Title: "Mask"

Author: Lyla Hayden

Rating: Mature, "R", "M", whatever. Warnings are; slash, gore, the usual nasties but nothing too graphic.

Pairing: HP/DM, what else?

Summary: When one bears a mask to become someone else, sometimes that mask becomes who you are, despite all your true thoughts and feelings. Such a mask cannot be shed easily and often times it takes another to rip its roots out. Harry's mask has deep roots, but the one who helps him remove them is the one he would least expect.

A/N: Just a brief introduction is in order, I believe, before I get on with my tale. First off, this takes place in seventh year. While it is the most commonly used year, it is also the year where the boys are their oldest while still in school, which comforts me a bit when thinking of the details I use. :Cough:

I have yet to perfect my writing style and I understand this. So please no flames. Those who leave reviews should know the difference between constructive criticism and just completely demolishing the hopes and dreams of a writer-in-training.

Also, while I do like hearing nice things about my stories, don't just say, "I liked it! Write more!" Tell me more. Tell me what you liked. If you just liked the smut, fine. Say so. This 'brief' introduction is turning out to be quite long, so I'll get on with the story. Thank you to those that bothered to read all this junk. I hope you enjoy my story.

"Mask"

Part One:

"Midnight Trances"

The wind howled, circling about the Quidditch field. A blur of red and gold flew by, zooming recklessly around. Raven hair tousled all over the place, getting in the boy's passionate emerald eyes. His thick, callused hands gripped at the broomstick with which he flew, letting go suddenly and falling gracefully a good five feet to land effortlessly on his feet.

A Firebolt fell into one open hand as the Gryffindor headed towards the school. No one had ever seen him during these late-night excursions and he planned to keep it that way. A pair of round glasses flew to his hand from a bench twenty feet from where he was, not bothering to pause in his long, confident strides.

The glasses were balanced on his nose before they were casually pushed back. He swung his Firebolt up over the length of his shoulder blades, as his body seemed to disappear into the darkness of the shadows surrounding him.

Near the Gryffindor tower, the same figure emerged from the shadows to whisper carefully chosen words to the portrait. He sank back into the darkness only to reappear up in the seventh-year boys' dormitories.

Daylight now squeaked its way through the tightly closed drapes, reaching out across the floor in soft wisps. The raven-head sank into the soft sheets of his four-poster bed. After removing his glasses, he laid down with his eyes closed.

Sheets wrinkled up around the boy as he mimicked a full night of sleep in the two hours that remained before breakfast. A noisy voice disrupted him from his short nap. "Oh, Harry! You slept in your uniform again?"

A grunt and, "So that I can be ready to leave before you, Ron." The redhead smirked and playfully smacked his friend's arm. "Be down in a minute, buddy." He nodded and made his way out the door.

Harry Potter climbed out of bed after the door had shut and stretched. His hands found his glasses, wand, and pack all set up and ready for the day. A mirror reflected his rough image and he fussed with his hair briefly before heading out.

The length, reaching just to above his shoulder, didn't help too much with the unruly locks of black, but it made a difference. White light flashed and Harry blinked, eyeing the young Gryffindor wearily. "Colin, it's too early for that."

"It's never to early, Harry!" The boy laughed and raced off to breakfast. Raven locks moved as the Golden Boy shook his head.

Breakfast was once again uneventful. It was the hype of the day for some and very interesting, but to someone who faced death last year by the name of Voldemort, it was uneventful. Nothing provoked any reaction that was not a reaction brought on by "Mask."

"Mask" was nice, charming, brave, all the qualities that the students of Hogwarts would expect of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Kill-Voldemort. "Mask" was always there except when he was alone, flying over the grassy field of the Quidditch field. Most importantly, the only one who knew of Mask's existence was Harry Potter.

The bell echoed throughout the halls, signaling the start of first period Potions for the seventh-years. The special class was given only to those that got the highest of high marks on their O.W.L.S. and was so rare, only twenty students got in.

Oddly enough, Harry had scored high enough to earn himself a spot in the small class. Not surprising, the bookworm Hermione Granger had also gotten in, as did Draco Malfoy and quite a few Slytherins. Although, who would expect any less?

A smug voice flittered through the room. "Take your seats by your partner. You have until the end of the period to complete the project on the board and hand it in. The last pair to hand in their project gets cleaning duties. Begin."

Loud shuffling, chairs moving, people running all over, all those noises went in one ear and out the other once a certain blonde Slytherin set the supplies down on Harry's table. "Start preparing the supplies while I get the rest."

That was all he said before walking off in a silent, brooding manner. Hermione leaned over to him and whispered, "He's been so weird ever since that…incident last year. It really couldn't have affected him so much, could it?"

Harry shrugged and went about doing as Draco had said. Small cream-coloured bits of Hypura Root fell into a porcelain bowl, the white petals of a rose following. The silvery knife slid through even the roughest of material as Harry mentally checked off what had to be cut and mixed in this way.

Next came a few slivers of a unicorn's horn. Those came away slowly as Harry's mind drifted back to his first year here. Unicorn, Voldemort, blood, Voldemort, darkness, Voldemort, fear, Voldemort…

Red drops fell into the mix and Harry looked down at his work. The knife had sliced into his finger quite deeply. There was no pain but for the aching thoughts of the ruined mixture. No, Harry thought, I was supposed to add human blood, just not my own.

"You weren't supposed to add the blood yet, Potter," muttered an irritated, drawling voice from behind him.

"I didn't mean to, Malfoy. My mind was elsewhere." The boy pushed himself to his feet and walked up to the Potion Master's desk. "Infirmary." The greasy head nodded and Harry headed out. Another uneventful day in an uneventful world, he thought as he let Madam Pomfrey treat the wound.

Time passed slowly for the rest of the day. Harry had let Mask fall asleep on the job during potions, but he came back once he reached the infirmary. Mask was sleeping now as Harry made his shadowy journey to the Quidditch pitch long after lights-out.

The Firebolt sang its delighted song of flight before Harry desired the air. The broom swung mindlessly around in the air five or six feet from the ground as Harry removed his glasses and blinked his eyes clear.

"Damn things." Harry let spells fall from his tongue as if they were a part of him. The glasses glowed softly, then dimmed. It had been a rather complicated spell to fake poor eyesight that he'd found his fifth year, just after finding the simple one to fix his eyes.

Shoes were kicked free and bare feet sought the air, the Firebolt finding itself a rider. He didn't even need to call it over for it heard his wishes to be airborne. Wind caressed his face as he flew around the field.

Thoughts fell from his head as if they were never there. There was Harry, the Firebolt, and the gentle air surrounding them. They knew no boundaries. Height was never an issue. The Forbidden Forest found him too dangerous to bother, the remnants of last year still present within its borders.

A soft note of song rose from the Gryffindor, pulsating through the air. The sound grew in intensity, changing ever so often the pitch of the note. It was a song of old. Magic leaked from the tune, leaked and made the flying figure glow with the raw power.

Hours flew by like seconds until the sun began to make its way towards the day. Feet touched the ground, boots somehow once more on the boy's feet. The broom fell gently into Harry's hand, the other reached out to call his glasses towards him.

As he made his way towards the shadows he saw a blur within the corridor. "Malfoy," Harry said softly, but loud enough to make the Slytherin hear. "What the hell 're you doing out so early?"

"Late, you mean," came the icy response. "You've been here since well after midnight."

"You spied on me?" Harry let out a hoarse laugh, his voice a bit sore from his singing. A blond eyebrow arched in question.

"You can drop the mask, Potter."

-To be continued

A/N: …I like writing this one since I know what I want to happen…Unlike all my other stories where I made it up as I went, a lot of the time hitting a massive wall…This story WILL go somewhere…I hope… :Blush: Anyway, review? (Read first A/N if you haven't already.) Thank you for reading. n.n