DISCLAIMER: The characters all belong to J.K. Rowling. etc, etc

NOTE: The Disclaimer is only appearing on THIS chapter!

Chapter One

A thin, pale hand caressed smooth skin. Small droplets of sweat slid sensuously down the arched body. Black hair lay plastered against tanned skin. A shiver of pleasure swept over the small, supple body and glazed emerald green eyes squeezed shut as a tide of pleasure swept through him again. A soft moan erupted from swollen lips.

And then, it stopped.

The warm, pale body lifted itself off the boy. "Later, Potter." And the blond-haired, grey eyed man swept gracefully from the room.

The boy on the bed gazed longingly after the other boy. "Draco..."

A young, black-haired, pretty boy scrubbed at the house's floors as his Aunt Petunia walked back and forth, back and forth. Every so often she would pause long enough to shriek at the boy for not having the floor clean enough. It wasn't his fault; she was the one who wouldn't stop walking on the perfectly clean floors. He stifled a sigh as his aunt predictably paused to yell at him – again. Any moment now, his uncle would get home, kiss his wife (he gagged at this thought), hug his son (if his arms could fit around that boy's girth) – and order his nephew to cook a very specific dinner. With no mistakes. The boy sighed and scrubbed the flooring where his aunt had finally stopped pacing.

The door slowly opened, revealing his obese uncle. As predicted, he kissed his wife, hugged his son, and turned to the boy, glaring at him all the while as he said: "Petunia, Dudley, we're having the Malfoy's over, as you well know. And you, boy, had better not screw everything up. We wouldn't want a repeat of last week's dinner episode, now would we?"

The boy quickly shook his head and hurried into the kitchen. He still had the bruises and scars from last week's episode. He shuddered. Another night like that might just be the end of him. Clearing his mind of all depressing thoughts that revolved around his death if he messed up, the boy grabbed the specified ingredients to make the rather expensive dinner. Not that you could tell the Dursley's were higher up in society by his clothing. Then again, one wouldn't even know they were related. No sirree, the Dursley's preferred not to associate their name with the rather rotten Potter name.

Ah, yes, the Potter's. Harry Potter. James Potter. Lily Evans-Potter. An elite family – who met a rather tragic accident when little Harry was but a mere year old. The details had never really been revealed about the Potter murder case, just word of ear. An insane serial killer had pinpointed the famous Potter's as his next victims. The only surviving member was young Harry Potter, who appeared to have disappeared after the incident.

And there he was, slaving around for his sorry excuses for relatives, the Dursley's. If only the world could see what the Potter's had become. He could swear old Albus Dumbledore, the man who had dragged him to this place as a baby, would die from a heart attack. Young Harry nearly laughed at the mental image. He stifled it, however, for fear of the consequences. He was not to utter a sound unless spoken to.

The stove beeped, signalling the dinner had finished cooking. The small boy quickly got up from his perch on the floor and pulled open the oven door. At least there was an advantage to all this, he mused. When he left, he would know how to fend for himself. No need to rely on anyone else. He glanced out the window, across the yard to the big Weasley house. He longed to be a part of a family as closely knit as they. He saw Ron Weasley playing in his front yard with his younger sister, Ginny. He held back the tears. The days of fun with his best friend had ended when Ron's older brothers jumped Dudley for taunting and harming him.

And that's when the pain had started.

No, can't think about that.

Hearing someone knocking on the door, he hurriedly scuffled to it. Smoothing out his ratty shirt, he slowly opened the door. And nearly gasped at the beautiful sight before him. The Malfoy's. He had heard of how beautiful the lot of them were, but to see it up close was another thing altogether. Lucius Malfoy had long, pale blonde hair; cold grey eyes; a pale, pointed face; and was thin. Narcissa Malfoy had long, blonde hair, blue eyes, and not quite as pale skin as Lucius. It was the boy who caught Harry's attention though. He had white-blonde hair, cold, grey eyes, and the same pale features as his father.

The taller, obviously older, blonde haired boy took one look at Harry and his eyes quickly held contempt. The boy breezed past him, not sparing him a second glance. The expression on the eldest Malfoy's face was similar to that of his son. Narcissa was the only one who gave him a look that held utter sympathy. I don't need that.

"C-can I t-take your coats please?" Harry whispered nervously.

"Did you hear that, father? It sounded like a complete and utter moron."

"Restrain yourself, Draco. No need to waste your breath on someone of such obvious lower quality."

Narcissa offered him a sweet smile and gently handed him her coat, before turning around and smacking her son upside the head. "Be nice!" she hissed.

Harry bent his head and quickly took their heavy coats to the closet. "I'll just go get the Dursley's," he whispered again. Feeling tears prick at his eyes, he rushed up the stairs.

Reaching the top, he hurriedly knocked on his uncle's bedroom door. "U-uncle Vernon?" He heard a faint grunt of acknowledgement on the other side. Slowly turning the handle, he kept his head bowed and whispered, "T-the Malfoy's are here, sir."

He heard the whistle of air before he felt the impact. "Did I tell you that you could speak, boy?!" A second later, he crashed onto the floor. "Well?! Answer me!"

"N-n-no."

A grunt of disgust and the slamming of the door signalled his uncle's departure. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry tilted his head back, preventing the tears from escaping. What seemed like days later, he glanced at his uncle's clock. 7:30 p.m. He vaguely acknowledged that an hour and a half had passed while getting up and opening the door. He quietly walked down the stairs, careful of the creaky steps. Glancing into the living room, he noticed that Dudley and young Mr Malfoy were not present. Not surprising, he thought bitterly.

Creeping into the kitchen, he flicked on the light and put the dinner in the oven. Time to heat you up and put you out.

Draco felt like banging his head on the wall. How on earth could his father deal with these idiots?!

Hearing a bang, Harry turned his head towards the front door. A ridiculously proud looking Dudley and thoroughly exasperated Draco strode into the house. Seeing Dudley glance his way, he quickly bowed his head and continued to set the table.

"Draco," the obese mammal sneered, "ever wanted to see a pig squeal?"

Confused, Draco looked over at the other boy. Before he could say anything, a quiet voice said, "The only pig in this room is you, Dudderkins. And the squealing is heard when you see fatty foods."

The messy-haired boy was already gone by the time Dudley's pea-sized brain registered what he had said. An evil gleam shone in the beady little eyes. "Draco," he said slyly(1), "how do you feel about a little prank?"

Feeling uneasy, the blonde boy smiled before answering: "I do believe it's time for dinner."

Harry quietly sat down at the table, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. He was not there to eat but merely to get up when someone requested a drink or if some of the food needed to be passed around. He would eat later if his uncle deemed he had behaved in accordance to his expectations. Dunno why he just doesn't lower his expectations. Must be the torture factor…

Draco glanced over at the rag-a-muffin at the end of the table and sneered. What right does the help have to be sitting at the table? It was completely offensive – preposterous! Feeling Dudley tap him on the shoulder, he rolled his eyes, and slowly turned. "Yes, Dudley?" Can I help you fatten yourself anymore, you disgusting excuse for a human being?

"Ask for a drink," the other boy whispered.

"Why? I'm not thirsty."

The other boy rolled his eyes, as if what he was saying should make perfect sense. "Because boy will go get it and you obviously cannot stand him."

"Fine." But merely out of curiosity! Plastering a sickeningly sweet smile onto his face, he turned to Putrid (Or is it Petunia?). "May I have a drink, if it would be no trouble?" If this is his idea of a prank, he leads a sad, sad life…

"Of course it isn't, dear. Boy, fetch young Master Draco a drink." The younger boy meekly stood up and shuffled to the kitchen. "Don't mind him. He takes after his parents on the freakiness scale." Vernon and Petunia chuckled. "He's not even worth the time of day."

"What's his name?" Feeling everyone looking at her in surprise, Narcissa quickly covered, "I mean, you call him "boy" and I was wondering why you don't address him by name."

"His name," Vernon gritted out, "id irrelevant. He need only be called "boy" because freaks don't deserve names."

Harry blinked back hot tears and slowly walked back in with Draco's drink. Averting his eyes, Harry placed the drink beside the older youth and headed back to his seat.

"Boy." Harry tilted his head in acknowledgement. "You won't be needed any longer. Go back you your c- bedroom."

Draco glanced at his mother as the boy quickly exited the room. Her face had closed off and he could tell she was resisting the urge to say something that she would later regret. He covered a sigh with a quick cough and looked pointedly at his mother.

"Lucius, dear, I think Draco has developed a bit of a cold."

Lucius nodded his head. "If you'll excuse us, Mr and Mrs Dursley."

Vernon quickly stood up and followed the Malfoy's to the front entrance. "If you would be so kind as to give us a call to agree to the terms Mr Malfoy –"

"I don't think that will be possible, Mr Dursley." Narcissa interrupted. "In fact, we will no longer be dealing with a company that has such repulsive employees." With that, she stalked out to the waiting limo, Draco following closely behind.

Lucius stiffly pulled on his jacket. The tension built in the air between the two families. Without a word, Lucius stalked out after his wife, a slight smirk on his face.

"BOY!" Vernon roared.

Harry scrambled out of his cupboard and hurried to his uncle, fidgeting because of the obvious rage in his voice. "Y-yes, Uncle V–" The boy flew backwards before he could finish what he was saying.

"We have no familial relations, boy!" He screeched. "You have ruined everything! That deal would have given me a promotion! And you! YOU HAD TO APPEAR BEFORE THEM!!!" Between each of his uncle's words, Harry received a blow, harsher than the one before. A single tear ran down his cheek and he mumbled "I'm sorry, so sorry" repeatedly; his uncle didn't stop. He didn't stop after he had blacked out. He didn't stop when the front door opened, a terrified Narcissa standing in the doorway. He wouldn't have stopped if Lucius Malfoy hadn't pulled him off the boy. And he didn't stop yelling, even after the ambulance came and took the boy away.

A/N: (1) If he even capable of being sly?

So? How was it? MARCH BREAK!!! Woot! Seriously, though, it's taking me FOREVER to update the other two stories… I could make up an excuse but I'm too lazy right now. I am working on them, but it's just taking awhile. Oh. Wait. That was an excuse, wasn't it? Anyways, I don't have a Beta, so yeah… If you find any mistakes let me know. And yes, Harry is younger than Draco for multiple reasons… I just don't feel like sharing them! *big grin* No, I might reveal them later on… Now I am rambling… Greeaatt!! Anyways, I will hopefully update on this again soon because a friend of mine will kill me if I don't continue. (Not literally… She wouldn't do that… I hope…)

Oh! And about the very beginning – it gets explained later on.