Harry shook, trembling inside his robes and ill-fitting clothes, as the group of first-years made their way up to the looming castle after the torturous boat ride. Harry felt particularly miserable, since the rocking motions of the boat and the constant bumping of the rowdy first years exacerbated his wounds cruelly, even as they, the perpetrators, moved on unknowingly.

But Harry knew better than to complain. It was one of the rules.

The large, loud and frightening Sir – Haggis or something of the sort, but not 'llowed to use names – banged violently on the large wooden doors several times. A stern, pinch-faced woman that reminded Harry of Ma'am in that she had a rather long neck and thin lips, opened the door to the half-giant's summons.

"Firs' years, M'nerva." Sir informed her in his loud, rough voice. For a moment, Harry thought that he was rather stating the obvious, before stifling that brief disrespectful thought beneath years of forced respect and servitude that he, having had no other experience, believed to be rightly what he deserved.

"Yes, thank you Hagrid." Ah, these people were normal, weren't freaks, because they were allowed to call each other by their names.

It still came as a shock to the boy that he even had a name at all, and he was quite certain there was some kind of error, a mistake, but he knew better than to argue. Again, one of the rules.

"Come, children." Ma'am ordered, and Harry followed obediently with the rest. As she walked and spoke to them, Harry made sure to listen closely, despite the distracting whisperings of awe from his fellow students. It was important to know all the rules of this new place. Punishment was bad, and Harry, despite knowing the hope was futile, wanted to be good.

He just had to try harder.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." Ma'am began. "The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points and be punished accordingly. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting1." Her eyes lingered for a moment on a boy's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on another boy's, a redhead's smudged nose, both of whom blushed and attempted to fix their appearances.

Ma'am led them into a smallish room, roughly the size of Sir and Ma'am's whole house, before coming to a stop in front of another set of double-doors. Harry could vaguely hear the rumbling cacophony of hundreds of voices on the other side of the aforementioned doors and quaked almost imperceptibly in fear. "Now, stay here. I'll be back to retrieve you shortly." And with those words of parting, Ma'am was gone.

Harry shuffled from foot to foot before remembering that fidgeting was not allowed.

It was in this state of unnatural and forced stillness that the disconcerting red-haired boy who'd been watching him since his departure from the train found him, much to his displeasure.

"Hello! I'm Ron, Ronald Weasley. What's your name?" but the way the boy's eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead every few moments betrayed the fact that he already knew. That, coupled with his loud and boisterous attitude that would most certainly get Harry into trouble with one of the Ma'am's or Sirs from earlier, made him both wary and fearful.

In a whisper, voice hoarse and small due to… well, it didn't matter, Harry replied, "Harry Potter."

Again, overly loud so the other students couldn't help but hear, "Really? The Harry Potter? Do you have the… y'know… the scar?"

Harry was momentarily confused. He did not understand his orders, what was it the Young Sir wanted him to do? Which scar did he mean? He had so very many… and the sudden silence and probing eyes were making him exceptionally uncomfortable. But again, carrot-top's eyes wandered to his forehead, and he breathed an internal sigh of relief. He understood his orders, and obligingly lifted his fringe to show the one scar he truly wished he didn't remember getting. The lightning bolt.

"Wicked!" Ron breathed, again too loud. It seemed like he was revelling in the attention and the eyes fixed upon himself and Harry that came with having a conversation with the famous 'Boy-Who-Lived'. Harry tried to shrink, disappear, into his overly large robes.

Then there was another boy, a fair-skinned, blond haired one, who easily and quietly made his way over, pale grey-silver eyes seeing Harry. Not studying, or ogling, or hating but… seeing. Actually seeing him.

"Hello. Harry Potter, is it? I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Harry had a brief moment of deja-vu from a movie he had listened raptly to through his cupboard door once – Bond, James Bond. He had the sudden urge to laugh and grin, and that shocked him – when was the last time he had? But he didn't, he just nodded and studied the boy in front of him.

His robes looked expensive and soft, which belied his physical appearance. His nose and chin were sharp, regal. His hair was a pale, soft golden hue, slicked back to give him an aristocratic look and Harry was certain that he would be much more handsome with the strands loose around his face, long bangs at the front and cut shorter at the back in a style that would suit him perfectly. His eyes were a warm, molten-silver colour, kind and understanding.

The Young Sir was very kind, and Harry gathered the courage to look him in the eye – No! No, no nonono! Don't break the rules! – the gentle gaze prompted him to relax and he sent the boy a timid, shy half-smile, which was enough to cause Young Sir to grin in response and hold out his hand to… shake?

Him? The Young Sir wanted to… touch… something as filthy as him?

But his intentions were genuine, Harry knew. Harry had learnt how to read people very early on. Otherwise, how was he to know what, or rather; when, it was coming? Oh yes, Harry learned real fast.

"Go on, Malfoy!" The red-haired Young Sir, who reminded Harry far too much of Dudley for his own comfort, startled Harry from his brief moment with the kindly Young Sir who, in Harry's opinion, was so very gracious and generous, so bad that he jumped and flinched, wincing from the pain the motion caused him simultaneously. Those grey eyes flashed with… concern? For him? Oh, Young Sir! But quickly became cold and turned on the angry red-head with a contemptuous sneer.

"No need to ask who you are. Red hair, freckles and hand me down robes? You must be a Weasley." Young Sir spat the word like venom. "Oh, and you've got some filth just… there." Young Sir pointed at the boy's nose before motioning to the rest of him. The other students tittered in laughter, but as the other Young Sir's face became red to slash with his hair, Harry cowered back. When Sir changed colours, Harry got hurt.

Then, those merciful silver eyes turned to Harry and, again, they were warm. "Come, Harry. There's some wizards you don't want to associate with. I can help you there." And he held out his hand, once again, like an angel reaching to pull him from hell.

Harry hesitated for an infinite moment, emerald eyes wide in shock. It seemed that the Young Sir was offering to be his… friend and to… to help him. But no one… no one ever…

But Harry realized he would never survive on his own if everyone else was like Red-Haired Young Sir. And he realized that he liked this golden archangel… his saviour.

And so, even if it meant serving the Young Sir for the rest of their years at this school, he decided, he would do it.

So Harry, after an eternity that was in reality only a few seconds, and with grey eyes shining in understanding and encouragement, Harry found the courage to give another half-smile and reach out and place his too-pale, callous and obviously broken hand into Young Sir's.

Young Sir smiled back, even as his eyes filled with pain at what he could feel, but no one else would bother to see. He gently, tenderly, shook Harry's hand as Harry whispered, again too hoarse, "I-I'd l-li-like th-that."

"Please, call me Draco, Harry."

Young Sir… D-Dr-Dra-aco

And before Carrot could blow up and… h-hurt young Harry, the doors opened and Ma'am returned. "Come, children. It's time."

And as everyone formed a line, with D-Drac-co manoeuvring Harry carefully behind him and keeping two burly, stocky boys behind Harry – Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, Draco had whispered. Friends – they followed Ma'am into an enourmous hall.

Voices mumbled and fluctuated around them as they filed in, causing a faint echo that rang off the wide, sparkling ceiling above them. There was a full moon which warmed Harry inside and caused him to half-smile again; it felt so good, so real, and stars and just a brief smattering of clouds that glowed in the iridescent moonlight. All this was mirrored on the wide expanse above him – It's enchanted to look like the night sky. I read about it in Hogwarts; a History – said a Miss from somewhere behind him.

Everyone came to a rather haphazard stop before an old, rickety stool with a worn, ancient-looking and tattered hat atop it. The line was abandoned and everyone crammed into one massive group, all trying to see and study the hat by peering over their peers' heads. But still, Harry could feel eyes upon him and that, coupled with the press of bodies around him was causing Harry to hyperventilate.

Draco noticed this, as did Vincent and Gregory and they pushed and nudged people until they had formed a safe bubble around Harry and Draco, who was gently helping Harry recover and breathe.

It took the entire duration of the Hat's song for Harry to calm down, so Draco explained in a soft whisper and patient tone what they had to do. Just try on the hat and it would tell you which house you belonged in.

"Don't worry Harry," Draco whispered reassuringly. "You'll stay with me, I just know it. Everything will be okay. I'll still be your friend," Young Sir… Dr-Draco… "no matter what."

And before Harry could recover from that – a friend…? – "Malfoy, Draco!" was called, and Draco squeezed his hand gently before letting it drop and sauntering up to the stool and perching upon it with all the grace, elegance and poise of a prince.

Harry looked around as Ma'am set the hat on Draco's head, where it sat for a bit – where was Young Sir Gregory and Young Sir Vincent? – before he saw them sitting at a table with a green and silver snake banner over it. Huh, that must be Slytha… Slinar…

"Slytherin!"

That's it! Draco gave Harry another small smile and a wink before he strolled over to the table to polite – the other houses – and sincere, raucous – Slytherin – applause.

Harry shifted nervously, he just couldn't help it, as he watched the other children be sorted. What if he didn't end up with Draco? What if he wasn't picked at all? What if he put on the hat and it realised what a freak Boy was and that he didn't deserve a name or a house or even to be there and sent him back to Sir and Ma'am and-

Just as Harry was beginning to breakdown in panic at the dangerous route his thoughts were taking, he heard "Potter, Harry!" being called by the Ma'am and jumped, flinched and winced, as he was wont to do, it seemed.

And the hall exploded into whispers and exclamations of surprise and shock as Harry slowly made his way, shaking with anticipation and anxiety, up to the stool and the all-knowing, fate-deciding hat. As he uncertainly sat upon the stool which barely creaked under his miniscule weight, his eyes desperately sought out that of his first friend's.

And the last thing Harry saw was the warm, silver eyes of Draco as he gave him a smile and thumbs-up before the hat fell upon his head and slipped over his eyes, shrouding his vision.

Harry trembled and very leapt from the stool when the hat began speaking. In his head.

'Ah yes… Harry Potter. I've heard all about you and… Oh! Oh dear boy. I haven't… I'd never have thought. Oh, I'm so sorry, dear boy… you poor, lost, broken child. I hope you can recover some of your lost childhood here, my boy… maybe, just maybe… a certain someone might give you a fighting chance.

Let's see… you have a strong heart, loyal and loving. All you need are some to love and be loyal to. But not Hufflepuff, I dare say they may smother you, and you couldn't stand that…

A sharp mind, eager to learn and determined to succeed, very good indeed. Incredibly intelligent, as well. I daresay you will practically move into the library, and become Madame Pince's first and only favourite student if you keep that up. Very analytical too, but not Ravenclaw, there just isn't enough heart.

Hmm… you're brave and courageous, but you'd have to be to have survived thus far, but you're not reckless in that bravery. No, far from it. In fact, I fear Gryffindor would push expectations upon your shoulders that would eventually crush you. Not to mention Gryffindors are thicker and more oblivious than your average rock, and none so much as the head of house.

So yes, there seems to be only one option. Slytherin, despite popular opinion, is fiercely loyal to their own, to a fault, and masters at the art of observing their surroundings and adapting accordingly, biding their time and learning their opponents weaknesses and strengths. Skills at which I you are already very much adept, am I correct? They'll help heal you, and give you your confidence. I would say they'd give you your confidence back, but you've never had it in the first place.' The hat sighed deeply and mournfully. 'But still, I shall give you a choice. Where do you want to be, precious little one?'

Harry wasn't sure what shocked him more, the fact that the hat had said he was precious or the fact that he had a choice.

"Pr-precious how?" he asked softly, begging for an answer

'You, my dear, have a golden aura. The first to ever exist, even Merlin only had one of more of a coppery hue. And many different talents, but that would be telling, wouldn't it? Now, where is it to be?'

"I… I wanna be with D-Dr-aco and Y-Young S-Sirs Vinc-cent and Cra-abbe. I jus-st w-wanna b-be s-sa-safe."

'Very well, little one. Haha, I was going to just announce that Mr. Malfoy was Slytherin but he had a request for me first. He almost begged, though when I pointed it out he denied a Malfoy begging fervently, for me to place you with him in Slytherin. It seems as though you've already got an ally. And you'll receive many, many more in…'

"Slytherin!"

Harry walked in a daze to the Slytherin table. He never noticed the shocked silence, almost four seconds, a record, before it broke out into huge applause from the Slytherin house and polite applause from the other, still shell-shocked, it seemed, houses.

But he only had eyes for Draco, his first ever friend, and his wide, beaming smile and Young Sirs' Gregory and Vincent's loud whoo-hoo's and large fists punching the air. And, like the sun peeking from behind the clouds after a horrible, ten-year storm, Harry smiled a real, genuine smile, emerald eyes shining with hope.

He didn't notice the hitched breaths around him when his fellow housemates caught sight of his broken grin, with its missing teeth and broken ones, as he gently perched on the bench beside Draco, wincing only a little, not even the pain able to break through his joy.

And as the sorting finally started up again, Ma'am stuttering at first in her lingering shock, all Harry could think was…

I'm safe.

1. Taken almost verbatim from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, except for 'and be punished accordingly', which I had to add for Harry's sake.