This is written for Habababa.

Please note that each chapter will be from a different point of view, so opinions and views are subject to change throughout the story. This is meant to be fun, so enjoy!

Thank you to JEPierre for her master beta work on this chapter!

Chapter One - Get Out

Draco surrounded himself in research, the constant fear of failure prominently tugging at his brain as he memorized another section of his anatomy notes. The floor in his flat was littered with scattered pages and empty to-go cups of coffee. Every surface held a textbook or folder, walls plastered with charts and graphs as he buried his face behind his laptop to type up another theory summary.

He was prepared to answer any question his professors deemed fit to throw his way. What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the air that surged through the room as the front door swung open, blowing his organized mess into a wrecked mass of chaos across the floor.

"Damnit, Weasley!"

The rowdy ginger, with a football tucked loosely under his left arm, stood in the doorframe with a shocked expression on his face. His eyes were wide, peering under strands of sweaty red hair.

"Close. The. DOOR!" Draco was scrambling to scoop the wind tattered folio and stacked them back into their wonted piles, glaring up at Ron with every swipe of his hand, cursing his name under his breath.

Finally, Ron closed the door behind him and took large careful steps through the obstacle course that was their living room.

"What's all this, then?"

A growl escaped Draco as he peered up at his flatmate, causing the redheaded jock to pull his lips into a sideways smile, his blue eyes beaming down at the platinum blond.

"You're so adorable when you're mad. Have I ever told you?" Ron was dancing on very thin ice, he knew, but couldn't resist riling the incorrigible boy. He plopped hard on the chair in the corner, the only thing in the room not covered in papers.

Draco rolled his eyes, scanning the pages as he set the last of them down.

"Don't sit on the furniture if you're sweaty and gross, Weasel. It's on our list of house rules. Lest you've forgotten... Again." Draco was talking to himself more than to Ron, exaggerating his eyebrows as he emphasized every other word, knowing damn well the stubborn git wasn't listening.

Ron smirked in triumph, laughing at how easy it was to get under his flatmate's skin. He stretched out, arms reaching high above his head as he kicked off his cleats, grass and dirt breaking off onto the perfectly placed rug on the floor. If Ron hadn't been eying Draco, he would have missed the twitch under the blond's left eye.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me." Draco stood, eyes flaring as he threw a pen at Ron's head. "Are you seriously trying to piss me off right now?"

Ron lowers his arms to rest his palms casually behind his head, his smirk prominent across his face. "Yes."

If glares could kill and stop another from breathing, Ron would be a pile of ashes on the floor. Draco's eyes flared with irritation. His flatmate was always on his case, never allowing for a simple exchange in conversation without purposefully pushing Draco's blood to a boiling point. He lived up to his name, Weasel, with his bold demeanor and annoying eating habits.

"Oh come off it, roomie, you've probably been studying too long already anyway." He rose, removing his sweat soaked tee, flinging it off over his head as he shook his head free. Draco, much to his own horror, felt his eyes following Ron's movements. Rage slowly dissolved from his mind, replaced with something else. He swallowed the lump in his throat he didn't realize had formed as he blinked his focus away, gazing back to his heap of notes in front of him.

"Yes, well. Some of us actually take pride in our work, Weasley," Draco closed his laptop and began loading his paper mess into his binders and books, marking pages accordingly. When Ron was uncharacteristically silent behind him he craned his head over his shoulder, staring blankly at the empty space in the room where Ron once stood, his eyes narrowing.

"I happen to take plenty pride in what I do, thanks!" Ron said, popping his head around the corner on the opposite wall leading to the bedrooms. Draco jolted. "It just doesn't involve staring at a laptop all day."

"Ah that's right. Mr. MVP is too good to study, is that it?" Draco strode past a half naked Ron, now stripped down to his boxers as Draco carried his coursework to his room, not bothering to close the door.

"Why do it myself when I have you to help me, mate?" Ron's brows wiggled as he followed Draco to his room.

Sighing with his back to Ron, Draco puffed a laugh at the nonsense that was Ronald Weasley.

"Please. What makes you think that I, would help you?"

Grinning, Ron crossed his arms over his hard chest. "You don't have to. You recite your notes in your sleep."

"I still don't see how that helps you. We aren't in any of the same courses." Draco scoffed, mimicking Ron's movements as he tucked his hands under his arms.

"Semantics, mate!"

Draco brought a hand to pinch his nose. "That doesn't even-" he let out a breath, dropping his arm. "You know what? Forget it." It was a battle he knew he couldn't win. Ron wasn't exactly the smartest man to say the least.

"If you're giving up that easily, then I know you've been studying too hard. When's the last time you've gone out?"

Out? Draco doesn't go out. His free time was devoted to staying the course that was his education so he could one day take up his family's practice. The Malfoy's were renowned doctors, and Draco would be the best of his lineage, if he had anything to say about it.

"I go out."

"The library and Cambridge Coffee doesn't count, Dr. Malfoy." Ron's voice was that of mocking, and Draco felt his lip curl into a silent snarl. "It's settled. You'll head out with us tonight."

"Wait, what? Ron, I don't thi-"

"No need to thank me. Just buy me a drink," Ron was grinning, clearly pleased with himself, as he exited Draco's room and headed to the bathroom to shower, pointing with an outstretched arm as he retreated out of the doorframe.

Draco slouched, plopping hard on his bed over a bent leg tucked beneath him, his other hung loosely over the mattress edge. What.. just happened. It was known to both Draco's friends, as well as Ron's, the two of them were nothing more than flatmates, assigned at random by the university. The invitation caught Draco albeit off guard, so much so, he was rendered speechless in response to it. Draco is rarely ever speechless. In fact, he's been known to out instruct professors straight off their podiums during class, not knowing when to quit, as he would casually place a hand in his pocket, directing people with his gesturing hand on his right. Some would classify his ability for conversation a gift, but to Draco, it posed to be a social nightmare.

Aside from showing up his professors, he often fell short with the dating scene, finding he had the words to say to keep conversation flowing, lacked in regarding, or acknowledging for that matter, the importance of body language. He wasn't a stranger to the ways of another's body by any means, but he would lose himself in the palaver. Most would give up their advances by the time Draco let on, and the night would be a bust.

Thrusting his weight behind him, he collapsed with his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating whether tonight would end the same as it always had. He hadn't been with another man since his high school graduation, and the lack of another's touch was turning him almost to the point of bitterness. But, he would often remind himself that companionship was a luxury rather than necessity, as school was his main goal. To prove to his father that his sexual orientation would not hinder his reputation in the medical field.

"Dude! You're worse than a bloody girl on her prom night! How the hell are you not ready yet? The guys will be here in ten," Ron's voice knocked Draco from his thoughts, lifting his head to meet the ginger boy's bright blue eyes at his door. "Seriously, mate, you should change into something less," Ron paused, gesturing with his hand, "you."

Draco gripped and threw a pillow at his flatmate as he jolted himself into a sitting position. Ron was laughing as he disappeared down the hall; Draco peering down at his attire scoffing. He was in black skinny jeans and a well pressed white oxford, a gray blazer folded halfway up his forearms.

Ron was not one to throw daggers in regards to fashion. The git literally wore flannel and old jeans on a daily basis. Not to mention he lacked the knowledge when it came to running a comb through his hair, Draco smirked smugly as he ran his fingers in his own locks, knowing damn well he would have to style it before heading out. He would never leave the house, or confront others, with less than perfect hair, appearances, after all, were everything to The Malfoys.

As he closed the door behind him to the bathroom, he heard Ron talking on his cell in the living room, speaking loud enough to sound as though he was standing right behind Draco in front of the mirror. Draco barely had time to grab his gel when Ron yelled down the hall.

"They're here! Let's go, mate!"

Draco heard the door of their flat slam closed as he gave himself one last glance over before exiting the bathroom. His mind had literally ran up those ten minutes in what felt like mere seconds, unaware how his thoughts had rambled on. He scrambled down the hall, pausing when he reached the living room, and ran his checklist over in his head. He took a breath, bracing himself to formally meet Ron and his friends outside. He wasn't nervous, Draco held his own in crowds with confidence, but he was out of his element here, unsure of the company he would keep in a destination unknown to him.

Draco was a planner, a thinker, oftentimes called an over-thinker to his inner circle of friends. He patted down his shirt to his pants, making sure he had his phone and keys before exiting the flat to meet Ron and his friends in the parking lot.

"Whoa, whoa," said a Scottish boy sitting in the backseat of an old, blue Ford, "who invited tha nurse?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, glowering at the goofy expression across the boy's half hidden face in the backseat of the car as he proudly stared Draco down in a challenging gaze. Draco rested his features, mentally reminding himself of the importance of first impressions. Before he could reply with a sarcastic response, Ron spoke up.

"I did. Now leave future Docfoy alone. He may save your sorry arse one day," Ron threw Draco a wink as he climbed clumsily in the back seat next to the comedian and another boy Draco didn't recognize.

Draco followed suit with Ron, and took the empty seat in the front passenger side of the car. He sat down uneasily in the old worn seat, closing the heavy and loud door behind him.

"Boys, this is Draco - my flatmate," Ron slapped his hand over the seat and onto Draco's shoulder, giving him a light shake as he introduced him to his friends. Draco attempted to smile. "The clown here, is Seamus, this handsome devil is Dean, and that's 'Arry behind the wheel there."

Draco acknowledged the boy driving: he wore a blue bomber, unzipped over a plain gray tee, and from the angle looked like faded jeans. His hair was a wrecked mess atop his head, and half of his face was hidden behind thick rimmed glasses.

"Nice to finally meet you, mate," the mussy haired boy grinned as he steered the car onto the street.

Draco tilted his head back in response, playing it cool. The car was silent for a time, with the exception of the car making a not so pleasant, or reassuring, sound. Harry side eyed Draco, who had difficulty shoving the disgusted expression from his face.

"Don't worry. She may be loud, but she's safe."

"Harry, that's fancy for she's a lump o' junk and about to break tha fuck down." Seamus, the funny man, chimed in, leaning forward between the two front seats, his elbows resting on the backs.

"Sea, she's a classic! Not a lump of junk! You'll hurt her feelings." Harry rubbed his palm over the dash of the dirty old car, as if that would actually console the machine.

Draco breathed a small laugh, letting it escape past his lips before he could stop himself. Harry smiled sheepishly over at him as Seamus plopped his back against his seat once more.

"Shame you don't drink, 'Arry. Then we could take Draco's ride next time," Ron was projecting a smirk that could be seen even through the shadows of the backseat, illuminated every so often as they passed under a streetlight. Draco's eyes widened at the idea once the realization of it sunk in.

"Oh, does Dr. D have a nice ride?" Dean spoke for the first time and Draco wished he hadn't; enquiring about his car was the last conversation he wanted to discuss.

"The Benz is a beaut," Ron chimed rather matter of factly, "come to think of it, Draco, I don't see you driving her much." Ron's tone was sharp, and Draco picked up on the taunting pitch.

Draco rarely drove his car for anything other than an escape ride home. He chose to ignore Ron's question. If he ever wanted to experience the average college lifestyle, talking about his seventy thousand pound Mercedes was the last thing he wanted to do.

"So, where are we going anyway?" Draco's back shook from Ron's aggressive grip around his seat on either side, rocking it harshly back and forth.

"Scabbers!" Ron shouted overenthusiastically, "It's a rat hole, but the booze is cold and the dance floor is hot."

"Speakin' of, are we bloody there yet already, mates? I've got some girls who are dying fer tickets." Seamus's words were beginning to slur more together, Draco noticed the flask in his hand.

"Girls. Riiiight," Dean said, grabbing the flask, taking a large swig of its contents. He leaned forward, handing it to Draco with an eager gaze. "And if you say gun show I'll smack you."

"Shut it, Dean. Ya don't know what yer talkin about! That was one time an-"

Draco once again found himself laughing casually, relaxing and peering over his shoulder at the two boys now arguing amongst themselves. His eyes raked over Ron momentarily. He was sitting with his palm rested under his chin, his gaze facing out the window, and a large goofy grin spread across his lips.

In the midst of Seamus and Dean's scuffling, an elbow jabbed Ron in the side, knocking him from whatever musings he was in, and he playfully jabbed Dean in the ribs before scooting up to lean between the two front seats.

"This is going to be one epic night, mates." Draco could have sworn Ron sent him a wink, but he rolled his eyes, brushing it off casually with a scoff behind the metal flask as he downed more of the amber whiskey. "Draco, mate, I'm going to need you to relax. When is the last time you've gotten laid?"

Draco choked on the liquid, spitting and coughing at the abrupt and rather personal question from his flatmate's mouth. Twice in one evening, Ron has gotten the better of him, causing a ripple in Draco's smooth current of conversation. Much to Draco's growing embarrassment, everyone in the car seemed to lean forward, four pairs of eyes on Draco's person as he straightened in his seat. Clearing his throat, he settled his features with a stubborn raised chin.

"I don't see what that has to do with anything, Ron. I'm only here because you practically begged me to join you."

Before he knew it, Ron was laughing with his head resting on the back of Draco's seat. "Begged you? Docfoy-"

"Ronald, if you insist on continuing calling me that ridiculous appellation, I will ask you to turn this car around right now." Draco knew he was being dramatic, but he refused to be continuously mocked by a bunch of mediocre athletes on scholarships. Not when he could be in the presence of his elite friends in a car that wasn't on the brink of falling apart. No, Draco held his ground, and if that meant being a pompous prat so be it.

"Okay okay, chill, Draco," Ron insisted, throwing himself to where his back rested on his seat, "it's all for fun, mate."

"Some call it flirting," Seamus's words were muffled under the clanking vibrations of Harry's car, but Draco didn't miss the look Ron shot him. Whatever the funny man said, he caused Ron's demeanor to come close to exploding.

Draco was glad when Harry pulled into a spot in an alley and everyone piled out of the car as he paid the meter. Ron had been right. Scabbers was in fact a rat house: a small stand alone building of two floors, barred tinted windows and faded bricks with well placed graffiti across the side wall, lined with posters of past and future entertainments. Draco's expression morphed to that of disgust, and he peered down at his well pressed attire.

"Told you to change," Ron said grinning beside him, slapping his back once before walking up to the bar entrance; Dean and Seamus were on his heels. Harry appeared on Draco's left.

"Well, shall we?"

"I'm a bit out of my element here." Draco glanced over at the dark haired boy with a look of uncertainty.

"Ah, don't worry, mate!" Harry said casually, looking over at Ron's back. "You're in good hands."

The two shared a nod and quickened their pace to meet up with the rest of their party, flashing their i.d.'s, and walking inside as a group. Draco was in for more than he bargained for, soon to discover it takes more than talking yourself out of a situation, or into one in his case, to achieve your goals.