Hiya people!

This is my first H/D fic, and I think (though I can never be sure) that I have found a new way of writing this pairing so that it's not the same old story you read everytime! XD I hope you can enjoy this journey with me! XD

Disclaimer: I do not, repeat, do NOT own any of the characters or places! If I did the true story of Harry Potter would look like all of that writing down there XD

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Looking out over the snow covered grounds below him, Harry briefly wondered if there was any true law to the way people worked. Was there a right way to do things? A wrong way? If so, how many wrong ways had he found over the years to approach people, compared to the dismal amount of right ways?

He knew he wasn't tactful; he didn't pull any punches or mind his words. But why should he? It was the way he had been born; his years of pain and suffering had infused him with a tremendous sense of loathing to those around him. He had no patience for kindness, no words for redemption, no time for embarrassment or shame. Little did he care if he hurt the feelings of those around him.

He realised he was callous, but there was nothing he could do to change that. He reasoned that if he had survived it all, others surely could overcome their own oppressive trials.

Of course, he found himself wondering if everyone around him actually mattered. Why did he fulfil these stupid quests? Was it fame, wealth? The joy of overcoming insurmountable odds?

No, he simply had nothing to do.

Horrid as it may sound he did the things he did not from some inbred sense of duty to those around him. No, he did it simply because he could. He had no misguided conceptions of his own twisted reasoning.

Now he was simply bored. Christmas holidays were here, and he finally felt almost perfectly alone within the dark and cold stone walls of the castle. He had chosen not to go back this year. Voldemort be damned, he would rather face the Dark Lord than have to stay another night under the same roof as his so called 'family'.

With a sigh he reflected on the whereabouts of his two 'friends'. He was amazed they had stomached him for this long. Ron was staying with his family for the holidays, as was Hermione.

Harry moved from his place sitting on the cold windowsill, winding his way through the castle only half paying attention as he went. There weren't many students left, though there were far more Slytherins than any other house. Harry guessed it was that they, like him, had a love for the castle when it was devoid of all its most obnoxious students.

He liked the Slytherins more than his fellow Griffindors; they were far quieter, and much slyer; you could never tell what a Slytherin was thinking.

Harry found his feet taking him towards the library. He didn't find it surprising; reading was one of the few activities he truly enjoyed. He moved towards the back of the huge chamber, claiming himself a comfortable looking armchair near the restricted section.

With barely a glance he flicked a finger, thinking to himself 'Accio Poisonous Potion Procedures.' He felt the familiar tug as the book refused to be removed from its shelf, and pushed it, pulling the book from its protective spells with a barely audible 'POP'. It sailed towards him at an alarming speed, though Harry caught it gracefully, resting the large restricted tomb in his lap as he opened it to the last page he had read.

"I saw that Potter." I sleek voice said from behind him, alighting on his ears as little more than a whisper, the owner moving around to lean against a book shelf where Harry could see him.

"As did I Malfoy, what is your point?"

"Wandless magic is my point Potter. Highly unorthodox…also highly against the rules."

Harry snorted, "since when do I follow the rules?"

The Malfoy simply smiled, nodding slightly to accede the point.

"So while we're having an almost civil conversation Malfoy, why are you still in the castle when you could be at home basking in the luxury of what I'm sure would be the world's most expensive architecture?" He closed the huge book, resting his finger in it as a marker as he trained his eyes on the boy before him.

They weren't quite so vicious to each other without others around, it was a strange but compelling phenomenon, one Harry wished to test the limits of, if it were not for his little remaining sense getting in the way.

"I simply had no wish to return home." The Slytherin said offhandedly; brushing aside the comment as though it were just another intrepid complaint about the weather.

Looking him over, Harry noticed for the first time that he was looking drawn, and nowhere near as vibrant as he once had. His hair was still glossy and neat, though it covered half of his eyes at its current length. He was still a tall figure; as proud as his father had once been, though now he seemed to stoop slightly; his thin frame leaning against the wood of the shelves more for support than for a love of the stance.

Ignoring Harry's eyes on him Malfoy nodded towards the book. "Poisonous Potion Procedures?" he asked with a wry smile, "why a book on potions when you clearly have no skill for the art?"

Harry was amazed the slim teenager was still with him; it had to have been one of the longest conversations they'd ever had. With a small smile he replied, "perhaps I am better at potions than you think."

The Malfoy snorted, "I'll remind you of that when you blow up your next cauldron Potter." He nodded briefly and swept away, pausing before he was completely out of earshot, "until dinner, Potter." And then he was gone; leaving Harry in the library, once again alone.

He smiled dimly; was there something strange about his most treasured of enemies? Malfoy was definitely not the same as he used to be; he had become tattered, wavering, and yet darkly more dangerous than he had ever been before.

Harry had witnessed the change; he saw it. Malfoy was not the boy he used to be. He was also like no young man Harry had ever known; he was to be feared, yet in a strange way trusted.

Harry felt a strange sense of kinship towards his haggard enemy; together they had evolved. They spoke pleasantly enough when alone; each gleaning facts about the other that they would later use to lay them to waste. They were not friends; they never could be. They were the perfect enemies; shaping each other into the only thing that could truly rile their cooling hearts.

They were fire.

They were passion.

They were the heat.

The flame.

The anger that blinded.

They were the only ones who were close to understanding the other.

But Harry's fire was dying out.

Where was that strong enemy now?

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Alrighty, I hope there are at least a few readers who like it so far! XD

Also, by 'Harry's fire' I do not mean HIS fire (his will to fight), I mean the fire that belongs to him. –wink- I hope you can work it out XD

Please review! You've made it this far, is it that much harder to push the button?