Saturday, 16th September

You know, Harry thought, staring at the Daily Prophet headlines in front of him, when I said 'let them come', I hadn't expected to deal with the collective 'them' so soon.

Blaise, who was actually eating breakfast for once, even if that breakfast was a single slice of toast smothered in a frightening amount of butter and sugar, took one look at his expression and snorted.

"Let me guess; you've made the front page?"

Harry groaned, all but threw the newspaper at him, and then buried his face in his hands.

"Can that woman go a single week without writing something about me?!"

"Why would she? Your name sells newspapers, doesn't it?" he countered, picking up the Prophet from where it had fallen to the floor, "What's it this time anyway? Did she finally write an article about what you said to Umbridge?"

"Worse" he moaned, his voice muffled, "She dragged Sirius into it too!"

"Let's see…" Blaise smoothed out the front page and read the headline out loud. "Harry Potter: Heir to the Darkest Family in Britain?"

Draco, who had just sat down with his morning coffee, nearly choked. "What?!"

"Don't worry your royal behind, she doesn't mean the Malfoys" Blaise replied blithely, before continuing, "Listen to this. 'An anonymous source at the Ministry of Magic has revealed that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, has been placed under the guardianship of none other than Sirius Black, the infamous Duke of London.'"

"It's not even official yet!" Harry protested, finally lowering his hands, "And I was only told about it myself yesterday! How the bloody hell did Skeeter find out about this so quick?!"

"That woman's put her quill into every inkwell she can" Blaise replied grimly, "Well, meu amor, I hate to say it, but the Kneazle's out of the bag now".

"You knew?!" Tracey demanded, and he scoffed. "Of course I knew! I'm our future Dark Lord's right-hand man, don't you know!"

Harry gave him a sharp look. "That isn't funny".

"Sure it is; I'm hilarious. And besides, I warned you that this would get out, didn't I?" Blaise countered, "The Duke of London is a hot topic and you, even more so. Being able to combine the two of you into one story? Skeeter must be skipping all the way to Gringotts right now".

"Yes, yes, whatever, just keep reading!" Malfoy demanded, "My mother is a Black, you know, and if Skeeter so much as dared to mention her name…"

The dark-skinned boy rolled his eyes at the blond but obediently continued. "'The House of Black has long been synonymous with Dark Magic and pure-blood supremacy, boasting a legacy of Slytherins dating back centuries. Sirius Black, considered the family's rebellious outlier, is now set to raise the Boy Who Lived in the Slytherin-dominated traditions of his forefathers. Is this a sign that Lord Gloucester is taking after the Black legacy?'"

Tracey let out a low whistle. "Damn. She really went for it".

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to slam his forehead into the table.

"You have got to be kidding me! Sirius is the leader of the Progressives, for Merlin's sake! And she's actually daring to insinuate that it's all just an act? That he's… what? Been faking his entire personality for the past thirty years and has secretly supported the Dark Arts all this time?!"

Blaise smirked, his dark gaze flicking over the page. "Oh, but it gets better. She then starts questioning whether you being sorted into Slytherin was truly an accident or if, and I quote, 'his time spent in the company of his cunning, Slytherin-born guardian has already begun to shape the impressionable young wizard into something far different than the Golden Boy the public once adored.'"

Theo let out a heavy breath. "... Well, she's not wrong about that last part".

Harry shot him a glare. "Not. Helping!"

"Wait, wait-" Blaise held up a hand, grinning now. "She actually suggests that your new House may have been part of some 'long-term Black family scheme to reclaim one of Britain's most powerful wizards and shape him in their own image.'"

Millicent let out a bark of laughter. "That's spectacularly stupid! What, like the spirit of Arcturus Black possessed him during the Sorting or something?"

"I'd love to see her sources for that one" Theo said dryly, reaching for the paper. "Ah, here we are! 'My sources at the Ministry speculate that the adoption process is already well underway. What does this mean for the Boy Who Lived? Is he destined to follow in the footsteps of his new infamous ancestors, or will he resist the allure of Dark power that the Black name promises?'"

Tracey frowned. "Well, that's a bit dramatic, even for Skeeter".

Harry groaned. "She's acting like I was cursed into being Slytherin!"

"You are a curse" Malfoy replied with a smug smirk, "Albeit a very entertaining one. Any mention of mother?"

"None" Theo replied, passing him the newspaper to see for himself, "But perhaps Skeeter's saving that particular family connection for next week's edition".

Tracey leaned in, smirking. "So, Potter, are you secretly forming a cabal of Slytherins to take over the world?"

Harry scowled. "If I was, you wouldn't be invited!"

"Well, that's just rude. I happen to think I'd look ravishing on a throne".

Blaise leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. "Alright, but seriously, what's your plan, meu amor? This is the kind of article that's going to be everywhere. Even people who don't care about the Prophet are going to hear about it".

"I don't have a plan" Harry admitted, running a hand through his messy hair, "I wasn't exactly expecting to wake up and find out the entire country thinks I'm being indoctrinated into the Dark Arts! Sirius and I thought we wouldn't have to deal with any of this until the adoption was official at least! Although, I suppose I should be thankful that Skeeter didn't mention Remus again…"

Milli sighed. "This is going to be a nightmare. Every pure-blood in Britain with a connection to the Blacks is going to start paying attention now. Either to suck up to you, distance themselves, or, even worse, try to influence you".

Blaise nodded. "Not to mention the Gryffindors. I'd wager half of them are losing their minds right now".

Malfoy smiled, looking deviously delighted. "I bet Weasley's on his third aneurysm".

Harry groaned again. "Brilliant".

"And just when the comments about you being the next Dark Lord were starting to die down, too" Blaise quipped, picking back up his slice of toast, "It's gonna be a fun year, alright".

Sunday, 17th September

The Slytherin common room was a masterpiece of subdued elegance - polished stone walls, silver accents, and a lake-lit glow that made every shadow dance just right.

Harry had started noticing details like these lately, not because they mattered to him, but because they mattered to everyone around him. Appearances were everything here, and Harry, for all his past disregard for such things, wasn't stupid enough to ignore the power of fitting in.

He adjusted his cuffs, still marvelling at the expensive tailoring of his robes, still marvelling at having clothes that actually fit him for once. He wasn't entirely comfortable in them yet - the silk felt too smooth against his skin and he wasn't used to being warm - but he'd learned to carry it well enough, and that was half the battle. Slytherin wasn't just a House; it was a stage. And if he was going to survive here, he needed to perform.

Which was why, as Harry caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the sink, a grimace tugged at his lips.

He dressed the part and acted the part, which went a long way in telling the other Slytherins that he wasn't Dumbledore's naive little poster boy, but for all of his self-taught etiquette and finely tailored robes, there was still just something about his own appearance that didn't fit in with this pure-blood nobility thing he'd got going on. Now that he'd been officially outed, as it were, as being the Duke of London's heir, the public scrutiny on him was going to increase tenfold.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Harry straightened up, pulling his shoulders back and down, and carefully constructed that blank, almost vacant facade he'd seen so many of his housemates wear whenever they wanted to appear particularly untouchable.

His bone structure wasn't too bad, he supposed. He had a square-ish jawline and his cheekbones, although not as prominent as the Blacks', were still noticeable. His eyes only contributed to the look he was going for, being the colour of the Killing curse and all.

There was something quietly ironic about that.

His teeth were white and mostly straight, his nose wasn't too small or too large, and since he'd switched to contact lenses, his face wasn't even half-hidden behind dark-rimmed glasses anymore, either.

Harry blinked at his reflection.

The hair, he decided, the hair just has to go.

Although he'd grown it out to cover his scar in St Brutus, it definitely wasn't purposefully tousled like his godfather's - who seemed to have mastered the art of looking like a chaotic wet dream. Instead, it was just shapeless and in desperate need of a trim.

It was a bother to deal with during Quidditch practice too, constantly getting in his eyes and sticking to his face. Just yesterday, he'd been yelled at by Montague for being a second too slow in catching the snitch - all because a gust of wind had temporarily blinded him with his own hair. It screamed messy, reckless Gryffindor in a place where polished appearances were everything. He needed to style it, sooner rather than later.

Which raised an important question: how?

Harry sighed, raking a hand through the unruly strands. He could try to tame it himself, but he already knew that would be a disaster. He didn't have the faintest idea how to handle his hair beyond the usual wash-and-forget routine, and the thought of experimenting with potions or spells unsupervised was enough to make him shudder.

And besides, how did the nobility even style their hair? Was there a particular style that they went for? Every duke, marquess, and earl that Harry could picture had a different hairstyle - although they all had that same put-together, artfully crafted look. Maybe he should do some research; ask around about wizarding hairdressers or barber shops and see if he could owl some of them for advice…

Or, he suddenly realised with a grin, he could just go ahead and ask the source of perfect hair himself.

Harry skipped down the stairs to the main common room, making a beeline straight for where Mafloy was holding court with his adoring fans - gaining a few not-so-subtle looks from other Slytherins as he did so.

Although he and Draco definitely weren't mortal enemies or any of that rot, it was no secret that there wasn't exactly any love lost between them either, despite their silent truce, so the Boy Who Lived walking up to the Ice King most certainly promised them an interesting show.

When Malfoy saw his determined approach, his eyes widened, briefly, before he schooled his expression into one of nonchalance and then - the absolute prick - he made it a point to finish whatever it was that he was saying very very slowly.

Harry had to hand it to him - the blond really was a master of subtly insulting those most were too scared to even smile at.

"Good morning, Lord Gloucester".

He blinked and tuned back into the now-suspiciously quiet common room.

"Lord Malfoy". He gave a polite nod. "I wondered if I might have a word?"

"Of course".

Draco made no attempt to move.

The complete and utter bastard.

Well, Harry decided, feeling all eyes on him, if they wanted something to talk about, then he'd just have to give them something to talk about.

"I wished to ask you about your hair products".

There was a beat of silence, and then two, and then three and in the background, someone poorly covered up a snort.

"... My hair products?"

"Yes".

"... I'm afraid you're mistaken, Lord Gloucester. Malfoys do not use hair products".

"Sure you do".

Draco, bless him, was doing his absolute best to keep that cold, untouchable look on his face, but it was clear to everyone that it was starting to crack at the edges.

"No, actually, we do not! I know it must be a struggle for you to imagine this, what with your… genetics, but some wizards naturally do have sleek and shiny hair".

So this really was the hill he was planning to die on, huh?

"Alrighty then" Harry replied easily, "Since you clearly don't use hair products, then you should have no objection to me taking the half-empty bottle of Sleekeazy's from your trunk and-"

As quick as a flash, Draco whipped out his wand and cast a silencing spell around them, but by then, the damage was done, and bursts of laughter were echoing around them from various parts of the room.

"What" he hissed out, "do you want?!"

Harry blinked.

"The half-empty bottle of Sleekeazy's from your trunk".

The blond pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming breath, his entire facade of Ice King well and truly gone.

"And just why, in Merlin's name, Potter, do you want that?!"

Oh good, they were back on a last-name basis. Harry was really starting to get tired of calling this fifteen-year-old ponce "lord" all the time.

"Well, it's like you said yourself". He shrugged. "When it comes to genetics, my hair genes don't exactly win".

"... You want my help to fix your hair?!"

"Sure, if you're offering".

"... What?!"

Draco was starting to look like he was inching ever so quickly towards a nervous breakdown, and Harry decided it was probably best to cut to the chase. He wouldn't want to upset Lady Malfoy, after all.

"I have powerful magic. I have fancy clothes. I even have pure-blood manners". He rolled his eyes as the blond scoffed. "What I don't have is not-so-messy hair… Quite frankly, it's ruining my image".

"So go to a hairstylist!"

"Well, I mean, I would, but… I'm stuck here until Christmas. So instead, I decided to ask quite possibly the only person in Hogwarts with just as much knowledge as a hairstylist".

Draco scowled at him, but the fact that he didn't immediately leap straight to a hex let Harry know that he took it as a compliment more than an insult.

"You want me to fix your hair?"

"Yes, Malfoy, I want you to fix my hair".

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "... What will I get in return?"

"My never dying gratitude" Harry said flatly.

"No… No, I want something else".

"Like what?"

"... A boon".

Harry paused and considered his options carefully. As nice as it would be to not look like he just woke up every second of the day, it was, you know, just hair. If he had to, then there was nothing physically stopping him from sneaking out of Hogwarts during the weekend or even asking Sirius - or, far more likely, Remus - to swing a deal with Snape to give him permission to leave for a few hours. Having a no-strings-attached favour owed to a Malfoy, of all people, could potentially be very very dangerous - and even more dangerous for the Boy Who Lived - but on the other hand…

Fuck it.

"Alright" he replied, "A boon, in return for you immediately styling my hair in a manner that is appropriate for someone of my station... But I want to establish some conditions".

"Do you want normal people hair or not?"

"Do you want to be owed one by the Marquess of Westminster or not?"

Draco scoffed again, but they both knew it was just for show. He was very very obviously getting the better deal out of this, after all.

"Okay, fine. What conditions?"

"You can't ask for anything that harms, kills, or otherwise inconveniences me or mine" he replied immediately, and the blond actually had the audacity to look shocked. "Merlin, Potter, what do you take me for?! Do you seriously think I'd cash in this favour just to wipe out the current Duke of London or something?!"

"Or something" Harry replied dryly, "Condition number two, I have the right to refuse if it's something that will undeniably negatively affect others. But if I do refuse, then the boon will still stand, and you can ask for something different".

"... Fair enough. Anything else?"

"Yes. A time limit. One year".

"Five".

"Two".

"Five!"

"Three, or I owl the nearest hair salon".

"Do you even know where that is?"

"Nope, but I sure as hell don't need your help to find out".

Grey eyes studied him closely for a moment before Draco finally nodded once and held out his hand.

"You have to use the favour within three years or the boon is null and void" Harry pressed, holding out his own arm.

"Yes, yes, three years, whatever!" he snapped, grabbing his hand, "Deal?"

"Deal".

As soon as they shook, Draco dropped his hand as if its very proximity to Harry disgusted him - which really was quite amusing, considering that the boy was about to put his hands in Harry's hair and all.

Harry grinned as the silencing spell dropped and the shocked murmurs of the other students became audible once more. They might not have heard a thing that they'd said, but there had been nothing preventing them from seeing a deal being made, after all.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Malfoy" he said cheerfully, before gesturing towards the stairs that led back to their dorm, "Shall we?"

The whispering only increased in volume and Harry's grin widened as heard the scandalous things that they were saying.

"Yeah, yeah, come on then" Draco muttered, shoving past and making his way to their dorm room, "I want to get this over with as soon as possible!"

"Why darling, I had no idea that you were so eager" he teased, and from behind him, he heard Parkinson choke.

Draco shot him a dirty look over his shoulder but noticeably didn't slow down or change direction. "Is it too early to cash in that favour?"

"Not at all, darling. Although Obliviating an entire room of our love makes me feel as though you're ashamed of me" Harry replied, finding extreme amusement in the flurry of shocked and embarrassed exclamations that rose as a result.

"The only thing I'm ashamed of is that bird's nest you call hair!" he shot back, "Now come on before I change my mind, boon or no boon!"

Malfoy led the way to their dormitory bathroom, his wand held loosely in his hand. It was quiet, save for the faint murmur of voices echoing from the common room below. As they entered, Draco pointedly locked the door behind them with a flick of his wand before inspecting the lighting.

"Well then" he drawled, rolling up his sleeves with a dramatic flourish, "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right".

Harry leaned back against the sink, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. "I'm all yours, Malfoy".

Draco ignored the jibe, stepping closer and transfiguring a bar of soap into a chair before gesturing for Harry to sit down. He complied, brushing stray strands out of his face as the blond eyed him critically.

"First" Malfoy began, inspecting the wild tangle of black hair, "I'm going to have to trim these split ends. They're a bloody disaster and you should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Go for it" he replied easily, earning him a curious, almost suspicious look from the boy.

"You mean you trust me with a cutting hex near your throat?"

Harry smirked. "No offence, Malfoy, but I've survived far worse than you. And although we haven't known each other that long, I'd hazard a guess and say that if you truly did want to murder me, then you'd pick a way that wouldn't lead straight back to you".

Draco huffed, but the faintest trace of pride flickered in his eyes. "Correct… You know, Potter; you're not nearly as stupid as you look".

"Thanks".

"Now sit still. Diffindo!"

Stray pieces of hair fell to the tiled floor as Malfoy flicked his wand in sharp, clean strokes.

"So, why the sudden need to fix this mess?"

Harry shrugged and then winced as the boy flicked his forehead in reproach.

"Every lord and lady I know is… stylish. Everyone in Slytherin is stylish. Even Sirius is stylish, though he refuses to admit it… The point is, if I'm going to take my seat in Wizengamot one day, I can't walk around looking like I just lost a fight with a hippogriff, now can I?"

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. The Marquess of Westminster ascending to the London dukedom… Has Lord Black set a date yet?"

"For what?"

"For handing over the title to you, you oaf! For what, he asks! Honestly, Potter, I take back everything I said about you being smart; clearly, you have the intelligence of a dingbat!"

Harry rolled his eyes at the blond but answered all the same.

"No, Sirius hasn't 'set a date' or whatever. We haven't really discussed it, to be honest, but I know he doesn't mind being in Wizengamot so I doubt I'll inherit the title as soon as I turn seventeen like most wizards". He closed his eyes as Malfoy started cutting the hair that usually fell into them. "What about you? The Most Noble Draco Malfoy, the Duke of Wiltshire upon graduation, I expect?"

He snorted. "Not bloody likely. I told father I'd like to travel a bit first, maybe even pursue a Mastery in Potions or something. He wasn't… entirely pleased and kept saying we'd discuss it when I'm older, but then, earlier this summer, he had a sudden change of heart. Now, he's all for the idea of me delaying my inheritance, although personally, I think it's only because of-"

He abruptly cut himself off, as if suddenly remembering who he was talking to, but Harry didn't let that phase him.

"Because of Lord Slytherin's return?"

It made sense, after all. Lucius Malfoy wouldn't want to put his son in danger by exposing him to Voldemort directly, and the Dark Lord himself likely supported that decision given that he already had the desired level of influence over Lord Malfoy and wouldn't want to start from scratch again with Draco.

The blond's hand stilled for a fraction of a second before, "... Well. You're full of surprises, aren't you, Potter?"

He shrugged, reopening his eyes. "I'm not blind and, despite what you may think, I'm not stupid either. I know who, and what, your father is to the Dark Lord".

Draco turned his head sharply, their gazes meeting in the mirror in front of them, his expression guarded.

"... And you have no problem with that?"

"Why should I?"

"You're Harry bloody Potter!" he exclaimed, "How could you not have a problem with that?!"

"How could Harry bloody Potter be in any House but Gryffindor?" he countered dryly, "I'd like to get along with you, Malfoy, but for that to happen, you have got to drop these preconceived notions you have about me because I promise you, none of them are true".

Draco stared at him, searching his face for any trace of mockery or lies. Finding none, he shook his head, lips twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile but also, wasn't quite not.

"Fine" he said, his tone laced with both reluctance and curiosity, "I suppose I'll have to adjust my expectations of you… again".

Harry smirked. "Glad we're making progress".

Malfoy rolled his eyes but resumed his work, carefully trimming Harry's hair with the precision of someone who had spent far too much time perfecting appearances. The silence that followed was oddly companionable, punctuated only by faint snipping sounds and the occasional hum of approval from the blond.

"I'll admit" Draco began after a moment, "You've managed to navigate Slytherin better than I expected. Not many half-blo- I mean, not many wizards, could handle us. Especially not those with a background like yours".

"Yeah, well, I'm a quick learner. You either adapt, or you get eaten alive. Slytherin doesn't make exceptions for anyone, not even the Boy Who bloody Lived".

"True" Draco conceded, a faint note of respect threading through his voice, "Although I'll admit, you've been… surprisingly resourceful since you got here".

"I do try" Harry replied dryly.

He snorted, shaking his head as he adjusted the angle of his wand. "Still, it's a bit surreal, isn't it? The Boy Who Lived in Slytherin asking me to fix his hair like it's the most natural thing in the world!"

"Hey, I'm full of surprises, remember?"

"Yes, well" Malfoy muttered, flicking his wand to conjure a fine mist of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, "Try not to surprise me too often. I'm liable to develop a heart condition at this rate".

With a few final flicks of his wand, Draco stepped back, surveying his work with a critical eye. His expression softened into something resembling satisfaction as he nodded.

"There. Done".

Harry turned his head from side to side, examining his reflection. His unruly black hair was now artfully styled, the strands sleek and smooth yet retaining just enough waviness to look effortlessly messy. It framed his face in a way that accentuated his sharp features, lending him an air of quiet authority that hadn't been there before.

"Not bad" he admitted, running a hand through his hair and marvelling at how easily it fell back into place, "Not bad at all".

Draco scoffed, but there was a hint of pride in his expression. "Not bad? That's the work of a master, Potter. You'd better appreciate it!"

"Oh, I do" Harry replied, grinning, "Thanks, Malfoy. You might have just saved my reputation".

"Don't mention it" he said, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, "Ever".

"What, not even to your mother? We have a weekly correspondence, you know, and I'm sure she'd be delighted to hear that her little darling has been-"

Draco shoved him off the transfigured chair and, still laughing, Harry only barely managed to catch himself.

"Alright, alright, I won't tell your mother!" He grinned, standing up. "Now that you've worked your magic, as it were, I'll hold up my end of the bargain too. Three years, remember?"

Draco crossed his arms, smirking. "Oh, I'll remember, Potter. Rest assured, you'll owe me for this".

"I'm sure you'll make it as dramatic as possible when the time comes to cash in".

"Of course I will" he replied smoothly, "What's the point of a boon if you don't use it to make a statement?"

They stood there for a moment in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Whether this was the beginning of an unlikely friendship or just a pleasantly peaceful truce, Harry wasn't sure - but at least it was something.

"Well, now that my hair's sorted, I guess I'd better head back to the common room" Harry finally said, "Who knows what rumours have spread in our absence?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Try not to embarrass yourself, Potter. Or me, for that matter. I've just elevated your image to something almost tolerable".

"Almost tolerable? That's quite possibly the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Malfoy".

"Don't get used to it" Draco shot back, but there was no real bite to his words, and with a wave of his wand, he unlocked the bathroom door once more.

The whispers from the common room picked up again the moment they entered, and Harry couldn't help but let his grin widen as he ran a hand through his now-impeccably styled hair. He didn't bother addressing the gawking stares or murmured speculation, instead, making his way to the leather couch near the fire where Blaise was working on his homework.

The dark-skinned boy glanced up from his parchment as he approached, a quirk of amusement already playing at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes flicked to Harry's freshly styled hair and then back to his face, the smirk growing wider.

"Well, well, well" Blaise drawled, setting his quill down with exaggerated care, "You know, Potter, normal people get hair like yours after sex, but with you, it seems to have tamed it".

Draco grabbed the boy's open Transfiguration textbook and whacked him with it.

"Must you be such a degenerate, Zabini?! For Merlin's sake, keep your tasteless speculations to yourself!"

Blaise winced, rubbing the back of his head but maintaining his grin. "Ow! Touchy about our bed partners, are we, Malfoy? You can't deny that you've had your hands all over him, though".

He waggled his eyebrows in a frankly ridiculous manner and Draco flushed, scowled, and then raised the book threateningly once more.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop, I promise!" Blaise said, both hands raised, before turning his grin to Harry. "It suits you, meu amor. Malfoy didn't do a half-bad job with it".

The blond sniffed and lowered the textbook. "He was bringing down the reputation of our House!"

"Sure he was" Blaise agreed easily, "And I suppose you got nothing in return then?"

Draco looked away, rather pointedly silent. Harry rolled his eyes at the pair of them and sat down on the couch next to the boy. Now all he had to do was come up with a believable excuse to explain his new look to Sirius that didn't include the word "Malfoy".

Monday, 18th September

Harry spent most of the following Monday being… stared at.

The morning arrived with a chill in the air, the crisp autumn breeze brushing through the castle grounds. As he stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast, he felt the shift in the atmosphere immediately. Heads turned as he walked by, whispers spreading like wildfire among the tables - and not the usual "blood traitor" or "Dark Lord" whispers either.

Harry groaned internally. He hadn't anticipated a single bloody haircut and a newspaper article making this much of a difference! Sure, he looked a bit less like someone who fought a windstorm daily and yes, his lightning bolt scar was, unfortunately, far more visible now, and of course, everyone now knew he would eventually become the most politically powerful wizard in Britain - but this was just ridiculous!

He slid into his usual spot at the Slytherin table, keeping his head low and his focus on his plate.

"Good morning, Potter" Draco drawled with a smirk, "Enjoying your newfound popularity?"

Harry shot him a glare. "No!"

Next to him, Blaise grinned. "Better get used to it, meu amor. Between everyone's initial shock at you being here at Hogwarts wearing off, the fact that what you said to Umbridge has officially reached everyone's ears, your newly revealed status as the future Marquess of Westminster, and your new and improved appearance, it would seem that you've turned into quite the, uh… heartthrob".

Before he could retort with a well-deserved insult, another voice interrupted them.

"Hi, Harry!"

Frowning, he turned only to find a young girl sporting a Gryffindor crest standing at the edge of the Slytherin table. Her smile was wide and overly sweet, and her dark eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that made Harry want to vanish on the spot.

"... Hello".

She giggled, twirling a strand of black curly hair around her finger. "I'm Romilda. Romilda Vane".

Harry gave Blaise a side-eyed look but the boy ever-so-slightly shook his head. He had no idea who she was or what the hell she wanted either then.

"... What can I do for you, Ms Vane?"

She laughed again, but it was as high-pitched and fake as Umbridge's which made him internally wince.

"Oh nothing much; I just thought I'd say hi. You know, since we're both Gryffindors at heart and all that".

He blinked. "What? No, I'm not-"

"Of course you are, silly!" she interrupted, "You belong with us, not in… here".

She wrinkled her nose at the Slytherins around him, most of whom were watching the exchange with varying degrees of amusement and annoyance.

"Ms Vane, I don't think-"

"Anyway!" she cut him off again, ignoring his growing irritation, "I was just wondering if maybe you'd like to go for a walk with me after class today?"

He stared at her, waiting for the punchline. None came.

"... No, thank you".

Her face fell for a moment, but she quickly replaced her disappointment with a determined smile.

"Are you sure? We could talk about Gryffindor stuff. Or- Or about Quidditch! I know you like Quidditch!"

Harry's patience was wearing thin and next to him, Blaise was doing a poor job of hiding his laughter.

"No, thank you, Ms Vane. I'm not interested".

"But are you really sure?" She pouted in such a way that made it obvious she'd practised the move in front of a mirror. "We have so much in common after all! We could talk about-"

"He said no". Draco cut her off with a glower. "So move along. Now!"

Romilda glared at him but huffed and flounced away, muttering under her breath. Harry sighed in relief and turned back to take a big gulp of tea.

"You're welcome" Draco said smugly.

Blaise, who looked just as amused, nudged his arm. "Hey, so, uh, remember on your first morning here when I said everyone was staring because they were in shock that the Boy Who Lived ended up in Slytherin?"

"Yeah" Harry replied warily, "What about it?"

"Well, do you remember what I said after that?" The bloody traitor was grinning at him, mischief dancing in his dark eyes. "Something about how once that shock wore off, you'd have far bigger problems to deal with? Yeah? Well, welcome to those bigger problems, meu amor!"

By lunchtime, word had spread about the girl's bold approach, and Harry found himself the subject of even more attention. He'd also found out from Theo - who truly seemed to possess a wealth of knowledge about other students - that Romilda Vane was a third year.

Even if Harry was looking for a relationship, which he wasn't, then first of all, it would be with someone of the same gender as him, which she wasn't, and second of all, it would most definitely not be with someone at least two years younger than him, which she was. Romilda was thirteen, for Merlin's sake! She was far too young to be thinking about relationships; least of all with him! Tracey, Milli, and Theo agreed wholeheartedly. Blaise and Draco were simply amused.

Nevertheless, the entire school was now apparently divided into two camps: those who thought Harry was a blood traitor too full of himself to acknowledge anyone else, and those who thought he was a tragic hero cast into Slytherin against his will and in dire need of rescuing.

The latter ideology was obviously one that Romilda Vane transcribed to, but the former was spearheaded by her older sister Emma, who was a fifth-year Ravenclaw, and Emma's boyfriend, Michael Corner - or so the Weasley twins told him after cornering Harry as he left the Great Hall after lunch.

He had barely taken three steps outside the large wooden doors when two sets of arms were slung over his shoulders and he found himself sandwiched in between a pair of grinning redheads.

"Harrykins!" Fred announced, beaming.

"Dearest Potter!" George added, equally enthusiastic.

"Don't you look dashing today!" his twin said dramatically, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from Harry's robes.

"Indeed, quite the rakish young hero" George agreed, clasping a hand over his heart, "We're simply smitten!"

"Infatuated!" Fred wailed.

"Besotted!" He sighed dreamily.

"Hopelessly in love!" they chorused, loud enough for heads to swivel in their direction. Harry groaned, his face heating as laughter and knowing smiles rippled through the nearby students.

"Will you two cut it out?" he hissed, squirming to free himself.

"Never!" Fred declared, tightening his grip.

"Why, Harrykins" George said, mock-offended, "Don't tell us you're rejecting us too! First Romilda Vane, and now us? Are you determined to have everyone die of a broken heart?!"

The theatrics drew more laughter from the small crowd leaving the Great Hall at the same time as them, everyone well used to the Weasley twins' antics and convinced that their teasing was all in good fun. As everyone's attention shifted away, however, the twins' expressions dropped their exaggerated humour, becoming serious as they gently yet insistently steered Harry into a quiet alcove.

"Alright, joke time's over" Fred said quietly.

George nodded, his tone subdued. "We come bearing bad news".

Harry frowned. "Bad news? For me?"

Fred glanced around to ensure no one was listening. "Emma Vane took your rejection of her little sister... poorly".

"She's been telling anyone who'll listen that you think you're too good for Romilda" George added grimly, "Which, obviously, is utter rubbish".

Harry's brows knitted together. "What? I don't think that at all! She's thirteen, for Merlin's sake! And I'm not even into girls!"

"We know, mate" Fred said, clapping him on the shoulder, "But Emma's got a bit of a sharp tongue and a grudge to match. If she starts spreading nasty rumours, things could get ugly".

George chimed in. "Also, Michael Corner - Emma's new boyfriend - is a part of this mess too. Ginny dumped him the first day back at school".

"She did?"

"Yup" Fred confirmed. "Didn't surprise us, really. Michael's a sore loser, and what with them being on opposite Quidditch teams, it was only a matter of time".

"Still" George continued, "He might try to stir up trouble - he's the petulant, jealous type. If Emma's angry, and Michael's still bitter about Ginny... Well, just watch your back, yeah?"

Harry groaned, running a hand through his already messy, albeit stylishly so, hair. "Brilliant. That's just brilliant! Anything else I should know?"

Fred and George exchanged a glance before leaning closer.

"There's one more thing. Kenneth Towler".

Harry frowned. "Who?"

"He's a Gryffindor in the same year as us" Fred supplied, "Big bloke, loud voice, thinks you're the next Dark Lord or whatever".

"He's been ranting about you to anyone who'll listen - and even to a few who won't" George said, grimacing, "We heard him in the common room last night, going on about how the Boy Who Lived betrayed Gryffindor by joining Slytherin and how this is a sign that you're destined for Dark and evil things. The Prophet's article about Sirius only cemented his beliefs".

Fred folded his arms. "He's got a lot of influence, being a seventh-year and all. You might want to keep an eye out. He's always been a prat, he's not above causing trouble if he thinks it'll make a point, and he's been given more than one detention in the past for bullying the younger years. If his father wasn't some hoighty-toighty Ministry official, he'd probably have been suspended for it too".

Harry sighed, feeling the weight of their warnings settle heavily on his shoulders.

"Great. So I've got Romilda and Emma Vane, Michael Corner, and now Kenneth Towler to look out for, in addition to, oh yeah, the rest of the entire bloody school!"

"Don't worry too much, mate" Fred said, giving him a reassuring grin, "We've got your back".

"Always" George added.

Harry managed a small smile. "Thanks, guys. I appreciate it".

The twins exchanged a grin, their usual mischief returning.

"Just don't go getting too popular, Harrykins" Fred said, nudging him.

"Yeah" George agreed, "We can only fend off so many admirers at once".

"And that's including ourselves, too".

"You two are impossible!" He groaned although he couldn't deny that he felt better for their teasing.

"Wouldn't have it any other way" they chorused before disappearing down the corridor, leaving Harry to brace himself for a long, long day.