Warning: First Fic! AU, small amounts of non-explicit HarryTorture, de-sanctification of several adult characters.
Disclaimer: The usual. I do a nice line in white coats for any one who thinks I own these people.
A/N: A few later aspects of this fic were inspired by March Madness's Fugitive Prince, which is a fantastic creation well worth reading.
Otaku freak, the answer to your question is in here somewhere!
Lady Foxfire, 1st question, not for a while - Harry really doesn't trust adults. He might tell some of the other kids soonish. 2nd question, beginning to be addressed in this one. Harry and somebody else you'll meet this chapter are due a long talk, and that'll come up then.
4. Enter a Host, from All Sides.
Harry was early. Very early, in fact. He wanted to be sure he could avoid at least Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.
Washed, brushed and combed, Harry didn't look a lot like himself. In fact, despite the fact that Harry's hair stuck up every which way and his glasses were falling to pieces, Harry looked almost neat.
He blamed Dudley.
Dudley was always growing, either upwards, outwards, or both. Since he didn't really do anything physical, his clothes were usually still in good condition by the time he grew out of them.
Harry had found a clothing exchange shop.
Harry now had clothes that fit. Mostly.
As he was so small, there hadn't actually been that much that fit him and wasn't obviously designed for much younger children. After teasing Dudley over Tweety-pie, he didn't think he could get away with cartoon characters, so Harry had ended up taking Draco's advice again.
Harry was now the proud owner of three pairs of trousers, one black, one grey, one white, three jumpers, two grey, one black, and eight t-shirts. Seven of the t-shirts were black or white, but the eighth, carefully hidden at the very bottom of the bag, was dark red. It had a drawing of a dog in a mask and gi, and the legend, 'No. 1 Superguy' on it. Harry would never, ever dare wear it, but he hadn't been able to resist.
Sitting at the bottom of a pillar in King's Cross Station, satchel on his shoulder, Ethan round his arm, Harry was pretending to read a muggle paperback. Every now and then, Harry would look up at the clock, frown, and go back to his book.
To a passer-by, Harry looked exactly like a muggle child waiting to be met by someone.
In fact, Harry had no interest in the time. He knew he was very early. He was checking on Hedwig, who was gliding about the upper reaches of the station, trying to pick the tastiest looking pigeon.
Harry was also keeping an eye out for anyone who might be able to show him exactly how to get on to Platform 9 3/4. So far he hadn't had much luck on his own.
At half past nine, Harry looked up from 'Much Ado About Nothing' just in time to see three pale blondes sweep past him, trailed by a trolley pushing itself. No-one seemed to notice.
Harry looked more carefully at the blond family. They were all very well dressed, and Harry thought that if Uncle Vernon was here he'd be sucking up to them like crazy.
"Did we have to come this way, Lucius? So tiresome," drawled the woman.
The man, Lucius, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Narcissa dear, we'll portkey in at Christmas. Draco should use the barrier at least once." He looked about him. "After you, my dear."
The pale woman walked regally into the pillar between platform 9 and 10. Instead of scraping her nose, she vanished.
Interesting, thought Harry, listening carefully as Lucius advised Draco to shut his eyes if he was nervous and not to hesitate. Lucius' tone of voice made it very clear that Draco had better not either hesitate or close his eyes.
Harry winced. The Dursleys might be awful, but at least they didn't have expectations of him.
Harry turned the page, eyes flicking downwards so at least he knew where he was. Don Pedro had just decided to set up Beatrice and Benedick. Harry shook his head. He just didn't understand why those two would want to be around each other; it was very tiring to fight all the time.
Harry looked up as a shadow crossed his page. The blond man was looking down at him, a small frown on his face. "My son tells me that you are on your way to Hogwarts, also."
Harry looked around him, frantically. Draco was mouthing something that looked like 'sorry!' from behind Lucius.
"Yes," said Harry, moving his book into his left hand and sticking out his right. "I'm Harry."
Lucius' gaze flicked up and down the boy. Shabby, very shabby, but at least neat and clean. He took the boy's hand. It was small and thin, and very callused. "Lucius Malfoy. Pleased to meet you, Mr..?"
Harry blushed. "Oh, sorry! It's Potter, but nobody ever call's me that. Please, call me Harry."
"Harry Potter?" said Lucius Malfoy, face frozen. Draco hadn't mentioned that. "Surely not. Both the Potters were quite tall."
Harry's flush deepened. He hated being reminded he was short. "Did you know my parents, sir?"
"We met. One does. I wouldn't say we were friends."
"Oh," said Harry, retrieving his hand. "Would you mind telling me about them? Just a little bit? If you have time?"
Lucius looked down at the child. "I do not think I would be the best person to do that, Mr Potter. Come, where is your trunk? Let us get you on to the platform."
"My name's Harry, sir. And I don't have a trunk."
Lucius' lips twitched. Stubborn tone aside, the child was half an inch from pouting at him. "Where are your things, then?"
Harry pulled his satchel in front of him and slid the book back into it.
"I see," said Lucius. "Let us be off."
Platform 9 and 3/4 was very old fashioned, thought Harry. It had scrolled ironwork and benches. It had porters and rubbish bins. It had a steam train.
The steam train was scarlet, hissing gently and smelling of mineral oils and coal fires.
Harry was hooked. He'd never even dreamed of seeing a steam train before, let alone riding on one. Even if he had to share every class and his room with Dudley, it would be worth it.
Lucius Malfoy watched the boy run ahead, trailing his fingers along the doors and heading inevitably for the engine, his owl swooping excitedly around his head.
"I thought you said you met him in Madam Malkin's?" he said, coolly.
Draco nodded. "Yes, father. The satchel seems to be enchanted."
"I see. Still, he will need a trunk." Lucius glanced up at the clock. "I will see to it. Was there anything else he needed?"
Draco shrugged. "His clothes were all his cousin's rejects. He wanted to know what people wore under robes."
"I see." Lucius flicked another glance at the boy. "I shall have the elves pack up a few of your old things. Give them to him or not as you see fit."
"Yes, father."
"Be his friend. Do not worry about converting him as yet, just make sure he does not become completely narrow minded."
"Yes, father."
"The cousin is that whale of a boy with the appalling parents, correct?"
Draco nodded. "Dursley. Dudley Dursley. Harry dislikes him."
"Yes. Take control of him. Do not compromise your friendship with Harry to do so. If there is a choice between the two, keep Potter. I shall be dealing with his parents, so the troll is relatively unimportant." Lucius looked again at the clock. "I want you to observe the relationship with the other cousin; I need to know why Harry left and if he is likely to return."
Draco nodded, making a mental note to find out who Harry's other cousin was.
"Good," said Lucius. "Say goodbye to your mother. I will see you at Christmas. Owl if you need anything."
"Yes, Father," snarled Draco, heaving one end of his trunk onto the step under the carriage door. "No, Father," he grunted as he yanked it up far enough to catch the doorway. "Three fucking bags full, Father."
Draco eyed his trunk venomously and set his feet. He bent both knees, wrapped both hands around the end handle and heaved as hard as he could, spewing curses with every ounce of spare breath. "How in Merlin's name am I supposed to be friends with teeny-weeny aren't I cute saviour of the fucking world pretty boy Potter and with his trollspawn cousin, father?"
"What's trollspawn?" asked Harry. "It sounds like a good word for Dudley."
Draco let go of the trunk in surprise and consequently fell over. Harry, rather used to disasters of this nature, put his shoulder underneath the trunk and pushed. The trunk teetered and dropped, missing Draco's toe by millimetres.
"Trollspawn," said Draco, to the tuft of black hair that was all he could see of Harry, "is either a half-breed between a troll and a human, or a very rude word for someone who looks like they ought to be a half-breed. You shouldn't use it. It would disrupt your cute image."
Harry frowned, climbing up on top of Draco's trunk. "I'm not cute."
Draco coughed sarcastically. He raised one eyebrow and purred, "Do tell."
"I'm pretending to be cute. Old people are nicer to you if you're cute."
"Potter, you are cute from the ends of your ridiculous hair to the tips of your undoubtedly tiny little toes. You can't help it. You are doomed to be picked up and hugged by smelly old ladies with no teeth for the rest of your short and tragic lifespan."
Harry looked owlishly at Draco where he still lay on the floor. "Short and tragic lifespan?"
"Yes."
"I see. Is this where I insult you right back, and then we get married?"
Draco coughed, choked on nothing, and then coughed again. When he caught his breath, he said, "Sarcasm, nil, cuteness, one. What have you been reading?"
"Much ado about nothing. You know, you could pretend not to be my friend, if you needed to."
"Sorry?"
"So you can get Dudley to like you. Besides, I like fighting with you. At least like this."
Draco sat back up, a calculating look on his face. "It won't be easy."
"I know." Harry scrambled off the trunk and stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, enormously tall person."
"You too, nine year old."
"You know," said Harry, huffing and puffing as he helped move Draco's trunk into the nearest compartment, "you could tell me about my family."
Draco yanked the end of the trunk over the door tracks. "Why do you think I know?"
Harry snorted in exasperation. "Because everyone does! I met this boy on Diagon Alley yesterday, and he was really nice and all, and then he asked what my surname was, 'cos I hadn't said, and he ran away shouting 'Mum! It's Harry Potter!' I mean, am I evil or something? What?"
Draco was rolling around on the floor, holding his sides and laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.
Harry looked down at his new friend. He really didn't understand what was so funny.
A few minutes later, when Draco had composed himself enough to get back on the seat and dust off his clothes, there was a loud thump from the corridor.
A dark head appeared around the edge of the door. "Why have you left your trunk half in the corridor?" it said sharply. "Oh, hello Malfoy. What's wrong with you?"
Draco wiped another crop of tears from his eyes and said, "Blaise. He, oh, hell," and dissolved into sniggers again.
Blaise looked at the other occupant of the compartment. The small, dark haired boy looked rather familiar.
"B-blaise?" said Harry.
"Yes?"
Harry launched himself at the larger boy, babbling, "You're OK! I thought something bad must have happened! What about Auntie Rosie and Uncle Blaine? Are they OK? What about Minx and Manx? Have you brought Batbrain?"
"Harry?" said Blaise. "You shrank."
Harry let go of Blaise and glared at him. "I shrank?"
"Uh-huh. Why didn't you come back?"
"Because nobody ever came to pick me up," muttered Harry, eyes old and tired.
Blaise frowned, chewing on a fingernail. "I think I'd better owl Mum. She said you didn't want to come back."
Harry sighed. "Probably Aunt Petunia. Though why she'd want to keep me if she didn't have to, I don't know."
"Hmm. What did you do to Draco, by the way?"
Harry huffed. "I didn't do anything. I just asked a question and he won't even answer it, let alone tell me why it's funny."
Blaise looked at Draco. "What was the question?"
Draco said, struggling manfully not to giggle, "Some kid asked him his name and then ran away screaming, 'Mum! It's Harry Potter!' And he wants to know if he's evil!"
Blaise cracked up.
"What is wrong with you guys?"
Blaise and Draco managed to wrestle their trunks into the compartment between them. Harry, barred from helping on grounds of being 9 (Blaise had raised both eyebrows at this), sat in the corner seat hugging Manx, one of the Zabini family's pet kneazles.
Manx was a mackerel striped female who'd lost her tail in an accident as a kitten and who was entirely too big to fit in Harry's lap. Harry, involved in the accident that had deprived Manx of her tail, felt that at least until he'd had a chance to apologise properly Manx had better be in charge of their relationship and sacrificed blood circulation to his legs happily.
"Harry?"
Harry looked up from his inspection of Manx's ears. "Yeah?"
"Where's your trunk?"
Harry said, "I don't have a trunk, but my stuff's there," pointing his chin at his bag.
Blaise opened his mouth, caught Draco shaking his head out of the corner of his eye, and shut up.
"Hey, Blaise," said Harry a minute later. "Can you help me introduce Ethan to Manx?"
"Ethan?" asked Blaise, lifting Manx off Harry's lap, and wrapping both arms around the kneazle.
Harry grinned. "He wanted to visit Hogwarts, so I said I'd give him a lift." Harry reached in to the back of his shirt and lifted out Ethan. Ethan, awakened from a nice nap to find a hissing and spitting kneazle in his face, did what any self respecting snake would do, bite and run.
Fortunately for Manx, Blaise had been distracted by the sight of his cousin handling an adder so casually and let go of him. Harry found himself pressed back into the corner by Manx's weight, Ethan curled up behind him swearing viciously, and Manx trying to squirm a paw under him enough to get at the tasty looking snake.
"Oh dear," said Draco, thinking that at this rate Harry would need his old clothes. The grey trousers were already suffering.
"Help, would you?" muttered Blaise, irritated.
With Draco scruffing the kneazle while Blaise put her in a choke hold, it didn't take long to prize Manx off Harry. Introducing Ethan and Manx so they wouldn't attack each other again proved a little more time consuming.
Harry was seriously considering pouting. Only the feeling that he should keep his serious weapons in reserve was stopping him. Blaise and Draco had refused to explain about his family, only saying "You're not evil, Harry," and starting to laugh again whenever he asked.
It was almost a quarter past ten now, and the train was beginning to get a bit busier. Harry picked up his bag and tucked Ethan round his neck.
"Where are you going, Harry?" asked Blaise.
Harry shrugged. "Next door. Draco needs to be friends with Dudley, so I figured I'd better not be here."
Draco's calculating air returned. "It better had be next door, 9. I'm sure he'll at least stop off to yell at you, and I need a way to break the ice."
"I'll let you know if it's not. Blaise, you want to play intermediary?"
Blaise grimaced. "I met our impressive cousin in Ollivanders. I suspect that I shall move to your compartment shortly."
Harry grinned.
Settling in to the next compartment, Harry looked out of the corridor side window, waiting for the inevitable.
He could almost hear Aunt Petunia's shrill voice.
"Oh, Hello," said a voice. Harry started from his thoughts and looked back at the door. Three grinning red heads were trying to fit through it all at once.
"Hello," said Harry.
"Is this compartment taken? I mean, I thought you must be one of the teacher's kids, but Ronniekins here says you're a first year too," said one of the larger, more identical redheads.
Harry said, "I'm a first year. Um, come in, if you want."
The other older boy grinned. "Nah, we've got somewhere. Just little old Ron needing a seat."
Two minutes later the bigger boys had Ron's trunk put away. They shut the door behind them.
Ron said, after a few moments, "I'm sorry about yesterday, really. I was just so surprised, you know?"
Harry winced. "It's OK, I guess. Would you mind telling me why, though?"
"You mean, you don't know?" said Ron, in tones of total disbelief.
Blaise stepped back into his compartment and muttered to Draco, "One of the Weasleys is telling him about it."
Draco laughed.
Dudley Dursley had had to be helped on to Platform 9 and 3/4 by a family of red headed lunatics. The mother had been scatty and disapproving of something. The youngest, a girl, had been duly impressed by Dudley's manly stature and his heroic deeds (Dudley could see it now, Dudley and the Snakes of Doom, starring Harrison Ford in the title role). The four boys, however, had been trouble.
The eldest reeked of Prefect. Dudley was quite good at avoiding Prefects, even though he hadn't had to fear them in several years. The youngest seemed to be afraid of him. The middle two, well they had that same glint in their eyes that the brat had when he was planning mischief.
Trouble. The lot of them.
Dudley had mentioned this to Vernon Dursley, and he had concurred. Vernon, as not even a squib, couldn't get on to Platform 9 and 3/4 without special dispensation. He hadn't realised this or he'd have organised something; with Petunia still unwilling to be reminded of the brat poor Dudley would have to get on the train on his own.
Vernon, as a man with an eye for the main chance, had decided that, dubious or not, any family with four strapping (though not as healthily built as Dudley) boys was to be appreciated when it came to getting Dudley's two large and heavy trunks onto a train.
Mrs Weasley, making some comment about how awful the muggles were at dealing with glandular problems that Vernon didn't pick up on until later, roped her sons into getting Dudley's trunks onto the train.
Unfortunately, she wasn't very specific, and Dudley's trunks ended up upside down in a section of the train where there were no free compartments.
Dudley glared at his trunks and yanked open the nearest compartment door. There were four boys inside, two almost as thin as the freak and two more muscular types. Dudley barrelled his way in to the compartment and sat down, almost knocking one of the thin boys off the seat.
"Well," he said, "Don't just sit there. Fetch my trunks."
The arctic silence was broken by one of the larger boys. "You're Dursley, right?"
Dudley sniffed. "Yes."
"Draco, I think we should get rid of him. He's already pissed off all the Weasleys and Flint."
Draco waved Gregory to silence and glared harder at Dursley. He was supposed to be friends with this monstrosity?
"Draco, is it?" said Dudley. This was just like him and Piers at the beginning. And this time, he was going to end up in charge of the gang. "Fetch my trunks. Now."
"You will call me Malfoy, Dursley."
Dudley grinned. "Just as you like, Malky. Now fetch. My. Trunks."
"Crabbe, Goyle, if you would?" said Draco, languidly.
Vincent and Gregory were not small boys. Unlike Dudley, most of their weight was muscle and they had been taught how to use it. Between them hustling Dudley out of the compartment was not difficult.
Dudley, not to be defeated, took a step back in the door.
"Dursley," drawled Draco. "A word of advice. You may have been in charge in your previous environment, but you are not in charge here. You do not even know who is in charge. Perhaps you should find out."
Dudley took another step forward.
The other thin boy spoke up. "It's quite amazing, really. I can't think of one single thing that would anger all the Weasleys and Flint. What did you do?"
"Who are the Weasleys and Flint?" asked Dudley.
Everyone ignored him. Dudley sat back down. Gregory said, disgustedly, "He hit on Virginia Weasley and Clarice Flint. At the same time."
"Ew!" said Blaise.
"Are you suicidal?" asked Vincent, interested.
Dudley asked again, "Who are the Weasleys and Flint?"
Draco said, "Perhaps we will write that on your tombstone."
Dudley fumed as the others laughed. "I'm Harry Potter's cousin, you know!"
"You are the half blood son of a squib. Every single person here is better bred than you!"
"So what," yelled Dudley. "If I can beat your precious saviour up, I can beat you, right?"
Draco smirked. "I do not think you are correct. You are welcome to try, however."
Dudley looked at the smirk and reconsidered. "Not here."
"Where and when you will, mudblood."
Dudley had made something of a study of wizarding insults. He spluttered, enraged. "I'm not a mudblood!"
Technically," said Blaise, "you aren't. But only because you have Potter blood in you."
Dudley screeched, "I'm not a Potter!"
Blaise snapped, "Shut up! Obviously, I know more about the family than you, so keep quiet and stop making a fool of yourself! James Potter was a member of a very junior cadet branch of the Potter family. Two generations ago, the main family had only daughters and lost the name. With James Potter and Lily Evans, they saw the opportunity to get the name back into the main line. You are a member of the Potter family through your mother, third daughter and squib. As son of a muggle and muggle raised, you would count entirely as a mudblood if it were not for the fact that the Potter's gifts are inclined to skip generations. The Potter family are therefore the only pureblood family to keep in touch with their squibs, let alone support them. Clear?"
"Yes," said Dudley. "How'd you know?"
"If you were properly raised, you'd know," Draco drawled. "Blaise also has the ah, advantage of being your cousin."
Dudley fumed. He'd lost the leadership battle again, and worse, he wasn't even second. He turned his attention to Crabbe and Goyle, determined not to be last, and completely forgot everything Blaise had told him.
Watching Dudley eat his way through the enormous pile of snacks he'd bought, Draco murmured to Blaise, "You'd better make sure 9 knows all that too."
Blaise nodded and left, determined to find out why Draco called Harry 9.
A/N: What do you think? Is this a Slytherin Harry or a Gryffindor Harry? He seems more Slytherin to me, but I don't know if I can bear to make him share a dorm with Dudley.
I don't think I'm going to be able to update tomorrow - sorry, but I have to study too....
Is there anyone reading this who can draw? Could I have a pic of Harry in his white jeans and red hong-kong-phooey t-shirt? Pretty please.....I'll write you a ficlet.....
