It's Draco's fault, really. He should have realized that anyone could have seen them on the roof. He should have remembered the outside world, and the gossip witches, and the rest of the bullshit that came with being, if not a famous figure, at least an infamous one. But he'd gotten complacent after two weeks of the rest of the house knowing about their relationship and had let Harry kiss him senseless until Winky had appeared on the rooftop with a table.

The party itself had been lovely. Pansy, true to Draco's prediction, had worn a Ballycastle Bats jersey paired with the tiniest pair of shorts she could find "for modesty". Weasley had worn a matching jersey, though thankfully his shorts had been longer than Pansy's. Hannah and Neville had dressed up as a golden snitch and a referee respectively, while Harry and Draco had indeed swapped warm up jerseys so that they were both wearing each other's names on their backs. Oliver had shown up in full keeper's kit, pads and all, and carrying his Firebolt 520X, while Percy had pulled on a hoodie and mumbled that it was the best he could do at short notice.

The birthday boy himself had also worn his full kit, though as he was a seeker, he had significantly fewer pads on than Oliver. He had good-naturedly chased Hannah around the roof a couple of times before "catching" her.

Winky had served all of Viktor's favorites, including beef stroganoff and a beet salad with whipped goat cheese that Draco had found divine. She had also, following Pansy's instructions, baked a chocolate cake which she had frosted to look like a quidditch pitch. The cake had been decorated with golden hoops made out of yogurt covered pretzels, dusted in edible gold, and four marzipan balls. Pansy had, at some point, stolen the frosting bag because along with the lines on the pitch, the words "Happy Birthday You Sexy Beast" had been piped out in white.

They'd chatted and laughed for hours under the string lights Pansy had put up, going through bottle after bottle of wine. They had showered Viktor in various gifts, from a second "I love carrots" shirt to a collectable edition of Monopoly, but it had been Neville's "gift" that had been the most exciting.

"The greenhouse has now been cleared enough that should you want to fly in it, you can," he'd said, a proud grin on his face.

"I tested it myself this afternoon," Oliver had added. He'd barely gotten the words out before Viktor had stood and announced that they were all going flying. Or at the very least that he would be going flying. Harry had hung back with Draco for a moment after everyone else had tipsily made their way down the stairs.

"You coming?" he'd asked, holding his hand out to Draco. Draco had used it to pull Harry to him and kiss deep and long under the moonlight. Draco'd been all but ready to say the three little words that had evaded him for two weeks. He'd taken a deep breath and everything. But then Harry had tugged him away down the stairs and they'd spent the rest of the evening watching Viktor fly in excited circles around the greenhouse, Oliver and Weasley in tow. Soon, he'd promised himself. Soon he'd say it.

…

But then the next day's front page reads:

HARRY POTTER CAUGHT KISSING DEATH EATER

And Draco's life falls apart.

The headline is accompanied by a picture of the two of them, alone on the rooftop, wrapped in each other's arms with their faces pressed together.

As pictures go, it's not a bad one. It's obvious from the way they clutch at each other that they like each other and the way that wind ruffles their hair gives the picture an almost artistic slant. No, it's not the picture that's the problem. It's the headline and accompanying scathing articles that are. It's everything Draco had feared and more.

The picture is from early in the morning, before any of the decorations had been put up, so Draco knows the Prophet's gone and spent all day writing shit about him. There's a second picture, indented farther down the page from that evening. They're lit by the golden glow of the string lights and tugging at each other's shirts, desperate to be as close to each other as possible. If the pictures hadn't been accompanied by the headline, Draco would probably have liked them.

But as it is, they're a slap in the face.

He snatches up the newspaper and retreats to his bedroom, ignoring the shouts from both Harry and Weasley for him to stop. He locks the door behind him and throws himself down on his bed. As he reads, his heart clenches as sentences turn into pull quotes in his mind.

"How could the savior of the wizarding world have fallen so low?" muddies with "It is well known that Potter vouched for Malfoy at his trial. Given his obvious bias, should the case be re-opened?" He can't decide which is worse: the front page article listing the known details of their relationship, which are few and also wildly inaccurate, or the opinion pieces that follow which lambast both him and Harry — him for corrupting the savior and Harry for being led astray.

The words blur, even as Draco reads them. Both his heart and his mind are racing. His first thought is that he needs to get out of this house. He needs to free Harry from the contagion that he is. It's all he can think. It's just that one sentence running through his mind. He needs to go home. And he needs to go now.

How could he have thought things would work out between them? How could he have deluded himself into thinking the outside world wouldn't encroach on their relationship? Of course the wider magical community wouldn't accept them. Hell, they'd had a hard enough time with Weasley and he liked Harry.

He pauses for a moment while he thinks about what he'd said to Weasley. That he wanted Harry to be happy. Well, Harry would be happier without Draco. Harry would find someone who deserved his affection. He would forget Draco in time and it would be for the best. It would hurt for a few weeks, maybe even months, but it would be worth it. Harry would be happy and that would be all that mattered. Because, like Weasley'd said, Harry deserves the best. And Draco isn't that.

Mechanically, he pulls on his ghost gnome suit. They've used them so much in the renovation that it almost feels like a second skin to him now.

He pauses for a moment while he thinks about the work that still needs to be done. Then he tells himself that Pansy can oversee it. They're so close to the end now that they hardly need Draco anymore.

He waves his wand at the closet and clothes fly out. He goes from drawer to drawer in his dresser, and then cabinet to cabinet in the bathroom, forcing everything back into his magically enlarged suitcase. He doesn't stop to think. Thinking hurts.

He thinks he hears a knock on his bedroom door, but he ignores it. It's easy enough to do with the shame and anger making his ears ring.

He snaps the clasps on his suitcase closed with a distinct click. Then he lowers his wand.

He hesitates for a moment, looking around the room. It looks different from when he'd arrived and it's a far cry nicer. Gone is the old wallpaper, replaced instead with the three painted white walls and a birch board accent wall. And gone are the faded bed linens and creaky mattress. In their place are modern equivalents — a memory foam mattress and muted gray sheets. It's a room he would want as his own and this thought almost prompts him to stay. But then he catches sight of the Prophet again and his resolve hardens.

He picks up his suitcase and sweeps out of the room.

He sees no one on his flight out of the house, so it's only when he steps outside that he realizes he's still in the ghost gnome costume. But all the better, because he wants to transfigure his car back to its normal state. It doesn't make him feel any less sad, the way that he had expected it might. But it's done now.

He moves quickly, ignoring the way that his breath hitches with every step, provoked by the threat of tears. He tells himself again that Harry will be better off without him, even though every step away from him feels like he's tearing a new hole in his heart.

He manages to hold his emotions in check until he's onto Pentonville Road. Then he rips off his mask and lets the tears fall.

Two and a half hours later, he's home.