Harry had spent two months planning this. It was his and Draco's one year anniversary, and he wanted to attempt to do a romantic gesture for Draco. It was only right; Draco never ceased to forget about Harry's needs. Giving him food to eat, always by his side during a nightmare, letting Harry borrow his jacket when its cold out. Harry always felt a twinge of guilt whenever Draco helped him and gave him that warm smile of his.

Ginny and Hermione had attempted to offer their help, but Harry refused. He wanted to do something that was all his. Harry knew he was crap in the romance department, but he could try.

It was perfect (Harry hoped). Draco would arrive and their little apartment, and there would be rose petals leading to the terrace. All of their favourite meals would be waiting on a tiny table, and Harry had a scrapbook filled with photos of them and letters they had written as a gift. Not to mention, Harry hired a band to play and he used roses to form a heart around their table.

It was perfect.

Harry got into a jumper that he knew Draco liked, and trousers he knew Draco especially liked (and might get him a good shag tonight). He got the band upstairs, and sprinkles the roses he found in a garden. He got the dinner prepared by himself (he wasn't a great cook, but it looked alright to him). He brought up the box with the scrapbook, and placed it next to his chair. He set up spells to make sure nothing could go wrong. Nothing.

Draco always got home at 7:30, and Harry waited patiently by the door for him. He waited several minutes, when the door swung open and hit his face. Draco had a snarky look, until he saw Harry clutching his head.

"Harry," Draco gasped, "I'm so sorry, love, I didn't see you and I just, god I'm so sor--"

"It's fine, Draco. Just sit, I'm okay, really! I made a lovely meal and everything," Harry said, mentally cursing himself. Already the dinner was off to a bad start.

They sat down, and Draco beamed.

"It really is amazing, love. Why do I have the best boyfriend ever?" Draco asked, and Harry felt a swell of pride and affection. Draco glanced at the roses, and frowned.

"Harry, love...where did you get these petals?" Draco asked.

"I found them in a garden, two streets over, remember? Got them myself." Harry said smugly, and Draco looked at him sharply.

"Harry, those roses had bugs in them. And not the good kind." Draco replied slowly. Harry froze, and slowly vanished the roses. Damn, this evening was getting worse. Perhaps everything could be saved. Have hope, Harry reminded himself firmly, he did have other surprises.

Draco was smiling once again, but Harry didn't know why. The evening seemed to starting off horribly . Harry took off the pots on the dishes of food, when he saw that the bugs from the roses were eating the food he cooked. Draco had a thoughtful expression, and Harry miserably vanished the food.

Harry tried to signal the music, when he noticed the band had started arguing, and he had to stop the violin player from using a stinging hex on the saxophone player. Harry felt even more miserable, when he remembered the scrapbook he made. His heart fluttered slightly at the chance of redeeming tonight.

"Harry--"

"Draco, I've been working on this for over three or four months and I've been waiting to show you..." Harry explained, grabbing the box and opening it.

Harry's stomach dropped as he saw that the box was flooded in water. That--couldn't--shouldn't happen, he placed it in his office. This didn't make sense; he made sure he kept it safe. God, how could he have been so stupid? Now he really did ruin the night for them. Fuck. Some anniversary, Harry thought bitterly. Tears pricked Harry's eyes.

"Harry, um...it's going to rain." Draco's quiet voice said.

The rain heaved down, and Draco ran inside. Harry didn't bother; his heart felt heavy from the failure of this evening.

An hour later, the rain had steadied into spitting, and Harry was inside. The metal door had left a sore bruise on his head, and he wrapped an ice pack around his head with gauze. Draco was in Harry's office, and hadn't come out. Harry felt absolutely pathetic.

Harry felt footsteps creaking towards the kitchen, and sighed. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned around weakly.

He was surprised to see Draco beaming at him. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, and gave him a soft, lingering kiss.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked dumbly.

"What do you think, you git?" Draco replied, "Kissing you, love."

"But...but why? This dinner was horrible, and--and ruined." Harry said quietly, avoiding Draco's eyes.

"Well, it was a bit," Draco admitted, "But I went into your office and found the scrapbook you made me. I didn't even know you keep the letters we wrote. And my favourite picture was you waving at the camera, the dinner all set up in the background."

"Hey, you kept my letters too!" Harry remarked, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Maybe I did, but that's not the point. The point is, even if the dinner was