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Draco has dreamed of this day for ages, meticulously planned out every tiny detail (though he never dared tell Harry, not wanting to scare him off). Now here he stands, considering himself in the mirror, heart beating fast in his chest, his dreams reality.
He is more nervous than he would have thought; doubting whether Harry actually liked the flowers Draco chose or merely agreed with him, scared Harry will change his mind and not show up, convinced more than ever that he wants to spend the rest of his life with Harry. It’s a volatile mess of overwhelming emotions, mind whirling and fingers tugging at his sleeve, needing Harry to hold him still.
His wedding day — exactly as Draco longed for and simultaneously nothing like it.
“It’s not too late to elope.” Draco practically throws himself into Harry’s arms, catching them both off guard and making them stumble. Draco doesn’t care. Harry is here, the rest doesn’t matter.
“You came.” Draco can hardly believe it, Harry’s angry accusations still echoing in his mind, taunting him. They are made worse by the undeniable truth they reveal.
Draco knows that he is a coward, that he shouldn't marry Astoria just because his father said so, that asking Harry to stay with him, their love hidden like a shameful secret, is not fair. Harry was right to call him selfish and cruel for begging him to stay anyway. Harry was right to walk away.
“I love you. Of course I came.” The words never sounded so grave.
Harry loves him, enough to give up his dreams and the life they planned, enough to starve on the scarps Draco can give him, enough to watch him marry someone else.
Harry deserves better. Draco knows he should let him go, set him free, but he loves Harry too much to live without him.
“See you in front of the altar.”