DISCLAIMER: The world of Harry Potter and all its affiliates belongs to J.K. Rowling, who I most decidedly am not. Title credit goes to Bon Iver's "Skinny Love." Cover art by GildingofNightfall.

I have found myself engrossed in the Draco Malfoy/Astoria Greengrass ship. Here is the result - or the beginnings of the result, anyway, as this will become a multi-chapter. Had loads of fun writing this first bit, and I've got some plans for story development. To begin, this prologue, as it were, takes place in mid-September of Draco's sixth year (HBP-compliant); Chapter 2 will pick up post-war.

For now, here's this, and I hope you like what you read. Questions, comments, concerns that you don't want to leave in a review? You can message me on Tumblr, at cokebottleglassesarecool. Catch you on the flip-side... ;D -K.

Listening to: "The Right Kind of Wrong," by Leann Rimes.

I. Snakeskin and the Bowtruckle Girl

He tugged at his sleeve, and the fabric burned against his newly marked skin.

Not willing to give the nightmares any more thought than they already forced him to, Draco Malfoy dropped his hand and kept his eyes fixed out the window whose sill he was seated upon. He stared out at the grounds, not seeing much past the healthy foliage of a tree that stood just a few feet from where he restlessly lounged; the afternoon sun splashed across the green, and jet-black shadows pebbled the surface as the leaves rustled in the summer-to-autumn breeze.

Silly as it was, Draco found himself wishing idly that his existence was that uncomplicated, that steadfast and assured: Trees had a specific purpose, they were built for it, they could fulfill it without any pressure or worry or thought – conscious or otherwise – at all. Draco, meanwhile, thought too much and he didn't know which way was up, but no matter how he plagued himself, he never came to any conclusive solution, no means to his end. His purpose had been marked for him, yes, and yet... He shook his head as the thought crossed his mind again; he wasn't sure that he was built for it.

So now here he was, staring listlessly out a window and wishing he were a tree.

Pathetic.

Draco was, however, interrupted in his continual wallowing when he realized that as he watched the tree, the tree was watching him back.

"Wotcher," greeted a cheery, sugar-coated voice. The leaves rustled once more and suddenly a pair of vibrant green eyes was surveying him upside-down.

"What the –" Having become uncharacteristically skittish over the past couple of months, Draco leapt from his seat, away from the tree and the upside-down girl that had appeared there. Her flyaway dark honey hair and jade eyes offered enough camouflage that he was sure he wouldn't have noticed her at all, had she not said anything. "Who are you?"

"Astoria Greengrass," the girl said without missing a beat, "how d'you do?"

Ignoring her pleasantries, Draco asked, "What are you doing in that tree?"

"What are you doing invading my privacy?" she countered, appraising him as best she could while in such a wholly unintimidating position.

"You're hanging about like a madwoman, someone's bound to call you on it sooner or later," Draco pointed out.

Astoria's face twitched into a smirk to rival his own infamous one. "And of course Draco Malfoy's got to be the first to do everything, hasn't he?" she baited him.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm brilliant," she said proudly. Then, realizing quickly that Draco Malfoy wasn't one for jokes, she continued. "Aside from that, though, I'm in Slytherin, too, and you're in my sister's year. Daphne Greengrass. She's friends with that creature – you know the one, she's like your own personal leech?"

"Pansy Parkinson," Draco clarified, since Astoria couldn't very well be talking about anyone else. And although he'd thought of Pansy in a similar way more than once, he felt as though he should defend her against this tree-climbing stranger (or perhaps it was his own reputation he was defending, but no matter), so he added, "She's not a leech."

"Really?" Astoria lifted a skeptical eyebrow as she looked him up and down again. "You're looking rather pale to me."

"You've got some nerve, haven't you?" Draco couldn't help the note of admiration that escaped with his assessment, and he sneered to balance it out; after all, he didn't want to encourage the girl.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Although he was sure he imagined it, Draco felt another flash of pain sear his forearm. "Perhaps you should be."

"Hmmm…" Astoria seemed to consider that, but it was clear that she didn't take him seriously. She thought he did enough of that for himself, and she'd always enjoyed lightening people up, even if it was just for a good laugh. "You're rather fond of yourself, aren't you? Not that I'd expect any less, from what I hear about you."

"At least you've heard of me," Draco said, affronted that he was being had by someone who had to be at least two years his junior, "which is more than I can say for you."

Astoria shrugged off his jibe. "I keep to myself."

"Why's that?"

"I just –" She furrowed her brow as if in concentration, but Draco had a feeling she didn't really need to think about it at all – "I don't know why, exactly, mind – but I just positively hate everyone."

Taking her words and his own recently interrupted pity party into consideration, Draco nodded slowly. "I suppose I could empathize with that."

"Yes, I daresay you could," Astoria agreed, mimicking his solemn tone before dropping it abruptly as she went on. "You don't, though, not really, seeing as you don't spend your social life getting chewed out by irritable bowtruckles. See?"

Making sure that her legs were locked firmly around her branch, Astoria held out both hands for Draco to examine. He took a step forward to get a good look, and his gaze was met with several angry gashes that decorated the girl's otherwise flawless butterscotch skin.

"You should go see Pomfrey for that," he advised, and then wondered why he cared.

Astoria snorted as she withdrew her hands. "What, for bowtruckle bites?" she practically scoffed. "Circe's tits, you sound like my mother."

Draco balked at her language; although he couldn't recall having met Astoria before (honestly, he probably had, at some point, as the pureblood community was so tight-knit; he just couldn't place her), he knew that the Greengrasses were a respectable family, and he marveled at how any of their kin could pick up such foul colloquialisms. "And you sound like a common Mudblood."

Upon the utterance of the slur, Astoria's playful mood evaporated and the twinkle in her bright eyes dimmed. "I don't like that word," she informed him. "Come to think of it now, I don't like you much, either."

"That would mean a right side more if you hadn't just confessed to hating everyone," Draco said, unfazed by her dismissal. As much as he didn't care to be jerked around by the likes of this little git, he had more pressing things on his mind than her objections to his vocabulary. He simply didn't have time to care what Astoria Greengrass thought of him.

"Oh, I think it means just enough." Astoria offered him a tight-lipped smile that almost reached her eyes. "After all, since when has Draco Malfoy ever been content with being lumped together with everyone else?"

A bit dumbfounded by such a quick and astute observation of his character, Draco could only stare as the bowtruckle girl flipped right-side up and began her ascent back into the private recesses of her tree.

"See you around, snakeskin," that sugar-coated voice called as her body disappeared amongst the branches. "Watch out for them leeches."