Title: The New Guy

Author: S.Malfoy

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters; I only twist them for my evil pleasure.

NOTE: This is an AU, where Sirius is still alive and had taken custody of Harry after the death of his parents. They have been on the move since then, and now, in his 6th year, Harry has come to Hogwarts.

This will eventually be a HP/DM slash, so if that bothers anyone, I'm sorry, but don't read if you don't like. You have been duly warned!


Chapter 1

First meetings are always fun

Harry hated being the new guy; it always seemed this had to happen specifically to him. Of course, it wasn't so bad after a few weeks of the stares, snickers, and generally miserable treatment.

"This is the last time, right Sirius?" Harry pleaded. "We won't have to move anymore, will we?"

"No, Harry, this is the last time," Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and caretaker replied softly.

"I don't want to move anymore," Harry said distinctly, looking out of the window of the second story flat living room.

"Well, as a goodbye present, I want to buy you some new supplies, and perhaps some new clothing as well," Sirius said lightly, a faint frown forming between his brows at the shabby condition of his clothing.

Harry only nodded shortly, uncaring.

"Aw, come on Harry, pep up. On Christmas Break you'll be coming back – it'll be here before you know it," Sirius said helpfully.

"Of course Siri," Harry said, trying to force a smile to his face. It looked like a faint grimace, but at least it was an effort.

"Tomorrow we'll go to a place called Diagon Alley – it's where all the witches and wizards around here shop."

Harry nodded, his mind beginning to wander. It was only going to be like everywhere else I've went to, so why bother getting excited anyways, he thought to himself.

"Well, Harry, finish your dinner and get ready for bed. We have a busy day tomorrow, and you need plenty of rest," Sirius said softly, running a hand through his Godson's black mop of hair. Sirius truly wished they hadn't had such a rough life, dragging Harry to another country every year for his own protection. But finally he had been forced to realize he couldn't always protect Harry and had turned to a man named Albus Dumbledore. He would keep Harry safe, as he had watched over Sirius when he was younger; Sirius felt sure enough that this would be their permanent home.

"Of course Godfather," Harry said obediently, and finished up his dinner in record time. He politely washed up his dishes with a flick of his wand before exiting the room and dragging his feet up the stairs. He had been given special privileges with a license of magic after Sirius had explained the situation to Dumbledore – Harry could not be restricted from magic if the time came for self-defense.

Sirius gazed after him worriedly. When he had taken Harry on as his own son after the death of two of his most beloved friends, James and Lily Potter, he had promised himself he would be the father Harry could never have. At only one and a half years old, Harry never had a chance to know his real parents; he only had snapshots and photo albums to go by, and it was never a life Sirius would have chosen for anyone.

But Harry had such power, and he never even seemed aware of it. By only doing the dishes, there was an aftermath of magic energy that tingled down the spine. He knew it was only a matter of time before Harry grew even more powerful than Sirius was, and Harry was only sixteen!

He desperately hoped Dumbledore would be the one to help Harry achieve his own greatness, without the potential darkness that could so easily swallow him whole.


Harry stepped into the steaming shower, his mouth open to exhale a long sigh of contentment. The warm water sluiced down his hard body in rivulets, sliding between his thin hips and into the coarse nest of dark hair below. He watched in fascination as the water swallowed him in a liquid caress, loosening his tense muscles and relaxing his mind simultaneously.

He ran his hands roughly through his hair and over his face, his fingers skimming along the lightening bolt scar that had been seared into his forehead. It was a brand that had been burned on the same day his parents had died, he had been told. Every time his fingertips traced the path, a tingle of power emanated from the puckered skin throughout his entire body. He could never grow accustomed to the feeling.

He shook his head, dispelling the irritating sensation and quickly shampooed his hair before grabbing a bar of soap. He idly began rubbing it between his hands before spreading the creamy foam across his chiseled chest and shoulders.

He knew Sirius had no idea that Harry quite knew the extent of his power. Of course I do! It's my own body, he thought sarcastically. Sometimes he felt guilty at his own thoughts; it wasn't Sirius' fault that they had been on the run for their very lives after Voldemort had attacked his parents. He had raised Harry as best he could in such rushed and tensed circumstances, but such an aura surrounding their daily lives made a boy grow up faster than he should have. Once he had begun to attend various magical schools, he had managed to survive as best he could; he learned in such an odd fashion that he almost never knew where he should be placed after he moved on to a new school.

But vowing to himself he would not allow himself to be frightened away by something that happened before he could even walk properly, he trained fiercely in such a way his body had formed to his magic. He was brawny even for his age, and his powerful magical ability had allowed him to far exceed his classmates in every subject – he only attended school now to placate his Godfather.

He was quite amused at the immaturity that surrounded him inside of the school walls. While others were concerned over appearances, dating, and social standing, he concentrated on expanding his magical capabilities. It had eventually increased in such a size that no one could miss the shimmering magic that radiated off of him in waves after performing a high level spell. Harry was extremely proud of his own success – soon, he would be invulnerable to the illustrious Voldemort, and finally be rid of the dark presence that clouded his mind once and for all.


The next morning Harry took a quick glance at his Hogwarts letter and memorized most of what he needed, but stuck the letter in his pocket anyways. He wore Muggle clothing, as his last school robes were too short after the brief growth spurt he had endured. Besides, he assumed they wore a different style in the U.K than they would in Russia, his last place of residence. There they had been more concerned about furs and containing body heat, as cumbersome as it had been. And then before that there had been Australia, where long sleeves had been required, made of a lightweight cloth that allowed the stifled breeze inside. He supposed the current style would probably be between the two.

He exited the apartment Sirius had rented, waving away his offers to follow along, preferring to travel alone. Since he was not able to Apparate, he ordered the taxi to take him through London, and ignoring the man's puzzled looks, stopped outside of the Leaky Cauldron. To the Muggle it looked like an abandoned store, but Harry could sense the magical entity of the place.

He took a quick look around before stealthily entering the bar. He was momentarily blinded by the sudden darkness, blinking rapidly behind the thin frames of his glasses, pushing a lock of hair away from his brow. He ignored the surprised looks he received at the state of his clothing, instead making his way steadily towards the bartender.

"How do I get to Diagon Alley?" Harry asked once he reached the bar.

Tom looked over the boy quickly, his eyes catching on the scar visible through the fringe of his hair, and his mouth gaped open.

"What's your name?" he countered instead.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said quietly. "I need to know how to get to Diagon Alley from here."

Tom fell silent, as did the rest of the bar. No one stepped forward to offer the information; Harry sighed impatiently and said quickly, "My name is Harry Potter – I'm going to Hogwarts this year, and I need to buy school supplies."

There was a gasp, silence, and then mad cheering that erupted throughout the bar. Tom stepped back and fell over in surprise. Harry grunted in dismay, trying desperately to slip away from the mob of people that tried to attack him. He worked his way towards the back of the bar and exited with wizards and witches clinging to his body.

"Can someone please tell me how to get to Diagon Alley?" Harry asked. There was a flurry of 'yes' and 'of course' and a person tapped the wall and it immediately opened before the crowd.

"Thank you for all your help," Harry said, bestowing a faint smile on the crowd, and they all grinned back.

He waved his hand in a seemingly casual gesture, and immediately as a whole, the mob turned and walked back into the bar, forgetting he had even been present. He finally gave a wide grin – it had been hard work learning from the Turkish Prince three summers ago, but sweat and exhaustion had finally paid off and he perfected the art of wandless magic. The Prince had quite pleased once his young pupil had grasped the basic idea – all at the age thirteen - and had expanded further than he had originally planned. His fame as the Boy-Who-Lived sure had come in handy on his travels, he thought.

He strolled down the street, dodging the packs of young and old alike, making his way to the Gringotts Bank and extricating some much needed funds. He held his little golden key tightly in his hand, and when he had finally emerged, his pocket and money pouch filled to the brim with gold galleons. He had also stopped by Sirius' bank vault and extracted galleons for him as well. He had ignored Sirius' demands that his money be the one to pay for it all; it made him feel as if he owed a debt to his Godfather, and so on the sly he would sneak funds from his parent's account.

His first stop: Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions for new dress robes and an entirely new wardrobe. Casually browsing the store fronts while he made his way down Diagon Alley, Harry ignored the mixed looks of interest, curiosity, and dismay he was receiving. He carefully erected protection wards around his body, his magical aura faintly shimmering before dissolving into a transparent shield. No one would attack him unawares.

As Harry entered the cluttered store, he took an interested glance around as he waited patiently for his turn. There was an assortment of people in the store, ranging from young to old, but mostly populated by school children. His eyes skimmed over the people, sliding past a blonde looking in his direction before jerking back to meet those cool gray eyes.


Draco had been standing impatiently while the seamstress fluttered about him, shaking out bolts of cloth for his inspection before carefully measuring and cutting the expensive cloth for his school robes. His father demanded the very best, and Draco Malfoy had excellent taste.

He smirked as he heard a couple of first years arguing on the stools beside him.

"I bet you'll be in Hufflepuff," a boy sneered to a young girl standing next to him.

"And I'll bet you'll be in Slytherin," the girl answered, snarling quietly.

"Of course I will be," he claimed importantly. "I deserve to be in Slytherin."

"It wasn't a compliment," the girl muttered.

"And why wouldn't it be?" Draco whispered softly, but both of the children heard and turned their head to look at him. They both gasped.

"Draco Malfoy?" the boy questioned.

"Of course," he smirked. He loved baiting the first years – it was one of the few joys in his life. That, and getting the Weasel and Mudblood into trouble, as well; but that a given, of course.

"Thomas Finis," the boy replied, giving a short bow. Draco tilted his head in a curt nod at the sign of respect.

They both ignored the girl that Finis had claimed was sure to get into Hufflepuff, and Draco spent a moment giving the boy a glance.

He was Pureblood, you could tell by the stance. He stood arrogantly, his head thrown back and his chin thrust upwards while his eyes looked down. His hair was brown, cut closely to his head and parted down the middle; his blue eyes were slanted like a cat, and his build lean for an eleven year old. Draco could already tell he would grow into his height, and would be a strong man if he had the desire. He most likely did not though – he looked too lazy to try and achieve physical prowess when he had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Not that Draco could argue – he was practically made from the same bolt of cloth.

Without saying another word to Finis, Draco turned back to the mirror, admiring the fall of the black suede cloak that was thrown around his shoulders. As he was gazing into the reflection, he noticed a boy walk into the store, sending a cool glance around the shop. He turned his head, looking the unknown boy over.

He had a wild mop of hair that hung well to his shoulders and was tied away from his face while bangs fluttered over his forehead. He had the greenest eyes Draco had ever seen, and even from a distance they emitted sparks of intelligence behind the thin frames of his glasses. He had thick, muscular shoulders, the muscles visible in the tight, white Muggle shirt he wore. His hips were slim, encased in baggy jeans and belt wrapped around his waist. He wore floppy trainers, and his stance was casual but alert.

Draco smirked at the appearance, but it was the power that drew him. It literally radiated off of him in waves, and Draco could have sworn the scent of vanilla wafted in the air, surrounding his head and filling it with the sweet scent.

"Get down," he ordered Finis, never taking his eyes off of the incredible boy.

"What?" he cried out in shock.

"Get off the stool, and move," Draco said forcefully, his cool gray eyes locked into impossibly green.

"No way," Finis muttered.

Draco finally turned, and his cool eyes became icy. "I said, get down," he hissed threateningly.

Finis knew now was not the time to anger Malfoy any further, and abruptly stepped down from the stool, uncaring of the angry outburst from the seamstress working on his robes.

"Why did you tell him that, dear?" Madam Malkin inquired.

"Serve that boy first," Draco commanded, pointing towards Harry standing silently in the waiting area.

Malkin sent him a cool glance, but nodded accordingly, and the boy was lead over to Draco.


Harry watched with detached amusement as the blonde commanded those around him to do his bidding. He knew an aristocrat when he saw one, and was not much impressed. But it does make my waiting that much shorter, he thought with a smirk.

He was incredibly beautiful, even for a boy. His hair was so brightly blonde under the light, it hurt to stare directly at the baby fine silk. His body was lean, lightly muscled, but his magical energy was strong, Harry sensed. He stood proudly, his chin lifted and his gray eyes trailed over his own body, assessing and measuring his worth. His face was chiseled and his cheekbones slashed upwards; he was an exotic, pale angel. Harry was not fooled for an instant.

He gave his order to Madam Malkin herself: five dark Hogwarts robes, four complete sets of the uniform, and some undergarments. He also ordered casual wear as well, such as slacks and t-shirts.

He was ushered by another young seamstress to stand on the stool beside the blonde, and he nodded coolly in greeting. Harry stood as still as a granite carving, watching dispassionately as the girl fluttered around him quickly, sending him flirty glances underneath her lashes.

"Draco Malfoy," the blonde finally introduced after a moment of silence, his voice drawling lazily.

"Harry Potter," Harry said slowly, noticing the gray eyes flare open in disbelief and he distantly heard the young girl gasp. But, to his quiet amazement, Draco only nodded thoughtfully, his eyes never once flickering to his forehead.

"Do you go to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, curious, after another tense silence.

"Yes, of course," Draco said with a small smile teasing the corners of his lips. "Do you?"

"I will be starting this year," Harry replied.

"Where did you come from?" Draco asked inquisitively.

Harry gave the first genuine laugh he felt he had uttered in a long time. "Where haven't I come from would be a better question," Harry chuckled.

Draco raised his pale eyebrows, silently inquiring. His lips twitched, but he suppressed the urge to laugh along with Harry, though it was a temptation. He had such an innocent laugh, a rumbling chuckle that turned heads and made one want to make him happy, so that he would laugh again. Draco shook his head, trying to force the distracted thoughts away and listened to his answer.

"Well, I've most recently come from Russia, but before that I was in Australia, Turkey, Germany, Italy, Greece, France-"

He was cut off by a laughing Draco. "Okay, okay, I understand. How come you've been to so many places?" he asked after his laughter had settled down. Hmm, I really can tell he's been to so many places; his voice is so fluid it shifts from one sound to another, Draco though absently.

Harry immediately went quiet. He could not give anything away about his Godfather, and so he merely shrugged. Draco knew when to drop a question that could possibly be dangerous to answer.

Soon, their conversation turned to more open subjects about the school, the teachers, and what Harry could expect from all of the above.

"I've heard there are separations in the classes, I think," Harry asked, his tone broaching on more of a question.

"They are houses, actually. You are sorted into a house based on your personality traits," Draco explained.

"Ah," Harry nodded. "I think I understand, though it does not make much sense," Harry said.

"Why is that?" Draco asked skeptically.

"Well, I don't know if I would want to be around people that are exactly like me all the time," Harry admitted. "I think I would understand if it was by year, but by personality? I like to spice things up, myself," Harry said with a mischievous grin.

Draco nodded, silent in his observations. He didn't want to admit it, but the boy did have a point. Sometimes it was quite tiring to be around the same people all the time, with only the same people to talk to and make plans with day in and day out.

Harry and Draco were both distracted for a moment as the sizing was concluded and the cloth was picked out and decided upon. Harry left an address where he could currently be reached in London at the apartment he shared with Sirius, and they promised it would arrive within the next three hours.

Harry and Draco exited the shop together, with Harry still wearing his Muggle style clothing, and Draco missed the searching glance Tomas Finis aimed his way – but Harry hadn't. He filed the information away absently while he finger combed the bangs that fell awry into his eyes.

"So, what house are you in, anyways? You never told me," Harry asked once they stood outside on the bustling sidewalk

"I'm in Slytherin," Draco said softly, watching the sunlight play happily in the sparkling green of Harry's eyes. He really is gorgeous, Draco thought idly to himself. Not that he was a poof, but he still admired beauty when it was in front of him, he assured himself.

"And what are the characteristics needed to get into Slytherin?" Harry asked, watching the shift of emotion that played with the silver of Draco's eyes. While the pale boy's face let no emotion show, his eyes were a wellspring of tumultuous waves. One could get lost inside of them, Harry groaned silently. He shook his head in irritation – why was he thinking of Draco's eyes?

For some reason, Draco was hesitant to tell the boy what was needed to be thrown into the lot of snakes he slept with. Cowardice...devious...distrusting...

"You need to be strong willed, clever, and alert," Draco finally answered after a moment of thought.

Harry understood the hesitance of Draco to answer truthfully, and he could read the between the lines. Harry had to muffle a snort of laughter that wasn't quite as silent as he had hoped.

"Are you laughing at me?" Draco asked, imperiously.

"Yeah, I am," Harry grinned good-naturedly, pushing his glasses that had slipped down his nose during his laughter, back up.

Draco searched the boy's eyes for any misgivings, but relaxed when he saw the lazy humor reflected in the green pools. He gave a self-satisfied smirk, knowing the boy understood his deception and why he had done it. Draco frowned briefly at the thought; he didn't like the idea of this boy knowing more than Draco wanted him to. But, once Draco raised his eyes to look at Harry, his could feel his defenses soften. There was something about this boy that made Draco instinctively trust him.

"Slytherin doesn't sound like such a bad place," Harry said softly, watching the play of emotion in Draco's eyes.

Draco shrugged noncommittally, looking around the place. His eyes widened when he saw the familiar Weasel and Mudblood walking towards them, and his sneer was automatically set in place before he gave it a second thought. Following his glance, he watched as a red-headed boy and bushy- brown haired girl walked towards them, holding hands and smiling. That is, they were smiling until they caught sight of Draco standing next to Harry.

They were all silent for a moment before Ron burst out, "Malfoy, surprised to see you here. I would have thought you'd be at a Death Eater's summer camp for the rich and snobbish!"

"Ron!" Hermione cried, shocked.

"And I would have thought you would be stuck home and doing menial labor for any Sickle you could get," Draco snarled.

Harry watched with impassive eyes at the fight getting started before him, aware of the girl's eyes on him calculatingly before moving back to watch the boys fight. Harry did not miss the reference to the Death Eater association, nor the fact that Draco didn't deny the allegation.

"Listen, ferret boy-" Ron began before he was interrupted by a harsh laugh.

"Can't you think of anything more original, Weasel?" Draco sneered.

Ron's face went pale in his immense fury and Hermione laid a hand on his arm, trying to get her boyfriend to calm down. Draco smirked in enjoyment, watching the boy with interest. Harry knew the red-haired boy was close to committing physical violence, and turned to look at the blonde beside him.

"Draco, I think that is enough," Harry murmured, laying a hand on his shoulder. Draco immediately turned his eyes towards his new acquaintance, and flushed dimly in embarrassment.

"Of course, let's go," Draco said, turning his back to the pair.

Seeing the motion, Ron eagerly withdrew his wand and said ferociously, "Eat slugs!"

Harry immediately flipped Draco around and casually stepped in front of him, his shield blocking the curse. Draco narrowed his eyes in disgust. "You were going to attack me with my back turned!" he shouted angrily.

"Now, that wasn't very nice," Harry said softly, a glint in his green eyes behind the slim glasses on his face.

"What's it to you?" Ron sneered in distaste. "You're just a Slytherin like the rest of them."

"Now, how can you possibly say that when you don't even know who I am?" Harry asked, his face pleasant but his eyes hard.

"Then who are you?" Ron asked, his face screwed up in confusion.

"Harry Potter," Draco introduced eagerly, watching the Weasel color in sudden recognition while his blue eyes frantically searched for the scar on Harry's forehead. Hermione stayed silent, watching the interaction without expression, her eyes shadowed in puzzlement and darting between the three boys.

"No..." Ron began, stumbling backwards.

"Yes," Harry replied, his well-muscled arms folded across his chest. "And now, I think it would be wise you of you to leave quietly," he instructed.

Ron and Hermione said nothing, passing both of them and hurrying down the street. They both watched with cool detachment until the disappeared from view.

"Well, I guess I should be off. I have some more errands to run," Harry said with regret.

"I'll walk with you until I find my father," Draco said, a smirk teasing his cupid-bow mouth.

Harry nodded in acquiescence, and they took off together towards Flourish and Blotts for the books that Harry needed for the year. They talked casually, glossing over the 'Ron incident' as if it had never happened, and Harry could feel a friendship fast bonding.

He knew Draco was a product of the home he was raised in, and the arrogance he exuded had been trained into Draco since birth, he was sure. Instead, when he looked covertly into the boy's eyes, he knew there was an insecurity that only the ignored could have; he felt connected to the boy in a way he hadn't in years.

Harry had had only a few friends over the years, never wanting to become attached to a place because he knew that when the year of staying was up, he and Sirius would be long gone. Sometimes, they had moved twice during the year, and Harry had learned to never forge deep friendships – it only got in the way. But he knew, intuitively, that this boy...Draco Malfoy...would be far different than anyone he had known before.


A/N: Well, there's the first chapter. I will try to finish the second ASAP but I'm taking my time, making sure the plot is strong and the story is as good as it can get from my point of view. I hope you all enjoy!

I will be taking a time off from Twining Transformations to write this one, I'm sorry for any disappointment that causes to anyone. But I feel that this story is interesting, and I enjoy writing it.