A/N: ACOMI has become the longest thing I've ever written barring the stuff I've written for NaNoWriMo. I'm sorry to leave you all hanging for so long, college has been kicking my butt and I haven't had a lot of time to work on ACOMI orz. I have the next few chapters written already so I'll post those soon, and I hope I'll find time to finish the rest of the fic in the meantime. I'm really sorry this is taking so long to finish, and I'm forever grateful to the people who have stuck with me through this!

As always, reviews are adored. Please leave reviews, even if it's just to tell me how much you hate me for the end of this chapter. I'll love you forever! xoxo

Chapter 8

"I had a brilliant idea," Draco proclaimed one evening, as Harry booted up his laptop and Draco pulled the popcorn from the microwave. "I think we should watch that drama you were in."

Harry whipped around to level Draco with a glare. "No," he said immediately, his voice firm, but Draco didn't let it faze him.

"In fact, I looked it up earlier," he continued breezily, ignoring the look of panic slowly settling in on Harry's face, "and I found out it was on Netflix. How convenient."

"Draco, no," Harry protested, gripping the laptop tightly. Draco easily distracted him with a kiss, stole the laptop when Harry's grasp loosened, and danced away triumphantly with his spoils. He deftly searched up the appropriate title and settled in the bed he and Harry were sharing with the laptop balanced on his crossed legs. As he eagerly pressed play and the sounds of the opening theme filled the small bedroom, Harry joined Draco on the bed as well. He made a show of groaning loudly and, hardly an episode in, began mouthing at Draco's neck to discourage him from continuing to watch the show.

Draco would have been ashamed to admit that the diversionary tactic worked, forcing him to close the laptop after watching only three episodes, had his body not been singing with pleasure. He turned his attention to Harry instead, returning his ministrations in kind.

"You could have built a fairly successful career using that as a starting point," Draco said to Harry. "It was phenomenal."

Harry responded to the compliment by biting lightly down on Draco's shoulder, laving over the bite a second later with his tongue to take away the sting. He grazed his hand down Draco's torso before grabbing his hip and maneuvering him so that Draco lay flat on the bed with Harry straddling his waist.

When Harry said nothing more, Draco asked the question that had been plaguing him all evening. "Why didn't you keep acting?" he asked, his voice breathy as Harry continued pressing kisses in a trail down his collarbone. "Did you really hate it that much?"

Harry stilled for a moment, prompting Draco to release a low whimper at the loss, but he snapped out of his daze as quickly as he had entered it. "Circumstances prevented it," he said simply, before causing Draco to lose his train of thought by pushing up Draco's shirt and mouthing at Draco's sensitive stomach until the blond was trembling.

Draco let himself get lost in the pleasure. A euphoric haze settled over his mind, and his thoughts grew so scattered as to be incoherent. His world boiled down to the sight and feeling of Harry's mouth traveling across his body.

Then Harry tried to pull the shirt off by prompting Draco to raise his arms so he could slide the fabric up them, and Draco panicked.

Perhaps sensing the tension thrumming through Draco's body, or perhaps simply seeing his expression, Harry stilled. "We don't have to," he said quietly, as he had on each of the previous occasions they had reached this point. He began rolling the shirt back down Draco's torso even as he spoke, already anticipating Draco's answer.

But maybe the euphoria of the holiday season was wearing off on Draco, for he caught Harry's wrists and encouraged him to undress Draco, cooperating as Harry swept the shirt over his shoulders and arms. He paused just once, when the fabric was bunched around Draco's elbows, and glanced at Draco with a questioning gaze. Steeling his courage, Draco pulled the shirt over those final few inches himself and dropped it to the side. He brought his arms down.

He realized the moment Harry caught sight of the tattoo, as a sharp intake of breath echoed through the room. Tentatively, Harry reached out with two fingers as though to trace the ink. His fingers hovered uncertainly above the decorated skin until Draco pushed his arm up to meet them. They began following the patterns that curved around Draco's arm, though Harry's movements were still slow and hesitant. Draco shivered at the sensation, goosebumps rising on the affected flesh, and glanced down to watch Harry caress his arm.

Seeing the image again sent a flurry of sense memories and images flashing through Draco's mind.

He feels the cold steel of a gun in his hands. His finger toys with the trigger, his arms already braced for the recoil. A slight twitch of his muscles, and a man drops dead mere feet in front of him with a single, cut off cry of pain.

A petite woman hurries through the darkness, but Draco and his mates corner her beneath a dimly lit streetlight. Draco barks out the customary threats, a thrill shooting through his veins at the volatile situation. The woman all but throws her purse at them before scurrying away, tears trailing down her cheeks, and Draco revels in the power he holds in his bare hands.

He watches an execution without flinching, unmoved by the man's pleas to spare him for the sake of his family. The man is innocent, but what does that matter when he has angered Lucius and the people that work for him?

The shame never washes over him until he is alone, surrounded only by his own self-recrimination, choking back bile at the notion that he finds pleasure in toying with the lives of other people.

With a violent shudder, Draco pushed the memories back. Harry dropped a gentle kiss to Draco's lips, and Draco lost himself in the sensation for a moment. All of a sudden, his breath seemed to rattle too harshly in the stagnant silence permeating the flat, broken only by the quiet hum of the traffic outside.

"What is it?" Harry asked after a moment.

"A reminder," Draco answered quietly. "Of a mistake I made, once. A mistake that ended in a lot of pain for a lot of people." He left it at that, fear coursing through his veins at the thought of revealing more than he already had. Some part of his brain still expected Harry to recognize the tattoo and bolt, irrational as the conviction was, and Draco was surprised he hadn't already done so. It wasn't exactly an obscure symbol; if Harry really wanted to know the story behind it, he could easily Google the image.

Harry's fingers continued tracing the tattoo, but he was entirely focused on Draco. Draco drew in a shuddering breath at the intensity of having Harry's full attention. He locked gazes with the other boy, knowing that if he looked away, his eyes would be drawn once more to his tattoo, causing a cascade of flashbacks he didn't want to experience.

When Harry's voice cut through the silence, it was hesitant and unsteady, a sharp contrast from the determination burning in his eyes. "My parents died when I was eleven," he said. "It was a car crash. We were driving home from an audition for some children's show, I forget what it was now, when someone ran a red and barrelled into us."

He took a deep breath and broke the eye contact, dipping his head forward until his forehead rested against Draco's. His fingers had stopped their motions against Draco's arm, drifting up to loosely encircle his wrist instead. Draco brought his right arm around Harry's shoulders, holding him close. He saw that Harry's eyes had drifted shut, and his own followed suit.

"I was lucky," Harry breathed against Draco's lips, making him shiver involuntarily. "I survived with a broken arm, two cracked ribs, and some gashes on my legs. My parents, though…" He trailed off. Draco tilted his chin up so he could kiss Harry, trying to pour silent encouragement into the gesture. He noticed that Harry hadn't mentioned the scar on his forehead, and he took the omission to mean that Harry had acquired it elsewhere. He filed the information away absently, deciding to address it some other time.

At length, Harry continued. "I still don't know if I even got the part," he said with a wry chuckle. The incongruous statement forced a surprised laugh from Draco as well. "But between preparations for the funeral and transferring my care to my mum's sister, I didn't have much time to dedicate to acting. And afterwards, well," he broke off. He swallowed audibly. "Well, circumstances prevented it," he said, echoing his previous statement. His shoulders moved against Draco's in what felt like a shrug.

Draco had the uncomfortable feeling that there was more to the situation than what Harry had told him, but he bit his tongue before his myriad questions could spill out against his will. He recognized how much effort it must have taken Harry to tell Draco even this much, and he felt a little awed that Harry trusted him enough to share this piece of his past with him.

"Thank you for telling me," he murmured. He extricated his left arm from Harry's grasp and gently moved him to the side. He slipped out of bed to turn off the lights and move the laptop off the bed, before crawling back beneath the covers, which Harry had turned down in Draco's absence. They sought each others' arms in the darkness, and fell asleep entangled in each other.

Harry left for the Weasleys' the next morning, despite his numerous protests that he couldn't leave Draco after a night as emotionally charged as they had just shared. Draco simply manhandled him towards the door in response and thrust his duffel into his chest.

"I'll be fine," he drawled, dismissing Harry's concerns. "Besides, loathe as I am to agree with Weasley, you'll only be a phone call away. If I ever do feel inclined to burst into tears, even though that's your area of expertise rather than mine, I'll simply call you."

"Look, Draco, it really isn't a problem," Harry tried to insist. "We should talk about this or-"

"You are turning into Weasley and I wholeheartedly do not approve," Draco declared. He turned away with a haughty sniff.

Harry laughed at his antics. "Alright, I'm leaving," he said, underscoring his reassurance by opening the door and stepping through. At the last second, he pulled Draco forward by his collar and kissed him deeply. "I'll see you in a few days," he promised, and then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Draco's phone buzzed a few minutes later, just as he was settling back into bed to sleep for another hour or two. He thumbed open the notification to see that he had received a text from Harry reading "Left your present under the tree; do NOT open until Christmas day. I will know if you do." Horror dawned on him as he realized that, caught up in Harry and the holiday spirit as he had been, he had completely forgotten to buy Harry a present.

He left the flat in a hurry, barely pausing to wrap a scarf around his neck and lock the flat behind him, desperately hoping that the Christmas crowds hadn't stripped the shops bare quite yet.

At least he had another day if he was unsuccessful today, he mused. Harry was returning the afternoon of Boxing Day, so Draco wouldn't be able to take advantage of the after-Christmas sales, but if worse really came to worst, he could always order something online and simply say it was taking longer to ship than he had anticipated.

He was startled out of his thoughts when a firm hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him to a standstill. For a brief moment, he worried that something had gone wrong with Harry's train, forcing him to return. He panicked, though it didn't show on his expression - Harry could not be allowed to realize Draco had forgotten to get him a present.

When he turned around, an easy smile and a white lie about wanting to see a film already graced his lips. But when he saw the person holding him, his smile fell, and his blood ran cold.

"Did you think you could run forever?"