A/N: Since one of my reviewers has asked, I'd like to point out that this story isn't going to feature any kind of romantic pairing. It's just a fun little story that takes place over one week, so I don't think there's any room for that kind of thing. Sorry if I've disappointed anyone. (Especially you, Dudley!)

Draco honestly didn't know what to think. He'd dreamed of a moment much like this, seeing Harry laid out on the floor, bleeding, unconscious, and defenseless, for almost 6 years. But he'd always imagined that he'd be the one to put him in that state, and with an elegant and well-chosen hex. Instead, Harry's large Muggle cousin had put him there with a carelessly-aimed fist. It all seemed terribly barbaric.

And pointless. Draco had no idea what Dudley thought he was doing. When Harry started yelling, Dudley had gotten this look on his face that could only be described as chivalric. And then he'd stepped between the two of them and put his fist up in the air as if Draco was a damsel in distress being threatened by a large and fearsome dragon. Draco didn't know which was more laughable: that Dudley thought of Draco as defenseless, or that he was apparently developing quite a crush on him.

But there was no time for such thoughts now. Harry was starting to stir on the kitchen floor, and Mrs. Dursley's footsteps were coming closer. Draco really didn't want to get into some horrible four-way shouting match. In a situation like this, the Slytherin strategy was always the same: Be somewhere else. And so he turned to Dudley as casually as he could and said, "We've been cooped up in this house since I got here. Why don't you show me your neighborhood?" Dudley nodded, beaming with pride, and then, just like that, they were out the kitchen door and walking down the sidewalk away from number 4 Privet Drive.

The first thing Draco noticed was that all the houses in the neighborhood looked the same. With all the colors of paint and architectural plans in the world, everyone had chosen to do the same thing and not look different. As with most things in the Muggle world, Draco was of two minds about this. On the one hand, it appealed to his sense of order and elegance. On the other hand, it seemed horribly unimaginative, not to mention impractical. With these winding streets and lack of obvious landmarks, you'd practically need a roadmap to find your way home every night. Draco wondered if this was why no one except Mr. Dursley ever seemed to leave the house.

Dudley led Draco on a twisting, turning path through the meandering streets (Dudley called them something that sounded like "cuddle-sacks") until they finally arrived at a tired-looking playground. The only equipment was a battered old swing set, and all but one of the swings were broken. The whole place was surrounded by a rickety chain-link fence with a broken padlock on the gate.

A group of boys was scattered aimlessly around the park. But at the sound of Dudley's voice, they all looked up expectantly. "Hey, Big D!" they chorused as one.

"Hey, guys," he shouted back. "This is my friend Draco, and he's staying with me for a week."

The group half-heartedly greeted Draco before going back to what they were doing before, which was mostly a whole lot of nothing. Except for one pale boy with a face like a rat who walked over to them, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Hey, D," he said in a low, nervous voice, "I'm still your best mate, right?"

Dudley looked just as uncomfortable. "Uh, you're my best mate who lives in Little Whinging. You know that, man. I don't need to tell you all the time, do I?"

"No, D," the boy said, and slunk back to the rest of the group.

"That was Piers, but we all call him Ratface these days," Dudley explained to Draco. "He's been my best mate since kindergarten."

Another boy came over. "Draco is a real cool nickname," he said. "How'd you get it?"

Without thinking, Draco automatically replied, "Draco is my real name." And in the next instant, he wished he could do a quick obliviate, because it was inevitable what was going to happen next.

"Hey, everybody," the boy yelled, "Draco here needs a nickname. What do you say we call him?"

The group threw out a whole range of suggestions. Draco's heart skipped a beat when someone said, "Ferretboy," but fortunately they finally decided on the relatively innocuous "Little D." Draco had to admit it was the best of the choices, but it still rankled him. He wasn't that small anymore. Just because he probably weighed as much as one of Dudley's legs was no reason to call him "little." But in the end, he decided to accept the name for one week of his life.

One of the boys who'd been acting as a look-out down the street suddenly came running back. "Mark Evans is coming!" he yelled. Dudley rubbed his hands together and looked like he'd gotten another set of birthday presents.