What with the arrest and subsequent death – at least as a person – of Professor Quirrell, Harry's new look received scant attention. Most of those who did notice thought it looked good on him, but gave it little more thought than that before returning to the current hobby of speculating about Quirrell, his second face, and why the Dementors had attacked him and sucked out his soul. A mutually satisfying decision was never reached, but the debates themselves were very exciting and satisfying for a few days until the novelty wore off and other matters took its place.

Replacing the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor would take time, so in the meantime the headmaster himself stepped into the position: a solution Harry despised, since the old man seemed determined put Harry in the limelight. However, while Harry wasn't going to openly defy the man, he also made sure not to show abilities or knowledge above what any of his non-Slytherin year mates possessed, and even deliberately performed slightly below that, at first. He had reasoned that as someone who had been raised by magic-hating Muggles, he would be expected to be slightly behind those who had the advantage of a wizarding upbringing. Draco soon disabused him of that notion, saying it reflected badly on him as a tutor, so Harry brought his performance level up to only slightly below that which his friend showed.

Oddly enough, once Quirrell was gone, most of Harry's nightmares (except those having to do with his childhood) and almost all of his headaches stopped, the latter occurring only slightly more often than with any other pupil. But that didn't stop Draco from slipping into Harry's bed at least two or three nights a week. It would have been more often, but both boys knew that it wouldn't do to have rumours start up about them, no matter how untrue. They only got away with it at all because everyone knew of Harry's nightmares. He had been teased quite often about those until he had shared some of them. The telling alone had caused more than a few of his housemates to have their own nightmares, so nobody said anything about Draco giving Harry some company at night on occasion. Besides which, everyone knew they were too young to be lovers, despite the teasing. Since both boys slept much better when they slept together, neither of them were about to inform anyone else of the change of status of Harry's dreams.

Ron Weasley was one of the few who took notice of Harry's new looks, but only because he thought it would give him some ammunition against the boy, which he decided to use where the Slytherin's humiliation would be greatest: the Great Hall, during supper, when there were the most people present. "Oy, lookit here!" the redhead loudly called out in a snide tone. "Slytherin has itself a new girl! What happened, Potter; decided being a boy was too tough for you?"

"Whatever are you talking about, Weasley?" Harry inquired, a look of distaste twisting his features for having to interact with this . . . boor. However, a challenge like this could not be ignored; it would be bad for his standing in his own House.

"Only girls have long hair, you ponce!" the redhead replied triumphantly. Of course none of the males in his own family had long hair, so he thought that state of affairs to be 'normal'.

Harry looked around the Great Hall, noticing more than a few boys whose hair was quite long, not to mention the male instructors and the headmaster, whose hair was longer than anyone else'. He faced the loud-mouthed Weasley again.

"Do you ever consult that pea you call a brain before you open your mouth, Weasley?" he drawled with a mocking grin.

Draco copied Harry's action, and noticing the same thing Harry had seen, he snickered. "You must enjoy making a fool of yourself, Weasley," he sneered. "You do it often enough."

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ron looked around himself, but not before shooting a hate filled look at the two before him. He had been so anxious to put down his self-proclaimed enemy that he hadn't thought before he spewed out the insult. With a hard knot growing at the base of his throat, Ron finally took notice that almost a third of the male upperclassmen had longish hair, and then with growing apprehension he looked to the head table to find that not a one of the male instructors had short hair, and that the headmaster was looking at him reprovingly over the top of his spectacles. Turning to his own table for some support, the young Weasley noted that few would meet his eyes, and those few only did so momentarily before they slid off to the side. Even his own brothers were looking embarrassed by him.

With a mocking laugh, Harry turned and walked to the Slytherin table, Draco and several other young Slytherins beside him all making their own comments about 'stupid Gryffindors', and other observations in the same vein.

Harry knew that the youngest Weasley boy would now find himself the butt of many a prank and joke, and possibly even be in for a bit of abuse, but he couldn't help but feel the need for a bit of personal revenge for the insult offered him. Nudging Draco in the seat beside him after the meal had been served, he said, "If Weasley is going to make a fool of himself, don't you think he should be wearing motley?" Draco sniggered at the thought as Harry concentrated, wiggling a finger and muttering a spell under his breath.

The effort to cast this spell wandlessly caused Harry's forehead to become moist with sweat, but the effect was worth it.

Across the hall the redheaded boy suddenly found himself wearing the costume of a court fool in green and yellow, with silver bells jangling and chiming as they hung from his hems and three-horned hat. Almost everyone in the hall burst into laughter as the boy turned bright red. He first looked across to the Slytherin table in suspicion, but no wands being in evidence, he began berating his twin brothers, Fred and George, who were protesting their innocence. Unfortunately it wasn't very convincing, as they were laughing as hard as everyone else.

"Oh, how rich," Draco chortled to Harry. "He's even blaming his own brothers!"

"Isn't it just?" Pansy cooed, giving Draco a quick hug from her seat on the other side of him.

Draco gave her a look of askance, surprised distaste evident on his face. "I'll thank you not to wrinkle the clothes, Parkinson," he said in rebuke.

Undeterred, the girl just grinned at him and went back to her breakfast.

A feeling of disquiet twanged somewhere in Harry's gut, but Draco's reaction restored his good humour. He didn't understand his own reaction, so he just pushed it aside. His friend could tell her to shove off – or not – if he really wanted her to, and it really wasn't any of his business either way, he told himself. Still, Harry didn't much like the Parkinson girl hanging on his friend.

Draco slipped his wand out of his sleeve and, just the tip of it over the edge of the table, he muttered a spell of his own, turning the motley-clad boy's hair and freckles a bright, robin's-egg blue, in bright contrast to the costume.

"Bugger. I wanted violet," Draco muttered. Since he'd been trying to hide his action, he hadn't been able to be as precise with his wand movement as he'd have liked. Still, the effect wasn't bad: not bad at all.

Since the Weasley twins were trying to undo Harry's spell at the time, the younger Weasley assumed they were responsible for that as well, when one of his mates pointed out his new hair colour. He flew into a rage, going so far as to tackle the twins and start pummeling them, but was quickly subdued by them. Professor McGonagall reached them a few moments later and took control of the situation. Harry and Draco wished they could hear what was being said, but had to content themselves with the spectacle that was going on.

Harry had laughed out loud in appreciation of Draco's addition to the prank. His own spell wouldn't end for about eight hours, so the Weasley twins' efforts had been in vain, anyway. And with the insult Ronald had delivered about long hair, it was unlikely that any of the instructors – any of the male ones, anyway – would willingly assist him. The youngest Weasley could even change clothes, and those would change into motley as well. Even as Harry thought that, he saw the motley-clad boy making for the doors of the Great Hall as quickly as he could without running – likely to change his clothes. But since the spell was on him and not on the clothing....

Harry snickered.

That was the first prank they played. Others came at irregular intervals, played mostly on those who had given one or both of them grief, but also on people innocent of wronging them. Harry didn't much like that, but Draco had pointed out that if they only pranked the guilty, people would soon figure out who was behind the incidents. Still, Harry insisted that they choose targets who were unlikable in some way, and prevailed in making the pranks on the innocent fairly minor ones. To their amusement, they found that the Weasley twins, who were infamous for their pranks, were, more often than not, blamed for their pranks. And who, really, would suspect a couple of first year pupils of being capable of third year magic?

Although Harry had yet to catch up with Draco in that department, he had managed to learn quite a lot: not even a quarter of what Draco had learned, but quite a lot nevertheless. It wasn't easy, however. It meant two hours or more of extra study every night except Friday, when they took a break from the grueling schedule in order to spend more time socializing than they usually got, and six or more hours each weekend day, plus half of an hour here and there, wherever the time popped up. Sometimes it was more, more often it was less, depending on their patience, attention span, and how interesting the current subject might be. They were just eleven after all, despite Draco's discipline and Harry's will to learn.

It helped that Harry was a natural at spell work. With that and the intensive training/tutoring schedule, he was learning much faster than Draco had anticipated, but he still had much to learn. The blond was all too aware that Harry seemed to be learning faster than he himself had, and seemed to be more powerful besides. But then Draco soothed himself with the thought that he hadn't had the sort of intensive training that Harry was getting, or himself as a tutor, either.

Harry still had a lot to learn about the wizarding world's customs, manners, holidays, and so forth as well, and was still lagging a bit with potions, but he was learning. Of course Harry kept cozening Draco into teaching him the fun things first, but Draco enjoyed them as well, so he was easy to convince. Still, Draco made sure that Harry learned at least as many of the more serious spells and hexes as the fun ones.

But the tutoring wasn't all one way. There was a lot of trial and error as Harry tried to figure out how he did it, but eventually Draco was able to do a wandless 'Lumos'. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and both of them were very proud of Draco. But with Harry catching up on his spellwork, they could cut back on the hours of tutoring and practice. And Draco, mostly through example, started teaching Harry the fine art of internal politics (putting into practice what his father had taught him), vying for positions of influence within their House. Due to spending so much time on Harry, Draco was far behind the goals he had set himself in that regard.

It was just a few days before solstice hols when something a bit out of the ordinary happened. Harry woke up with the pleasant 'tingle' – which always happened when he and Draco touched – feeling stronger than it normally did. Draco was cuddled up behind him with his hand wrapped around Harry's morning erection. Only Harry's silk pyjamas separated Draco's hand from Harry. It took a minute or two before Harry's sleep addled mind woke up enough to realize the situation. Totally embarrassed, Harry still noticed how nice it felt. Still, he had to try to find a way to get out of this without waking Draco. The blond would be totally humiliated if he found out what he'd done during their sleep. And even as nice as it felt, Harry kept hearing his uncle saying 'dirty little fag' over and over again in his mind.

Not that Harry had even considered sex yet, let alone whether or not he was more attracted to boys or girls. No, it was just that his aunt had caught him playing with his 'dangly' in the bath when he was six years old, and ever since then they had assumed the worst of him in that regard, too. At least they had made sex sound very bad, and had explicitly outlined exactly what type of people were the worst. In the Dursleys opinion 'fags' were even worse than 'whores' – although it had been a few years before Harry had found out what either of those terms referred to. But his uncle, and then his cousin Dudley, had always called him a 'little fag', their tone making sure he knew that it was the worst of the worst.

So a fag was a boy who had sex with another boy. Was Draco having sex with him? Somehow Harry didn't think so. But even if he was, it felt good. And if it felt good, why was it so bad? Then Harry considered who he'd got his information from. The Dursleys. Considering everything else he'd learnt from them that had turned out to be wrong, Harry figured this was just one more, and decided to ignore it.

Not as easy as it sounded. Deciding to throw away ten years of conditioning (only five for the sexual guilt trips) was easy to do. As he found out almost right away, it wasn't so easy to forget. He still had his uncle's voice chanting 'dirty little faggot' at him, but it wasn't as strong as before, now that he was trying to ignore it and actively fighting against reacting in accordance with that voice.

But he still had no idea how Draco felt about it, and he didn't want Draco being embarrassed until he found out. The blond could be very difficult when he was discomfited about something. He tried just taking Draco's wrist and pulling the blond's hand away, only to have the light-skinned hand tighten around him. That made it feel even better, and he involuntarily pushed into the grip. But he persisted, and finally got Draco's arm firmly up around his waist instead – where it usually was when their positions weren't reversed. Then, and only then, did he roll over in place to face his friend – whose face, he found, was suspiciously red.

"When did you wake up?" Harry asked him, even though the blond appeared to be asleep.

Draco continued to mimic sleep.

Harry gave Draco's shoulder a little push. "Give it up; I know you're not sleeping," he accused. "You don't blush in your sleep, so you can stop pretending. When did you wake up?" he asked again, a bit more demanding, now.

Draco slowly opened his eyes, giving Harry a somewhat apprehensive look. "Are you angry?" he asked.

"Did you do it after you woke up?" Harry asked, ignoring the question.

Draco shook his head, denying it. The blond looked so sheepish, Harry believed him. He relented. "No, I'm not angry." He was going to leave it there, but curiosity got the best of him. "Why? After you were awake; why?"

"I don't know," Draco confessed in a small voice. He truly was confused about his actions, but he'd felt . . . like Harry belonged to him, somehow. But now he was scared that he'd ruined his friendship with the dark-haired boy, and he was upset.

Harry was in a quandary. He could leave it like this, and Draco would continue to feel bad, which might affect their friendship. But he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound stupid or condescending. After a brief struggle with himself, trying to push his uncle out of his mind, he quietly reached down and put his hand over Draco's crotch. "It's okay," he said.

Draco's eyes went wide in shock at the touch, but there was a little gratitude there too, as he recognised the gesture for what it was. Then Harry took his hand away. He hadn't been surprised to find that Draco was hard as well, but it felt weird to have his hand there. Nice, but weird. "We need to shower and get ready for class," the dark-haired boy said.

"Do you want to go first?" Draco asked, sure his friend wouldn't want to share anymore.

Harry gave the blond a look of disbelief. "Who'd wash my back?" he asked.

Draco grinned and gave Harry a tight hug, happy that things weren't going to change between them. How wrong he was.

"Do you want to touch it?" Harry asked of his erection in the shower a few minutes later. Draco was sporting one again as well. It wasn't an uncommon experience for either of them, but they'd always ignored it before now.

"What do you think I am, Harry?" Draco asked vehemently. He was scared. Was Harry going to think he was a joy boy that he could use when he wanted to?

Harry was confused by this reaction. "My friend," he answered frankly, "and I'm curious what yours feels like," he added. Being in Slytherin, that was a very dangerous thing to say, but he trusted Draco in a way he'd never trust anyone else in the House. He trusted that if Draco refused, at least he wouldn't use it against him in a public way, although he'd likely use it as a leverage point just between them.

Totally off-balance, Draco stared at Harry for a long moment, then looked down at Harry's erection, and blushed. He had to admit to himself that he did want to feel it without anything between them – just to see if it really did feel like his own, he told himself. Harry's was a little thicker than his, but a little shorter, too. Without conscious volition his hand was halfway towards the object of his curiosity before he stopped it, his eyes raising to Harry's, and quietly cursed himself. He'd just made a damning move. What would Harry do?

Harry smiled encouragingly and moved a little closer to the blond, reaching out to take hold of his friend's short length. It felt remarkably like his own, yet different. He felt Draco's hand grip his. It felt good, just like before. And again the 'tingle' strengthened. He moved his hand up it a little, then down, exploring the hard sponginess of the other boy, and the way the skin felt as it slipped over it. Draco emulated him. There was no real awkwardness, despite the newness, and the 'tingle' was even stronger with such intimate skin to skin contact. They looked up into each other's eyes, smiled shyly, then becoming self-conscious about what they were doing, went back to washing themselves.

And just in time, as Blaise Zabini walked in. Fortunately the other boy couldn't see anything, since each stall was equipped with a privacy door. But neither Harry nor Draco felt like exhibiting their 'stiffies' to anyone else, so they had to wait until those members subsided. During that time both boys, in their own minds, came to the decision that if they ever experimented with each other again, it wouldn't be where someone might accidentally walk in on them.

Harry and Draco were both packed and ready a few days later when Lucius Malfoy arrived to take them to Malfoy Manor for the holidays.

"Good morning, Father," Draco greeted the man. "May I present my friend, Harry Potter?"

"Harry, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy," Draco continued, finishing the introduction.

"Good to meet you, Mister Malfoy," Harry said, with only a hint of nervousness showing in his manner. Inwardly, he was very nervous. Until he'd come to Hogwarts he hadn't had many positive experiences with adults, his art and music teachers at his primary school being two of the few long-term positive interactions. And here things were quite strange. It was hard to discern just how anyone really thought of you.

"Draco," the tall blond man replied, merely giving a terse nod in Harry's direction after giving the scar on the brunet's forehead an intense look.

Lucius shrank both trunks, sneering at the tatty, battered appearance of Harry's, waited while the boys retrieved them, then rapidly stalked off, not waiting for either boy.

Draco gave his friend a rather shame-faced smile, and a shrug. "Come on then, Harry," he said, and both boys half-ran to catch up with the man. Once fairly close, Draco tried to emulate his father's stride, but kept having to break into a half-run every so often to keep up.

Harry tried to keep up as well, having to do the same thing as Draco, but finally stopped in the middle of the entryway. "Mister Malfoy," he called, and then ignored the apprehensive look and 'shushing' gestures Draco was giving him. Once the elder Malfoy had stopped and turned around to face him, Harry said, "I appreciate that you are a tall, strong individual; however, Draco and I aren't anywhere near our full growth, and are finding it rather difficult to keep up with you. If it's not too much trouble, sir, could you keep that in mind?"

After a long evaluation of the boy confronting him, staring at him coldly, as though Harry were an insect, a tactic which had made most men become very nervous, Lucius finally spoke. "You are here, so it is evident that you have been keeping up with me."

Harry had not been unaffected by Mister Malfoy's cold stare, but he braced his knees and refused to back down. "It is undignified to have to run after you like dogs at your heels, sir," Harry replied politely, but firmly. He would miss spending the holidays with Draco, but the blond boy had taught him that one must maintain dignity, and he was determined not to let his friend down.

One of Lucius' eyebrows rose. Then, slowly, an amused smirk graced his lips. "Perhaps," he said, "you shall make a worthy companion to my son after all, Potter." Without another word, he turned around and again strode towards the exit, but this time at a slower pace.

Harry stood there, undecided as to whether or not he was still invited, until a grinning Draco grabbed his hand and silently urged him on. The boys still had to walk very quickly to keep up, but now they didn't have to keep breaking into a run at intervals.

A/N: Many thanks to Claudia, rye encoke, and Ishe-Leigh, who have suggested some of the pranks that will be appearing in this story. (Even if I did put my own twist on some of them.)