Disclaimer: What else is there to say besides 'I didn't write Harry Potter'?

Chapter Seven: Fateful Encounter

Harry sat on the floor and leaned on the wall of the 2nd floor girls' bathroom as he took another swig of firewhisky.

Tilting his head back and closing his eyes to savor the sensation of his throat searing and his body tingling and getting warmer with each swallow, he didn't see Draco Malfoy come in.

The warmth was most focused in Harry's chest and it felt like a coiled ball of soothing fire. He almost felt like he could become a phoenix right then, and he brought his head back down to look at the bottle of firewhisky.

His eyes weren't yet open when he heard someone say incredulously, "Potter?"His eyes snapped open and he saw confused silver eyes. Then he took in the rest of the face- the fine features, the pale blond hair- Malfoy!

"What's the Golden Boy doing in a girls' restroom drinking firewhisky?" Draco sneered.

Harry narrowed his eyes and retorted, "What's a spoiled tosser doing here? I would've thought you were too good to ever set foot in a place like this, especially as filthy as it is."

"Ah, but it's not anymore, didn't you notice?" He sounded amused.

Harry looked around and frowned. The Slytherin was right- in fact, the bathroom was pristine and gleaming.

"You were too busy thinking about getting wasted, too busy doing it and wallowing in self-pity to notice?"

"And what've you been doing in here? Whinging to Moaning Myrtle? Crying?"

Silver eyes narrowed and glared into green ones- then both boys recognized something in the other's eyes- a cold, lifeless emptiness.

Harry's eyes widened while Draco's narrowed- his eyes had opened to regular in his surprise- in contemplation.

Unexpectedly, the Slytherin sat down on the floor, legs forming a pretzel. "Potter...?"

"Malfoy?"

Both voices were hesitant and curious.

"Really, what's going on? Why are you drinking?"

Harry considered the blond for two long minutes before sighing. What did he have to lose? All the other boy could do was spread his tale around.

"I'm drinking because I feel empty and lifeless. I have no purpose aside from defeating Voldemort, and after that- if I do succeed- what? I really will have no purpose, nothing to really do... All I am is a knight, a 'hero.' Besides that..." He shrugged. "I'm not anyone, I guess. Even Ron and Hermione- I don't know. Sometimes I feel like all I am to them is the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. A friend sometimes. Like when Ron thought I put my name in the Goblet of Fire. He was so angry and jealous. Hermione said he was feeling sort of pushed to the side... in the shadows, not really being noticed or recognized.

Hermione... She's always stood by me, always tried to help, but sometimes I just wonder if she's studying me, and also getting to be on adventures-" He stopped. What was he saying? They had helped him hunt down and destroy the Horcruxes. And even though Ron had left, he'd come back. Not just that, but he'd saved him. Also, when had Hermione done anything to warrant even a shred of doubt?

But obviously he did think and feel like that, at least somewhere deep down, for him to have said that.

Harry expected the other boy to say something about his sudden stop, or his friends, but nothing came.

Instead, Draco began talking about why he came here. "Over the summer, I went to a few Death Eater meetings, and even went on some raids. I had to-" he choked. "I had to torture people. Torture them! And on my last raid, I had to kill someone." He was crying now. "They died, died because of me! Because I was too weak to say no, to refuse, to - to-" He broke off, outright sobbing now.

Harry was shocked, but he moved to Draco's side- when had he started thinking of him as Draco?- and put his arm around the boy's shoulders, trying to help, letting him know it was alright, he didn't hate him. How could he, when Draco seemed so lost and hurt, and guilty?

After a long time, Draco calmed down and rinsed his face at a sink, then sat back down and resumed telling Harry about him, his voice flat. "I cut myself. I do it to punish myself for what I've done, and for what I haven't done. I do it to punish myself for being weak and a coward, and I do it because I can't live with myself. I hate myself!" Draco's face was tight, and he was glaring murderously down at the floor.

Impulsively, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, wanting to make him feel better, wanting to protect him from the force of his anger and self-hatred, and from everything. Eventually, he stated, "It's not your fault. You grew up believing in pureblood supremacy, and then Voldemort returns, and your father starts pressuring you to be even more perfect, and you know you'll die, or someone will be killed if you refuse to serve Voldemort. I probably couldn't refuse, either."

Draco looked at him. "Wha- how do you know what it's like?"

Harry shrugged. "I could figure it out, and I've met Voldemort. I know how he is, and what he would do. Bastard."

At this, Draco smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was angry and bitter and full of hate. He nodded. "Kill him for me, will you? And do it for everyone else. Do it so that we can live in peace again." His voice hardened. "And make sure all the Death Eaters are locked up or punished somehow. Even my father. Perhaps him most of all."

Harry nodded. "Of course. And I'll do everything I can to make sure they let you off. It's not like you knew what you were getting into, or that you had a choice."

Draco stood, then extended his hand, which Harry took as a means to get up. They shook hands, and Draco said, "See you. Good night."

Back in his bed, his head resting on his hands atop of his pillow, he thought of Draco and what he had found out. He blinked. He wouldn't have dreamed of it. And he knew it wasn't an act. Draco couldn't act so immaculately, and besides, it just rang of truth and pain. It was so real. It was a long time before he fell asleep.

A/N: Was that too fast? Maybe too friendly? But I think it's likely enough since they're both lonely, desperate, and depressed.