A/N: Hey, I've got a second chapter to a story in which I don't even know if it will continue. And the only reason I have a second chapter is thanks to Anna, who was the only person to review.

Well, not, if that isn't a plea for reviews so that I know whether or not this story is liked, I don't know what is.

Anyways, my chapters are going to slowly increase in size until they get to be around one of my average chapters, which end up being around three thousand words or so. Anyways, I'm pretty happy with what's going on, and I would love feedback. In fact, if Anna is the only one to review again, I might just take this down and write it by hand (in which case it will never get up) and let Anna read it that way. That is, if she wants to continue reading.

But, hey, that's me. That's my threat. And I'll follow through.

Right, forgot the disclaimer last time. So here it is, quick, only once, applying to the entire story (haven't had to do one of these for a while): I, Kittey Rin, own naught but me own plots in this faire world, most especially none of tha' coupie-written stuffs that I'm borrowin'.

Eh heh...ignore my accent. I'm tired, it's well past midnight, and I'm trying to get on a schedule for school. Yeah, right...- -'

Edit Note: In case you haven't read my profile, I'm going through a tough time in life currently and haven't been on a lot lately. That affects all of my stories, but more specifically, I'm trying to rewrite the entire Harry Potter series for this story. All of it. I need to get the years right, replacing Ron with Draco, editing things so that they make sense in my reality. So, please, be patient. I'm working as fast as I can, bouncing ideas back and forth with my friend Anne, and trying to plow through every single event that happens in the six books. And then some.

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"Best friend?" Harry said in disbelief. Wasn't Ron his best friend? Harry knew that he had keyed Ron into his wards, just in case something happened to him and he needed help. He knew for a fact that he hadn't keyed Malfoy to his wards. After all, he was more likely to kill Harry than save him.

"Just in case something happened, and you needed help," Draco said, unconciously echoing Harry's words. "That's what you told me, saying that Weasley," the name had a certain bite to it, spelling out loud and clear that the two shared no love lost between them, "would just watch you die or help the killer."

Harry blinked and his head flopped back onto the bed behind him. He couldn't grasp what was happening, and it was turning him inside out. He wasn't in Gryffindor tower, he had woken up earlier than necessary, his best friend and his arch-rival had apparently reversed roles...the only thing that would make this even more unbelievable would be if Snape actually complimented Harry. And that would never happen, not until snowcones were served in Hell along with cotton candy and popcorn at a faire held in honor of the angels winning against the demons in the war of the forces.

And everyone knew that would never happen.

Draco shook his head at his friend's antics. Harry usually wasn't one for pranks, and the young Malfoy didn't think that this would be a joke. When Harry had flown through the goal, trying to get away from a rogue bludger...everyone had thought that he had cleared it without a scratch. But perhaps, just maybe, he had hit his head at high-speeds on the tip of the center brass ring...?

Harry saw Draco shake his head, and glared at the teen. He hadn't had any of his questions answered (not that he had asked many to begin with, but he blatantly ignored that fact) and he still didn't know what was going on. It was obvious that the blonde slytherin wasn't going to be giving any clues about his confusion either.

"Get dressed," Draco said suddenly. He was met with a glare. "Look, I'll remind you of a few important things, but then we've got classes. We can be late somewhat for our first class, but we'll be skewered alive if we're late for McGonagall." He gestured to the trunk at the end of the bed, signaling that Harry would have to get up and take care of everything himself.

"First off, in case you didn't notice, you and I are best friends. I'd be pretty surprised if you could forget that, or if you forget that Weasley hates both of us. It's a fair contest to see who can annoy him more- myself, in all my glory, or you."

Harry half-listened as he got things from the trunk. He figured if it were a dream, it wouldn't hurt to go along with it. And if it wasn't, then he would have to act as normal as possible without raising suspicion. He opened the trunk, listening with half an ear as Malfoy prattled on about how people acted around him.

His eyes widened in appreciation at the selection in front of him. Each peice of clothing, and there were many, was made from top quality materials. There were cotton shirts and pants for summer, some snippets of silk peeking through, woolen sweaters made from slimming black and other dark colors (but not the scratchy wool- this was the fine, expensive sort), more pairs of underwear and bed garments than Harry had ever seen in his life, including all the hand-me-downs from Dudley, and not a single garment looked as if it had been worn for more than a handful of times.

Harry ran his hands along them, just taking in the fact that he not only had clothes, but he had clothing that looked as if they fit. He breathed in the scent that they let off, nothing musty about it, and sighed quietly.

"If you're done worshipping your clothing chest, you can start picking out something to wear," Draco commented with dry amusement. He smirked when Harry jumped, then continued. "This you have to remember," he said as Harry picked out a pair of standard black robes, a black turtleneck sweater, and a pair of black slacks. "You're not an ogre to people, which had many of our fellow Slytherins confused, and not in a good way, when you were first sorted. Especially when you stuck up for Longbottom," the name was sneered out, "or when you announced that brainy Granger was going to be your friend."

Harry looked up, nearly getting whiplash from the speed in which his head was raised. "You mean, I'm still friends with Hermione?" he asked. He needed confirmation, his ears could be playing tricks on him...

Draco gave him an exhasperated look. "Trust me, nobody will forget the day you agreed to hang out with her. And in the library, of all places." Draco looked pained as he spoke the next part. "Of course, she does help, and she shuts up when she knows nobody is listening or cares about what she's talking about, so we tolerate her."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he had held with relief. "That's great. At least one of my friends is still my friend." He stood, then stared pointedly at the blonde sitting on the bed.

"What?" Draco said with mock surprise. "You want me to leave?" He put a hand to his heart, smirking. "You wound me, Potter." His name wasn't spat with the same malicious fury as it had been before, as Harry pleasantly realised. "But, fine, if you want to act like a child, I'll leave you to your own devices."

As he left, he paused at the door. "One more thing. You're incredibly lucky that we have never called each other by our first names. Now, don't take too long," he said in the tone that mother's use when they know their children will dawdle, but still having to try and convince them otherwise.

The door shut behind him, leaving Harry in a strange room of green grass and silver clouds. He dumped the clothing onto the bed and slowly began to strip, thinking.

Things were way too wierd to be a dream. He was more prone to nightmares anyway, and the strangest dream Harry had ever had had been about dancing fairies and a blooming onion. And really, considering the stuff he dealt with on a regular basis at school, that really wasn't wierd at all.

So he dressed, quietly thinking about the things Malfoy had told him about- what little he could remember being told, anyway. He remembered being told that only Hermione tolerated him with something akin to happiness, and that most of the other Gryffindor's hated him. Lavandar, Parvati, Seamus, Dean, Ron...

A stab of pain swept through Harry. He regretted the things he had said to him now, in this wierd reality, and wished he could take them back. It seemed like such a foolish thing to fight over, now that he reflected back on it...

"I'm coming in whether you're dressed or not," Draco announced from behind the door, just before it opened. With a start, Harry realised he had been left alone for a good five minutes, in which time he had unconciously traded pinstripe pajamas for an outfit in black.

Draco leaned against the threshold. "Immaculate, as always," he stated grandly, lifting one hand to brush away imagionary dust from his own gray sweater. His pants, like Harry's were black, but of a different cut. Harry had no idea how he knew that, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was true.

Harry stood there dumbly until Draco took pity in him and decided to point out where his things were. "Your bag is beside your bed, and your wand is under your pillow," he said. As Harry reached for them, Draco filled him in further on what was happening inside Hogwarts. "We missed breakfast, but I'm sure we can scare a house elf or two into making something for us before going to class."

Harry, wand in bag, bag in hand, walked hesitantly over to Draco. "Lead the way," he said, feeling as if he had just signed a death warrant.

Draco smirked and pushed off of the doorframe, walking up a spiraling staircase and into the Slytherin common room. There he snatched a black silk bag, the kind that would be better suited to being carried in the orient sans print, and led the way up the stairs, through the wall, and navigated the confusing hallways.

Draco seemed to remember something else, for he exclaimed suddenly and turned to face the surprised survivor. "I almost forgot. Until you remember how to get back to the dorms, I'd follow other students. And don't get caught alone around a pack of Gryffindorks." The young teen shuddered at a memory, then started along his journey once more.

They made it to the entrance hall faster than Harry had thought they would be, and the young heir turned down the hallway towards the kitchens. It seemed as if he not only knew where the kitchens were, but also how to get into them as he tickled the pear in the painting of a bowl of fruit.

He walked in there, an air of superiority wrapped around him like a cloak, and stood in the middle of a frenzy of bowing elves. "I want some breakfast," he demanded. When Harry looked, he saw that Malfoy's face was as relaxed as it had been in the dormotories and common room.

The elves quickly complied, bringing a small table for two (in which Draco sat down immediately and Harry followed slowly, hesitating until Draco asked if he was imitating a statue) and a meal of flapjacks, freshly cut fruit, juice and milk, syrup, bisquits, and every other sort of food that one could wish on the morning menu. Except for meat.

Harry was surprised, since he knew that he wasn't a vegetarian. "Why is there any bacon or sausage?" he asked, ignoring the fact that he was dining over a casual breakfast with his enemy.

"Of course you wouldn't remember that I don't eat meat," Draco said sarcastically. "I've only ever mentioned it every time I see you flop a large hunk of steak or ham onto your plate." He rolled his eyes as he bit into a freshly buttered roll.

"Oh." There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. He had never known, never had an idea that Draco was a vegetarian. In fact, he had had him pegged as a lover of rarely cooked steak. So, instead of saying anything else, he ate in silence, enjoying the fuitation of the house elf labor, sitting and watching as they cleaned up their cooking spaces, took care to wipe down the four copies of the Hogwarts tables in the Great Hall, and accomplished any other little chores that needed doing.

A further thirty minutes later, and Draco announced they were done. "Any later," he said in explaination as they left the kitchen hallway, "and we'll be in trouble no matter what our house is."

Harry hadn't thought to ask the blonde boy what class they had first, but as they began the incredibly familiar route into the dungeons, Harry's heart sank with each step. Of course it would be potions. Of course, of bloody course Snape would be the first professor he saw in this un-reality.

"Buck up," Draco said in an attempt to cheer up his friend, who was looking more and more as if he were approaching the hangman's noose instead of his next potions lesson. "What's there to worry about?"

Harry wanted to laugh at that statement. And he would have, had his tongue not lodged itself firmly in his throat. They approached the door, the door opened, and Harry would have frozen had Draco not pushed him through the entry and into the classroom. The entire class had turned to stare at them, stopping all work to stare (or, in the case of most Gryffindors, glare) at the newcomers.

"So sorry, Professor." Draco subtly kicked Harry's ankle, pointedly glancing at an empty seat on the border between Lion and Snake. "We got caught up, Potter got a nasty cut on his incredibly thick skull, and we had to see Madam Pomfrey to get it healed," he lied smoothly. Not that he needed a lie- it was just nice to keep in practice.

The professor, looking exactly like he did in reality, looked up from his grading. His oily hair fell into his face, landing on his overly-large nose, his eyes boring into the two students. Harry felt ready to spontaneously combust, and nearly did when the potions teacher opened his mouth in response to Draco's lie.

"Next time, try to schedule your injuries so that you can be on time, Mr. Potter." And with that, he turned back to his work, leaving Draco to drag Harry to his seat.

Yup, the faire was on.

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End Chapter

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