Rating: R/NC-17

Contains: AU, OOC, OCs, an instance of 'almost non-con,' lots of BoyxBoy goodness ;)

Pairing: HP/DM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all the characters therein belong to J.K. Rowling; I do not own any of it. The original characters and the plot are, however, mine.

A/N: Hey everyone. :3 Welcome to a brand new story! XD This is something that I have been wanting to write for quite some time, and I have finally got my two brain cells working together to bring it into being, haha. XP This is an Alternative Universe story in which some things are the same but many things are completely different.

My goal is to parallel-write this with Memory Loss and upload a new chapter of each every week. I may not be able to do that in the beginning, but I will do my best and work towards that goal! XD

Thank you so much for reading this, I hope you will enjoy it! =D Please let me know what you think of it. Feedback and constructive criticism is always more than welcome! :3

CHAPTER ONE
The Start of Something New

The noises. All the noises were drowning out everything that was part of herself. She could no longer hear the beating of her own heart, even though it was flinging itself against her ribcage in a desperate attempt to flee her chest, and the singsong of blood being pumped through her body had always been a great comfort to her—a proof that she was alive. Neither could she hear her own frantic breathing, even though she was sure that air must be wheezing in and out of her. By the ominous, coiling sensation in her stomach, there must also be plagued sounds coming from deep within her, but those could not be heard over the cacophony, either.

It was as if she was no longer part of the living world; as if she was standing there dead and cold in the throng of excited students.

Dead and cold.

A wild panic was rising from the pit of her stomach, and she could feel it cramping up her chest and making her every limb go numb, threatening to force her body to collapse in a heap on the stone floor. Everything around her seemed sinister, and her by fear heightened senses amplified every stimulus registered. For every elongated second that passed, she became more and more certain that she would die here, today—any second now …

A shriek built up force within her and was just about to fight its way out of her throat when a protective arm was laid around her slim shoulders. "Angel, are you all right?" the familiar voice of her brother asked her, a note of worry badly hidden behind the ease of youthful confidence. As if programmed, she immediately began to calm down in his warm and sheltering presence.

She found the power to nod weakly, her throat still too clamped up to speak.

Harry Potter gently turned her around so he could meet her gaze. "Is it another anxiety attack?" he wondered, and she felt incredibly grateful for having him. Without him, this day might very well have proven her last, for it sure felt like she would have died of fear had he not appeared when he did.

For years now, Angel had suffered from severe anxiety attacks when finding herself in big crowds and had led a very sheltered life because of it. But inevitably, the day when she had to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to begin her education had come. Knowing that she would spend her days in an old castle filled with strangers had long been her greatest fear, and irrationally she felt certain that she would die if her essence—what was Angel—was drowned in the noises of others. Her only solace was that Harry would be residing within the same walls, and she knew that she could always depend on him whenever she needed him.

Hands clapping and brisk footsteps clop-clop-clop-ing across the stone floor, Professor Minerva McGonagall came towards them at a speed that suggested there was a fire somewhere. Even though it was Angel's first time seeing her, she instantly knew it was McGonagall from all the stories Harry had told her over the years. "Come, don't just stand here and block the entrance—get inside, all of you!" she prompted the assembled students and began to herd the closest groups into the Great Hall. When she was satisfied that the flow would continue to move without her guidance, she turned around again. "First-years, to me!" she then declared over the noise, and waved her arms at the nervous newcomers.

Angel's heart immediately began to pound painfully in her chest. The Sorting Ceremony. Walking up to the dais at the front of the hall with Professor McGonagall and standing there in front of the entire Great Hall, being scrutinised by hundreds of people while waiting for her turn with the Sorting Hat. The mere thought of it made her shiver and feel as though she would faint any second. She could not do it—it was impossible!

"You'll be fine," Harry said, and gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. He smiled down at her, and his apparent confidence in her actually made some of the fear lift. "Think of something else and don't look at anyone. Just fix your gaze on a point on the far wall and take deep breaths and it'll be over faster than you know it. Okay?"

She nodded and gave her brother a faint smile in return. Her heart sank into the bottom of her stomach when he left her side to take his seat at the Gryffindor table, though. But there was no time to call him back, because Professor McGonagall appeared at the head of the spontaneously formed line and started to direct them inside, the students behind Angel forcing her to follow lest she wanted to get trampled.

Somehow, she made it up onto the dais without fainting. Following Harry's advice, she stared straight ahead without focusing her gaze on any of the older youngsters below. It worked, but her cheeks were still burning a hot and humiliating red; they were all looking at her, and they were surely whispering about her, noticing how different she was from them—that there was something wrong with her. While other first-years' names were called, this was all Angel could think about: that every single one of them would see through her poor façade and shun her.

Dead and cold.

"Angel Potter!"

She jerked involuntarily at the harsh call of her name. Her green eyes instinctively darted out over the left-most table in search of Harry. If she could lock eyes with him for just one second, everything would be fine; if she could not, she would be lost. He probably knew what was going on inside her mind at that moment, for he stood up and made it easier for her to pinpoint him. Grateful, she shot him a smile before quickly walking up to Professor McGonagall and taking her place on the waiting stool.

As the Sorting Hat was placed on top of her raven head, she closed her eyes and just let it happen. She placed her faith in the Hat, trusting it to know where she belonged. And surely enough, a split second later it declared her a Gryffindor and she could finally leave the dais to join her brother and his friends.

Harry was beaming at her as she slumped down in the spot he had saved for her. "Welcome home, Angel."

Hogwarts was home, indeed. Harry did not mean to imply that their house back in Surrey was any less of a home—their parents always went out of their way to make every day a happy family day—but there was just something special about Hogwarts. Harry loved roaming the labyrinthine old castle, discovering all its secrets, just like Hermione loved reading about its history. Well, when Oliver allowed her to, of course.

No matter how many hours he spent within its cold stone walls, he would always stumble across new nooks and crannies that nobody else seemed to know about. As if he was progressively making it all his. And in a sense, that was exactly what he wished to do: His plan was to become a professor, like his mother, then work hard and eventually get promoted to Headmaster and end The Prick's reign. (That was what the student body secretly called him behind his back.)

But even more important was the camaraderie and sense of family that the Gryffindors in general and his group of friends in particular shared. During the past six years, they had grown very close, and Harry considered himself lucky to have them in his life. In a way, it was sad that their time at Hogwarts was coming to an end—probably faster than any of them could anticipate—and he almost wished that they could be given the option of staying on for an extra year, just to be able to stay together a little longer.

I will make the most of my last year, Harry promised himself as he stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch. For the first time since his magical education began, he was not there for Quidditch, but for something that had nothing to do with the wizarding world. This year, the Hogwarts school board had decided to add Muggle Sports as a new extracurricular subject to further enhance the students' knowledge and understanding of Muggles. Since Harry had already decided to go all in on his final year—and this was something he actually had a knack for—it had been an easy choice to sign up.

"Well, if it isn't Pestilent Potter himself," a snobbishly drawling voice stated somewhere on his left and made Harry stop dead in his tracks.

No …

What the bloody Hell was he doing here?! Of all the extracurricular courses available, this was the last one he would have expected The Princess to take ...

He forced an unbothered smile onto his face and turned towards his nemesis. "Are you lost, Malfoy?" he wondered as pleasantly as he could. "This is no place for little girls like you."

Draco Malfoy twitched slightly before recovering himself, which gave Harry a warm rush of satisfaction. "Oh, I am perfectly aware of my surroundings," the blonde assured him smugly. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave the shorter Gryffindor a quick once-over. "You, however, seem to have come to the wrong place. I can't imagine why you'd think yourself able when it comes to activities of a more physical nature. I mean, Quidditch I can understand—you can just leave everything up to your broom—but this? Come, Potter; you do not possess any physical advantages."

He seemed way too pleased with himself for that line.

Harry laughed. "If we're talking about physical advantages, even toddlers would have a sure upper hand on you, Princess," he could not help but taunt. That stuck-up, self-righteous git needed to be put in his place—and he just loved being the one to do it way too much to let such an excellent opportunity slip him by.

He could see the switch flip in the Slytherin. It was a darkness coming over his silver-grey eyes; a twitch in the corner of his mouth before his lips were pulled into a snarl. Harry had time to reflect that it was like watching a cornered animal about to spring at its aggressor; then, in a split second, he registered Draco's right hand going for his wand. With reflexes quick off the mark, he pulled out his own wand and cried out "Expelliarmus!" just as Malfoy was forming the first half of a jinx.

The defensive spell hit the blonde hard in the chest and sent him flying into his newly arrived entourage, knocking them over like bowling pins.

Harry cursed under his breath. This was not a good start to the school year …

On the ground, Malfoy was frenetically trying to disentangle himself from the jumble of cloaks and limbs while simultaneously spitting and hissing like a sodden cat. Colourful and impressively creative expletives hammered his housemates as he fought to get back up on his feet, not helped in the least by the other boys' thrashing. That, of course, made The Princess even more furious, and the scene before him was so comical that Harry could not help but laugh loudly out of spite.

Malfoy finally managed to stand up, indignantly brushing dirt and grass off his cloak.

Laughing so hard that his stomach muscles were beginning to hurt, Harry put a hand on his abdomen and said, "Blimey, you nearly killed me there, Princess."

Oh boy, he really should not have said that.

The Slytherin spun around towards him, his face flushed with anger and humiliation, and for a second Harry thought that he would hit him. "Think it's funny, eh, Potter?" he demanded infuriatedly. "My father will hear about this. You'll be lucky not to get expelled!"

And with those words, Malfoy stalked past him, bumping into his shoulder so hard he lost his balance and almost toppled over.

The rest of the Slytherins hurried after him in flustered discordance.

"Bollocks!" Harry muttered to himself as he watched them go.

This was not a good start to the school year! First day of class and he had already managed to piss off the Headmaster's son. There was no doubt the blonde would run to his father and demand Harry's immediate dismissal from Hogwarts, self-righteous prat as he was. It would not be the first time; Princess Malfoy always went tattling to his father about everything, so maybe Harry need not feel so worried. Still, all men had their limits and eventually reached a point where they simply would not take any more. Considering the kind of person The Prick was, there was only a matter of time before Harry had crossed one too many lines—and to be expelled when he had but one year left …

To top it off, Professor Riddle had chosen football for the first lesson, a sport that Harry had always been fairly good at, and he suddenly found himself dominating the game. With students having been sorted into teams at random, Malfoy had wound up on the opposing team and declared—loud enough for everyone to hear—that he would destroy Harry. Not surprisingly, he had to eat those words mere minutes into the game; being brought up in a pure-blood family completely secluded from the world meant never having encountered Muggle sports. Thinking that he was superior to everyone else on that field, the blonde evidently believed that he would be a natural at everything, whereas everyone else would fail miserably.

Therefore, Malfoy spent the first half of the training match running back and forth, trying to chase the ball, and missing every time he tried to kick it. He looked more and more flustered for every minute that passed, and the other students were laughing at him and mocking him. Harry was careful not to join in—he had no desire to give Malfoy yet another reason to want him expelled—and did his best to stay far away from the blonde.

However, the plan came to naught when Neville Longbottom, on Harry's team, accidentally kicked the ball in the wrong direction and sent it spinning off towards the right-hand side-line at breakneck speed. Not wishing to hand possession over to the opposing team and give them a throw-in, Harry shot off after it—only he did not notice that Malfoy was coming at the ball from the opposite direction. His vision completely focused on the ball, his mind set on pushing his legs to their limit, he therefore did not see the blonde and crashed right into him with an alarming smash that sent them flying out from each other, both hitting the ground hard.

At first, the only thing Harry registered was that the ball made it out of the field. "Shite!"

Then came the pain.

Then came the wrath of Draco Malfoy.

The blonde was over him before he had even had time to assess all his scrapes and aches, ruthlessly pulling him up on his feet by the collar of his T-shirt, giving Harry the feeling of being strangled half-arsedly. The Slytherin's angry, flushed face was suddenly inches away from his own, and spit was flying out of his snarl of a mouth with every word he growled. "How dare you ram me, Potter?! Do you have any working brain cell in that thick head of yours? I am the law here, and once my father hears about this you will be thrown out of here on your sorry little bugger arse quicker than you can stick your prick in that twat Weasel of yours!"

Harry instinctively pulled away from the blonde's onslaught, his head filling with insane images of the skin and flesh of his face being peeled off by the intense, incensed roaring of his nemesis.

People around them were starting to jeer and snigger at the display, exchanging ridiculing comments amongst themselves, and Malfoy instantly let go of Harry and reeled on them. "You think this is funny, do you?" he demanded, advancing on the closest group, which immediately backed away in fright. "I can have all of you expelled with a snap of my fingers!"

"Now, now, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Riddle was saying, having just reached them from across the field where he had set up his referee post. He held his arms straight out on both sides in a disarming, yet authoritative gesture, placing himself between the blonde and the objects of his fuming anger. "People get tackled in football on occasion—it is nothing to get upset about. And you lot," he added, turned to the laughing students, "will do well not to tease your classmates on my watch. This is a friendly field."

Then the professor turned to Harry and asked, "Okay there, Harry?"

The raven-haired boy felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, turning his gaze away.

He wished his cousin would not call him by his first name in class. Sure, everyone knew they were related, but Harry still did not feel comfortable with getting such a familial treatment from a teacher. It felt like he was the teacher's pet or something, and that thought really made him want to puke. It was also something that other students liked to tease him for, being his cousin's 'little favourite' …

Indignant and humiliated, Malfoy spat out a "Fuck this!" and stormed off towards the exit, clearly ditching the second half of the game. When he had gone halfway, he turned back as if in afterthought, and called out to Harry: "I'll have your bloody head on a plate for this, Potter. Literally bloody."

And then he left the Quidditch pitch.

"Great," Harry muttered to himself.

When he later entered the Gryffindor common room through the portrait hole, it was with a heavy heart and a pounding headache. He had not been able to concentrate during the rest of the training game because of Malfoy's threats, and with their star player suddenly mentally incapacitated, his team had wound up losing on top of everything else. More than anything, he just wanted to crawl into his bed and pull the curtains closed around him and sulk for the rest of the evening, but he knew that it would be moot.

"Harry, my dear!" Ron called out to him from one of the comfy couches. He rose gracefully to meet his friend halfway and waved his long, scarlet scarf in greeting.

Harry noticed that the other lad was in full garb already, which could only mean one thing: Ronald Weasley was on the prowl.

Ever since fourth year, Ron had favoured flamboyant clothing and always stripped off the conservative school uniform as soon as the day was over—in order to be 'free,' as he put it. Soon it became obvious, though, that his outfits became even gaudier on the evenings that he had decided to go out hunting for a new bed mate. This time, he was wearing softly flowing dress robes in midnight blue, cerulean, and teal with innumerable little celestial details—stars, galaxies, moons in all possible stages—that glittered in shiny silver and gold and even moved across the fabric.

"Big date?" he asked the redhead, trying to feign interest.

Ron grinned mischievously and played with his scarf in mock-innocence. "Maybeee," he said coquettishly. But then his features became serious and slightly worried as he noticed Harry's defeated air. "Something wrong, honey?"

Harry let out a long, pained sigh and slumped into the nearest armchair. "I think I'm really done for this time, Ron."

He tiredly rubbed at his eyes with the fingers of his right hand. I should really have gone to the Hospital Wing to get something for my head first, he thought grimly, hardly registering when Ron sat down in the chair next to his.

"Did something happen during Muggle Sports?" he wondered, and then gasped, his hand flying up to cover his mouth dramatically. "Did you get hit by one of those nasty-looking metal frames with the giant hairnet attached to them? They looked really mean, they did!"

Harry would have chuckled at him if he was not so miserable. "Those are goal posts, Ron, and they don't move in Muggle sports," he informed his friend. "No, nothing like that, but I think I might have pissed off The Princess one too many times …"

"Ooooh …"

Understanding dawned on the redhead.

Harry told him what had happened, scowling with worry when he imagined what The Prick would do to him. "I'm telling you, he'll be calling me up to his office any minute now," he said with certainty.

"You don't know that," Ron protested, but it was plain to read on his face that he was unable to convince even himself of that. He would not let that stop him from reassuring his mate, though. "It'll probably be fine; The Prick hasn't expelled you yet, has he? And how many times have you and Malfoy been at each other's throats now? A million? Hell, he's probably so fed up with his bloody son always running to him with childish accusations that he doesn't even listen anymore! Who knows, maybe Malfoy didn't even go to his father this time?"

Harry appreciated Ron's efforts, but the cold, nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach just would not go away. He just knew that this was the last straw and that something terrible was going to happen. And what could be more terrible than getting expelled from Hogwarts and being denied one's future in the wizarding world? And right when Angel had come to school, too …

She needed him, and he would not be there to support her.

Speaking of which …

"Where's Angel?" he asked Ron, scanning the common room.

"Hermione took her and Oliver down to the lake before dinner," Ron replied, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs effeminately.

Harry felt relief flowing into him at that. "That's good," he murmured, finally feeling like he could relax a bit.

A loud, almost metallic peeeep could suddenly be heard, directly followed by a message delivered over the magical intercom system.

Mr. Harry Potter is to report to the Headmaster's office immediately.

Harry moaned in exasperation and forced himself up from the armchair. "Here we go …"

Ron's face had gone completely white. He gave him a look that made Harry feel as if his friend expected him to be returned in a coffin.

Might as well be, he thought glumly as he left the common room and made his way towards the second-floor gargoyle that would take him up to The Prick's office. As usual, a random Slytherin first-year had been stationed in front of it, tasked with safekeeping the password of the day.

Harry had always thought it was overkill to change the password every day, and he felt bad for the scared little girl, who glared up at him with wide eyes.

"Erm … Harry Potter—I have an … appointment with the Headmaster," he said uncertainly.

At first, the girl just stared at him, but then she seemed to come back to herself and remember her present duties. She checked the inside of her right forearm, where she had a list of approved visitors magically inked onto her pale skin. As Harry understood it, Headmaster Malfoy used a spell that automatically added the names of the people he wanted to see onto the student's skin and then erased them once the visitor had left.

After confirming that Harry indeed was expected, the girl turned around and whispered the password into the gargoyle's ear, whereupon it stepped aside and revealed the revolving staircase beyond.

Awkwardly thanking the girl, he stepped onto the topmost stair and allowed himself to be brought up through the tower.

The door to the office opened for him when he reached the top, and he could see The Prick sitting in there behind his grand, ridiculously decadent desk. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he walked straight up to it, the door slamming shut behind him on its own.

"You wished to see me, sir?" he said, forcing his voice to remain calm and polite.

Headmaster Lucius Malfoy demonstratively ignored him and continued to scribble on the piece of parchment in front of him for a minute before finally setting his quill aside and looking up at Harry. "Ah, Mr. Potter," he drawled, as if he had not at all called the boy there just now. "Please, do take a seat."

Harry reluctantly sat down in the visitor's chair.

He really tried to not squirm in his seat, but those ice-cold, judgmental grey eyes made invisible beetles run pell-mell over his skin and a hard lump form in his stomach. They held his gaze for so long that he wondered if time had somehow stopped. Why was he staring at him like that?

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably.

A mirthless smirk came to the older man's thin lips. "I hear you have assaulted my son, Mr. Potter," he finally said.

Harry blinked sheepishly at him. "Assau—? No, that is not what happened, Malfoy was—"

"Spare me the sob story, Mr. Potter. I have already received an extensive report from Draco. And let me say, I am very disappointed … Attacking a fellow student like that? Really, young man, what were you hoping to gain?"

Feeling the heat of anger rising from deep within him and gradually spreading throughout his entire body with every beat of his heart, Harry clenched his hands around the armrests of his chair and fought to control himself. "I don't mean to be rude, sir, but if we could just get on with it so I can go pack my trunk, I would greatly appreciate it," he muttered between tightly gritted teeth.

The Prick raised an eyebrow at that. "Pack your trunk?"

Harry was losing his patience. "Yeah, since you're obviously going to expel me there's no need to drag it out, now is there?"

To his surprise, the Headmaster began to laugh patronisingly at him.

The raven-haired boy glared at him incredulously.

"Expel you?" The Prick now said, leaning back in his high-backed chair and studying Harry with a disturbingly amused expression on his pale face. "Oh, but I am not going to expel you, Mr. Potter."

Harry blinked. "You're not?"

"No, no, no! That wouldn't be fair, now would it? You just starting your final year and all. However … raising your wand against another student is strictly forbidden at Hogwarts, so you will be given a suitable punishment to … serve," the Headmaster finished, and there was an odd glint in his eyes and a brief twitch at the corners of his mouth when he said it.

Harry frowned.

That feeling of something bad looming over him, waiting for the right moment to strike, once again made itself known.

He had a feeling that it was not detention The Prick was referring to.

But really, what choice did he have? If it was a question of accepting a punishment to placate the sodding Malfoys or getting expelled, the choice seemed pretty clear. Unfair, but clear.

"Fine," he muttered in resignation.

A self-satisfied sneer made The Prick look even more arrogant than usual. "Perfect," he drawled before ultimately dropping the bomb: "Then as of tomorrow morning, you will function as my son's personal servant until further notice."

A/N: Well, that was probably not what Harry expected as a punishment ... XP How will he react to this new predicament? And what exactly is Draco going to make him do? Don't miss the next chapter to find out, hehe. ;)

Thank you again for reading! XD Feel free to leave reviews with any type of feedback, constructive criticism etc. ... I would love to hear what you think of it. :3 Have a lovely day, and I'll see you in the next chapter! ;)

(WIP status on the next chapter will always be available on my profile page. Twitter: HaadogeiPipe.)