As always, all belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros etc etc. Not sure where this came from. I blame the heat.

Draco wasn't sure when he had first noticed that they weren't the same. It hadn't been a a single sudden revelation, a dark moment in time when he realised he had lost. No, it was gradual, a little less chatter in the kitchen over breakfast, slightly less passion in a kiss, the way he could no longer make eye contact with his lover during sex. He continued as normal, hoping it was just a phase. Harry was known for his abrupt descents into periods of depression.

Draco continued as if nothing was wrong. Brushed away the niggling feeling that something wasn't right; and if his voice sounded strained as he gabbled away inanely as he dressed in the morning, lest the room fall into silence, well, he was under pressure from the Ministry - it was understandable that he sounded tired, tense.

And so they carried on, attended the required functions arm in arm, smiling for the photographers, shaking hands withofficials, small talk over champagne with dignitaries. They were the highlight of the social columns, headlined the political pages - Minister Malfoy and Head Auror Potter had forged the Golden Age of Wizarding Britain. The world was happy and content - relaxed in a way that only the oldest amongst them could ever remember. The economy was booming, statistics showed that the criminal to cell ratio of Azkabanwas at an all time low, diplomatic relations with Europe were better than they had ever been. Wizarding communities flourished, children played on the streets, muggle baiting was a reducing, inter-species discrimination had been outlawed and new legislation was being drawn up to reintroduce the magic carpet as a family vehicle. Minister Malfoy had just been re-elected for a fourth term and his government was an overwhelming 6 points up in the opinion polls. So what did it matter if his lover flinched slightly under his touch, or that they slept on separate sides of the bed, a yawning chasm between them?

It was during a meeting, the biyearly meeting between the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Ministry, that the first cold seed of dread began to take root. The agenda had been nothing unusual - funding, a review of the curriculum changes that had been implemented at the start of the school year, OWL and NEWT requirements for entry into various ministry careers.

'Minister,' Headmaster Longbottom looked up from the scroll of parchment he had been making a notation on, 'has Harry given anymore thought to my offer?'

Draco looked at him blankly.

'The DADA position? I know the role does have similarities to his current field, and he said he wanted a complete change, but he did show some skill for teaching during DA days. It'd still be a fresh start compared to his current role and...' Neville trailed off as he saw Draco's face pale.

'Minister?'

Harry was considering a career change?

'Minister?'

Harry was not only considering a change, but had put out feelers, been offered a position and he hadn't even mentioned it to Draco?

'Minister?

Harry, who discussed every decision with Draco, from appointments in his department, to the colour robes he was going to wear that day. Or at least, who used to.

'Draco?'

Draco came back to himself to find the officials sitting around the table looking at him curiously.

'Apologies, Headmaster, my mind wandered.' Neville's eyes bored into his and he saw the minute taker exchange glances with the Chair.

Fury coursed through him, white hot and raging. Whatever was happening in his private life, he did not bring it to the ministry. He did not show weakness to inferior officials. He was a Malfoy. He fed into the rage and stared down the official who quailed visibly under his cold gaze. As Draco shifted his gaze he caught a glance of his reflection in the glass of his water goblet and for an instant saw Lucius glaring back. Swallowing, he schooled his face back into a composed mask.

'Now, we have a new proposal for grants for the underpriviliged muggle-born students.' He turned to the witch next to him, 'Undersecretary Hopkins, if you could pass out the briefing?'

The rest of the meeting passed in a vague haze. Draco nodded in the right places, uttered the correct phrases, but by the time the Chair called the meeting closed, he couldn't have told anyone what was decided, if agreements were made. He could have committed to reinstating the Triwizard Tournament and would have been none the wiser. What was happening? What was going on in his partners head that he was considering major life changes and hadn't even broached the subject? Or had he? Had Draco been so caught up in his own work that he hadn't noticed? His mind searched and sifted through all the conversations he and Harry had had recently.

No, there was nothing there. Now he thought about it, really thought about it, Draco was forced to admit what he had been hiding from for months; he and Harry had not talked about this because they had rarely talked at all recently. Oh, they had spoken, they had had conversations, but these had always been in the public arena, with friends or colleagues or in front of the press. At home, Draco talked and Harry nodded, or made noises or gave brief responses when required. At home Harry had taken to showering and dressing before Draco arose, and ate breakfast while Draco dressed, and was gone by the time Draco got to the kitchen, his coffee mug still warm on the table. At home, Draco was getting home from work increasingly later and later. To weary to put much effort into talking, even on the rare occasions that Harry was still awake.

'Draco?' the blonde looked up from boring his eyes into the wood of the conference table to see he was the only one still seated and Neville was the only one left in the room, standing at the head of the table, his face concerned. 'Do you want to go for a drink? I'm not expected back at the school until after dinner.'

Draco was going to say no. His mouth opened to form the words, but he knew there was no point returning to the office now, he wouldn't be able to work. And the thought of returning to the empty Manor made him feel nauseous. He could go find Harry, but what would he say?

'Why not, Longbottom,' The words drawled from his lips as if he had always meant to speak them, and Neville grinned.

'C'mon, Malfoy. Let this old Gryffindor buy a slimy Slytherin a firewhiskey.'

Now, it's a well known fact that Malfoys can hold their alcohol. They don't slur, they don't stagger, the don't get splinched as they apparatehome. They do, however, become more assertive. They rely less on cunning and subtlety, and the filter between their mouths and their brains quite often dissolves without warning.

And so it was that Draco Malfoy apparatedinto the foyer of the Manor with quite a few things on his mind, and quite a few firewhiskeys under his belt.

Harry briefly looked up from the paper he was reading in the library as Malfoy marched in, before returning his eyes to the Quidditch scores.

'Harry!' burst from his mouth a little more forcefully, than intended.

'Mmmm?' Harry looked up again, his gaze mildly curious and mildly bored.

'We need to talk,'

Harry sighed. 'Not now, Draco, I'm tired.'

'Yeah, you're tired. You're always tired. I don't give a fuck. We need to talk.'

A disinterested shrug.

'Damn it, Potter!' Harry found the newspaper torn from his grip and a glaring Draco staring down at him, face slightly flushed and hair starting to come free of its leather tie.

'You're drunk, Draco and I'm going to bed.' Harry made to get up from his chair, but found himself roughly shoved back down. 'What the-'

'Yes! I'm drunk and you're a lying bastard!'

'Excuse me?' Harry's eyes glinted dangerously and Draco should have known at that moment to back down.

Should have.

'When were you planning on telling me you were taking a new job?'

'I haven't decided that I am yet.'

'Haven't decided? Were you even going to to tell me you were thinking about it? Or were you just waiting until I read a briefing that you had resigned? Or saw in the papers? Or were you just going to send me a memo? "Resigned from Ministry. Working at Hogwarts. Will be home for holidays. Don't forget to pay the apothecary account."Fuck Harry!'

Draco stepped back this time as Harry rose from the chair and moved to the window.

'Well?'

'What do you want me to say, Draco? I should have told you. I will next time.'

'Next tIME?' Draco heard his voice rising shrilly and fought to get it back under control. 'What next time? What's happening to us, love? Why aren't you talking to me? Why didn't you tell me? Why are you being like this? Don't you realise I have a right to know if the Head of my Auror Department is planning to leave? I found out from sodding Neville in a meeting and looked a right prat when I didn't know what he was talking about. I can't afford to be caught out like that! What is bloody wrong with you?'

'I'm so sorry, Minister,' Draco flinched slightly at the coldness in his parter's tone, 'I didn't realise I had to brief you every time I spoke about my private life with an old friend. I'll be sure to send you that memo next time.'

'Shite, no, Harry, I didn't mean it like that. I mean I care about you, and I'm worried about you. About us.'

'Forget it, Draco,' Harry brushed past him as he left the room, and Draco shivered at the contact. 'I'm have a report to write. We'll talk tomorrow.'

Draco stood in the library for a long time, staring Harry's chair, running over the conversation again and again, memorising the places he went wrong, where he should have said something different, should have said nothing, should have... could have. And by the time he got up to bed, Harry there was already lying in the darkness. He slid quietly between the sheets and reached tentatively across the space but Harry turned over, his back to Draco and shuffled closer to the edge of the bed.

He was gone by the time Draco awoke the next morning.

And so it continued. Weeks continued crawling past as Draco grew even more miserable. He and Harry now only spoke to fight, or to exchange polite nothings as they passed each other in the Manor or the Ministry. Harry left earlier now, before Draco awoke, and Draco had taken to working late nights at the Ministry. To the public they still presented a united front, both aware of the possible media and public backlash if they were to show the fractures. The Golden Age of Britain needed its Golden Couple to lead it.

Their friends could tell something was off. Neville had taken to turning up at odd moments to take Draco out, apparently sensing he wanted the company; and he had seen Ron and Hermione visiting Harry in the Ministry, Ron looking harried and Hermione frazzled as she saw Draco and waved, before glancing at Harry and quickly returning her hand to her side.

Weekends, he alternated between working and visiting Blaise and Pansy in France. He didn't know what Harry did. One Sunday evening he returned to find the houselves moving Harry's things into one of the guest quarters, with apologetic glances at their master as they scurried through the hallways.

The next morning when he got to the office he found a memo advising that Harry was leading a mission to Salsburg to assist with an uprising of giant rebels for an undisclosed period. His days were now spent tensely awaiting the reports to filter back from the front line scanning them desperately for any news of Harry. His nights spent disturbed and sleepless as he hugged a pillow to him.

One weekend, out of desperation, he turned up at Ron and Hermione's house, haughty and proud in stance, grey eyes pleading for information for an explanation. Ron clasped his shoulder and poured him a drink and Hermione fixed him a meal, eyes pitying, but neither could or would explain to him what was going on with Harry.

Then, as he sat late one night behind his desk at the ministry, reading yet another report on the carpet importation negotiations an owl tapped against the window, a tiny scroll of parchment clutched in its left foot.

It was short.

Will be home tomorrow. We will talk. I've missed you

Yours, always

H x

Draco apparated home, a grin lighting his face, a skip in his step as he barked orders to the houselves to make sure the house was perfect for Master Harry's return.

He slept fitfully that night, but better than he had in months, arising early to send an owl to the Ministry to say he would be taking the rest of the week off. He checked and double checked the rooms for dust, put on his deep blue robes that Harry had always loved and sent the houselves scurrying to the kitchen to prepare roast duck and treacle tart. Then he went to the cellars in search of a bottle of wine to fit the occasion.

He never heard the wards set off chiming alerts or the knock at the door.

Slightly dusty, and coughing, he emerged from the cellar, a vintage claret in his left hand as he spelled his robes clean with his right.

'Master Draco, Master Draco?' a voice by his knee squeaked up at him. 'We has been looking everywhere for you, Master Draco, there is some Ministry Wizards asking for you.'

Draco cursed slightly and automatically reached to straighten his hair. 'Alright, Ratkin, I'll see them. Where have you put them?'

'Second drawing room, Master Malfoy.'

The heavy door opened automatically for him, as he approached, bottle in hand. Two figures stood by the hearth, hands clasped behind their backs as he crossed the threshold.

'Kingsley? Boot? What in Merlin's name would bring you two -'

There was no sound as the bottle slipped from his frozen fingers onto the thick carpet. No sound as the damaged bottle spilled its contents, staining the cream a shocking shade of burgundy.

No sound as face bloodless and hand shaking Draco reached his hand to pluck the black missive bearing a Ministry seal from the younger aurors fingers. An auror with shell shocked eyes that looked everywhere but into Draco's.

Dear Minister Malfoy,

We regret to inform you, at approximately 11.27pm, September 27th 2012 a team of British aurors on secondment to Salsburg, were ambushed by a party of 14 giants. Details are as yet still being gathered, however from initial reports it would appear that they struck without provocation. It is my unfortunate duty to report that casualties were sustained at a rate of 70%. Please find attached a list of the deceased. My government would like to express its sincere condolences to the families and friends of those listed.

Yours

Derek Boghawk

a/g Minister for Magic

Austria

The funeral was held on a stormy day at the beginning of October. Draco stood, pale and resplendent in black velvet robes at the front of the service, Ron, Hermione and Neville to his right, Blaise and Pansy to his left. He had only flickers of memory of the service, long though it was. He knew vaguely that he had been asked to give a eulogy, and he remembered moving to the stage, Neville and Blaise beside him, silently supporting him. He remembered Blaise's firm hand on his shoulder, remembered feeling Nevilles body shuddering with sobs.

He remembered Hermione's bushy hair in his nose as she wrapped him in a tight hug and whispered in his ear, 'Harry always loved you. He told me, no matter what he... no matter how... he always always...' and then she was gone. A tiny figure with a pregnant belly fussing over a red haired toddler as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

He remembered the smell of rain. The feel of the gusting wind blowing crushed and broken leaves against his back of his newly shorn head, the way they gathered his heavy robes and billowed them out in front of him, wrapping them around him, stinging his dry eyes.

He remembered a well meaning witch pressing a goblet of pumpkin juice into his hand, and dutifully trying to sip it. The politician in him on autopilot reminding him never to be seen refusing refreshment from a potential voter. He remembered feeling like it had curdled in his mouth, trying not to retch. He remembered he could never stomach pumpkin again after that day.

He remembered the long dark night after everyone had left. Lying alone in the middle of the bed, because he it wasn't right to sleep on Harry's side, and he couldn't sleep on his side without Harry there. He remembered harshly telling himself it was ridiculous, they hadn't shared the bed in months anyway. He remembered rising in the cold grey light of the next morning and wrapping a blanket around himself, shuffling to the guest room where Harry had slept in the last weeks before the mission. And there he settled in a chair by the window, Harry's pillow clutched to his chest, breathing in the scent of his lover.

And as the birds began to sing and as the suns rays began to filter into the room... Draco began to scream. He screamed hatred... he screamed sorrow... he screamed his rage. He screamed into the pillow, biting down and ripping it with his teeth, screamed until his damaged vocal cords could produce no more sound.

Until the tears came.