An utterly self-indulgent, Harry-is-a-Slytherin-AU story retelling the scene from the start of the third book, only it’s Draco making the call and sending the owl because I’m a sucker for friends-to-lovers.
“I hope your fat Muggle cousin isn’t giving you any trouble.”
“Not too much, no,” Harry said as his mind replayed the episode from last week when Dudley had kicked him in the back while climbing down the stairs behind him. Harry had split his lip on the very shelf he was squeezing with a sweaty hand right now. “I told him I don’t need my wand to do magic.”
“They took your wand?”
“Yeah.”
Draco snorted. “Barbaric. Really, Potter, what further evidence do you need that Muggles are like animals? Ignorant, uncouth and unworthy.”
“Not all of them are bad,” Harry said, uncomfortable, as always, with Draco’s hateful remarks. “And there’s plenty of pointless cruelty in the wizarding world too.” He thought of Gregory Goyle, and how he had twisted the neck of an injured pigeon under the Quidditch pitch stands. No one had believed he’d really do it. Even Vincent Crabbe had gone pale in the face. Draco had looked away, clinging to Harry’s shoulder for support, and later he admitted the sight of blood made him woozy, although there’d been no blood. “Anyway,” Harry started to change the subject, but just then the kitchen door opened behind him and Dudley stepped into the hallway.
