Author's Notes:

I'm well aware that students don't get their schedules until the morning of their first class. My reasoning for Ron and Harry getting theirs before that is: Ron is a prefect, and as such, he managed to nick the schedules from Hermione before the girl realized. Ron strikes me as the kind of prefect that would do that.

Ron being in Potions: Well, as I had written this BEFORE OotP, I hadn't known that, by sixth year, the professors would have weeded out any students that were not compatible with their classes by way of OWLS. For the sake of my story, that's not the way things happen. Sorry -I try to be as canon as humanly possible while still getting my way, but anything after GoF makes this fic canonically obsolete.

~*~*~*~*Harry Potter and the Secret Link*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*Capricious Purple Clarity*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*Chapter Two*~*~*~*~

"Potions on Mondays?!" bemoaned Ron once he'd gotten a good look at his schedule. Harry and Ron were unpacking when Hermione stalked in with a stack of schedules in her arms. By the look of the set of her shoulders, Hermione looked none too pleased with Ron's method of relinquishing the schedules from her without her knowledge or consent.

Ron, typically, ignored her ire. "First thing in the morning, too! Ugh." The redheaded freckled boy flopped out on his bed on his back, covering his face with both hands. "I hate Mondays... I hate Potions..." With a sniff, Ron sat up and scowled. "Hex me now."

"Nah, don't think I will." The cheerfully spoken comment came from an outside source, and the nosiest students of Hogwarts found their attentions riveted on the particular boy standing at the door. A rucksack was tossed over his shoulder, and he was peaking into the room. "Say... You guys wouldn't mind rooming with someone like me, would ya? My old roomie said I was obnoxious, loud, and annoying, but I bet we could work our way around that!" Duo Maxwell was grinning widely, his eyes twinkling in mischief and mayhem. Ron shrugged. Harry waved to one of the unspoken-for beds.

"Knock yourself out."

Duo grinned and tossed his bag on the bed. "In the wise words of my roomie: Don't encourage me." His violet eyes peaked over at Ron, and he raised an eyebrow in a way that was vaguely familiar to Harry. "Why'd you want me to hex you, anyway?"

"We have Potions first thing on Monday," Hermione replied for Ron. She stuck out her hand in a no-nonsense manner, and Duo immediately grabbed it and shook. "Hermione Granger."

"Duo Maxwell. Isn't Potions Prof's class? Bummer..." The braided boy wrinkled his nose only slightly. "Sharp guy, funny if you can ignore the undercurrent and overcurrent insults... but Jesus, he's crabby."

Harry thought this description was superbly fitting. "More's the pity since you must have had a one-on-one class with him over the summer."

"You're that American transfer student, aren't you?" Ron suddenly demanded, pointing. Duo snorted and walked over to his bed, dumping his possessions on the sheets. "You made the news, mate -not many wizards transfer, I reckon."

"That's what I've been told, yeah," Duo replied. "I spent all summer with Sevy and a lot of the other teachers. That's just enough time for me to summarize his personality: He's a decrepit old bastard that gets his jollies off of terrorizing and demoralizing students. My current theory is that his mother withheld too many hugs from him in his youth."

The American paused and smirked cunningly. "But the man's got style, I'll give him that. Style and all the attitude to back it up." Then the braided-boy glanced at the two grinning boys and one desperately-trying-to-cover-a-smirk girl. "Sometimes it helps to remember that."

Ron was out and out laughing at this young man. "Oh, Harry! Can we keep him?" Harry snickered, shaking his head.

"Feed me, cloth me, take care of me," Duo replied somberly, "and we might have a deal."

"I dunno, Ron," Harry replied teasingly. "He's kind of high maintenance for you, isn't he?"

"Oh, pfft." Hermione intervened with crossed arms and a sly grin. "With your memory and my persistence, I'm sure we can keep the dear boy alive... until the end of the school year, that is."

Hermione was once a stiff, slightly-obsessed and rule-abiding aspiring witch, but five years with Ron and Harry had changed her attitude somewhat. Sometimes she still reverted back to her know-it-all self, but that was simply because she almost DID know it all.

"Don't you mean your nagging?" Ron criticized, and he received a pillow in the face for his effort.

"So what do you think of Hogwarts so far?" Harry asked the braided boy, who had taken to sitting cross-legged on his bed, conveniently placed across from his own.

"Freaking unbelievable," Duo said absently, his eyes on the window Harry often sat in at night or when he had nothing to do. "I was a little put off at first. I didn't grow up in the wizarding world, see, but my mom was a witch. Anyway, it took a while for it to sink in, but I think I've pretty much gotten over my urge to scoff whenever magic is mentioned." With a sly smirk, he added dryly, "I still can't seem to shake the habit of snickering whenever I catch a guy fondling his wand, though."

Both of the boys present forced themselves to remain straight-faced, two sets of eyes sliding over to Hermione before averting just as quickly.

The sixth-year Prefect was preoccupied by another matter entirely.

"You mean you didn't know?" Hermione exclaimed in surprise.

"Not a clue. I've been living as a -whattyacallit? Oh, a muggle my whole life," Duo replied honestly.

Hermione was absolutely beside herself with indignation on the American's behalf. "Why would your mother hide something so important from you?"

"I've been told my mom died because of complications during childbirth," replied the American blithely, instantly taking the wind out of Hermione's sails with that devastating announcement... though, strangely, Duo Maxwell didn't really look like he was grieving over the matter. Harry's brows furrowed, analyzing the boy's expression. The elfin face was too honest to be an act, too blissfully unaffected.

How strange...

"Oh." Hermione visibly deflated. "Oh, I'm sorry..."

The American blinked before he smiled softly at the girl and continued his unpacking.

"So your dad was a muggle?" came Ron's question.

His posture, relaxed and lazy, did not tense, his constantly moving fingers did not stop in their play. When Duo's mouth opened, his words were not stifled, his tone not unwelcome or saddened or displeased. Harry was surprised to note that Duo replied with the same pleasantness in his voice as he did when he informed them that his mother died in childbirth.

"I don't know. Never met him." When he caught the three of them looking at him in varying stages of pity, he waved his hands excitedly as if he were trying to clear the air. "Hey, now, none of that, guys! Just so you know, I'm a war orphan from the L2 sector of space. I don't know any family by blood, but I got to pick the ones I consider my family. So no sad faces on my behalf, got it?" When they didn't immediately respond, he pushed back with a little more vigor. "Got it?"

As Ron, Hermione, and Duo continued to talk about various other subjects ("Mione and Dad's told me about these tiny energy things smaller than a plug called bat adories or something-" "Batteries?" "Yeah, that. What can you tell me about them?" "Dude, barely anything uses batteries anymore."), Harry chose to remain quiet and observant.

He wondered if his life would have been easier in an orphanage instead of the guardianship of the Dursleys. It had been a prospect he had been threatened with when he was younger, his threat frequently peppered with tales of unwanted children like Harry getting lost and forgotten in the government system. There were even times he wished Vernon Dursley would follow through with it; better to be alone and suffer the ambiguously callousness of total strangers than to be alone and suffering the personal disdain of those who were barely willing to tolerate his relation to them.

Now Harry knew the threats had been empty, for Dumbledore would have never allowed the Dursleys to discard him after they agreed to take him in. A part of him was grateful for the distant support despite how his subconscious was terribly disappointed that he and the Dursleys were stuck with each other until he reached his majority.

Seamus, Neville, and Dean soon wandered into their dorm and were introduced to Duo. The lights were turned by the prefects, and Hermione left the boys dorm to turn in for the night. Yet a hyper Duo, an eager Ron, a giddy Seamus, a thoughtfully quiet Dean, a nervous Neville, and a subdued Harry continued on well into the night, until the full moon passed their window and provided no more light.

Ron wiggled under the covers and pulled his red curtains closed. Harry sat in the window ledge, his eyes focused outward and passed the Forbidden Forest, the lights of Hogsmeade dimming as he watched. Dean, Neville, and Seamus disappeared behind their curtains, Seamus's goodnight echoed by Dean's reply. He heard shifting from Duo's bed, followed by a cheerfully murmured bid of goodnight. Ron replied the same, and Harry echoed with his own.

Harry did not hear the curtains of Duo's four-poster pull close. When he did crawl into bed, he saw that Duo left the curtains open.

*-*-*-*-*-Counting days 'til it's breaking, my friends, 'til it's breaking, my friends, count along*-*-*-*-*-

"I swear! It's all true!"

"No way," pointed out a voice, and there were several agreeing murmurs around that point, "You had to have made that up."

"Hey, hey, are you forgetting who I am?" A jovial cheer raised from the mass. "I'm Duo Maxwell. I run, I hide, and I never tell a lie!"

"Wouldn't that have caused grievous injury? I don't see how anyone could have walked away from something like that!"

"Simple, Hermione-dear. The idiot gets me to cart him around easy-as-you-please, and as soon as I have him where he wants... the jackass sets his own broken leg! In front of me! With his bare hands! It was the single most disturbing anti-socialite behavior I've ever cared to see, and trust me, I've seen a lot!"

Ugh. Too early in the morning, the lithe blond remarked to himself mentally as he strode passed the raucous table in bromidic annoyance, to tempt the Iffindorks into committing murder.

Not before the first cup of coffee, anyway.

"And THEN he splinted his leg with a wrench and some spare cloth we found lying around," he heard the voice say. Draco absently noted the peculiar accent. "Later, I came to realize my new best friend is a genuine Super Heero."

There was barely a falter in Draco Malfoy's step as he glanced over his shoulder in feigned bland disinterest to catch sight of the Gryffindor bunch laughing uproariously before disciplining the speaker with playful swats and disbelieving snorts. His interest lasted as long as the glance did -that is, not very long at all- as the strong smell of pitch black coffee drew his attention back to his Slytherins.

His Slytherins. He favored them all with a bored look, but in observing Pansy Parkinson speaking teasingly at the side of her mouth to Lilith Moon, Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini, who with the tell-tale twitches of his eyebrow and her lips signaled that they were attempting to hide smiles; in seeing Millicent Bulstrode, her back to the rest of the world, proudly smirking when Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe answered a school-related question with only a little uncertainty; in watching Malcolm Baddock gather his fellow years in a strong, coded debate, his main adversary his best friend Graham Pritchard; he didn't have to stopper the pride and satisfaction of watching his Slytherins interact without the rest of the world to judge.

That was what the rest of the wizarding world did. A person was defined by his or her House, all Gryffindors were brave and selfless, Hufflepuffs were bleeding hearts, Ravenclaws knew all the secrets to the universe, and Slytherins would always be up to no good. It was as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. It didn't matter that others possessed such domineering traits that were all uniquely them, as well.

"Malfoy," Blaise said blandly from Draco's side, drawing his eyes away from the steaming cup in his hands to fix the other boy with a tolerant stare. Despite the coldness, Blaise met his stare with one of his own, his eyebrows yet jumping again as the two so-called 'in-House rivals' tried to stare the other down. Yet in this stare-down, the close friends were greeting each other as eagerly as any two Hufflepuff friends.

"Zabini," Draco drawled lethargically. "To what do I owe this pleasant if unexpected address?" Millie and Pansy exchanged looks that showed they could hardly contain their amusement. Any gossip mongers in the three other houses that would happen to look that way would see staunch up-sizing of two weary predators.

"Why, casual conversation, of course," Blaise murmured innocently. "Why else?"

"Indeed," drawled Draco.

"So what do you think of our new little Gryffindor?" Blaise asked casually, flickering a gaze toward the mentioned table before staring back at Draco. Draco almost smirked; Blaise was a pretty boy and wasn't afraid to admit he prided himself on his looks. Very few succeeded his level of beauty; Cedric Diggory, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy himself, and -much to Draco's reluctance to admit- Harry Potter were the select few. With Diggory gone, Blaise only had to compete with Potter and Draco. Now it looked as if there was new rivalry in school a la the newest Self-Righteous Bastard Gryffindor (TM). Blaise was surely not pleased.

"This one has a sense of humor," the Malfoy heir couldn't help but admit in a low tone only meant to be heard by those of his own House. He succeeded in keeping his tone low enough when his entire year, listening in, gasped in mocking surprise as any eavesdropper looking on seemed disappointed.

"How unfortunate," Pansy said with hidden mirth. "Didn't we just get rid of those crude Weasley twins?"

It was laughable. Gryffindors laugh and tease each other and other people, but they could rarely take what they dished, as concluded by a Gryffindor's quick temper and bloodthirsty need for revenge. Of course, this only applied to the only Gryffindors Draco paid attention to- mainly those of his year.

"Most like a Slytherin with a sense of honor," Blaise murmured from the corner of his mouth, drawing a reluctant smile from Draco. The Malfoy heir managed to make it look as forced as possible.

"I have a feeling," Millie whispered to Pansy, "that Mr. Maxwell is more than he seems."

"Very true," Draco agreed in normal, disdainful tones. "Why waste our time speaking of a filthy little Mudblood Gryffindor? You should go to the dorms and retrieve your books." He sneered at his two supposed 'thugs', who were worth more than any loyal Hufflepuff. The suggestion was laced with ugly scorn, but the suggestion was a real one, nonetheless. "I'll be in the Potions classroom."

Draco made his journey to the class alone, but he was content in is aloofness. Few students were mingling in the halls, reluctant to return to class or chatting with friends not seen since the end of last year. Three first year Hufflepuffs with a Gryffindor in tow slowly wandered passed, oohing and aahing at the sheer majestic of Hogwarts. Draco gave the budding relationship a week before house loyalty put an end to it.

Even so, the evil bastard in him had to admit grudgingly that Hogwarts truly was a stunning sight.

He was startled out of his slight amusement (disguised, of course, as baleful disdain) by a semi-familiar voice calling for him. Loudly. The sound of feet tapping down the corridor of the potions classrooms (few were reluctant to loiter these halls, and watching the other house students look queasy at the prospect gave him a laugh) caused Draco to hesitate for a moment.

"Blondie! Boy, for a moment there I didn't think you were going to wait up," remarked his caller casually. Draco cocked an eyebrow when he turned around; such a brisk pace from the Great Hall would bring most students to their knees, desperately drawing for the next breath. The young man in front of him wasn't even breathing hard.

He had suspected the identity of his caller correctly, though Draco had only heard his voice once. Duo Maxwell, new Gryffindor sixth year, stood boldly before him, brilliantly sizing Draco up with a quick glance that, for a moment, was unreadable. Finally an easy grin found its way to his lips as his entire face lit up. Draco thought it was a little odd the boy easily brightened in Slytherin company; maybe house standings had yet to be explained to him.

"When I saw you in the hall at first glance, I thought you only had a passing resemblance to him," the braided boy chuckled and assumed an air of pleasant nonchalance, "but you, dude, are a spitting image of Quatre Winner! This is genuine proof there has to be something to that Doppelganger Effect I've heard about in passing." Pause. "If not for the creep factor of Quat having a potential double running amuck."

Draco hadn't any idea what a 'dude' was, nor did he have any knowledge of anyone named Quatre Winner. For a moment he was completely at a loss; he hid it well behind a wall of pleasant-but-not-particularly-caring demeanor.

"Well, it's better that I can tell the difference in your eyes and posture," Maxwell rambled on. "He's got these eyes... anyway, he's a bit more childlike, I guess; his face has a rounded quality that you've lost. Other than that, you both have this air about you that screams 'I am FILTHY RICH, so NYAH!', only yours is a bit conceited and Quat... Well, Q-Bean would think the deserts of Earth went dry because of him. I'm Duo, by the by. Duo Maxwell."

That was a complete lot of NOTHING in a good waste of fifteen seconds, Draco thought nastily.

Funny how he seems like a very amiable, bold, and completely un-Gryffindorish guy stuck in that house of hypocrites, he continued to muse, this time thoughtfully, though the annoying cheerfulness fits the bill... if not the fact he's faking it. And Draco was positive the boy in front of him was acting out his boisterous, bright attitude.

After a moment of reluctance, Draco surmised he should introduce himself as well. Manners demanded it. "Draco Malfoy."

Maxwell genuinely grinned this time. "THAT... is a really cool name."

That was a switch. Usually the Malfoy heir received funny looks, evil glares, The Look of the Scared Witless, or blatant indifference to his name.

I'm not sure I like this, Draco thought queasily, hiding his true feelings effortlessly. He felt as if he should be looking over his shoulder just in time to catch another insipid Gryffindor casting a hex at his back.

"So does every house hate each other, or are Gryffindor and Slytherin special cases?"

Draco couldn't stop the snort that sneaked passed his defenses. "Gryffindors certainly are special." Draco couldn't decide if that was resentment, disdain, sarcasm, or indifference in his voice. He surmised he shouldn't have shot for all four; he probably sounded constipated.

"Aren't they, though?" breezed Maxwell with a teasing grin. "They're okay, I guess. I kind of figured Slytherin would fit me better, though."

"The Sorting Hat usually chooses for the best," Draco pointed out, but completely agreeing with Maxwell's assessment. Duo Maxwell, from where Draco stood, had absolutely too many hidden layers and well-honed hidden defenses –a Slytherin trait if the blonde boy had ever seen one.

"Pfft, sheeyeah, like A.D. let me try that damn thing after the incident with Fawkes," came the pouty reply. "It was more along the lines of drawing straws. After the debacle with the Drought of the Living Dead that lasted an entire not-so-fun week of the Sevy's Special Punishment and Total Persecution... and then the, err, scorching accident in Fillie's class... and you know that Sprout lady, the one with the seven greenhouses outside?"

Draco was afraid to know. "Yes?..."

"Well, she only has five now," the braided boy shrugged. "It all boils down to: the other three heads refused to take me, and as I have yet to screw up with Minnie... well, she got the short straw."

"You're kidding." His voice, tone, and stance gave nothing away as he stared at the boy with the impossibly long braid. Inside, all three of him were rolling in absolute hysteria.

"Unfortunately, nay. Hee-chan wasn't kidding when he said trouble was my conjoined twin," Maxwell said in a manner that suggested he didn't really mind. The boy paused for a thoughtful moment. "Well... can I confide in you?"

Draco was tempted to repeat "you're kidding" in deadpan, but the line was already overused. Anyone in their right mind and in possession of only their left testicle knew that Slytherins weren't above using 'confidence' in a Slytherin's best interest. He found himself nodding.

"Well, you know Minnie's tabby? I kind of turned it green," the braided boy admitted, fretting with his braid in a nervous manner. "Do you think she'll notice? More importantly, do you think she'll think it was me? She's been giving me these looks, and they don't exactly inspire the warm and fuzzies, if you catch my meaning..."

Draco Malfoy was renowned for his frigid disdain that could transform into amused contempt at the drop of a hat. In Slytherin house, he was known for his cool composure, his quick wit, and his foot-mouth insertion problem when in the company of others. It was safe to say that Draco Malfoy almost had control that could rival Albus Dumbledore himself.

All that control went to crap when Draco Malfoy, ice incarnate, doubled over and let out a loud, incautious cackle.

End Chapter Two

My reasoning for my version of the inner workings of Slytherin House: Saying "all Slytherins are bad" is like saying "all Gryffindors are good" -it's utter BS. Peter Pettigrew, anyone? Yeah, okay -sometimes it seems like all Slytherins are nasty little brats, especially in the HP books. HOWEVER, you never hear anything about the Slytherins that AREN'T nasty - Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode (she's only mentioned as a girl with a troll-like disposition, but nothing about how she is attitude-wise), Moon -and I'm only mentioning Moon because someone with the last name of Moon is mentioned to be a Death Eater, and there is someone named Moon who is in Harry's year, but what house he or she is in is never mentioned. That's almost HALF of the Slytherins in Harry's year that aren't overtly cruel in some form or another.

All Slytherins aren't evil, all Gryffindors aren't good, all Ravenclaws aren't permanently glued to a book (Luna Lovegood, anyone?), and all Hufflepuffs aren't useless.

I stuck Moon in Slytherin mainly because there aren't a lot of girls mentioned that are in Draco's year besides Millicent and Pansy (and Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis, who I slipped in after-the-fact). I'm not even sure if Moon is a girl to begin with, but it would fit the numbers.

As of 04/07/10: I managed to find a copy of a screen shot of JKR showing a camera her initial year list for the first book. I've been interpreting it for God knows how long, but it seems that Moon's first name begins with Lil. So Iva Moon is now Lilith Moon.