I'm sorry I can't reply to everyone's reviews, but I can answer a few questions I got...
1. There will be no slash. I'm sorry to everyone who asked for slash, please don't flame me now for this, but I really don't think of the characters like that and I doubt JKR would appreciate it much either.
2. You'll have to wait and see about Harry's Quidditch status.
3. A friendship with Ron and Hermione is unlikely but definitely not impossible.
Lady Maria—I am afraid I don't know what you mean by 'since another staff member was doing the formal thing'. What other staff member? And yes, it is fine for you to put this into a C-2 archive if you wish.
Thanks everyone for the reviews!!! I had a whole reply document typed my computer lost it, and I didn't have time to type it out again. But all the reviews certainly lifted the author's ego!!
Dislcaimer: JKR owns any recognizable characters, objects and places in this fic. I own a cat and a piano.
Now on with the story!!!!
Draco POV
"Harry Potter. My name is Harry Potter."
Harry Potter? Draco Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Well, this'll please Father if I can make a friend of the Boy-Who-Lived," he muttered. "I think I can handle this..."
And, as surely as Draco had predicted, the Boy-Who-Lived was quite naïve and Draco had made friends with him within five minutes.
"See you at Hogwarts, then," he said to Potter as he stepped out of the robe shop to meet his father and mother who were standing there.
"See you," Potter replied cheerfully.
"Draco." His father's voice turned his head sharply to meet his eyes.
"Yes, Father?"
"Who was that you were talking with?"
"That, Father," Draco said slowly, dramatically. "Was Harry Potter. I've made friends with him, Father. With the Boy-Who-Lived."
A slow smile spread over Lucius's face. "Was it really?" he murmured. "Very good...very, very good...nicely done, Draco."
Draco glowed. This had to be one of the perhaps half-dozen compliments he'd received from Lucius his entire life.
"Thank you, Father," he said.
Harry POV
"I see you've made a friend, there, 'Arry," Hagrid said cheerfully. "Who's that, then?"
"His name's Draco," Harry told him, in rather good spirits after having made a friend. "Draco Malfoy."
Hagrid suddenly stiffened.
"What's the matter, Hagrid?" Harry asked, noticing this.
"You'll wanna be watchin' out for that boy, 'Arry," Hagrid said in a low voice. "His family—dad, mainly—was a big supporter of You-Know-Who. They're a mean bunch, they are."
"He was nice to me," Harry said defensively. "And I haven't got any other friends, 'cept you, Hagrid, and he's even my age and going to Hogwarts and everything..."
Hagrid shook his great bushy head. "I'm jes' sayin' t' watch out," he said. "Jes' keep a good eye. Not someone I'd go makin' friends with, meself, but o' course you kin make yer own friends, that's not my decision ter make..."
"Well, I liked him," Harry said firmly, ending the discussion. Nothing further was said about it the entire trip to Diagon Alley.
After that Harry returned to Privet Drive and was miserable till September the First, at which point Uncle Vernon quite reluctantly drove him to King's Cross.
There was a minor debate over Harry's ticket, before Uncle Vernon, laughing rather evilly, drove off after saying, "Have a good term!"
Nine-and-three-quarters. Platform Number Nine-and-three-quarters.
Harry wandered aimlessly around, wondering where his platform had got to, knowing perfectly well how much attention he was attracting because of his strange luggage and his beautiful bird Hedwig.
It was a few moments before, much to his relief, he heard another family talking about owls and Hogwarts and wizarding things. The Weasleys was their names, and there were quite a few of them. They kindly helped him to get onto the Platform—by, quite to Harry's amazement, walking straight through the apparently solid brick wall between platforms nine and ten!
Then the two Weasley twins—Fred and George, Harry thought their names were, but he wasn't sure which was which—helped him get his things onto the train. He found an empty compartment and sat down inside it.
Soon he had a visitor. It was Draco Malfoy.
"Hello, Draco," Harry said.
"Potter," Draco said curtly, sitting down. "Look, Potter, if we're going to be friends, you can't just go hanging around riffraffy people like those redheads who helped you onto the train."
"The—uh, the—" what was their names again? Oh, yes. "Weasleys. Why not? They seemed nice enough."
Draco looked horrified. "You mustn't hang around them, Harry. Do you know who they usually like to hang around? Mudbloods."
"Mudbloods? Uh...what are Mudbloods?"
Draco widened his eyes. "Mudbloods, Potter, are mixed blood creatures. Just one parent is a witch or wizard. The other—" he looked repulsed at the very thought. "—the other is a disgusting Muggle. Father says Mudbloods shouldn't even be allowed at Hogwarts. He thinks it should be reserved completely for us Purebloods—like you and I, Harry. But of course the old headmaster, Dumbledore, is a stupid Mudblood-lover. Just like those Weasels. That's what Father says."
"Well, what if he's wrong?" the words were out of Harry's mouth before he could hold them back.
Draco's eyes narrowed in shock. "Father's never wrong, Potter," he said. "I learned that early on. And even if he was ever wrong, it would be nearly your death to disagree with him."
Harry opened his mouth to comment on the apparent severity of Draco's father when the compartment door opened and in stepped in a redheaded boy not older than Harry or Draco.
Harry was about to say hello to him but Draco spoke first. Snarled, actually, was more a better word. "What are you doing in here, Weasley?"
The boy went as red as his hair. "There's no more compartments, 'cept the one with my brothers and their friend's giant spider."
"Don't like spiders, Weasley?" Draco sneered, his eyes full of contempt. "Why, I wonder? I imagine your room is full of them, along with, I suppose, rats, mice, vermin, roaches...and I would guess you're too poor to even hire someone to come clean them out. I should think you're possibly even related to them, the rats or mice I mean, what with the amount of Muggle trash your father does..."
"That's not very nice, Draco," Harry said softly.
"Shut up, Potter. You'll soon find out that some wizards are better than others. Purebloods, for example—"
"I'm a Pureblood!" Weasley shouted.
"Purebloods who don't hang around with disgusting Muggle-borns and the like," Draco finished with a smirk. "Purebloods who don't have to buy second-hand things because they haven't enough money."
"It isn't my fault," Weasley muttered.
"Doesn't matter," Draco said arrogantly. "You're still so poor that—Weasley, is it true that you used to be so poor you had bewitch a Muggle to sell you a house for ten times less that it was worth? Even if it was only a Muggle house. Still, if that's all you can afford..."
"No," Weasley said. He looked nearly close to tears as he backed out of the cubicle and shut the door.
Draco smirked. "Weasel."
"What was that all about, though, Draco?" Harry asked.
"Oh, Harry," Draco sighed. "Can't you see? He isn't as good as me or you. You don't want to end up going wrong with failures like him. See here, Harry, if you hang around him, all his Mudblood-loving will rub off on you. You'll become like him. And all of his horrid habits will become yours. You'll be a complete and total failure. You don't want that, Potter, do you?"
Draco's words were very convincing. Harry gave a shudder before quickly answering. "No, of course not. But it's ok, then, to be mean to him, and others like him, since we are much better then them?"
"Yes. It's fine."
Harry ventured one more question. "How—how do you know?"
"Father says," Draco answered promptly. "And of course Father never gets caught up with this Muggle-born stuff."
"Of course," Harry murmured.
The food tray came by a few minutes later, and Harry bought as much as he could. Draco took the opportunity to point something out. "See there, Potter, you aren't poor at all. Weasley's only poor because he hasn't bothered trying to get any more money. Lazy. That's all his father is, and of course a promotion is out of the question because of it and his stupid attachment to the stupid Muggles."
"I see," Harry said, with little enthusiasm.
Draco, too, had bought a lot of food, and as they sat munching in silence, the door again flew open to reveal a girl with large front teeth, bushy, wild brown hair, and a bossy sort of voice. Her name was Hermione Granger.
She seemed very smart, indeed, and very bossy. They were talking—Hermione doing most of this—when she made the unfortunate mistake of revealing she was Muggle-born.
"You're what?" Harry said, his eyes narrowing so much Draco smiled slightly.
"Muggle-born," she repeated happily. "I think it's wonderful, don't you, all the normal Muggles suddenly having wizard children and everything?"
"We don't like Muggle-borns," Draco said, standing up. "Trashy people."
"Yes, definitely," Harry agreed. Hermione's smile faded, and a black scowl replaced it.
"Fine, then," she said. "If you're one of those kinds of people who hate Muggle-borns because they're different—well, you can just go to hell." She turned around and stomped angrily out the door.
"Good for you, Harry," Draco said, clapping him on the back. "You put her in her place. Muggle-borns, wonderful—she wishes."
The rest of the trip was spent in silence. Harry fell asleep, and woke up to Draco's roughly shaking his shoulder and say, "We're here, Potter. Wake up. Put on your school robes."
He sleepily pulled on his robes and stumbled out into the corridor, along with the other children.
A few moments later they were at the lake, and Hagrid was taking them and their things across the lake to the castle.
It was a giant castle. The biggest one ever built, Harry was sure. But Draco had different ideas. "Nah, Harry, it's not that big, not as big as Father says Durmstrang is," he said quietly to Harry. "Durmstrang—where I was going to go, but Mother said it was too far away from home. I don't know that Father's ever seen it, but he's friends with the headmaster, so he'd know..."
When they'd reached the castle, a stern lady named Professor McGonagall led them into a place called the Great Hall. There were hundreds of people in there, talking, and at the very end of the hallway, a stool sat, with an old hat resting on top of it.
"That," Draco whispered dramatically to Harry. "That is the Sorting Hat."
Next chapter: The Sorting Ceremony!
Tune in next time to discover Harry's House and the world's reaction to it. You people out there probably already know, but be a sport and review anyway! The fun only starts here, with JKR's stuff, and just gets better with the originality. Review! Review! Review!
Sort of short chapter, I know, but I'll try to make them longer from now on. I also know I said I wouldn't be updating any time soon, but I thought, 'heck, I have some extra time, might as well.' I guess what I meant is don't be expecting regular, weekly updates. Monthly, maybe, maybe even biweekly, but not weekly. Thanks!!