A/N: Just some housekeeping issues: Since I am not actually British, I'm not too knowledgeable about British uni customs beyond what I could find on the internet. ACOMI is set in a Cambridge-esque university in a city that isn't London. I've tried to adhere to British uni customs as much as I can, but I've probably slipped up unknowingly, so sorry if I have.
Reviews are loved and will probably motivate me to write more, ngl. However, I will not hold chapters hostage for reviews, so you can do as you wish.
Chapter 3
The days passed with no sign of Potter, which was odd enough in that they were both studying the same subject and therefore ought to have crossed paths at some point. Draco steadily worked to convince himself that whatever attraction they had shared had been little more than a passing fantasy, the kiss just an indulgence, and Potter's parting words simply delusional as Draco had already declared. Draco's life moved on as normal, as though the afternoon with Potter had never occurred, and Draco managed to confine his obsessive over-analysis of Potter's words and actions to the half hour period he spent preparing for bed at night.
Of course, Draco had never been all that good with normal, not when he was young and foolish, and certainly not now despite his older age and increased maturity. He had almost come to expect the unexpected, to as much of an extent as the unexpected could be expected, and he made it a point to no longer let it faze him. So when a month after their chance encounter, he received a call from the front desk stating that a boy named Harry Potter was asking for Draco to buzz him in, Draco simply released a long-suffering sigh and accepted his fate.
Draco opened the door to find Potter holding up a six-pack with a hopeful smile. Draco sighed again and walked away from the door without bothering to check if Potter followed, tossing a "Lock the door behind you" over his shoulder as he did. He curled up comfortably on his couch, tucking his knees underneath him, and held out a hand imperiously for a beer.
Potter complied with a chuckle and sat at the opposite end of the couch, mirroring Draco's position. Draco stared at him a little suspiciously, trying to guess whether Potter had done this on purpose, but then Potter passed over a bottle opener and Draco's focus shifted.
Silence reigned as the two of them sat and drank, but it was a comfortable sort and not wholly unwelcome. If Draco closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that Potter wasn't actually here, and Draco had hallucinated the past few minutes. It wouldn't have been too extraordinary, considering the workload Draco had been managing recently.
Potter cleared his throat then, a small and unobtrusive noise that nonetheless shattered the illusion immediately. As much as Draco would prefer to pretend this wasn't really happening, he knew he had to speak to Potter eventually.
Draco opened his eyes and met Potter's gaze. "Why are you here?" he asked. It was a simple question, an easy one that would hopefully lead to the discussion they really needed to have.
Potter shrugged, an easy smile back on his lips. "I told you, I'd like to take you out sometime. You obviously weren't interested so I figured hanging out as friends was the next best thing. The beer really needs no explanation."
"That's another thing," Draco said. He drained his bottle in one long pull and gestured for Potter to pass over both another bottle and the opener. "Are you mentally deficient? I told you, it won't do you any good to moon over me." He tried to ignore the regret that shot through his heart like a lance at the words.
"That's a bit pot-kettle, isn't it?" Potter said mildly.
"Are you calling me mentally deficient?" Draco cried, outraged. "I will have you know-"
Potter cut him off with another laugh. "I'm just saying, it's not really up to you to tell me what's good for me, is it? Unless you can read my thoughts, in which case maybe you really are mental," he said. "I can decide for myself whether or not liking you would have consequences."
"You're deciding wrong," Draco said sullenly, despite knowing Potter was right. Draco had done his duty in warning Potter off, and now it was up to Potter whether he wanted to listen.
For the first time, though, Draco found himself blatantly hoping that Potter would look past his posturing and call Draco on his bluff. The truth was, Potter intrigued Draco. There was something about him that drew Draco to him, leaving Draco wanting more than what little he had convinced himself he was allowed to have. Draco couldn't quite put his finger on it, even less so through the comfortable haze that was gradually settling over his mind, but whatever it was, Draco liked it.
"Tell me why, then," Potter was saying meanwhile, as Draco fixated on his internal monologue. Potter looked determined, and his tone was fierce. "You're smart, you're witty, you're well-informed. I barely spoke to you for an hour and it was still one of the most interesting conversations I've had recently. You're real, Malfoy. I don't understand why you're so vehemently opposed to this."
Draco opened his mouth to list the myriad reasons he had come up with over the course of the last month, but the alcohol combined with the exhaustion he already felt conspired to wipe his mind blank. To cover his confusion, he drank deeply from his bottle, trying to remember why exactly it was a bad idea to indulge Potter. Potter would break it off anyway, Draco was certain of that. So why not let himself be happy until then? Surely wanting affection wasn't a weakness.
The memory washed over him in a rush, a reminder of exactly why he was wrong.
Screams fill the air, but he doesn't notice them. They simply don't register in his mind as he throws punch after punch, each hit connecting with solid flesh. A feral grin splits his face as his mates feed him encouragement, and he continues, his attacks growing stronger and stronger.
It isn't until he is resting alone in his room when the monstrosity of his actions crashes over him. He gazes in horror at his knuckles, where he can see the blood still despite having scrubbed them thoroughly hours ago. He exhales in shock, and the quiet sound is like a shout, echoing through his large, empty room without end.
But what's done is done, and there is no backing out now.
Draco tensed, clenching his eyes shut involuntarily in an instinctive defense against sensations he had no desire to feel again. He wouldn't wish those emotions, that guilt, on his worst enemy, much less someone he could potentially grow to care for.
He was brought abruptly to the present when Potter clasped a hand around Draco's left forearm. Draco's eyes flew open and he pulled away sharply, shrinking further back into the couch before he fully processed the situation. Then he stiffened, wondering how Potter would react.
"Draco," Potter said quietly, concerned. "Are you alright? I didn't think my question was that horrifying." Potter attempted a smile to accompany his latter words, but the attempt at humor fell flat.
"It's Malfoy," Draco said, the memory still clear in his mind. He saw Potter's expression fall in his periphery, but he pretended not to notice. He didn't think he could maintain his self-restraint if he allowed himself to think about how his actions were affecting Potter. The fresh reminder of his past had demolished all of his mental defenses, and his inhibitions were dangerously lowered. He shuddered to think what truths Potter could extract from him if he chose to.
Draco stood up abruptly, dropping his empty beer bottle carelessly on the floor and stifling a yawn. "I'm tired. I'm heading to bed. Feel free to see yourself out." He knew the words were harsh, and he could only imagine what Potter thought of his unexpected change in personality, but he was too shaken to care. He trudged unsteadily to his bed, falling onto the covers without bothering to change. He closed his eyes the moment his head touched the pillow, glad that sleep would come soon and wipe away the guilt that plagued him.
Draco was nearly asleep when Potter pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'll see you around, I suppose," Potter whispered, presumably thinking Draco wasn't awake to hear him, and suddenly Draco couldn't bear the thought of letting the man leave without knowing how Draco truly felt. His previous misgivings melted away in the face of losing the first person who had inspired true happiness within Draco.
Draco reached blindly for Potter, flailing aimlessly in the air until his hand collided with what felt like fabric. "Potter," he whispered with his eyes tightly shut, knowing he would lose his nerve if they opened, "you were wrong." He smirked at that. There was a certain vindictive pleasure in knowing he had managed to pull one over on Potter, who had been so adamant that he knew Draco better than even Draco did after only two encounters. "I do like you. Just don't know if I should." His hand fell back to the bed and Draco smiled softly, letting sleep claim him at last.
