A/N: In the process of writing this fic, I've graduated both high school and college. I've changed jobs twice, moved to a new city completely on my own, and become a published author (technically speaking). I've gone from being 4 years younger than Harry and Draco in this fic to being 4 years older than them. And throughout all of that, this fic has been by my side. It's crazy to think about how much I've changed and grown through the process of writing this fic.

Part of me was almost hesitant to finish writing and publishing ACOMI, because I've been working on it for so long that I can't conceive of a future where I'm not still working on it. I guess it's time to start another huge project that I've got no hopes of completing in a timely manner?

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to each and every one of you who has read this fic, and who has taken the time to review and leave encouragement for me. There have been times where I thought it might be better if I just abandoned this fic, but your comments encouraged me to push through each and every time.

So, that's a wrap. Happy holidays, and happy reading!

Chapter 16

During Draco's stint with the Death Eaters, Dolohov had had a bad habit of leaving his key fob hanging from the door of his car. There was a reason he provided the muscle and not the getaway, after all. Luckily for Draco, Dolohov didn't seem to have changed in the year Draco had been away, and he quickly commandeered the car that had carried him here to serve as his and Harry's method of escape.

Once Draco had put some distance between them and the warehouse, he pulled off the road so he could enter his dorm's address into his phone's GPS. Then he turned to Harry. The other boy still looked dazed. He stared blankly through the windshield while absently rubbing at his wrists where the rope had left red imprints. It was a look Draco recognized from their second date, when an insult about Harry's sexuality had triggered some kind of panic attack.

Draco felt small and overwhelmed all of a sudden, his resolve bleeding out of him like air from a popped balloon. A bone-deep exhaustion had begun to replace the adrenaline that had flooded him, and he could already feel the knots forming in his muscles, could hear the way his joints would creak the next time he stretched. Vaguely, he registered that he had finally severed his relationship with Lucius. Terror and uncertainty accompanied that thought, but, like the rest of the night's events, he pushed it away to process later. And on top of it all, he was now ferrying around a catatonic Harry caught up in fighting his own demons.

"Yaxley still has your phone," he blurted out. He couldn't think of anything else to say, couldn't even imagine talking about the ordeal they had both just been through. "I hope you have it backed up because there's no way to retrieve—"

"I do," Harry interrupted. He didn't look at Draco.

Draco, at a loss for words, said simply, "Alright."

He started driving again. Silence swelled between them, interrupted only by the GPS' periodic guidance—an unwanted passenger, clambering into Draco's lap and demanding to be addressed.

"I'd been on my way to apologize," Draco said finally, unable to bear it. "To explain everything. You were right; I shouldn't have let my fears control me like that."

Harry didn't respond, and Draco didn't press the issue. Some of the pressure had eased upon offering an explanation. He'd achieved a sort of clarity: whether Harry accepted his explanation was out of Draco's control. That knowledge was tremendously freeing.

"Funny how things work out," Harry said some minutes later. Draco laughed quietly, a little desperately, and left it at that.

They reached Draco's dorm an interminable amount of time later. Draco hesitated after parking, wondering whether to bring Harry up to his room or suggest that he take Harry home, but Harry exited the car before Draco could say a word, leaving Draco to follow helplessly behind. He hesitated again on the pavement, uncertain what to do with the car and the pistol he was carrying. Ultimately, he decided to leave the car for someone else to deal with. The pistol, though, he brought with him.

When they entered Draco's room, Draco gestured vaguely to his couch before moving to place the pistol on his desk. He stood still for a moment, mesmerized by the glinting gunmetal. Then he shook himself out of his reverie, filled an empty glass with water, and passed it to Harry where he had curled up on the couch, all the while trying to ignore the way his hands were trembling. Harry accepted the water with a brief nod and a stony expression.

Draco hovered awkwardly once he no longer had something to do. He weighed the pros and cons of sitting near Harry or putting some distance between them, then wondered whether to pace to work off the nervous energy that had replaced the fire in his blood. Maybe he should get himself a glass of water as well, maybe he should sit on his bed instead, maybe—

"Sit the fuck down," Harry said.

Draco sat.

"When my parents died, my aunt and uncle got custody of me," Harry said before Draco could break the silence with an explanation, or an apology, or anything at all. "They resented me. They had a son already: Dudley. He was about my age but twice my size, and he had just as many brain cells as letters in his name. The lot of them thought my parents were liberal embarrassments who coddled me far too much, and that I was in sore need of discipline, so in their infinite wisdom, they decided to starve the insolence out of me. I stopped acting because I was too busy trying to scrounge up dinner most nights to worry about learning lines.

"Dudley in particular took my existence as a personal attack. See, I'd taken the bedroom he used to store all his presents and toys, and he didn't like that much. He made it his personal mission to make my life hell. Having his friends beat me up, destroying my clothes and books. When he caught me kissing Justin Finch-Fletchley in the schoolyard one afternoon, he couldn't wait to squeal to my aunt and uncle. Needless to say, they didn't approve." Harry smiled thinly. "Things got heated. They called me every name under the sun, told me they wouldn't abide this kind of behavior in their house, said my parents were lucky to be dead so they wouldn't suffer the indignity of having a dirty little faggot for a child. Everything else, I could deal with, but speaking poorly about my parents?" Harry's expression darkened. "Eventually things got physical. At some point, I was pushed face-first into the coffee table and sliced my forehead on the corner." He ran his hand through his bangs, pushing them back to reveal the lightning bolt-shaped scar over his right eye. "I was sixteen then, and I decided it wasn't worth sticking around after that. I packed my things up and snuck out the window that night. Lived with a neighbor for the next year so I could finish out my GCSEs. Uni was my ticket out.

"So that's my secret," he continued, his voice suddenly dripping with scorn. Draco couldn't suppress his flinch. He looked away, unable to meet Harry's eyes. "I have PTSD. Reminders of that night trigger me, mire me in flashbacks so intense it's like I'm reliving every blow, which is why it's so difficult to talk about. So what the fuck is your excuse? Do I finally deserve to know what the hell all of that was? You better start talking, Draco, because the moment my legs stop feeling incorporeal, I will leave, and you will be dead to me."

Draco drew a shuddering breath. He nodded and tried to gather his thoughts. As horrified as he was on Harry's behalf, he knew Harry wouldn't care to hear his platitudes right now. Besides, this was the opportunity he had wanted all along, wasn't it? To come clean? He would never forgive himself if he wasted it. "We truly are a matched set," Draco said faintly. "My father is a powerful man. He sits atop a sprawling criminal network in London. I was drafted into his militia at thirteen; I started as a simple runner, but I climbed the ranks with ease, and when I was sixteen, my father began training me as a lieutenant. That's when I took the Mark." He twisted his left forearm to display the Mark in its entirety, though he still couldn't bring himself to meet Harry's gaze and discern his reaction. "It was an enjoyable lifestyle, even if I couldn't stomach the violence at times. I relished the power I held.

"But then I watched him execute one of my mother's friends over some meaningless transgression without so much as flinching. His complete lack of remorse was startling. The way he walked away without a word while my mother stood witness, tears slipping down her cheeks…" Draco clenched his fists where they rested on his thighs, taking comfort in the pain radiating from the crescents his nails were carving into his palms. "He had no room in his life for trivial things like mercy and compassion. It changed my whole perception of him, and of my own life. I couldn't become him; I didn't want to be him. So I applied for university in secret, got my affairs in order, and left in the dead of night just before first term.

"Father didn't take that kindly, of course. He tracked me down, had one of his cronies visit me just before Christmas. Yaxley, on behalf of my father, threatened to rain hell upon me if I didn't return to London, and to my post. It left me shaken, obviously. It was like the version of myself I'd buried in London had come back to haunt me, making it clear that I would never be free of my past."

Draco's voice was shaking by now, and he took a moment to close his eyes and focus on breathing. Yaxley's smirk surfaced, unbidden, in his mind's eye, taunting him from that snow-blanketed grove, reminding him of how much he had to lose. But he'd lost it all already, so what shred of pride was he clinging to so desperately? Why was he still so afraid of saying the one thing he hadn't—the one thing he most needed to?

He swallowed the lump building in his throat and his pride with it, and said, "I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry you got mixed up in my feud with my past. You were never supposed to be a part of this. My fear of my past and present colliding is why I was so hesitant to date you in the first place, and why I didn't tell you the truth after Christmas. But you drew me in so easily and made me feel like I deserved happiness for once. I thought my father would leave you alone if I made it clear you had nothing to do with my decision to leave the Death Eaters. I thought…" Draco paused and shook his head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. It wasn't enough to keep you safe. I'm sorry for that."

Harry was silent for a long moment. "You're an ass," he said finally. "It's not your place to decide what I get to know or what's best for me. And I ended up involved anyway, so a fat lot of good your self-sacrificial bullshit did me."

Draco quirked a rueful smile. He couldn't deny that. "I fucked up. A lot. I'm not asking for forgiveness for any of it. But I owe you an apology and an explanation, even if you don't accept either."

"So we're even, then. We've beaten our dirty laundry half to death and laid our souls bare, and if I got up and left right now, you would be okay with that." Harry said it like a challenge, his tone aggressive but no longer scornful. Tentatively, Draco turned to face him and was surprised to find Harry's glower had been replaced by something almost resembling curiosity.

Draco gave a half-shrug. "It doesn't matter what I would be okay with. That's my cross to bear, and my consequences to make peace with." He affected nonchalance, but his mind was racing. For all his angry declarations, Harry hadn't stormed out yet. What did he have left to say? Was it possible Harry didn't want to get up and leave now that he'd gotten his answers? Draco hardly dared to hope. He drummed his fingertips against his thighs in search of a distraction from the anticipation swelling in his chest.

Harry met Draco's eyes evenly. When Draco said nothing more, Harry blew out an angry breath. "All I wanted before all this was an explanation. Some sign of trust and communication, something to show that you respected me enough to tell me the truth," he said. "And I'm still angry at you for deciding I didn't deserve to know my life was at risk. But…you're not to blame for your father's actions." At that, Draco froze, his fingers stilling in their nervous staccato. "Besides, you saved me, in the end. And the way you handled that pistol was pretty hot."

Draco scarcely dared to breathe. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying we both need an unreal amount of therapy," Harry deadpanned. "But for some inexplicable reason, I still love you. Let it never be said life is boring around you. Lucky for you, I'm something of an adrenaline junkie. And now that everything is on the table…" Harry paused and raised an eyebrow, inviting Draco to speak up if he had anything left to say. When Draco shook his head, Harry continued, "I'd like to get to know you better."

"I would like the same," Draco said faintly. "No more secrets, I swear."

"Why don't we start over?" Harry said. He stuck out his hand. "Harry Potter, former child actor."

With a small smile, Draco reached out and clasped Harry's hand. "Draco Malfoy, reformed criminal. Would you like to be friends?"

"I'll do you one better," Harry offered. "Can I take you to lunch?"