, most unbecoming of a Malfoy. He saw amusement light up Harry’s eyes as he also chortled at Ron’s preposterous comment.

“Oh Ron…” Harry said fondly, “Snakes and Ladders is a game, a board game… err it’s a muggle thing, I guess. There’s no real snakes or ladders involved.”

The deep crimson flush on Weasley’s face abated Draco’s unfamiliar sensation of jealously at Harry’s easy chumminess with the red-haired boy. Draco should be the one that Harry spoke so affectionately to, not Weasley. Weasley was barely worth enough to sit at Harry’s feet, let alone be spoken to as an equal.

“Black or white?” Draco asked darkly, pretending he had not heard their conversation. He looked at Harry, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, actually I’ve not played before. What about you, Ron? You could play Draco and I could learn by watching you both?” Harry asked innocently, grinning from ear to ear as he leaned back in his seat, arranging himself with slight, delicate movements so that he could keep an eye on both boys from his viewpoint.

ooooooooo

Three hours later Draco Malfoy was feeling distinctly annoyed at the fact that he had been outsmarted yet again by Harry Potter. Potter had played the two of them like a pack of cards - manipulating Draco into allowing Weasley to play against him in the first game of chess, a move that had led to a tense and riveting one-hour game, followed by an equally exciting rematch. Draco had had to admit that Weasley was an adept player, even if he lacked style and poise, he was a reasonable opponent, and it had been an acceptable means of whiling away the last couple of hours of the train journey.

It was almost as if Potter had wanted the two of them to progress from behaving civilly to actual friendship. The very idea of camaraderie with a Weasley would have made Draco empty his stomach a few hours ago, however, now it only made him experience a wave of nausea. Draco shook that thought from his mind, he would NOT be a blood traitor’s friend why that was almost as bad as a mudblood! Draco could not allow himself to be so distracted, he still had questions unanswered about Potter. The boy’s shabby clothes, the way he carried himself so carefully as if he was protecting a sore back or nursing stiff neck… And there was that childlike acceptance of even the most lowly of compliment or gift as though it were goblin made silver… But it was those eyes, those unfathomable eyes - they haunted Draco, making him yearn for an explanation as to the cause of their interchanging sorrow and euphoria.

Draco could not think about Potter, either, it was his turn to be sorted and there would be hell to pay if he did not wind up Slytherin.

Draco need not have given it a moment’s concern. As soon as the hat touched his sleek silvery locks it proclaimed him a member of the Snakes’ Den. He sauntered over to the Slytherin table and sat down between his old friends Vincent and Gregory. Draco looked up at the top table, and nodded his head to Severus. The older man’s eyes softened slightly and he acknowledged Draco’s nod with a very brief smile of his own. Draco felt his chest inflate with pride that he had pleased Severus, and he began to chatter loudly with his peers, second-guessing the Sorting Hat.

Soon, however, an unfamiliar silence fell upon the Great Hall. Minerva McGonagall had just called Harry James Potter to be sorted. The silence soon gave way to whispering, Draco heard several calls of “That’s Harry Potter? He so small!” or “Bloody Hell, it really is him! Gryffindor, yeah?” He looked up at the head table and watched the teachers’ expressions as they regarded Potter. Dumbledore was smiling, silly old fool. Severus was staring intently, his coal-black eyes glittering dangerously in the candlelight. Draco suddenly remembered. Severus and Potter’s father, that insurmountable chasm of enmity between the pair. Father had told him that Severus had been friends with Potter’s mother. Draco shivered for a second time that evening, wondering what his Housemaster was thinking as he studied the little boy with such a fiercely guarded expression.

Harry’s sorting seemed to last an endless amount of time. Draco watched his face contort through a series of emotions, much like Weasley’s had all those hours before. He would have to help Harry learn to school his face into a blank canvas. It did not do to have all these strangers see exactly what you were thinking. Draco took a drink from his goblet at the exact moment the Sorting Hat yelled SLYTHERIN for one and all to hear. Draco almost spat his pumpkin juice all over the table. He quickly pulled himself together and began clapping along with his fellow Slytherins as Potter clambered over to join him. Draco moved up to make space for him, kicking Gregory so that he boy almost slid off the bench.

Draco spared a moment to look at the head table another time. The Headmaster’s eyes were still bright and smiling, but that great oaf - Hagrid looked a little shell-shocked. Draco’s eyes met their target, and he saw not loathing but … fear … and absolute disbelief in Severus Snape’s face, and then it disappeared as quickly as it came and the man was staring disinterestedly at the line of first years waiting to be sorted.

Draco looked around him at the expressions of astonishment throughout the Great Hall. That strange feeling was back again, bathing him with a warm embrace. Ah, he could place it now. Draco smiled to himself; it was going to be an interesting year.