Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Notes: For ladyvader on her birthday

G.G.G.

Harry was tired, drained, wasted, and every other word with the meaning of absolutely knee-wobblingly exhausted. He had been out on a meaningless spying mission all night, waiting outside dingy bars and in dark alleys for stray Death Eaters to show up—fruitlessly it would seem as not even a stray dog had wandered past him during the night.

No, it was a disappointed and pissed off Harry Potter that entered the hallway of his and Draco's flat at four in the morning, shoving off his mud-covered boots and tossing his cloak at the hat stand. His eye caught his reflection in the hallway mirror and he closed his eyes in indecision for a moment before moving in for a closer inspection—a lighter form of masochism that Harry could afford himself.

He took in the flat tousled hair, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the greasy way his face shone in the weak light of the small hallway lamp. He really couldn't fathom what Draco saw in him. He himself felt that he was rather pathetic. Of course, he had defeated the surely most dangerous evil wizard of the century and proved himself to the world, but that had mainly been because of a prophecy and the help he had gotten from his friends—not because Harry was simply that great. Nobody seemed to take him seriously any more. The only missions the ministry sent him on were these endless and tiring missions that lead nowhere. He had not gathered one piece of information or caught one Death Eater—or even spotted one for that matter—while on duty since the war ended.

Harry felt pathetic and useless, like he had passed his expiration date and unceremoniously been tossed into the bin without so much as a 'fare thee well mr milk carton'. Today he was in his mid twenties, already had that blank look in his eyes that he had seen on his uncle Vernon on the days when he came home late and would yell even more than regular if Harry made even the tiniest mistake—for example existing. No, Harry was not very happy with himself, he could practically feel the wrinkles growing on him, and he shook his head, trying to dispel the dizzy and itchy feeling in his green eyes.

He tumbled into the bathroom, washing his face off and almost absently brushing his teeth, while studiously avoiding the reflection in the mirror above the sink. He pulled off his dirty robes and dropped them in the direction of the laundry basket, not even bothering to look if he'd aimed correctly.

He dragged his feet over to the bedroom door, tugging at his hair, trying vainly to comb through it with his fingers. Giving up, he turned the knob of the door and slid it open silently, stopping right on the threshold at the sight of the view.

Draco was lounging in the middle of the bed, smiling brightly, not a single article of clothing gracing his body. Harry felt his exhaustion start melting away instantly.

"Surprise." Draco said, holding up a slightly deformed birthday cake.

Harry smiled. "You're still up?"

"I waited for ages," whined Draco, "I had to put five cooling charms on the cream."

Harry slowly walked up to the bed, peering down at the cake. "You made it yourself?"

"Yes," Draco looked proud, placing the cake on the bed, lighting the candles with a flick of his wand, "It's heart shaped."

Harry smirked. "Really now?"

"Well..." Draco said, "It was circular from the beginning. But the shape was inhibiting my innate creativity."

"You're a git." Harry grinned. "And a terrible cook. But—" he sat down on the bed, leaning forward to kiss Draco lightly on the lips, "—I still love you."

Draco's eyes twinkled in the glow of the candles. "Happy birthday." He turned to the cake on the bed, and gestured towards it. "Blow out the candles and make a wish."

Harry looked at him pensively for a moment, and then slowly raised his hand to slide it through Draco's soft hair. "You're the only thing I really want. But I can't wish for something I already have."

As Draco grinned and pulled him into a deep kiss Harry thought that maybe it wasn't so bad to be a twenty-five-year-old retired hero after all.

G.G.G.