Disclaimer: JKR owns all characters/places and the direct text from this story (Direct text is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone).
A/N: So here it is! The sequel to "Regret's a Second Chance" is here! (Warning: if you have not read "Regret's a Second Chance" read it first or this will not make sense at all.) Bear with me; they're only eleven, so there will obviously be no smut. Their relationship won't start so soon. Maybe in forth year. Either way, eleven year-olds should not be shagging when they've barely met each other. Most of the text is directly out of Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone because the story won't change that much until different decisions are made. Since the "Second Chance" idea is based on the butterfly effect, Harry/Draco/Voldemort/etc. will have to make different decisions before their story changes. The next one will have less text from the book and I think by third year it'll be totally different. Please bear with me until we get there. I promise to post as fast as possible to make up for it ^_^
Second Shot at the Stone:
Chapter One — Welcome to Slytherin
It was unbelievable. Harry Potter was a Slytherin. Were it not for the fact that he had reversed time for this very moment, he wouldn't have believed that he was walking over to the Slytherin house table.
The Slytherins were clapping louder than the rest of the Great Hall, their cold faces revealing a bit more interest now that he was one of them. Harry could see surprise in some faces, as if they couldn't believe the Boy-Who-Lived was in the evil house. He sat down next to Draco, who shoved Goyle down the bench to make room for Harry.
"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" Dumbledore sat down. People clapped and cheered from every corner of the Great Hall.
"Is he — a bit mad?" Harry asked Draco uncertainly.
He looked scornful. "Perhaps. Father says Dumbledore's the worst thing that's happened to this place. Sure, he's a genius, but he's got to be loony if he lets mudbloods in."
"What's a mudblood?" Harry asked, slightly puzzled. He could have sworn he knew the answer but it wasn't coming to him right then.
Draco looked at him in disbelief for a second. Harry watched as realization hit him and when he spoke, his expression had softened slightly. "Oh. I forgot you don't know any of this. A mudblood is a muggle-born. Dirty blood, you know. It's disgraceful to let muggle blood mingle with ours."
"Does it make a difference?" Harry asked, wondering how Draco would answer.
"Well, I suppose not in terms of power," Draco spat, "But they're just not the same. They weren't brought up with our ways. They're destroying wizarding traditions. Mix too much with muggles and mudbloods and we'll go extinct."
"I can see what you mean," Harry said slowly. "but that doesn't justify calling them a dirty name."
"Why would you—oh." Draco cut off, comprehension dawning on his face. "Your mother's muggle-born, isn't she?"
"Yes," said Harry, nodding stiffly.
"I won't call them that in front of you, then." He glanced at Harry's empty plate. "Do you plan on eating anytime soon?"
Harry let himself succumb to the distraction, not wanting to his happy mood to be ruined any more than it already had been. His mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious and he said so to Draco, who looked at him funny.
"This is nothing compared to the food we have back at the manor." Draco waved his hand carelessly. "What have your muggles been feeding you, if it made you to eat like you've never eaten good food before? Actually, you look more like you've never eaten before, period."
"The Dursleys had never exactly had never exactly starved me, but I've never been allowed to eat as much as I liked." Harry looked down and blushed. "Dudley, my cousin, always takes anything I want, even if it makes him sick. And my aunt's not that good of a cook."
Draco was stunned. "That's horrible. I don't think I could last a day like that without hexing them. Didn't they know who you were?"
"You mean did they know that I was a wizard?" Draco nodded. "They did, but they hated magic and tried to get rid of mine by not telling me. I didn't even know I was a wizard until I got the letter. They told me that my parents died in a car crash."
"They what?" Draco glared at the apple on his plate like he was pretending it was the Dursleys. It was quite a terrifying expression. "You mean they treated you like...like...like you weren't important?"
Harry couldn't help but smile a little at Draco's words. "They didn't like me very much." "I mostly did chores and doubled up as Dudley's favorite punching bag."
Draco's glare intensified, if that was even possible. "You're not going back to them, are you?" The desserts arrived and he immediately scooped out chocolate ice cream. This was enough of a distraction to calm him, and his face settled back into its blank mask. "I mean, since you know you're a wizard now and all."
Harry sighed. "I'll have to over break, won't I?"
Draco frowned. "Maybe you could stay with me at the Manor then."
"Could I really?" Harry asked hopefully, helping himself to a treacle tart.
"Probably. I'll write to Father about it tomorrow," Draco promised. He licked his spoon clean and added, "I always get what I want."
Harry, who was feeling warm and happy from the idea that Draco cared about him, looked up at the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes — and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.
"What's wrong?" asked Draco.
"N-Nothing."
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look — a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.
"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Draco.
"Quirrell? Oh, that's Snape. He teaches Potions, but only because Dumbledore won't let him teach Defense against the Dark Arts. It's a waste of talent, that's what it is. I would know. Snape's my godfather."
"He's your godfather?"
"Yes. He's a close friend of my father's."
Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.
At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.
"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.
"He's not serious?" he muttered to Draco.
"I think so. But I'd want to see what it was in there." He looked at Harry suggestively.
Harry shook his head. He could still remember the risks from his alternate future and knew that what was in the hallway it wasn't all fun and games. "It sounds exciting, but I wouldn't want you to die."
Draco smiled at him but quickly stopped as Dumbledore and the rest of the school began to sing the school song, all to different melodies.
"Dreadful, isn't it?" Draco commented, laying his head on Harry's shoulder. "All those tunes jumbled together. I'm so tired I could fall asleep right here if it wasn't for the noise." Harry laughed, leaning into Draco.
"Ah, music," Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
"Thank goodness," Draco said, pulling Harry up from the bench to follow the Slytherin prefect through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down a flight of stone steps. It was dark there and Harry was so tired his legs felt like lead, even with Draco's constant tugging on his hand. They walked through the gloomy dungeons, yawning and dragging their feet, and Draco was complaining about how much further they needed to walk when they paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.
"Maioribus Vox," said the prefect, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. They walked in, finding themselves in the Slytherin common room, a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round bottle green lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them. The room was full of high-backed chairs and low-backed black and dark green leather sofas. Buttons, skulls, and dark wood cupboards decorated the room. It has quite the grand atmosphere, but was also a little spooky.
The prefect directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. They walked down more steps until they found their beds at last: six four-posters hung with velvet green curtains. Their trunks had already been brought down. Draco immediately pulled Harry to the bed next to the one he'd chosen, and Crabbe and Goyle took the beds on the other side of Draco. No one paid much attention to the other two boys, who were already hidden behind the curtains of the last bed.
They pulled on their pajamas and got ready for bed. Crabbe and Goyle were already snoring by the time Harry and Draco were done. To Harry's surprise, Draco crawled up on the Harry's bed, frowning. "Do you like to wear those pajamas, or did your muggles force them on you?" He asked, eyeing the baggy pajamas that Harry was wearing.
"They're hand-me-downs of Dudley's," Harry said, slightly embarrassed next to Draco, who was in perfectly tailored, silken pajamas.
Draco walked over to his trunk, threw a pile of clothing at Harry, then implanted himself on Harry's bed again. "I think we're about the same size. Pick whatever you'd like. Or keep it all. I don't really care. Just get out of those awful rags."
Harry nodded and changed again, feeling much more comfortable in his new night clothes. He crawled under the covers with Draco, who had decided that he wasn't tired enough to stop talking yet. Harry snuggled into what was left of his pillow, since Draco was hogging most of it, not that Harry minded, and listened as Draco told him about himself. Soon, Harry fell asleep, feeling closer to the chattering blond next to him than he had ever felt before in his life.
A/N: So? What do you think? Take a second and REVIEW! It really only takes a second but will help the story lots. I'm willing to take ideas and suggestions for this story if you have any, since I'm not exactly sure where it's going yet...