They're new, and Dean doesn't like it.  They're both too old to be "first-years" here at this damn school for witches, and why the hell should they be around all this crap?  But Dad said, try it for a year, and What Dad Says Goes.  It's more Sam's style than his, all the books that they've had to buy, and Dean figures he'll crib off Sam's homework and watch out for the both of them.  They get off the train, get in some carriages pulled by these freaky-looking horse things, and Dean's fingers are already itching for the knife hidden under these fuckin' robes that they have to wear.

Then comes the Sorting.  They're near to last, so Dean's got an idea of what's supposed to happen, but it's still a shock when he hunches over on the stool and yanks the Hat on his head and it speaks to him.

Don't want to be here, eh?
Fuckin' right about that.
You'll change your mind, Dean Winchester.  But first , let's see about a House for you.
Whatever.  Just pick one.
Not Ravenclaw, certainly.  There's bravery there, but Gryffindor...I get the feeling it's not for you.
Oh, just put me wherever Sammy's headed, and it'll be fine.
Don't get ahead of yourself, Dean Winchester.  Let's see, Hufflepuff? 
What the fuck ever.  Hurry it up.
Oh.  Oh, my.  The Hat shuts up for a second.  I suppose it'll have to be...

"SLYTHERIN!"  Dean yanks the damn thing off and stands for a minute, scowling down at it.  Then he's motioned over to a table full of suspicious faces.

"You're a bit old for a first year," one of them sneers.  Dean takes a look at him, and fuck.  The rest of them look at the kid like he's royalty, and he's acting like it.  He's pretty, of course, the real dicks always are - real white-blond hair all slicked back, gray eyes and a pale face - but he looks like maybe he's been better, with big dark circles under his eyes.

"Shut up for a second," Dean says, and turns to watch as Sam gets Sorted.  Fourteen-year-old moron is grinning as he pulls on the Hat, it takes a second - while the blond kid stares at him in disbelief - and then the Hat yells, "RAVENCLAW!"

"Whoa, what the fuck?"  Dean turns to regard the table in general.  "How do you - how do you switch Houses?" 

Blondie sneers at him.  "You can't switch Houses," he says, his voice rich with disdain.  "Besides, why would you want to?"

"My brother, Sam - he just ended up in Ravenclaw, I need to switch," Dean says.  Obviously the kid doesn't get it.

"Look, new boy - what's your name again?"

"Dean Winchester."

"Right, then, Winchester.  If you're here in Slytherin, it means that for some reason, the Sorting Hat saw fit to put you with us.  There's no switching."  The guy watches him for a minute, gauges his reaction.  "Look, I'm Malfoy.  This is Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Parkinson, and some useless younger kids, down there."  He narrows his eyes.  "Winchester's not a Wizarding name.  And you're American."

Dean stares at him.  "Yeah?  So?"

Malfoy cocks his head to the side, considers.  "Why are you only coming now?  Do you even know any magic?"

He snorts.  "Oh, kid--"  At the look on the guy''s face, he smirks and says, "Malfoy, look.  You wanna get in some pissing contest, whatever.  I don't really care.  I got shit to do, and I'm not gonna waste time on some Brit."  He exaggerates his American accent on purpose, and the kid flushes a little, like Dean personally offended him or something, and yeah, that's kinda working for Dean.  He grabs the nearest food, some British pot pie or something, and starts wolfing it down - and damn, whatever else you want to say about wizards, they've got good food.

Later on, they're in the Slytherin dorms and Dean's assigned to room with the seventh-years because yeah, it'd be weird for him to be sleeping with a bunch of eleven-year-olds.  This place, though, it's kinda suffocating, and so he goes out to the common room.  He's half asleep in a chair in front of the fire when he hears someone walking and wakes up in a second, hand on his knife.

Malfoy looks at him, all tousled and sleepy, and that's definitely working for Dean.  "What are you doing in here?" Malfoy asks - no, he sneers it, he actually sneers the words.  "Bed too good for you?  Can't fall asleep without Mum here to tuck you in and kiss you goodn--hey!"

Dean shoves him against the wall, and he's got the knife at the kid's throat and yes maybe he's overreacting a little, but, you know, he's new here and this guy is starting to get on his nerves, pretty or not.  "You shut up," he says.

Malfoy is staring at him, looking seriously freaked out.  "You don't want to do this," he says, and raises his arm so that Dean can see some tattoo on his arm.  "The Dark Lord will--"

He laughs and looks at the tattoo, a stupid skull and snake.  "Oh, Malfoy, you think that matters to me?  Some big Dark Lord, when I've got demons to worry about?  A man's just a man, you know."

"You're insane," Malfoy says softly, but he's flushed bright red and Dean leans in and says real close, "You're a lot prettier when you don't talk," and Malfoy just shuts up at that, breathing faster.  Dean leans in further, licks Malfoy's lower lip and then closes his teeth around it and the guy is practically panting.  Dean holds him there with one hand, puts the knife away and starts to pull away, but Malfoy grabs his head and kisses him hard, biting at his mouth.  He gets one hand up on the smooth pale skin inside Malfoy's shirt, scrapes his fingernails lightly down one side of Malfoy's chest and hooks his fingers into the waistband of the guy's boxers, snaps the elastic hard on his white skin.  Malfoy groans a little and his hips buck up, but Dean grins and pins him back against the wall with his hands on the guy's shoulders.  He pulls away, leans back in and bites that lower lip until Malfoy whimpers.  Then he whispers into Malfoy's ear, "I might have to kill you someday, you know."

Malfoy jerks back, stares into his eyes.  "You're serious," he says, and his lips are swollen.

"Yes," Dean says, because he is.

"No wonder you wound up in here," Malfoy says.  "The Sorting Hat always knows, I suppose."

"Right," Dean says, distracted, and lets the kid go.  He stays there, breathing fast, back to the wall, as he watches Dean.  Finally, Dean says, "Dude, what're you staring at?  Get out of here," and Malfoy nods and goes, and Dean's betting he can get a blowjob next time.

But now he's got all this serious crap to think about.  "Guess that's why Sam's in Ravenclaw," he says, mostly to himself.  "Sammy wouldn't know darkness if it bit him in the ass."  And he thinks, Dad wouldn't have been a Slytherin, he'd've been a Gryffindor, all brave and noble.  But Slytherins - well, self-preservation is their guiding light, and Dean's self is Dad and Sam, so yeah, he's all about preserving them.

He goes back to his bed, and as he passes Malfoy's bed, Dean smirks.  No reason he can't have a little fun while he does it, though.