(Author's notes: I was bitten by a rather nasty plot bunny, so I just had to write this.

This entire AU story is based on the observation that Harry is phenomenally loyal; when he makes a friend, it's for life. Which begs the question: what if Draco had gotten to him before Ron? Yes, I know it's been done to death, but such was the strength of the plot bunny; I had to get this out of my system anyway.

The first couple chapters will echo the books quite a bit (to the point where many lines are copied verbatim), because I'm trying to stay as close to canon as possible. Then, as the cascade of events unravels, the storyline will draw away from the books.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

Book 1: Harry Potter and the Games of Snakes

1: A New Friend

Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Hagrid had just slipped off for a "pick-me-up" at the leaky cauldron, leaving the eleven-year-old alone in this strange new world. His hair was still mussed (worse than usual, anyway) from his ride through Gringotts, and he held a newly acquired bag of coins awkwardly in one hand.

Madam Malkin, a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve, greeted him as he entered.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have-"

Madam Malkin made a noise of surprise, cutting the boy's voice off, just as Harry felt something small and cold bounce off the inside of his left foot. He reached down and picked up the pin that Madam Malkin had dropped, twisting his body slightly to hand it back to her.

She gave him a smile. "Thank you, dear," she said before returning to her work.

Harry turned back toward the pale boy, realizing that he had fallen silent. Harry became self-conscious as he noticed the boy openly staring at the scar that his brief movement had revealed.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" the boy asked bluntly.

"Yes," Harry mumbled, ducking his head and smoothing his bangs back over the scar.

"I'd heard you might be coming to Hogwarts this year. Now I'm glad Father didn't send me to Durmstrang." The boy had returned to his lazy chatter. "Though they don't have so many annoying rules there as they do at Hogwarts. As I was saying, first years should be able to have their own brooms. I think I'll smuggle one in somehow. Father says I'd be a shoo-in for a House team. Do you play?"

"Play?" Harry asked quietly.

"Quidditch." When Harry shook his head, having no idea what Quidditch was, the boy continued on. "I play. I'm very good. I can teach you all the best moves."

"You'd do that?"

"Of course." The boy gave him a funny look, as if that were a very stupid question. "Who better to teach you such things?"

Harry felt that the boy thought a bit too highly of himself, but he didn't say it out loud. This was his first conversation with a wizard his own age; he didn't want to mess it up.

The boy seemed to come to a realization and peered at Harry for a moment. "Wait, you were raised by Muggles, right?"

"Yes."

He made a face. "That must have been horrid. Did you even ever know you were a wizard?"

"No."

"I can't imagine. Must have been horrible."

"It was," Harry ventured. He gave the boy a shy smile, glad he had someone to complain to about the Dursleys.

"I'm Malfoy, by the way. Draco Malfoy. You should stick with me, Potter. I'll teach you everything that you need to know about the wizarding world. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."

"The 'wrong sort'?"

"Mudbloods and—OW." Draco turned to give a nasty look to the witch pinning his robes. "Did you just poke me?"

The witch glanced up at him. "My apologies. It slipped."

Draco made a face as he turned back to Harry, and Harry had to hide a grin at how funny the other boy looked when affronted. "Just stick with me, Potter, and you'll be fine."

Harry smiled. "Okay."

Draco's eyes drifted toward the front of the shop. "I say, look at that man!"

Harry looked out the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two ice creams to show that he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," Harry said. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh. I've heard of him. I think he's some sort of servant. He's one of those sorts you've got to watch out for."

Harry looked back at Draco in confusion. "He's the gamekeeper. And I think he's nice."

Draco's eyes widened. "You like that big brute?"

"He's my friend," Harry said stiffly.

Draco looked about to retort. Then, his eyes flicked up toward Harry's scar and he shut his mouth. He had looked away before he opened it again. "Sorry. Didn't know he was a friend of yours."

An awkward silence fell between them. Then, Harry said, "He's the one that took me away from the Muggles."

Draco considered that. Then, with the utmost confidence, he said, "Better him than Muggles, I suppose."

Harry didn't really think the other boy had gotten the point. But before Harry could respond, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear."

Harry took her cue to hop off the footstool and turned shyly toward Draco. "See you at Hogwarts, Draco?"

The other boy nodded imperiously. "Of course. I look forward to it." He didn't even hesitate.

Happy with the knowledge that he'd made another new friend, Harry left the shop and joined Hagrid. While he started on the ice cream Hagrid had bought for him, Harry asked the big man about Quidditch. Hagrid was all too happy to describe the game in full. However, when Harry asked what a "Mudblood" was, Hagrid just said it was "not a nice thing ter say," and refused to say anything else about it.

SSSSSSSSSSS

Harry was trying very hard not to panic.

According to the large clock over the arrivals board, he had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts, and he had no idea how to do it. He was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a large owl.

He didn't like admitting when Uncle Vernon had a point about something, but that seemed to be the case now. His ticket clearly said "Platform 9 ¾," but no one had any idea where that was.

He figured that Hagrid had forgotten to tell him something, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. He couldn't help but wonder if Draco Malfoy would have remembered to tell him, but shook the thought away. He refused to compare the only two friends he had ever made.

At that moment, a group of people passed just behind him and he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"—packed with Muggles, of course—"

Harry swung around. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys and a girl, all with flaming red hair. Each of the boys was pushing a trunk like Harry's in front of him – and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, Harry pushed his cart after them. They stopped and so did he. Hovering just near enough to see them through the crowd, Harry watched as three of the four boys disappeared through the dividing barrier between Platforms 9 and 10.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the plump woman.

"Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too." She pointed to the last and youngest of her sons.

"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is… the thing is, I don't know how to…"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry nodded. "Not to worry. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it; that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Er – okay."

He pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid. He walked towards it, speeding up as he went, finally breaking into a run and closing his eyes. When he didn't hit the wall when expected, he opened them and beheld the scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express.

With one last glance at the archway behind him, Harry pushed his cart along the busy platform in search of an empty seat on the packed train. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train. He put Hedwig inside first, then started to shove and heave his trunk toward the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps, but could hardly raise one end. Twice, he dropped it painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired boys—one of the twins—he'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

With the twins' help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment. He thanked them while pushing sweaty hair out of his eyes, making them spot his scar. They gawked at him until, to his relief, their mother called them away.

Harry watched from his compartment as the red-headed family said their good-byes.

Then, his attention was pulled away from them by a familiar drawl from the doorway. "There you are. I've been looking for you."

Harry looked and saw Draco standing in the door, two enormous boys behind him. As Harry watched, Draco turned and addressed them. "See, I told you I knew Harry Potter."

Draco chattered in his way as he let himself into the compartment and sat in the seat beside Harry. "I think I like this compartment better. It's less crowded." Harry fought the urge to shrink back as the two large boys followed Draco in and sat down across from him. They reminded Harry of Dudley. "It's also farther from the prefects, which is good. I can't stand anyone getting uppity around me. Think we should move our trunks?" He didn't give anyone any chance to answer, but breezed right on. "That Parkinson girl can probably watch them for a while, but we'll need them to change into our school robes. I've already had Dobby sew the Slytherin crest on two of mine, because I just know I'll be getting into Slytherin. What about you, Potter?"

"Er… what's a Slytherin?"

The big boys started sniggering, but Draco quieted them with a glare and two sharp kicks. "Quiet. It's not his fault. He's led a deprived life."

"I don't know if it's exactly deprived…"

"Shut up. Yes it is." Harry could only stare, unsure whether to laugh or be offended. "Slytherin is the absolute best House at Hogwarts. It's where all great wizards go. My father was a Slytherin, and his father before him, and so on for generations."

Draco paused to take a breath, so Harry slipped in a question while he had the chance (he was starting to think that Draco liked to talk a lot, so he'd need to speak up more to get a word in edgewise). "What do you mean by House?"

The two larger boys' faces were carefully blank as Draco's face twisted in disbelief. "Did that big man teach you nothing? The four Houses are how they divide each Hogwarts class. They're Slytherin—the best one, remember—Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and…" The compartment door opened, and a red-headed boy poked his head in. "…Gryffindor."

They all turned to stare at the newcomer. Harry recognized him as Ron, the youngest boy of the red-headed family. He had a black smudge on his nose.

"Is there room in here?" the redhead asked, eyeing the two large boys warily. "Everywhere else is full."

Draco's lip was curled in an expression of utmost disgust, but Harry, eager to meet new people, beat him to it. "Of course." Draco gave Harry a disbelieving look. "Just scoot over, Draco."

The paler boy unhappily complied, but the brightening of Ron's face as he sat down next to Draco was well worth the boy's displeasure. Draco slumped back in his seat in a pout; this made it easier for Harry to see the red-head over him.

The twins stopped by long enough to introduce themselves as Fred and George, then scurried off to look at a friend's tarantula. Ron looked slightly green at that.

After a minute of silence in which the two large boys seemed to be trying to glare at both Ron and Harry at once, Ron blurted out, "Are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"Oh – well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes. And have you really got… you know…" He pointed at Harry's forehead.

At that, Draco sat up straight and snapped, "The scar? Merlin, you can't think of a word like 'scar'?"

Harry frowned. Ron's ears turned red, and he said, "I wasn't talking to you. It's not polite to butt in like that."

"Well, you are talking over me, so I don't think polite has much to do with it, and I can therefore 'butt in' any time I like. Or are you only interested in the famous Harry Potter?"

Harry smoothed his hair over his scar. He didn't like people wanting to know him just because he was famous; he was glad that Draco, at least, understood that.

"Well then, who are you?"

"I am Draco Malfoy, and this is Crabbe and Goyle." Ron made a sound that might have been a suppressed snigger. Draco narrowed his eyes. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Harry made a sound of protest, not liking Draco's tone.

Face beet-red, Ron said, "Oh yeah? Well, my dad says that your dad wasn't bewitched into following You-Know-Who like everyone says. My dad says your dad didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side."

And just like that, all will to defend the red-head fled. Harry had to clench his fists and stare at the floor to control the sudden anger he felt. Draco had gone very still, and Crabbe and Goyle both looked a sneeze away from pouncing on Ron. Harry didn't blame them.

"How dare you," said Harry. All four other boys looked at him. Harry glared at Ron Weasley. "How dare you bring You-Know-Who into this, and say something like that. It's just low."

"He started it!"

"So that makes it all right to accuse his family of that? When I'm sitting right here? I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, aren't I? Do you really think it's a good idea to be accusing one of my friends of something like that?"

The boy's face seemed to be alternating between red and green. "I'm… I didn't mean it like that…"

Draco, who had been staring at Harry, turned back to Ron and drawled, "Then how did you mean it, Weasley?"

"I just… I mean…"

"Rat got your tongue, Weasley?"

Harry found that he didn't feel the need to defend the red-head from Draco anymore. "You should probably leave."

Ron moved his mouth, growing redder and redder. Then, slowly, he stood up and, still looking shocked, left the compartment.

As soon as he was gone, Draco made a face at the door. "Good riddance."

Harry sat back in his chair, feeling discouraged that that had gone so badly.

Strangely, Draco seemed to pick up on it. "Don't act so surprised. It never would have worked out. The Weasleys are very much the wrong sort. It would have shown itself eventually."

"His family seemed so nice," Harry said glumly.

"That's how they get you. But they've got nasty tempers, and they've got even less brains than they do money. Or so Father says." Draco gave Harry another assessing look. "Cheer up, Potter. You can't make friends with everyone. It's a matter of quality, not quantity."

Harry looked at Draco, and briefly wondered whether he'd made the right decision in siding with him. Draco was stuck-up, and not very nice. Then again, Ron Weasley's comment about Draco's father had been completely out of line.

They continued to talk about the wizarding world and, when the snack cart came by, Draco treated the other three to all they could eat. Which was quite a lot, since Harry hadn't had breakfast and Crabbe and Goyle were – well – Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry was beginning to get used to the two larger boys. They didn't have Dudley's loud, overbearing presence (that was more Draco's thing), so he found his initial fear of them fading.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Gryffindors, now they're the ones you have to look out for," Draco said while the four of them ate their way through various pasties, cakes, and candies. He had kept up a constant narrative on everything magical throughout their ride so far, from famous wizards he owned Chocolate Frog cards of, to just how much he expected to excel at Potions because he was absolutely brilliant at it, to what model of broom he was going to get his father to buy, and back to the Houses. "My father says Gryffindors are suicidal glory-seekers with hero complexes."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked.

Draco screwed his face up for a moment. "It means that they like to go around slaying dragons, and then feed themselves to them, I guess."

Harry smiled. "You're making that up."

"I am not! That's what it means!"

Harry sniggered. "You're funny."

Draco looked affronted. "What? What do you mean by that? Answer me, Potter!"

Harry just smiled and chewed on a toffee. Draco was funny, he realized, and he didn't even try. There was something comical about his arrogantly overbearing manner, just because he didn't quite pull it off.

Sometime later, there was a knock on the compartment door. Neville, the round-faced boy Harry had passed on the platform, came in, his face tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

Draco sneered. "A toad? You lost a toad?"

The unsuspecting boy nodded.

"It's better for both of you. No one who's anyone uses toads anymore, and he's probably better off away from someone who can't keep track of him."

The boy abruptly burst into tears and fled.

That was as much as Harry could take. "What did you do that for?"

"What?"

"You made him cry! For no reason!"

Draco turned to stare at Harry. "No reason? Haven't you been listening at all? I don't need a reason, because he's the wrong sort, and that means I'm better than him."

"Really."

Draco began to fidget with agitation. "How can you…? Look, I wouldn't expect you to know this, being raised by Muggles and all, but there's plenty of reasons purebloods are better than Mudbloods. Our magic is purer, our history is richer, and we don't consort with Muggles."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Muggles and magic don't mix, Potter!" He was gesturing wildly with his exasperation. "A long time ago, magic and Muggles mixed, and you know what happened? They burned us at the stake. There's a reason we have to live in secret now, because they can't handle it. Every Muggle brought into our world is a threat to our safety."

Harry digested that for a couple minutes. He imagined hundreds of people like the Dursleys, locking children in closets to try to beat the magic out of them… suddenly, he could definitely see Draco's point. "But… what does that boy have to do with it? Even if his family is the 'wrong sort,' it's not his fault."

Draco frowned in a way that showed that he didn't much care.

"Draco, you remind me of my Muggle cousin. He picks on people weaker than him too."

"Weaker?" Draco said disdainfully. "Weakness has nothing to do with it, Potter. You may not have noticed, but I'm not exactly the strongest one here." He motioned to Crabbe and Goyle, who were watching their conversation with bored expressions.

Harry frowned. The other boy had a point. Draco seemed to be the leader of the three of them, despite the fact that either Crabbe or Goyle alone could have beaten him to a pulp, much less both of them together. "What is it about, then?"

"Power." When Harry's frown deepened, Draco drawled, "You want to make a difference in the world, don't you Potter? Have people respect you for the things you do instead of what's on your forehead?"

Harry rubbed at his scar self-consciously.

"In order to do that, you've got to have power. Seize it early and often; that's what my father says. Show them you can lead, and they'll follow you of their own will."

Harry pondered that for the rest of the train ride, even while Draco moved back to more casual topics. It made an odd sort of sense, although it was hard to shake the feeling that 'power' wasn't exactly the right thing to be reaching for.