Authors' note – This fic has been made for entertainment purposes only, and the authors, yes both of them, are not making any profit in any way. All characters (with exception to any original ones spawned of our own twisted imaginations) and the Harry Potter series belongs to J.K.Rowling. Not us, unfortunately.

  This fic is dedicated to ourselves and each other. We know who we are, you just enjoy the fic!

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Shedding Skins – Chapter One

Silvered Blades and Dragon's Hearts

Harry Potter sat bolt upright in his bed in the Gryffindor boys dormitory, wondering what had woken him up.

Flashes of what he had been dreaming floated in and out of his head.

It had been one of his usual dreams of Voldemort hovering over him, flanked by his faithful minions, his Death Eaters, while he cowered on the ground… defenseless and petrified.

Harry shook his head vigorously, trying to rid it of such distressing memories.

He leaned out on the windowsill next to his bed, gazing out over the silvered Hogwarts grounds as he unconsciously rubbed his scar, his only relic of his closest brush with death.
Harry had been close to death many times before though. It had almost become regularity. Danger and Harry Potter were practically intimate bed-fellows.

'Damn Voldemort,' he cursed under his breath.

His nemesis since birth had stolen his parents from him and his chance at a somewhat normal life, not to mention making him unwillingly famous and coming close to killing him more times than you could count on one hand.

And now the bastard wouldn't even let him sleep.
Trying hard to block out the disturbing thoughts which were creeping into his mind, Harry focused instead on his friends, Hermione, Hagrid, and Ron, who he could hear mumbling about Divination homework in his sleep. '… The 30th professor? Of February?? But I don't even drink tea…'
Harry sighed.

As much as he valued his friends, they didn't really understand what it was like to live constantly looking over your shoulder, always expecting the worst.
And no-one seemed to be able to understand the guilt and pain he lived with.

It was almost as if they avoided the very topics which could bring those feelings into prominence in Harry's mind. As if they were afraid to unearth the demons that lurked in Harry's soul.
He couldn't blame them.

It wasn't as if they could really help, no-one could erase the pain he lived with, and the memories of the terrible things he had seen. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about it sometimes though. Someone who didn't flinch whenever Harry tried to broach the topics.
But still, Harry thought, perhaps it was better this way.

Who knew what horrors would start pouring out if he ever allowed another to truly see what went on inside him.

Yes, it was for the best, he thought to himself. At least this way his friend's happiness and purity would remain intact.
Deciding that a walk around the castle might clear his head, he pulled on his invisibility cloak over his pyjamas, shoved his wand in his pocket, and slipped quietly down the stairs to the common room.
'Going out again, I see?' squawked the Fat Lady, the canvas guardian of the Gryffindor common room.

Funny that, you don't, mused Harry clutching the cool cloak against him.

 The corridors shone with an ethereal light cast from the moon. Harry crept up the long winding steps, realizing that the stormy clouds' eerie shade was hiding perhaps even more mysteries about this castle in which he dwelled than even Dumbledore himself would ever know about.
'Unhand me foul villain!'

Harry whirled around in time to see Sir Cadogan inebriated, struggling to untangle his fat pony's reigns from around his torso.
Grinning to himself, Harry snuck past, not much in the mood to be challenged to a duel at this late hour.
Almost of their own will, Harry's feet led him up the many twisting staircases, to the highest room in the Astronomy tower.
Over the last months, Harry had found some solace in sitting quietly in the deserted room, mulling over his thoughts during his many sleepless nights.

The room had a distinct, forgotten odour to it, musky and undisturbed. Harry felt safe, hidden even during the many long hours he spent curled up in there, his own thoughts his only company.

It was a reprieve of sorts.

A sanctuary where he could escape from the business of everyday life.

A place where, dare he believe it, he could be just Harry.
Not, 'the boy who lived, and who was about to save the wizarding world once again, catch the snitch, and win the house cup...'

No. he thought firmly to himself.

It was the one place where he wasn't expected to be anything other than 'there'.

Sometimes it felt almost as though the moon-light streaked room was expecting him… was waiting for him to return, to fill it with his silence and musings.
Though Harry did not yet know it, this night would be more than a little different from any that gone before during his midnight wanderings.
As Harry bounded up the last set of steps, he longed for the vast, eternally deep night sky which he knew was awaiting him. As the top of the tallest tower drew nearer, the chilly air made itself apparent, drawing a soft gasp.
But it was not Harry's, though he himself had shared a similar reaction to the draft. Starkly silhouetted against the large stone window, a darkly-clad figure was evident.

As Harry paused, debating whether to quietly walk away again, something about the stranger's stance made him pause.
The boy, for Harry felt sure it that it was, had been leaning out of the opening, bracing himself against the stone walls, his head thrown back in the shock of the icy brace of wind which had just gone hurtling through the narrow gap.

A shock of silvery hair was blown back, so pale; it was almost glinting in the direct light of the moon.
'Malfoy!'

Utterly surprised to see another person, let alone his arch-enemy in his normally deserted nightly haunt, it had taken Harry a moment to fully comprehend that Malfoy was in fact poised on the edge of the Astronomy Tower's window ledge.

At the sound of Harry's voice, Draco had whirled around, only to be confronted with an empty, dusty room.
Lithely, and with an air of elegance that it would seem only Draco Malfoy could possess, Draco dropped lightly to the cobblestone floor, muttering something as he did.

Grey eyes scanned the darkness, straining into the shadowed corners in a determined search for the unexpected interloper.

Finding the effort akin to futility he decided to voice his suspicions.
'Potter… Come out, this is not hide-and-seek,' came the usual drawl. 'I promise that I won't tag you if you show yourself.'
Harry noticed with a shock of surprise that Malfoy wasn't quite as composed as usual.

He was trembling in his half-crouching position on the ground, and his hair was in disarray, half-covering his shiny tearstained face.
A blood-stained dagger glinted in the corner where it had been dropped by Draco as he had whirled around in surprise.
Even in the darkened room, Harry could still see the crimson gleam of wet blood coating the curvature of the sharp metallic instrument.…
Harry hesitated, and then took a couple of tentative steps forward.
On the one hand this was Malfoy, the stuck-up git who had never yet let an opportunity pass to get Harry in trouble, or to belittle him in front of his peers.

But then again, there was something very very wrong about the desperate, pain-ridden look in Malfoy's eyes, and his heaving crouched body.

And, the thought voiced itself in the back of his head, what was Malfoy doing with a knife?

One which looked recently used at that…
Harry's eyes kept straying back to it… surely... not even Malfoy would be demented enough to... to... murder somebody?
If so, the unwelcome thought pushed itself into his head; he would most definitely be next.
'Potter! Show yourself!' Malfoy snarled.
Cloaked within the tower's shadows, Harry shivered, trying to figure out what to do. Malfoy still had a crazed look in his eyes, and looked quite capable of disposing of an enemy or two before breakfast.
Just what was Malfoy capable of? So far he'd only ever taunted Harry…

Yet Harry knew from first-hand experience just what Malfoy's father was capable of.

He knew for a fact that he was a Death Eater, and one which was rotten to the core.
And Draco was a Malfoy after all, even if he was still a young one.
Yet, Harry could not deny to himself, that Malfoy looked genuinely tortured, more than anything else. Harry felt sure that he could see deep suffering in the endless depths of Draco's icy-grey eyes.
Harry breathed in sharply, releasing the dull pain in his chest, suddenly realizing he had been holding his breath while making all those observations.
As much as he hated the stupid git, he couldn't bring himself to walk away now, leaving Malfoy in this state.
He just had to find out what was going on, and after all, he had faced Voldemort himself on more than one occasion, and survived hadn't he? Just how much damage could one half-trained wizard do?
Even if Malfoy was rumoured to have been trained in the Dark Arts, Harry reminded himself, his more sensible side coming through.
And even if they were alone in a deserted part of the castle, with Malfoy in such a disturbing state…
Deciding it was now or never, with one hand on his wand, Harry de-cloaked himself with one swift movement, revealing himself to Malfoy, and suddenly feeling rather vulnerable, robbed of the cloak's comforting heaviness.
Cautiously he approached the distraught boy before him, all the while pocketing his valuable cloak.

As he neared, Harry noticed just how ill-composed Malfoy really was; almost as surprising was the look on his face.

One of someone impressed.
'I didn't think you'd do it,' Draco stated, 'who would have thought, eh Potter?'

The object of this critique took it all in stride; this was the type of banter he expected after all.

It was almost… comforting.
Draco's eyes flickered, and his head moved sharply back, as if something had suddenly snapped inside of him…
Harry paused, confused at the sudden shift of expression in Draco's eyes.
Malfoy slowly pushed himself up off the floor, straightening out his robes with a grimace of disgust at the dust coating its rim.
Harry waited for the insult he knew would come, but Draco seemed strangely disorientated.

His eyes darted around as if expecting more Gryffindors to leap out of the shadows any second, and his usual aloof manner had been replaced with one which, if Harry didn't know better, he would say was uncertainty.
Draco Malfoy, unsure?
Harry almost laughed out loud at the thought. Yet there was something very different about Draco tonight.

He lacked his usual arrogance.
Harry had never properly seen Draco's face before when he wasn't glaring or snickering at him… he really did have quite well-defined features… almost nice-looking, when his face wasn't twisted into an expression of disgust.
Draco was still standing in silence, his eyes now fixed on Harry's.

It was starting to make Harry feel a bit uncomfortable; he suddenly realized that he was standing in front of Malfoy in nothing more than a pair of Dudley's hand-me-down pajamas.

Just what was Malfoy doing up here anyway?

This was, after all, Harry's special place.
And now Malfoy was languishing around, filthing it up.

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