When Harry Potter begins at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he brings a rather disconcerting friend with him – Death.

AN:

This is my first attempt at a detailed, longer story, so please review. It will roughly follow the books to begin with although that might change later on.

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ODD COMPANIONS

CHAPTER ONE

Two figures stood on the platform, watching the hustle and bustle of the arriving children and their families. One of these figures was a small boy of about ten or eleven, with unruly hair that fell into the bright green eyes that looked out of his small face, eyes that were framed by a pair of small, square glasses. Next to him stood a tall figure in black robes, features obscured by a hood. The small boy was holding the handle of a wheeled trunk with one hand while the other surreptitiously clutched a swathe of his companion's sleeve. The man politely pretended not to notice.

"Do you think they'll be expecting me?" asked the small boy. The man considered the question with his usual thoughtfulness.

"PROBABLY NOT," he decided. "NOT UNDER THE NAME OF HARRY POTTER, ANYWAY. THEY'RE NOT BRIGHT ENOUGH TO WORK OUT THAT YOU WERE ADOPTED AND YOUR NAME CHANGED TO HARRY ALISTAIR."

The boy thought about this.

"They'll work it out when they see the scar, though," he said, slightly anxiously. "And then there'll be a fuss."

"PROBABLY," replied his friend. "DO NOT LET THAT WORRY YOU."

Harry James Alistair didn't answer, preferring instead to watch a group of red-headed children boarding the train. He was a little more than eleven years old, and slightly small for his age, no doubt because of the treatment he had received from his aunt and uncle. Harry Alistair had once been Harry Potter, revered among wizarding folk for being the downfall of their most recent dark lord, yet left to the mistreatment and neglect of his magic-hating relatives. This had continued until he was six years old and reached a stage where he was so emaciated and injured that without treatment he would die. He had been so far from well, in fact, that Death himself had paid Harry a visit.

Death is not the fearsome spectre that tradition paints him to be. He is a tall, thin man with sad, warm eyes and black hair, and a deep love of humanity. He has a fondness for chocolate icecream and a hatred of child abuse. So it was that when he found the small boy in such terrible condition he had broken all the rules, rescuing him and taking him to the nearest hospital where concerned authorities had investigated and found the Dursleys to be unfit guardians. Harry's cousin Dudley had been placed in a foster home, but Harry, who had endeared himself to staff and visitors alike, had been adopted by Lady Janet Alistair, patron of the children's ward.

She had been most surprised when Harry began to be paid visits by none other than the Grim Reaper himself. Still, he was clearly a nice man, even if his voice was… well, like a death knell, to be frank… and since Harry had become attached to him she had allowed the friendship to continue. Besides, Lady Janet was a widow and lived alone with her aging father, and so the occasional male company was not unwelcome. So Harry had grown to be best friends with Death over the years.

A slight cough from his friend reminded Harry of his surroundings. He blushed.

"TIME TO GO, HMM?" Death suggested. Harry nodded quickly and began trundling forward with his trunk, Death keeping pace with him. They approached the carriage on the end and Death lifted Harry's trunk and placed it on board, seeing that the small boy would have trouble doing so. He boarded behind Harry and shut the carriage door.

Harry and Death sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until the door opened and a mildly apprehensive, freckled face peered through.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked uncertainly. "All the other compartments are taken."

"Go ahead," said Harry.

The boy walked inside, pulling his own trunk behind him, leaving the door open. Harry frowned. It was common politeness to shut a door that one had found open.

"Name's Ron Weasley," said the boy after a moment.

"Harry Alistair," said Harry, and left it at that. Ron looked enviously at his well-cut, expensive robes, and the crisp shirt and pants he wore beneath. Even his shoes were shiny.

"Suppose you're pureblood, then?" he asked casually, a hint of resentment in his tone. Death looked at him keenly.

Harry looked surprised at the question.

"Don't know," he replied, shrugging. "My parents died when I was a baby, and my aunt and uncle hated magic, so they never told me anything about my parents. And Mother's a muggle, so I didn't even know I was a wizard until I got my Hogwarts letter."

"Oh," said Ron. He seemed to deflate a little. There was another long silence.

The door opened again and a boy their own age stood in the doorway, flanked by two large, not particularly bright-looking boys. He looked at Ron and Harry assessingly before turning to Harry.

"Mind if I sit in here?" he asked carelessly. "Everywhere else is crowded." Harry raised an eyebrow at the two boys behind him.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he said. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron sniggered. Harry frowned at the lack of manners. Draco looked at Ron disdainfully.

"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."

He turned back to Harry, who nodded and moved over to make room.

"Harry Alistair," he introduced, holding out a hand to shake. Draco took it, but looked at him frowningly.

"I don't know any wizarding family named Alistair," he said, seating himself and looking suspicious. Harry shrugged.

"The Alistair's aren't wizards," he explained. "Mother adopted me as a child."

"Who were your parents, then?"

"Lily and James Potter," Harry replied. Both Ron and Draco did a double-take.

"Potter?" Draco repeated incredulously. "You mean you're Harry Potter?"

Again, Harry shrugged.

"Before I was adopted," he replied. "My aunt and uncle were arrested for child abuse, so Lady Janet Alistair adopted me."

Draco thought this over.

"My parents are both purebloods," he said eventually. "Raised by muggles, then? Don't have much idea about magic, I suppose?"

"A little, but not much," Harry replied. "The Alistairs are a good family though, even if we're not wizards. I hope that counts for something."

Draco nodded thoughtfully.

"It should," he responded, having submitted this remark to due consideration. "They're nobility, after all, and your real parents were wizards even if your mother was a mudblood."

He noticed Harry's frown.

"People are going to say it," Draco told him. "I can't help that."

"I suppose not," Harry admitted. "But call her a muggle-born around me instead, okay?"

"Very well," Draco agreed. "But what I'm saying is, you should have the blood as a Potter and the manners as an Alistair. Still, you'll find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Alistair. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Clearly he was making some kind of personal sacrifice with this offer – Harry suspected that people like Draco simply didn't go around helping others; he'd met many – and quickly accepted.

"I'd appreciate it."

Draco gave him a real grin then.

"You can't make friends with him!" Ron burst out. The two boys looked at him, and Crabbe and Goyle frowned. Ron went on, heedless, face slowly filling with red so that he seemed red from top to toe. "I've heard of his family! First to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared, saying they were bewitched! But everyone says his father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side!"

Malfoy turned faintly pink, but it was Harry who stood up, green eyes turned to ice.

"Since you cannot remember common courtesy," he said coldly, "we would prefer that you leave."

"Fine!" Ron spat, red right up to the ears. "Dirty rotten snake! Your parents would be ashamed to see you hanging around with the likes of him!"

Harry flushed deeply and his fists clenched, his eyes no longer icy but blazing with an inner fire.

"My parents," he said evenly, "wouldn't want me hanging around with an ill-mannered, ill-bred creature like you. Leave!"

Ron finally did so, slamming the compartment door so hard that the glass rattled.

"THAT WAS UNCOMFORTABLE," Death commented. Draco stared at him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Oh, that's Death," Harry said casually. "He's my friend."

Draco blinked at him.

"Pardon?"

"Death, the Grim Reaper," Harry said patiently. "Old friend."

Draco swallowed twice.

"Right," he said, a little squeakily. "Figures. Boy-Who-Lived best friends with Death himself."

Harry looked at him with concern.

"It doesn't worry you, does it?"

"Not really, no," Draco reassured him. "I'm sure I'll get over it."

Death turned his head.

"YOU HAD BETTER. WHERE HARRY GOES, I GO."

"Like a plague, a plague, a veritable pestilence," chanted Harry, which resulted in his getting whacked around the back of the head. "Ow!"

Draco snickered while Harry rubbed his head crossly. He was about to speak when a voice echoed through the train.

"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Hastily the boys prepared to leave, Harry making a futile attempt to flatten his unruly hair, and joined the crowd in the corridor.

They arrived at a tiny, dark platform. A lamp bobbed into sight as a voice bellowed "first years! First years over here!"

Harry and Draco, followed by Death, obediently made their way towards the shadow accompanying the voice, which resolved itself into an unkempt giant of a man. The man looked down at them, eyes widening as he looked at Harry.

"Blimey! If it isn't Harry Potter!"

Harry scowled in annoyance as heads turned to stare at him.

"It's Harry Alistair, if you please," he said sharply. "I was adopted five years ago."

The man beamed at him.

"Last time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant man. "Yeh look like yeh dad, yeh do, but yeh've got yeh mum's eyes."

The man was so obviously delighted to see him that Harry curbed his irritation and smiled politely.

"Indeed? I never knew."

He looked astonished.

"What, yeh aunt 'n' uncle never told yeh?"

"My aunt and uncle," Harry said repressively, "were arrested for child abuse after that almost killed me."

The man looked horrified.

"WHAT?" he roared, making the first years shrink back. A couple of them screamed. He looked murderous.

"I'll be talking teh Albus 'bout that," he said grimly. "It's an outrage!" He gave Harry one last smile, belied by the anger in his eyes, and swung away, leaving the students to follow him.

"Why were you so polite?" asked Draco as he and Harry walked.

"Politeness is for everybody," Harry recited, "whatever their status. Please and thankyou make the world go round, Mother says. What distinguishes the well-bred from the common people is their manners."

Draco seemed to think a lot about that. He was silent all the way across in the boats, right up until they arrived in the entrance hall.

"Never thought about it that way," he said to Harry as they followed a tall, black-haired witch across the flagged stone floor.

"We have a duty towards our inferiors," Harry explained earnestly. "To treat them with courtesy and do what is best for them. It is the responsibility that comes with our superior status."

"Welcome to Hogwarts," announced the witch before either could say any more. She began a short, brisk speech about the school houses, before leading them into the Great Hall.

It was huge, and the air was filled with thousands of floating candles that lit up the hundreds of pale, distant faces that watched them. There were four main tables and one long one at the other end of the hall where all the teachers were sitting. Above it all was a ceiling that appeared to open onto the heavens, although Harry could hear some talkative girl telling someone that it was merely enchanted to resemble the sky outside. Harry was impressed.

The teacher silently placed a four-legged stall in front of the first year students, on top of which she placed a pointed wizard's hat. Harry stared at it, before looking in mute question at Draco.

"The Sorting Hat," Draco whispered, happy to demonstrate his superior knowledge. "Looks inside your head to see where you belong. Father told me all about it. I'm going to be in Slytherin." He nudged Harry. "You better not land in Gryffindor," he added. "Slytherins and Gryffindors don't mix."

He was stopped by the Hat opening a rip in the brim and beginning to sing. A singing hat? Harry thought incredulously. He looked around furtively to see if anyone else happened to notice the utter campness of a singing hat. No one else did. Harry wondered where Death had gone; he would have appreciated the absurdity of it. Although he probably already knew about it, come to think of it.

The Hat finished its song and the black-haired teacher began to call out names. Student after student sat on the stool and wore the Hat, which yelled out a house. Harry was called almost immediately, as 'Alistair, Harry.'

"Good luck," Draco whispered. "Aim for Slytherin."

Harry walked forward on slightly wobbly legs and sat down as the Hat was placed on his head. He saw the witch looking pale and alarmed before the brim slipped over his eyes.

"Hmm," said a voice in his ear. "You're an interesting one. Courage, I see, and not a bad mind either. Talent, lots of talent indeed, and a thirst to prove yourself, and – a friendship with Death?" The small voice sounded stunned. Harry smirked. He'd stunned the singing Hat. Point to him.

"That's not very kind," said the little voice, sounding annoyed. "It's a boring life, being a Hat. Any more of that and I'll put you in Gryffindor."

Do it and die, Harry warned, bringing up a nice mental image of Death's scythe shining in the candlelight. The Hat coughed.

"Only joking, of course," it said, but it sounded a bit sniffy. "You're clearly Slytherin material. You could be great, you know, it's all in your head. That friendship with the Malfoy boy is a good start. Slytherin will help you there."

Just Sort me, please?

"Very well, don't rush me. SLYTHERIN!" The last word was yelled throughout the hall. Harry joined the Slytherin table amid cheers from his housemates.

After a while it was Draco's turn. The Hat barely landed on his head before it yelled "SLYTHERIN!" Draco slid into the space Harry had saved for him, smirking in a very smug way. Harry smirked back.

"You wound me," he told Draco. "Me? Gryffindor? How could you suggest such a thing?"

Draco snickered.

"Some part of you has to be Gryffindor," he said. "You're Harry bloody Potter." Gasps and narrow-eyed looks from their housemates. "Come on, admit it."

"Well, the Hat did consider it for a moment," Harry admitted, "but I reminded it of my close and personal relationship with Death and it decided that it preferred to remain a living Hat. Said that I was clearly Slytherin material. Do you suppose it gets death threats often?"

Draco burst out laughing, garnering some unpleasant looks. Harry simply gave his patented fixed stare and most looked away. There were some advantages to having eyes so green.

The headmaster got to his feet. He was beaming, arms opened wide, apparently delighted to see them all there. Harry thought that he seemed the very antithesis of a hook-nosed man seated further down the teacher's table, who appeared rather annoyed to see them all there.

"Welcome!" the headmaster cried. "Welcome to a new year Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I have a few words that I would like to say, and here they are: nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

He sat down and most of the houses clapped, with the exception of Slytherin.

"I think he's the oddment," Harry murmured to Draco as the golden dishes in front of them filled. Draco, who was taking a sip of juice, snorted into his glass and had to dig out a handkerchief to wipe his nose.

"That's Albus Dumbledore," he said dismissively, once that was done. "Barking mad. Most of the wizarding world adores him though, so you've got to be careful. Father says he's a cunning, senile old fool."

"I see," Harry said thoughtfully. "He wasn't smart enough to find out what happened to me after I got adopted, anyway."

"You said earlier that they nearly killed you," Draco said, looking curious. "The muggles, I mean."

Harry sighed.

"Most muggles are alright," he told his new friend, "but my aunt and uncle were the absolute worst muggles you can imagine. I was glad when they went to prison."

"Father says that muggles are filth," say Draco. Harry paused, fork near his mouth, and lowered his food again. He eyed Draco sternly.

"Not at all," he almost scolded. "Many are quite decent. Just because they don't have magic doesn't mean they should be treated badly."

Draco didn't say any more, although he looked doubtful. Harry suspected that telling him about his muggle relatives wasn't a good idea if you wanted to preach that muggles were good and decent beings. Ah well. Something to work on.

There was silence for a while as the two boys ate. Harry listened to the chatter around him. People were discussing their families and bloodlines to some degree, he noted, while others were conversing at great length about balls and things that they had gone to over the holidays. Harry had been to a few balls, and for the most part found them rather boring. He wondered if wizarding balls were very different to muggle balls.

He was looking around the hall again when he happened to glance at the teachers (one of whom was, oddly enough, wearing a large turban) when it happened – sharp, searing pain leapt across the scar on his forehead. He clapped his hand to his forehead with an exclamation.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked.

"Scar hurt," Harry muttered so that no one else would hear. "Odd that. It's never happened before." He rubbed it suspiciously. Draco just shrugged and went back to eating.

At last most of the food was gone and Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall went quiet, although several of the Slytherins continued talking in low voices.

"Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered," the man announced. "I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

He looked at the Gryffindor table and a couple of redheads grinned back. "I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a painful death."

Harry frowned.

"Thin he's serious?" he asked Draco. Draco frowned darkly.

"Probably," he replied. "Just like him to have dangerous things lurking about the school."

Harry snapped back to attention as Dumbledore asked those assembled to sing the school song. Harry listened to the words with distaste.

Soon afterwards they were following a Slytherin prefect down towards the dungeons. They stopped in front of a patch of bare, damp stone wall.

"Serpents cunning," the prefect said in a bored tone. A concealed door slid open and they all trooped through into a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round greenish lamps were suspended by chains. A fire was blazing under an elaborately carved mantelpiece made of what looked like mahogany, lending warmth and brightness to an otherwise slightly creepy room. High-backed, carved chairs made out of the same dark wood as the mantelpiece stood here and there, while a couple of dark-green couches stood against the walls.

The girls were directed down one set of stairs, the boys down another, and Harry and Draco found themselves in a dark, tastefully-decorated room with five four-poster beds hung with bottle-green velvet curtains. As Harry snuggled down beneath the thick covers, he decided that he was going to enjoy it here. His last, sleepy thought was that he just wondered where Death had gotten to.

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AN:

"…didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side…"

Very Star Wars-ian, I know, but it's there on page 82 of my copy of the Philosopher's Stone, so don't blame me!