The first few hours passed in a numb blur. Harry had collapsed onto the sofa, still warm from where Draco had been lying, and stared at the ceiling as his thoughts whirred like an angry bee hive. He hadn't meant to start the fight, he hadn't, but now it was done he couldn't bring himself to regret what he'd said.

He'd known that Draco was nervous about exposing themselves by coming out as a couple, but the fact he was still hanging on to this possibility of marrying someone just because his parents wanted him to? That was what left Harry feeling truly sick to his stomach.

He would come around, he insisted to himself. He had to. Everything they'd been through couldn't possibly just go up in smoke because of one argument. Draco would calm down and see sense, Harry had to believe that.

It was this that persuaded him off the couch a few hours later, by which time the sun was setting and the TV had had enough of being on pause for so long and turned itself off. Harry went to his spare room where his grouchy owl Mildred was sat on her perch. "You alright to take a message for me?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse and taut. She seemed to sense he wasn't his usual self, as all she did was scowl and stick her leg out. She didn't even try to bite him.

"Draco," Harry scrawled hastily. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you. I'm here when you're ready to talk."

He resisted adding any notes of love or affection beyond that, in case the message was intercepted. Despite his anger he meant what he said, he wouldn't out Draco against his will. He just had to hope his patience was enough.

Harry didn't receive a reply that evening, which he wasn't all that surprised by, but it lead to a fitful night's sleep. He would never consider not going into the office, but he couldn't help but wish he could have Sunday over as the alarm went off and dragged him out of bed.

Work was busy so kept his mind occupied. Ron asked once if he was feeling alright, but seemed satisfied with Harry's explanation of a headache. Since they had begun their relationship, Harry had only bumped into Draco twice at work; however that didn't stop him from jerking his head up hopefully every time someone walked past their door. He was being foolish. Draco needed more than a few hours to think about everything, he would just have to wait.

But as the week stretched out, Harry's anxiety became almost unmanageable. This was the longest they'd gone without talking to one another since the cottage, let along seeing each other. So come Thursday Harry found himself penning another note, urging Draco to get in touch so they could work things out.

They barely had any mutual friends and didn't work in the same area of London, so it was hardly surprising that another week went by and Harry had neither sight nor sound of the man he considered to be his boyfriend. Several more notes went un-replied to, and Harry threw himself into work, staying late in the evenings and putting extra effort into old cases he'd dismissed previously as unsolvable. Anything to keep his mind free from dwelling on sparkling grey eyes and soft blond hair.

His bed felt massive, and Harry taunted himself by sleeping on Draco's side in one of the t-shirts he'd left behind, even when it no longer smelled of him or his aftershave anymore. After another week he got into a bad habit of falling asleep on the couch in a bid to avoid that numb emptiness of waking up alone and bereft.

He forcibly limited the amount of notes he wrote, no more than three a week, no matter how bad it got. He kept telling himself, every time he let one fly with Mildred, that this might be the lucky one, that Draco would have had enough time to think by the time this one reached him.

And before he knew it a month had passed. Then two, and his hope was starting to dwindle. Surely Draco couldn't avoid him forever? Maybe the time had come to show up at his flat, bang down the door, neighbours be damned?

In the meantime, Ron and Hermione had finally convinced him to come round theirs for dinner one Wednesday evening, and Harry had grown so accustomed to his dark moods he figured he could put on a brave front, just for a few hours. He saw Ron at work obviously, but it was much harder to get away with these things around Hermione.

The world didn't revolve around Draco bloody Malfoy, so Harry had found himself standing outside their semi-detached house in Berkshire, clutching a bottle of Pinot Grigio and reminding himself to breathe. These were his best friends in the whole world, he had neglected them horribly over the past several months since Valentine's, and he needed to make up for it.

"Harry!" cried Hermione as she flung open the door and enveloped him in a hug that was more hair than arms. "It's been forever, come in, come in!"

During the course of dinner and listening to Ron and Hermione banter back and forth, Harry realised he should have done this much, much sooner. He had blamed Draco for keeping him apart from his friends, whereas the truth was in his absence Harry had imposed the same restrictions on himself. He could feel himself relaxing and coming back out of his shell after a couple of glasses of wine and several belly aching tales of what the rest of the Weasleys had been up to lately. Harry showed them pictures of Teddy and Andromeda, telling them about how his godson was getting on now he was enrolled in the local Muggle school, and they all passed anecdotes around about mutual work colleagues and old friends from Hogwarts.

When they'd had desert, Harry had found himself trapped by a fat and still rather intimidating Crookshanks settling on his lap, so Ron had cleared the plates while Hermione fixed them up cups of tea. She floated the crockery back in to the dining room and chatted to Harry about the latest reform she was working on, when Ron came back in with a pile of mail in his hands, opening it whilst listening to his fiancé talk proudly about her work.

"Anything interesting?" Hermione asked him as she finished her story and tried to force French fancies upon Harry, who was finding it hard to resist.

Ron arched an eyebrow and started dividing up the letters. "Bill, bill," he said, tossing them in one pile. "For you, for me, junk, bill – oh?" He paused on an unusual looking silver letter with grand black writing on. "It's addressed to both of us?"

"Looks like an invitation or something," Hermione suggested as Ron ran his finger along the edge, cracking the wax seal.

"Yeah it is," said Ron, pulling out a rectangle of stiff card. "Blimey, Draco Malfoy's got engaged."

Harry felt his whole world plummet away from him in one swift motion.

"Really?" said Hermione.

Ron frowned as he read the information on the card. "Yeah, to some girl named Astoria Greengrass?"

"Oh," said Hermione thoughtfully. "She's Daphne's younger sister isn't she – she was in our year."

Ron gave her a blank look and shook his head. "Anyway, they're having a big engagement party on Saturday, no clue why we're invited – maybe they're literally inviting everyone, trying to look impressive."

"Harry?" Hermione's voice cut through uncertainly. "Harry are you alright?"

The cat had leapt from his lap, and Harry was currently gripping onto the edge of the dining room table, pretty certain it was the only thing stopping him collapsing onto the floor. Blood was rushing through his ears, it felt like a whistle was screeching inside his skull. He'd done it, he'd fucking done it.

"I don't," he stammered. "Not feeling so-"

He jumped from the table, and raced towards the downstairs loo, banging the door open and slamming it shut as Hermione and Ron called after him. He only just got the toilet seat up before his dinner came flying back up his throat, and he retched noisily as his body shook and tears crept from the corner of his eyes.

How could he have been so stupid! He had thought Draco needed time, space. He should have gone slamming on his door after his first message had been ignored, he should have tried harder, he should have done something! But now it was too late. He'd announced his engagement to that girl and it was all over.

Harry had let the only man he'd ever loved slip away.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, banging on the door. "Harry are you alright!"

"Give us a sec," he croaked back, flushing the loo and rinsing his mouth out with water. His hands were shaking but he tried to steady himself as he took several breaths in and out, then opened the bathroom door. "I think maybe I had a dodgy sandwich at lunch," he said meekly as Ron and Hermione's worried faces greeted him. "I wasn't your cooking I swear."

Hermione hugged him and fetched him some water, while Ron asked if he wanted to help him apparate home.

"Nah," Harry said, managing a ghost of a smile. "I'll be alright, sorry for cutting the evening short."

It wasn't until he was back in the dark of his living room did he begin to cry.

He crumbled onto the sofa, curling into a ball, letting the sobs wrack through his body. Angrily he yanked his glasses off and let the tears seep into his sleeve, cradling his head, his sides cramping as he struggled to breathe. He wasn't sure when he'd last cried this hard, after the battle of Hogwarts maybe? That one night several days later when it had finally hit him and he gave up being strong for the first time in years and just let it all go.

He'd been with Ginny then. He had thought he was in love and she had held him and soothed him as he grieved for all the people who had fallen in his wake. But this was a different kind of grief, he realised as he shook and clenched his fists. Different to the terrible depths of despair that came from knowing loved ones had been snatched away by death.

This pain came from knowing that Draco would rather live a lie, would rather marry someone he didn't know, let alone love, than be with him. He had chosen reputation over happiness, and it killed Harry knowing he was out there in the world, unhappy because he felt his duty to the Malfoy name was more important than Harry's love.

Harry tried to slow his shaky breathing down, smearing tears away in his attempt to calm down. Snatching his glasses up he pushed himself unsteadily off the sofa, and picked his wand off from where he'd dropped it on the table. "Revelio," he said angrily, flicking the spell over the flat, catching all the little trinkets he kept hidden away, even from Draco.

Photo frames came into sight, collections of seashells, postcards, and on the centre of the mantelpiece, a single red rose, charmed to stay fresh and standing proudly in a slender crystal vase. Harry had hidden his mementos from the world, afraid anyone would catch him and Draco out on their secret. He'd shown Draco whenever he added something new to his collection, but for the most part it had all stayed secret.

Harry swallowed thickly as he moved into the bedroom, eying up the six photographs in the multi-frame, all containing words inscribed in fire; Draco's poem to him after their first night together, the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for Harry. "I'll give you my heart, if you trust me with yours," Harry said aloud.

He let out a roar of frustration and balled his hands in his hair. He had trusted Draco with his heart, and he had been too scared to trust him back. He had sabotaged the best thing either of them had ever had by being selfish and stupid!

Harry wanted to throw something, but instead he dropped onto his bed and screamed into the pillows, thumping at the mattress until he felt the anger dissipate. Turning onto his back he breathed deeply, in and out, pressing his palm against his forehead.

A sensible part of his brain that was still functioning remembered it was odd that Hermione and Ron had got an invitation to the engagement party. As if sleepwalking, Harry rose from the bed and scooped his mail up from where Mildred deposited it on the small table by the front door. Sure enough, a silver envelope was waiting for him, and the sick irony of it made him actually laugh out loud. He opened the damn thing without any ceremony, eyes dancing briefly over the details of the night. The only thing that really sunk in was that the invite was addressed to him and a plus one. Draco was telling him to bring a date to his fucking engagement party.

Well, Harry wasn't sure about that, but with a savage sense of resolution he made up his mind. He would be there on Saturday night.

Even if it was probably the worse idea he'd ever had.