He took it back. This was definitely the worse idea he'd ever had.

After weeks of time feeling like it was going backwards, Saturday snuck up on him with a kind of malice, and Harry found himself staring at the mirror on the inside of his wardrobe, hoping it might help him out.

His reflection just shrugged and ruffled his hair, as if to say I dunno mate, this was your stupid fucking plan.

He was meeting up with Ron and Hermione in less than an hour, and at this rate he was going to be late. In the past couple of days he'd heard from Luna, Neville, even Seamus and Dean to say they had all also had been invited and were looking forward to a school reunion of sorts. Harry tried to bolster his spirits and remind himself seeing his friends more was a big part of what their break up had been about, but he still couldn't quite shift the nausea in his guts.

Ginny had a match and couldn't attend, which was a shame as Harry could have really used her support. After being done with her heartbreak, Ginevra Weasley had become quite enamoured with the idea of a gay BFF, and if anything her and Harry's relationship had gotten even closer. He would have really appreciated her candour right now about his current panic regarding his outfit, but unfortunately she was off in Germany with the Harpies and that was that.

So Harry was left to stare, feeling inadequate, as he demanded to himself exactly why he was going through with this in the first place.

He knew the answer though. He wanted to see Draco. Even if it was painful, terrible, destructive, he had to see him and try and talk to him, ask him why he was doing this, why he hadn't even returned one of Harry's letters.

Harry decided to have a shower, then pick out what he was going to wear. He scrubbed every inch of his skin viciously, then took great care to shave closely afterwards. Draco preferred him smooth, whereas Harry didn't mind a bit of stubble. He knew he shouldn't be thinking what Draco would like, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

His mind wandered as he dragged the blade across his throat, thinking how after that first night Draco had freaked out and not talked to him. He should have understood that was a sign of things to come, that it was a foreshadowing that Draco would never jump in with both feet. Maybe they could have saved each other a whole load of fucking heartache.

Harry dressed in black trousers, white shirt and black cravat. He couldn't help but add some colour with the silly Quidditch socks Draco had bought him for his birthday, the ones with broomsticks and snitches on. He knew he was only asking for trouble but he so desperately wanted to feel a connection with Draco again. Besides, he thought, slipping on his polished black leather boots, no one else was going to see them. They might just bolster his courage somewhat.

Then came the dress robes. He considered going traditional, formal, but Harry knew what he wanted to wear, even if this really did get him in trouble.

Draco's main present to him in July had been an exquisite robe in the new style that was only just becoming fashionable outside of Italy. More like a tailcoat, it fastened across the chest with four buttons in a square, then dropped by the hips to sweep all the way to the ground. It complimented a more modern, Muggle style of dressing underneath, hence Harry's choice of the suit, and did extremely flattering things to ones arse. His was in an iridescent green with teal and gold thread woven through the intricate pattern which could have been mistaken for floral at first glance, but was in actual fact a series of Hungarian Horntails writhing in and amongst one another.

Harry didn't want to wear it because he didn't want Draco thinking he was desperate, but at the same time he knew nothing else he owned made him look half as good.

Looking at his watch he only had five minutes before he needed to apparate, so he decided he didn't give a flying fuck what Draco thought if he wasn't going to give him the respect of treating him like a human being. And if he changed his mind and did decide to talk to him...well maybe he would think it was romantic. It was only desperate if Harry let it be.

He slipped it on and felt a flutter of gratitude towards his reflection as he gave him a thumbs up, before closing the wardrobe and taking a quick detour to the bathroom. A combination of a bit of wax and patience had lead Harry to get a reasonable handle on his hair after all these years. It was still stubbornly trying to impersonate a wild hedge, but at least it was glossy and had some sort of organised shape to it.

Washing his hands he popped his head in to say goodbye to Mildred. "Wish me luck?" he said half-heartedly. Mildred hooted back in a manner that clearly translated as 'Shan't.'

With the silver invite burning a hole in his pocket, Harry took a long breath in and out, before turning on the spot, and vanishing into the ether.