A/N: Well... here we go, I guess. :) This begins at the very start of the summer after fifth year with no major plot digressions (yet) except that Grimmauld Place is unused except for emergency Order meetings.
Disclaimer: All respective characters/places/rights belong to JK Rowling, all that jazz.
A slim blonde figure made its silent way through the dank, dingy corridors of number 12, Grimmauld Place, trailing its pale fingertips along the banister of the stair it ascended. The long forgotten characters in the dark portraits pretended not to watch from behind half closed eyelids as the moonlight shone through a chink in the curtains across the intruder's features, throwing them into stark relief for but a moment.
Continuing past closed doors, the handsome boy seemed to glide rather than walk, completely invisible in the quiet hallway but for his silver white hair. He paused before the last door on the left, pushing it open gently; slowly. His storm cloud grey eyes swept the entire room from end to end with cool disdain, finally landing on the hunched form sat on the floor against the foot of the bed. Even with the only most cursory of glances, he noticed everything about the average looking, boxy room. The overflowing shoebox of crumpled, aged letters sat on the dirty windowsill with the lid askew, the coat of arms etched into the oak window frame, the scorch mark on the floor in front of the wardrobe, the photographs scattered about the desk devoid of books. He averted his eyes in distaste from the posters of scantily clad Muggle girls on shiny metal and chrome motorcycles, noting the Slytherin memorabilia with approval. The faded bedspread showed the Slytherin crest in green and silver and was rumpled, clearly recently slept in.
He waited in the doorway of the messy room to be noticed, not out of courtesy, but for the sense of discomfort his unannounced presence would surely cause. Growing impatient, he sharply rapped a staccato rhythm against the door with his knuckles.
Snapping his head up in surprise, the other boy's cheeks were tear-stained, his dark hair greasy and pushed back off of his forehead, baring his infamous scar. He visibly deflated even further when he registered who had intruded upon his private moment. "What could you possibly want, Malfoy?" His voice was thick and monotonous, flat as the glazed expression in his eyes.
"Why, merely the pleasure of your company, Potter." Draco's arrogant upbringing did not allow for empathy with someone of Harry Potter's stature. He stepped forward and closed the door quietly behind him, dropping his insolent smile and leaning back against the solid wood. "I knew you'd be here." His tone was quiet this time, somewhat apologetic.
"And?" Harry's gaze never once moved from the scorch mark on the worn floorboards opposite him, his knuckles white around the Slytherin scarf on his lap, studiously avoiding looking at the moving black and white picture by his right knee.
"I just came to talk." Moving into the centre of the room, Draco sat down cross legged on the cold floor, placing his wand two feet in front of him, halfway between himself and Harry.
Harry blinked several times, slowly raising his head to look his visitor in the face. His eyes, normally jewel green, stood out even more from their red tinged surroundings. "Why?"
"I'm sorry... about Sirius." It wasn't necessarily true, but diplomacy was required given the nature of the situation. "I know you were close." A beat of silence followed. He forced aside his unease and came out with what was on his mind. "Tell me why you do it. Fighting the Dark Lord, even after all that it's cost you. I want to listen." Interest flickered dully in Harry's eyes, and Draco held his gaze for a moment.
"You could kill me. We're alone; no one knows I'm here. Why haven't you?" Harry straightened his back and imbued a normal amount of volume into his voice, drawing out of his melancholy slightly.
"I won't. That wouldn't do either of us any good." Draco felt odd being so candid with someone he'd always considered an enemy.
Harry nodded wearily, looking down at the photo beside him. It showed Lily, James and Sirius when they were about sixteen laughing and smiling into the camera somewhere on the Hogwart's grounds. He cleared his throat and spoke. "Sometimes I don't know. There are days when I wonder if it's worth it, when I forget why I bother. I've been told constantly by everyone I've ever met in the wizarding world that it's what I'm supposed to do, so I kind of just follow Dumbledore's lead. But if I'm so driven by the desire to avenge a family that I never knew, how does that make me any better than Voldemort himself?" He swallowed, his voice going gravelly and breaking as he talked. "But then something happens, and I remember that I have to go on, if only because no one else will." He fell silent for a moment, brooding.
Draco was taken aback by his stark honesty, but waited passively for Harry to continue.
"For the most part, I do it for the ordinary people with their normal lives who are barely aware of what's happening. I do it so that they can continue to worry about small things like how much school books are going to cost this year and what they're going to study for NEWT's. The thought that I might live to see my kids live that humdrum, average life makes me not want to give up..." He grazed the backs of his fingers over the picture and finished so quietly that Draco wasn't sure who he was talking to. "It's all the little things that I can't really put into words."
Draco lapsed into silent thought for a moment, feeling something suspiciously like sympathy coiling in his gut.
"I answered your questions. Why are you really here, Malfoy?" Harry's eyes were once more sharp and clear, the sadness and pain hidden from view.
Draco had always been an exceptionally articulate and eloquent individual, but found himself stuck for words. He opened his mouth to speak, only to sigh when he realised the perfect words weren't going to roll from his tongue. "I know you think I'm an evil, soulless git, Potter. You're probably not wrong, but I do have some vague form of conscience. It's a foreign concept to you, but I've been raised into the innermost circle of command, my parent's beliefs were ingrained into me." He frowned at his clumsy speech and turned his head to look out the window into the night. "I wanted to hear how the other half lives." He said softly.
Before Harry could respond, he heard in the distance the soft snick of the deadbolt on the front door sliding home. He raised his head in alarm, looking into Draco's saucer-wide eyes. No acknowledgement had been made of it, but Harry knew that Draco's presence here was utterly forbidden. If he were discovered, the punishment would be severe enough to make even Harry's toes curl.
"How did you come here?" He whispered.
"Broom." Draco mouthed.
"Were you followed?"
Draco started to shake his head but stopped, suddenly unsure.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice floated up from the hall, and they both exhaled in relief. He motioned Draco to get up and they moved to the door. Harry led the way down the hall, lifting aside a tattered purple tapestry and waving Draco through. "This will bring you out into the kitchen. Once you hear Ron and Hermione up here, run for the door."
Having made sure that the tapestry was again perfectly in place, Harry stepped across the landing, leaning over the third floor banister, watching two wand lights move slowly up the staircase.
"You alright, mate?" Ron stopped in front of him, shuffling his feet awkwardly whilst Hermione eyed him sympathetically.
"Yeah, fine." Harry mumbled, mulling over the night's happenings in silence.
"We thought you might like company." Hermione smiled briefly, cautious of impinging on Harry's grieving time.
He nodded absently, deep in thought.
They exchanged a meaningful look and Hermione said something about putting the kettle on and Ron pretended to want to talk to Kreacher. Harry took no notice, waving his hand to show his vague assent and returning to his silent vigil on Sirius' bedroom floor.
Why had Draco Malfoy risked his life just to come and hear why Harry fought against everything he believed in and his entire way of life? More importantly, why had Harry protected him and helped him escape?
A/N: My apologies for the un-beta'd 5am writing... Reviews are greatly appreciated. ;)