Disclaimer -

As usual, all characters in this story belong to the greatly talented writer J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and Warner Bros. and all are being used without knowledge and permission. This story shall eventually lead off into shounen ai slash, which translates into a romantic boy/boy story. Light snogging shall eventually appear, at the very end of the story so please consider yourself warned.
Also, this chapter has direct spoilers for the first four books, so you have been warned.
Lady Koneko
=^._.^=

Harry Potter
To Have and Protect

Chapter Four
'Memories to Remember'

Yawning, Harry climbed into bed. What a day it had been. As he placed his glasses and wand on the table next to him, he thought back to Potions, when he, Ron and Hermione were talking about Malfoy, how he was acting, and what his possible plans were. Who knew then what would happen. He looked over at the small blond head resting on his pillow. Who would have thought that Malfoy... Draco, would insist on staying with him? Who would have thought that he would have been such a cute kid... ermmm... okay, he thought Draco was a cute kid. All the others thought Draco was still a right proper prat, just a lot smaller. And he had to admit; they did have a point. Why was Draco treating him different? He was the only person Draco would listen to, would even politely acknowledge, truth be told. Ron's black eye was nearly faded, but Neville had been kicked several more times after Draco had gotten up from his nap. He mostly ignored Hermione, and treated poor Crookshanks like he was a stuffed toy. Crookshanks didn't seem to mind, up until Draco had tried to carry him off. Harry smiled, the memory of Crookshanks hanging out of Draco's arms -the cat was nearly as big as Draco- and Hermione's reaction to the 'abuse' of her poor cat had been rather funny. Not that he would admit that to Hermione. Ron had not been able to muffle his laughter, and had been rounded out by Hermione before she managed to wrestle her cat away from Draco. She had huffed to her dormitory, Crookshanks held tightly in her arms, and he could have sworn he had seen a feline look of relief on the fat cat's face before they whipped around the corner.

Draco had been put out with 'his' kitty gone, but after a bit of pouting had come to sit next to him on the sofa while he worked on his homework. Draco had drifted off, leaning against him with one hand clutching his robe. Ron had made gagging noises when he noticed and Harry had carried him up to his dorm. Thankfully, Ron did not say anything this time. Draco's trunk had been brought up to the Gryffindor Tower by the house elves, and they had magically re-sized all the clothing to fit Draco's childish frame. He had dressed Draco into a pair of pajamas and tucked him into bed. Then he had gone back down to do more work on his History of Magic essay.

Yawning again, Harry blew out the candle and lay down, pulling the covers up. He gave Draco one last look before closing his eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was the first flying lesson of the year, and things were not going as he had thought they would. As he had expected, his broom had jumped into his hand at his command, one of the few that did. To his great amusement, Weasley's broom had jerked up and smacked him smartly in the face. But, unexpectedly, Potter's broom had leaped up into his hand as fast as his had. That had not boded well. Then, when Madame Hooch walked down the line, she had corrected his grip, ~in front of the entire class!~ He had seen the twin smirks on Potter and the Weasel's faces, and it had infuriated him.

He had thought things were taking a turn for the better when the near squib Longbottom had lost control of his broom and had fallen off, breaking his arm and requiring Madam Hooch to take him to the Hospital Wing. He had seen the glass orb fall out of Longbottom's robes on impact, and he knew that this was the perfect way to have a bit of sport with Potter without the meddling of an adult teacher. He had no idea that Potter would be a natural at flying, with an in-air grace that totally flabbergasted him.

The realization that he was outclassed in the air, -after years of flying- by a muggle-raised muggle-lover sat like a rock in his stomach, and he threw the rememberall high in the air with a taunting challenge. He never thought that Potter would take him up on it, had no idea the heavy weight in his stomach would increase and his blood would freeze in his veins as he watched the dark-haired, emerald eyed boy race to the ground at neck-breaking speed...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She terrified him more than anything he knew in the world. And while he was only four years old, he knew that Grandmother did it on purpose. She ~enjoyed~ scarring him, and nothing he said to his parents prevented her from tormenting him.

One evening she came to tell him a story, it was the first time she had ever did so, and the last as she parted from the world of the living not to long after. She sat on the edge of his bed, her white hair and pale skin making her look like one of the Manor's ghosts. She had leaned over him to tuck him in, forcing the covers tight around his body and across his neck.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" she asked, her voice crackling with age.

It was not a question, and he knew better than to refuse. He nodded slightly, a shiver raking his body when she smiled down at him.

"Once upon a time, there was this lovely little boy who lived in a great manor house on the edge of the dark forest. His mummy and daddy always told him to never enter the forest," she bore steely cold eyes into his soft silver ones, "but do you know what he did?"

He shook his head. "No," he whispered, rightly afraid of where the story was going.

She shook her head in denial of his statement. "Oh, yes you do." She smiled. "He went into the forest one day, and he met a werewolf. Then he died and everyone forgot about him, and we all lived happily ever after..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Normally he would have enjoyed a trip into Knockturn Alley, but Father was in a rotten mood of sorts, something about Ministry raids and muggle loving fools. Actually, fools was not the word Father had used; he had been listening at the study door the night before and if he was ever caught using the words Father had been using, well, he could kiss his new broom goodbye until next year. He had been planning on seeing if he could badger his father into getting him some sort of present as well, some sort of Dark Arts artifact would suit perfectly. When they had been in Knockturn Alley last year, he had seen all sorts of interesting things in the windows of Borgin and Burks, and he was planning on taking something home from there as well as Quality Quidditch Supplies.

The moment he stepped into Borgin and Burks though, Father had told him to touch nothing, just when he was starting to investigate various items. He did not let that stop him, however, and began to look at the items in his immediate area as Father and Mister Borgin started to talk. He found one item of extreme interest, a Hand of Glory. He had read about them, and it would be practical to own, would make sneaking around Hogwarts after curfew much easier. Unfortunately Father was not keen on the idea, and it also lead to Father growling about his grades and how a mudblood Gryffindor beat him in every class.

As Father returned to his discussion with Mister Borgin, he continued to look at the items for sale. An opal necklace gave him a bit of amusement, but when he lifted his eyes from the accompanying card, he swore he saw a glimmer of emerald coming from a cabinet against the wall in front of him. The emerald glow reminded him of the emerald eyes that haunted his dreams since he was a small child.

Potter's eyes, he thought absently and started walking toward the cabinet. Whatever was glowing emerald from that cabinet, he wanted it. He was seconds from finding out, his fingers brushing the handle, when Father called for him. For a second, the thought of disobeying his father and finding out what was in the cabinet flashed across his mind, but disobeying Father had never been bright, and whatever was in the cabinet, he suddenly did not want Father to see.

As he was going around the corner to the exit of Knockturn Alley, he swung his head for one last glance at Borgin and Burks and saw the thin, dark-haired frame of Potter exiting the store...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Great Aunt Isodol's private study was his favorite place in the entire Manor to hide. It had sat unused for nearly a hundred years before he found it, no one -not even the house elves- had been there since she had disgraced the family name and had been disowned. He had stumbled across the hidden room several years earlier and had quickly claimed it as his own.

Aunt Isodol had been a rarity in the family, a Ravenclaw in a family of Slytherins, and her study reflected the fact, not a trace of green to be seen anywhere in the room. White oak paneling and various shades of blue velvet and silk were everywhere, making it seem as though all the sky and blue sea was captured and held in the room. And over the mantle, dressed in blue silk and mocking silver eyes flashing, was a portrait of Isodol herself, the main reason he always returned to the room.

Today was the day after his ninth birthday, and he wanted to show Aunt Isodol the birth gift he had received from Grandmummy, a beautiful deck of tarot cards. He quickly told Isodol about the cards as he showed them to her, how Grandmummy told him that he had the gift with the tarot, and that when he went to Hogwarts in a couple of years he would learn all about his gift. After telling her all about the cards, he had smiled up at her; hugging the cards to his chest, and asked Isodol how often seers were sorted into Ravenclaw.

Isodol had not been fast answering the innocent question. The portrait gave him a sad, knowing look, her mocking silver eyes serious for the first time he had ever seen. She spoke softly, telling him that seers usually were sorted into Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Occasionally, one was sorted into Ravenclaw, but the qualities that made one a Ravenclaw were not often found in the romantic and whimsical seer. He frowned up at her, the smile fading from his eyes to be replaced by a confused look. Isodol looked down at him, then off to the side for a moment. When the portrait's gaze returned to his, the silvery eyes were a clouded gray. Despite his gift, she told him in a low voice, he would be sorted into Slytherin, like his father, and his father's father before him.

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing ominously, and he told her that she lied, he would not be a Slytherin, he would not, not, not! He ran out of the room, his cards clutched tightly to his chest fighting not to cry.

He never returned.

* * * * *

Draco awoke slowly, whispers of a dream drifting through his mind. For some reason he had dreamt of an incident that had happened back in fourth year, from the Tri Wizard competition. It had been so real, like he was reliving the experience, back in time to when Harry had undergone the first task, dragons. He shivered, the power from the recalled memory as powerful as it had been that day. Watching as Harry flew against the Hungarian Horntail, summoning his broom, and then playing the most dangerous game a seeker could play. The heavy weight in his stomach as he watched Harry dart around the violent dragon was reminiscent of the way he had felt watching Harry dive after the rememberall in first year, but much worse. If the dragon had got a hold of him... But it had turned out all right, Harry has won, and why was he even thinking about this anyway? He rolled over, snuggling into the warmth that surrounded him. He had not thought about that, or the rememberall, for years...

Hold on, wait a second there. Draco's thoughts stilled as he came to a belated realization. He was snuggled into something, something warm, and firm, that was defiantly not his golden goose down feather pillow. Warm, yes. Comfortable, most definatly. His pillow? No way in hell. His pillow was not warm (unless he placed a warming charm on it) and it most definatly did ~not~ breath. He was snuggled into a person, identity: unkown.

If it is Pansy I see, I swear no one will ever find her body. Slowly, with great reluctance tinged with apprehension, Draco opened his eyes. And came face to face with blue-striped cotton.

Well, he thought dryly. Definatly not Pansy. Pansy would not be caught dead (unfortunaly) in something so... so... common and tasteless. Rumor had it that she wore black silk and lace teddies to bed. He had no intent of finding out if that was true or not. Looking at her in her robes was hard enough. Seeing her with so much skin exposed would scar him for life.

Not a female at all... his thoughts drifted. His head was resting on a gently moving chest, one unadorned with feminine embellishments.

Too thin to be either Crabbe or Goyle... and Zabini is never this peaceful in sleep. Besides, none of them had reason to crawl into his bed, and after sharing a dorm room for five years, all three of them had enough in the way of self preservation going for them not to.

Draco looked up from the cotton his nose was pressed against, and saw scarlet velvet bed curtains. His breath froze in his lungs.

Gryffindor... I am in Gryffindor... Now how the hell had ~that~ happened? After all, when he had prepared for bed the night before Draco's thought process slowed to a crawl, slid into reverse, and he quickly went over the previous days events in high gear. Something had gone tragically wrong. He had gone to breakfast, first one of the year. Check. Smirking smugly at Harry, anticipating the day's events. Check. Going to Potions and sitting near Harry so he could enjoy the day's lesson. Check. Noting the strange, apprehensive looks that Harry had kept sending him... hmm... suspicious that. Should check it out later. Longbottom's cauldron blowing up at the table in front of his...

Longbottom's cauldron blew up, and then what? He recalled a blur of images, a giant, scowling dark figure, soft sympathetic emerald eyes, firm gentle arms carrying him... His eyes widened as the previous day's memories slowly returned. Soft emerald gazing at him, protective arms embracing him. Waking in the Hospital Wing, whispers of memories floating through his mind. Harry holding him, carrying him, even feeding him in the Great Hall...

Slowly he crawled out of Harry's arms and sat next to him. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was in his sapphire blue silk pajamas, and that they had been shrunk to fit his childish frame.

Longbottom is going to die. How the hell did that incompetent squib want-to-be manage to cause his potion to...do...this... Wait... Not unless... No. How could have Longbottom possibly come in possession of the cauldron he had prepared for Harry. But come in possession he must have.

That would have done it, he thought reluctantly. The solution he had coated Harry's cauldron with had powerful transfiguration properties, and if things had gone as planned, Harry would have gone through an embarrassing, if temporary transformation. Only God would know how Longbottom had screwed up the potion so badly that it had shrunk him to the size of a five-year-old...

No, wait a moment. Not shrink. What was Professor Dumbledore telling Harry before lunch? Regression potions, was it not? Unfortunately he had not been paying much attention to the Headmaster. He recalled being more interested in the beautiful red plummed bird that had been in the corner than in listening to an old man prattle off on something that did not interest him Draco frowned. And why had he not been interested? He loved potions, and while a phoenix was interesting, potions were more so. What if the potion had not only regressed his body, but his mind as well?

They were also talking of a counter potion, if I recall correctly. I am more aware of things today than yesterday, apparently the potion's effects are wearing off... So I should soon return to my normal self. Who knows how long it would take Professor Snape to figure out how Longbottom screwed up and prepare a counter potion. Of course, things might go a bit faster if he confessed to his little alteration to the potion, but since the Headmaster was involved, it would be a guaranteed detention, and no one willingly volunteered for those. And from what he could remember from the day before, Professor Snape had been in the worst sort of moods about the entire incident; sympathy from that corner would be highly unlikely, and he just might pick up a detention from him as well.

Waiting it out seems to be the best course of action to take, he finally decided. I will have several days free of schoolwork... he could always copy notes off of Blase, and... Draco smirked maliciously, a look that made him look like a demon child and would have convinced anyone that regardless on how he had acted the day before that the Draco they all knew and avoided was still in residence. I will have the perfect opportunity to spy on Harry for days, with no interruptions. He blinked and realized that during the entire time that he was thinking, he had been staring at the sleeping teen. A small niggle of worry coursed through him, but it was drowned out by the realization that without his glasses and asleep, that Harry looked much younger than his sixteen years.

I do wonder, though... Slowly, as though he was in no control of his body, Draco reached out and brushed the hair off of Harry's forehead. While it looked as though it had just gone three rounds with a comb (and won) Harry's dark hair was actually quite soft and silky, not at all like he thought it would be. After a moment, where he took the opportunity to run his hand through Harry's hair, he looked at Harry's forehead, at the ever-so-commented-on scar. Never had he such an opportunity to study it before. Harry's hair almost always covered it, sometimes he thought intentionally, and whenever he looked at Harry he was to busy glaring, scowling and insulting him to pay attention to his scar. But now... How was he able to survive such a powerful curse? He had heard the normal excuse, because of his mother's love, but he really didn't believe it. That would mean that all the other people who sacrificed themselves over the years to protect their children and loved ones, from the day the Avada Kedavra curse had been created, had not loved those they intended to protect. That was hard to believe. Without realizing what he was doing, he gently laid a finger on the silvery smooth skin. A tingling shock ran up his arm and he jerked back in surprise. Simultaneously, a pair of glowing green eyes sprang open, staring straight at him.

* * * * *

Harry had been having an unusually pleasant dream of him at the Burrow, where he and Ron were de-gnoming the garden and Hermione was leaning against a tree near them peacefully reading a book. It seemed ages since he had such a simple and peaceful dream that his subconscious just wanted to wallow in it without trying to figure out where it had came from. He had just pitched a gnome some sixty odd-feet, breaking his old record, when a cool tingling ran through him, tickling all his nerves from his hair all the way down to the tips of his toes. He awoke with a shock, his eyes springing open and his gaze locked on a pale blurry form sitting next to him.

"Draco?" he murmured softly, blinking his eyes fuzzily. He reached absently for his glasses and a moment later he was looking at Draco, who was gazing back at him nervously. Harry frowned in concern. "Is there something wrong?"

Oh yes, Draco thought frantically. There certainly is something wrong! Rapidly he shook his head in denial, not noticing that he had trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. Harry's eyebrows jerked up at the unfamiliar mannerism and Draco suddenly realized what happened and released his lip. He had not bit his lips since he was a small child... Harry gave a quick shake of his head, his lips quirking into a smile so warm that Draco could actually feel it.

"Okay then," Harry said softly, looking around for his clock. It had been a gift from Hagrid, and it had a bad tendency to wander off just when you needed it. Ron had suggested that he sello-tape it to his mantle, but he had yet to resort to such measures, but then, he had only owned the clock a month. He would give it a few days to start minding itself before pulling out the tape. Sighing, he pushed aside the velvet curtain and looked out into the room. Early morning light was filtering in through the windows, but everyone else seemed to be still asleep, singling that it was still quite early.

"Well," he said, letting the curtain drop. "For some reason it does not surprise me that you're a morning person." Draco just looked up at him, his eyes shining silver innocence. "You being so quiet though, does. For some reason, I thought you would have been a demanding, annoying brat..." Harry's voice trailed off as a spark of something flared in Draco's eyes. "I guess I can live with two out of three being wrong." Draco blinked, wondering which two he was talking about. None seemed flattering... "Lets say we get a shower before everyone else is up, hmmm? Seamus sounds like a banshee in the showers..." And with Draco watching on quietly but with great interest, Harry gathered his bath stuff.

* * * * *

Forty minutes later, everyone else was up and about and Harry was getting Draco dressed for the day. Draco had rather enjoyed his shower, surprisingly enough. Gryffindor Tower water pressure was just as good as down in the dungeon, with the added advantage of the rooms not being anywhere near as chilly. He had not been embarrassed of Harry washing him. In fact, it was rather fun. The shower stalls were quite large, and left plenty of room for a smallish five-year-old to maneuver. Having Harry chase him around the stall all soapy while trying to wash him had been the most fun he had had in a long while.

"I can't believe that you took him in the showers with you," Ron growled, combing his wet hair neatly. Harry glanced up wistfully. He wished ~his~ hair would behave itself like that.

"Ron, Draco is five. You don't honestly expect him to take a shower by himself?" The look he received from Ron clearly stated that yes, as a matter of fact, he did. He sighed, and quickly gave Draco a good look over. The house elves had relocated Draco's trunk next to his (Ron had nearly had a coronary when he had seen it the night before) and Harry had picked out cloths for Draco to wear. It had rather surprised him to discover that most all of Draco's non-school related robes were in shades of blue, as were his underclothes. He had not known that one could find matching boxers, t-shirts and under robes in sky blue silk either. He had found a nice (expensive) pair of dragon hide boots (fortunately black) for him to wear so he wouldn't have to go around barefooted. The shoes he had lost yesterday had not been recoved, and this way Harry would not have to carry Draco around all day. Small or not, his arms still ached a bit from carrying the Slytherin around the day before. All that had to be done now, Harry noted, was to comb Draco's hair. He removed the towel he had wrapped around the blonde's head and picked up his comb.

Five minutes later he discovered why Draco always wore his hair slicked back. Draco's hair paid about as much attention to a good combing as his did. After several more minutes of futile combing, Harry left Draco's hair as it was. He was not going to go through the depths of Draco's trunk to find his hair gel, who knew what Draco kept down in there. Draco would just have to live with fluffy waves today. Besides, Harry tilted his head to one side, Draco looked rather cute with his hair like this. Cute and sweet and innocent. Nothing like he usually looked. How did such a cute kid turn into the annoying prat he knew and hated so?

"Okay, ready to go down for breakfast?" Harry asked Draco. The blonde child nodded solemnly, but Harry quickly caught the slight twitch of his lips and the silver gleam of amusement in Draco's eyes that gave them a soft blue hue.

"Uh, Harry?" Dean was standing next his own bed, pulling on his shoes and giving him a strange look. "You are not really going down to the Great Hall in your bath towels, are you?"

Harry froze, turning a startling shade of red as he realized that in all the fuss of getting Draco ready he had forgotten himself.

Ron shook his head in great disappointment and Draco smirked to himself as everyone else watched as Harry rushed to get ready.

tbc

* * * * *

And I would like to take a moment to thank all the wonderful people who have patiently waited for this installment and who have reviewed the previous chapters, especially those who did multiple reviews. (very thankful, as I am horrible at leaving reviews myself... My deepest apologies to every author marked with a '*' =^.^=) They are as follows:
Chapter One - Joydrop, ladyeclectic, CrystalStarGuardian*, Sailor Chibi*, Joydrop, mida, Myrtle-Pyrtle.
Chapter Two - Anna ,Warui Warui Neko*, Yanagi-sen, Antigone, Enjeru, linda, heehee, gwen, SailorChibi*, Myr*, Lady Malfoy II*, ichigatsu, Jedi Cosmos, IceFire, mandraco, Lichan*, Klee*, Laney, CrystalStarGuardian*, sev's-gurl, Remy, bwaybaby79, Protector of the Little People, sm, Lanna, xanpetuk, tsuki neko, Darklites, kcgal, Kai Michi, Val Mora, Scratches, Youko Gingitsune.
Chapter Three - bwaybaby79, Jane, bondagechic, lorin, Jay, MOI, Kuroi Shi, icy daimon, TwistedSlytherin, xanpetuk, amarante ae,chrisseee667, Kai Michi, Youko Gingitsune, Razzabeth, Myr*, fang, celestinne, lthatcher, di, FifthHeir, Fyrekun, kcgal, Sienna of Lothlorien, Demeter, grey, Lain, Angel, S.Maldiva, Lichan*, Chibi StarFighter, Clara, tsuki neko.
And to Demeter, thank you for the comment about the Slytherins. I'm not planning on focusing on them too much, but as I am still figuring out later chapters we will see how they shape up. And as for Draco being a Gryffindor... I never could see him in red. Blue, on the other hand...
Also, the little take on Draco's Grandmother's fairy tale is taken from The Tenth Kingdom. No harm intended, and it gives a good idea why Draco doesn't like werewolves, ne?
Ja ne until the next chapter. (whenever that will be)