Title: Lovers' Embrace
Author: Katie
Summary: Draco turns 22 and has the best day of his life.
Rating: PG-13 for swear words (maybe one) and making out.
Disclaimer: Butterbooze belongs to whomever it belongs to. I can't remember – I read it in a fanfic
once. I gave them a magical jukebox because wizards have a wireless, right, and that's an old radio, so
an old CD player is a jukebox.
A/N: I always imagine Draco's birthday to be 12th April, and I wanted to get this posted on the day.
So I've been rushing to get it finished – I hope it's okay. My mum's nagging me because I've been on
the computer a long time again. Please leave a review.
Your lips, your eyes, your smile, your kiss,
I must admit it's a part of me.
You please me, complete me, filling me
Like a melody.
Your soul, your flow, your youth, your truth is simply proof
We were meant to be.
But the best quality that's hookin' me is that you're lovin' me 4 me.
Is that you're lovin' me for me.
-Lovers' Embrace by Christina Aguilera
The bright early morning sunlight was shining through the east facing window, filtered by the
translucent curtains and casting a greenish glow over the bedroom a couple of shades paler than the
fabric. The duvet covering the king size bed opposite the window shifted slightly and a dishevelled
head poked out from about half way down the side. Glimpsing the brightness of the room and using
this as an indication of time of day, the blond head groaned and disappeared back under the duvet only
to reappear on the other side a moment later. Tumbling from the bed with a large thump into a pile on
the floor, he dragged himself to the chest of drawers and retrieved a pair of underpants. Slowly and
carefully he pulled himself onto his feet and padded out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his
eyes with his fists.
A muffled aroma greeted him in the kitchen. The cold tiles under his bare feet were barely registered
by his sleep addled, stimulant craving mind, and he found himself drawn towards the coffee maker.
His hands were laced with another pair, and he was pulled towards the counter into a strong embrace.
His mouth was covered with another and immediately all his senses sprung into action. His left hand
escaped its captor and found its way to the messy ebony coloured hair. He could smell the wonderful
golden aroma originating from the grill. He could taste the coffee on his lover's lips. He could feel the
impatient tongue of the other man flickering over his lips, begging for entry, and willingly he opened
his lips and greeted his partner with a slow and passionate battle. Playfully, he pressed his body closer
to the other man's. He heard the deep, lustful moan escape the other man's throat and felt it pass into
his own.
He pulled away and a hot mug of steaming black coffee was placed in his hand. Caffeine was never
required to wake him up in the morning; Harry had always been a better stimulant for him. Draco just
liked the coffee's bitter sweet taste.
"Happy birthday Draco," Harry grinned. "Fallen out of bed again?"
"You know I'm not a morning person," Draco huffed, running his spare hand through his hair,
illustrating his point. Usually he would receive his early morning kiss as soon as he woke up, and was
therefore able to stumble out of bed and straight into the shower. But today, as happened every
Sunday, he was forced to search out the brunette first. Plus today was a Monday, and that meant it had
happened two days in a row.
"Breakfast," Harry asked.
Without any hesitation at all, Draco sat down at one of the set places. Brandishing an oven glove with
an air of expertise, Harry opened the grill and produced the pancakes that had been keeping warm.
"Pancakes?" grinned Draco genuinely.
"Crepes," Harry nodded.
"Of course," the blond shrugged as if he had expected and deserved nothing less. "It is my birthday
after all."
*~*~*~*~*
Grinning widely, hair tousled and eyes flashing with the exhilaration of rebellion that was craved by
Draco so much and presented in everything that he had ever done, Draco pulled away from the kiss and
whispered in Harry's ear. "Do you think they're enjoying the show?" he snickered. Harry's hips were
grinding against his own, as if the two men were dancing to a brand of music that they alone could
appreciate. All of a sudden, Draco extracted himself from the embrace and pulled sharply on Harry's
hand, snapping him out of the trance he had been so very willing to be caught up in.
"We have to go shopping," Draco whined. Harry had promised Draco a couple of days ago that for his
birthday he would buy him whatever he wanted from his favourite shops in Covent Garden, but a group
of people had made comments about 'those faggots in a public place,' and Draco was determined to
show them what he thought. Some Muggles were such bigots. He gestured dramatically towards the
group of elderly tourists they had been performing the show for. The men were comforting their
shaking wives and were throwing glares towards the couple, and one or two of them were shaking their
fists in a manner they considered to be menacing but was in fact just a pitiful display of masculinity.
The vest clad, beer-bellied men slung their atrociously coloured rucksacks over their salmon pink
sunburnt shoulders and the women clutched their Harrods Food Court carrier bags tightly in their
repulsively gold encrusted hands, and the group fled towards the nearest underground station, hideous
bum bags wobbling along with the stomachs they were perched on.
Draco was bouncing up and down on the spot, pulling Harry with him by the hand he was still
clutching. "Okay, okay," Harry grinned. Draco's excitement at shopping for clothes was mirrored by
Harry in its entirety, and it was clear that Draco was anxious to spend his partner's money. He had
trained Harry well.
"Follow me," he ordered, and made a beeline straight across Covent Garden towards the first of the
many shops they would visit today, pulling Harry along by his side.
*~*~*~*~*
Four o'clock found Draco and Harry standing in the centre of their living room, admiring their mutual
handy work. The entire Penthouse overlooking the river at St George Wharf, Vauxhall Bridge had
been transformed. Silver streamers adorned every room, artistically arranged by Draco in such a
painstakingly perfectionist way that they looked completely random. Small bowls of food were
positioned on every spare surface, and the ceilings were shimmering with a perfect image of a clear
night sky full of stars. A huge white cake took pride of place on the dining room table, and candles
covered the tiers ready to be lit when the time arose.
In their bedroom, Draco was stood in front of the full-length mirror admiring his reflection
appreciatively. He was clad in a stylish, casual yet formal shirt that matched the shade of his eyes
perfectly, and a pair of black flare cut leather trousers, both of which had been purchased earlier that
day from a shop that sold purely one of a kind items. Harry emerged from the bathroom and purred
low in his throat at the masterpiece presented to him. Draco, noticing his voyeur, smirked at Harry's
reflection and leant into the warm body behind his own. He picked up on the new outfit Harry was
dressed in, and grinned to himself when he realised that it hadn't been bought that day. Draco was
grateful for the amount of effort that Harry had put into his birthday celebrations, though he would
never admit that aloud to anyone, least of all Harry. He had put a lot of effort into retaining his cool
exterior and, although his nature had been tamed significantly since his relationship with Harry had
begun four years ago, he wasn't about to drop the Malfoy part of his character anytime soon.
"Drake?"
"Harry?" he replied, turning to face his boyfriend.
Harry was fidgeting slightly, his left shoe rubbing nervous circles into the wooden floor. "I have
something to ask you Drake." He licked his lips uneasily and forced himself to look straight into
Draco's silver eyes. The penetrating gaze Draco received was the same intense gaze he had grown to
know better than he would ever have imagined. The single dark green speck in Harry's left eye was
more pronounced than he had ever seen it before, and Harry wasn't blinking, giving his eyes a bright,
shimmering quality that had only ever been mirrored by Draco himself.
"What is it?" Draco encouraged. Was Harry about to do what he thought he was?
"I...you see…well…it's…will you marry me?"
He was! He did! Draco felt compelled to launch into a victory dance there and then in the middle of
their bedroom, but he had to uphold his mysterious quality…
Oh, bugger it. It had gone on holiday for the moment. Draco grabbed Harry around the waist and
kissed him firmly on the lips, not allowing any doubt at his answer to enter Harry's mind even for a
second. Harry had asked him to marry him! Soon they wouldn't be Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
They would be Harry and Draco. Draco and Harry. No one could tell him that it was just a phase any
more. Just a bloody long phase that had lasted for four whole years. It would be official, and
recognised, and…
"Oh, we have to start organising! There's so much to do! What will I wear? What will you wear?
Who will we invite? Who'll be the best man? What colour scheme will we have? Where shall we
hold the reception?" Draco began to pace the room, counting things off on his fingers, and then when
he'd run out he sat down on the floor and pulled off his shoes and socks, counting on his toes and
following it up with Harry's fingers. He was just reaching for Harry's left shoe when he jumped up
with his hands on his hips. "I will not be the bride," he insisted. "If, for one minute, you assume that I
am the woman of this partnership you have another thing coming. And I will not hang off your arm.
Ever. You will be the…"
"Draco," Harry interrupted. He pushed himself to his feet and held Draco firmly by his shoulders. The
two men were exactly the same height. They had been equal in every way ever since they had first
met. Equal in stature, equal in strength and equal in magical ability. Harry was slightly better at
flying; Draco was slightly better at magical art and, surprisingly, football. Harry was better at
transfiguration; Draco was equally good at potions. That had been what had made Harry the perfect
person for Draco to hate for all those years, and the same qualities made him an even more perfect
person to love. "Draco, you are not the woman of this relationship," he reassured. "We've had this
discussion before. There is no woman. You won't hang off my arm and I won't hang off of yours.
Okay?"
Draco sighed, calmer now than he had been. He rested his head on Harry's shoulder and nuzzled the
crook of his neck. "Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"I love you too Draco." Draco relaxed in his boyfriends'…no, fiancé's arms and a shiver starting from
the crown of his head where Harry was playing with his hair ran through his body in anticipation at
what would be to come. "Oh, and there's one more thing," Harry added. He reached into his back
pocket and flicked open the small velvet covered box with a snap.
"I get a ring?" He wasn't going to cry. It wasn't very Slytherin-like to cry.
Harry slipped the ring out of the box and slid it onto Draco's finger. The thin platinum twist
shimmered in the starlight from the enchanted ceiling, and Draco couldn't help but smile at Harry with
the soppiest grin he had ever known. An identical one was adorning Harry's face, and silent tears were
running down his face.
Hell, if Harry could cry, Draco could too. If he was going to be slightly out of character today he
might as well go the whole hog. Together the men cried a river, and their individual salty tears became
lost in one another's.
*~*~*~*~*
An hour later, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Begrudgingly, the men untangled
themselves and smoothed out their clothes, making themselves appear presentable to their guests.
Within ten minutes the apartment was filled with people, and there was a huge stack of presents behind
the dining room table. The guests were mingling as pleasantly as could be expected considering the
clash of Slytherins and Gryffindors, purebloods and muggle borns and, most precarious of all,
Weasleys and Malfoys. Yet a cautious truce had been silently agreed upon, and the rivals were
socialising in a relatively good-humoured manner. Butterbooze was being guzzled by the six-pack, and
the first barrel of mead was quickly reaching its dregs.
However, through all of the celebrating and drunken banter a couple could be seen quietly dancing in
front of the crackling heat-less fire to the songs that Lee Jordan, the self elected dee-jay for the
evening, was playing on the magical jukebox. As was always the way, Draco had trained his Harry
well and the brunette was no longer shy of dancing in front of others. Or if he was, he didn't actually
care right now. Slowly, pressed so closely together that it was difficult to tell where one person began
and the other ended, the two men were revolving around and around, feet moving in perfect step with
one another's and heads resting on the opposite's shoulder. Occasionally the steps would cease and the
couple would stop, their lips would find each other's and they would quietly make out in the corner
until the next song began, at which point they would begin the routine all over again. And if anyone at
the party paid them any heed at all, they would soon notice the ring on Draco's finger and the identical,
peaceful looks on the two men's faces and would roll their eyes, muttering to someone nearby that it
was about time too.
Author: Katie
Summary: Draco turns 22 and has the best day of his life.
Rating: PG-13 for swear words (maybe one) and making out.
Disclaimer: Butterbooze belongs to whomever it belongs to. I can't remember – I read it in a fanfic
once. I gave them a magical jukebox because wizards have a wireless, right, and that's an old radio, so
an old CD player is a jukebox.
A/N: I always imagine Draco's birthday to be 12th April, and I wanted to get this posted on the day.
So I've been rushing to get it finished – I hope it's okay. My mum's nagging me because I've been on
the computer a long time again. Please leave a review.
Your lips, your eyes, your smile, your kiss,
I must admit it's a part of me.
You please me, complete me, filling me
Like a melody.
Your soul, your flow, your youth, your truth is simply proof
We were meant to be.
But the best quality that's hookin' me is that you're lovin' me 4 me.
Is that you're lovin' me for me.
-Lovers' Embrace by Christina Aguilera
The bright early morning sunlight was shining through the east facing window, filtered by the
translucent curtains and casting a greenish glow over the bedroom a couple of shades paler than the
fabric. The duvet covering the king size bed opposite the window shifted slightly and a dishevelled
head poked out from about half way down the side. Glimpsing the brightness of the room and using
this as an indication of time of day, the blond head groaned and disappeared back under the duvet only
to reappear on the other side a moment later. Tumbling from the bed with a large thump into a pile on
the floor, he dragged himself to the chest of drawers and retrieved a pair of underpants. Slowly and
carefully he pulled himself onto his feet and padded out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his
eyes with his fists.
A muffled aroma greeted him in the kitchen. The cold tiles under his bare feet were barely registered
by his sleep addled, stimulant craving mind, and he found himself drawn towards the coffee maker.
His hands were laced with another pair, and he was pulled towards the counter into a strong embrace.
His mouth was covered with another and immediately all his senses sprung into action. His left hand
escaped its captor and found its way to the messy ebony coloured hair. He could smell the wonderful
golden aroma originating from the grill. He could taste the coffee on his lover's lips. He could feel the
impatient tongue of the other man flickering over his lips, begging for entry, and willingly he opened
his lips and greeted his partner with a slow and passionate battle. Playfully, he pressed his body closer
to the other man's. He heard the deep, lustful moan escape the other man's throat and felt it pass into
his own.
He pulled away and a hot mug of steaming black coffee was placed in his hand. Caffeine was never
required to wake him up in the morning; Harry had always been a better stimulant for him. Draco just
liked the coffee's bitter sweet taste.
"Happy birthday Draco," Harry grinned. "Fallen out of bed again?"
"You know I'm not a morning person," Draco huffed, running his spare hand through his hair,
illustrating his point. Usually he would receive his early morning kiss as soon as he woke up, and was
therefore able to stumble out of bed and straight into the shower. But today, as happened every
Sunday, he was forced to search out the brunette first. Plus today was a Monday, and that meant it had
happened two days in a row.
"Breakfast," Harry asked.
Without any hesitation at all, Draco sat down at one of the set places. Brandishing an oven glove with
an air of expertise, Harry opened the grill and produced the pancakes that had been keeping warm.
"Pancakes?" grinned Draco genuinely.
"Crepes," Harry nodded.
"Of course," the blond shrugged as if he had expected and deserved nothing less. "It is my birthday
after all."
*~*~*~*~*
Grinning widely, hair tousled and eyes flashing with the exhilaration of rebellion that was craved by
Draco so much and presented in everything that he had ever done, Draco pulled away from the kiss and
whispered in Harry's ear. "Do you think they're enjoying the show?" he snickered. Harry's hips were
grinding against his own, as if the two men were dancing to a brand of music that they alone could
appreciate. All of a sudden, Draco extracted himself from the embrace and pulled sharply on Harry's
hand, snapping him out of the trance he had been so very willing to be caught up in.
"We have to go shopping," Draco whined. Harry had promised Draco a couple of days ago that for his
birthday he would buy him whatever he wanted from his favourite shops in Covent Garden, but a group
of people had made comments about 'those faggots in a public place,' and Draco was determined to
show them what he thought. Some Muggles were such bigots. He gestured dramatically towards the
group of elderly tourists they had been performing the show for. The men were comforting their
shaking wives and were throwing glares towards the couple, and one or two of them were shaking their
fists in a manner they considered to be menacing but was in fact just a pitiful display of masculinity.
The vest clad, beer-bellied men slung their atrociously coloured rucksacks over their salmon pink
sunburnt shoulders and the women clutched their Harrods Food Court carrier bags tightly in their
repulsively gold encrusted hands, and the group fled towards the nearest underground station, hideous
bum bags wobbling along with the stomachs they were perched on.
Draco was bouncing up and down on the spot, pulling Harry with him by the hand he was still
clutching. "Okay, okay," Harry grinned. Draco's excitement at shopping for clothes was mirrored by
Harry in its entirety, and it was clear that Draco was anxious to spend his partner's money. He had
trained Harry well.
"Follow me," he ordered, and made a beeline straight across Covent Garden towards the first of the
many shops they would visit today, pulling Harry along by his side.
*~*~*~*~*
Four o'clock found Draco and Harry standing in the centre of their living room, admiring their mutual
handy work. The entire Penthouse overlooking the river at St George Wharf, Vauxhall Bridge had
been transformed. Silver streamers adorned every room, artistically arranged by Draco in such a
painstakingly perfectionist way that they looked completely random. Small bowls of food were
positioned on every spare surface, and the ceilings were shimmering with a perfect image of a clear
night sky full of stars. A huge white cake took pride of place on the dining room table, and candles
covered the tiers ready to be lit when the time arose.
In their bedroom, Draco was stood in front of the full-length mirror admiring his reflection
appreciatively. He was clad in a stylish, casual yet formal shirt that matched the shade of his eyes
perfectly, and a pair of black flare cut leather trousers, both of which had been purchased earlier that
day from a shop that sold purely one of a kind items. Harry emerged from the bathroom and purred
low in his throat at the masterpiece presented to him. Draco, noticing his voyeur, smirked at Harry's
reflection and leant into the warm body behind his own. He picked up on the new outfit Harry was
dressed in, and grinned to himself when he realised that it hadn't been bought that day. Draco was
grateful for the amount of effort that Harry had put into his birthday celebrations, though he would
never admit that aloud to anyone, least of all Harry. He had put a lot of effort into retaining his cool
exterior and, although his nature had been tamed significantly since his relationship with Harry had
begun four years ago, he wasn't about to drop the Malfoy part of his character anytime soon.
"Drake?"
"Harry?" he replied, turning to face his boyfriend.
Harry was fidgeting slightly, his left shoe rubbing nervous circles into the wooden floor. "I have
something to ask you Drake." He licked his lips uneasily and forced himself to look straight into
Draco's silver eyes. The penetrating gaze Draco received was the same intense gaze he had grown to
know better than he would ever have imagined. The single dark green speck in Harry's left eye was
more pronounced than he had ever seen it before, and Harry wasn't blinking, giving his eyes a bright,
shimmering quality that had only ever been mirrored by Draco himself.
"What is it?" Draco encouraged. Was Harry about to do what he thought he was?
"I...you see…well…it's…will you marry me?"
He was! He did! Draco felt compelled to launch into a victory dance there and then in the middle of
their bedroom, but he had to uphold his mysterious quality…
Oh, bugger it. It had gone on holiday for the moment. Draco grabbed Harry around the waist and
kissed him firmly on the lips, not allowing any doubt at his answer to enter Harry's mind even for a
second. Harry had asked him to marry him! Soon they wouldn't be Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
They would be Harry and Draco. Draco and Harry. No one could tell him that it was just a phase any
more. Just a bloody long phase that had lasted for four whole years. It would be official, and
recognised, and…
"Oh, we have to start organising! There's so much to do! What will I wear? What will you wear?
Who will we invite? Who'll be the best man? What colour scheme will we have? Where shall we
hold the reception?" Draco began to pace the room, counting things off on his fingers, and then when
he'd run out he sat down on the floor and pulled off his shoes and socks, counting on his toes and
following it up with Harry's fingers. He was just reaching for Harry's left shoe when he jumped up
with his hands on his hips. "I will not be the bride," he insisted. "If, for one minute, you assume that I
am the woman of this partnership you have another thing coming. And I will not hang off your arm.
Ever. You will be the…"
"Draco," Harry interrupted. He pushed himself to his feet and held Draco firmly by his shoulders. The
two men were exactly the same height. They had been equal in every way ever since they had first
met. Equal in stature, equal in strength and equal in magical ability. Harry was slightly better at
flying; Draco was slightly better at magical art and, surprisingly, football. Harry was better at
transfiguration; Draco was equally good at potions. That had been what had made Harry the perfect
person for Draco to hate for all those years, and the same qualities made him an even more perfect
person to love. "Draco, you are not the woman of this relationship," he reassured. "We've had this
discussion before. There is no woman. You won't hang off my arm and I won't hang off of yours.
Okay?"
Draco sighed, calmer now than he had been. He rested his head on Harry's shoulder and nuzzled the
crook of his neck. "Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"I love you too Draco." Draco relaxed in his boyfriends'…no, fiancé's arms and a shiver starting from
the crown of his head where Harry was playing with his hair ran through his body in anticipation at
what would be to come. "Oh, and there's one more thing," Harry added. He reached into his back
pocket and flicked open the small velvet covered box with a snap.
"I get a ring?" He wasn't going to cry. It wasn't very Slytherin-like to cry.
Harry slipped the ring out of the box and slid it onto Draco's finger. The thin platinum twist
shimmered in the starlight from the enchanted ceiling, and Draco couldn't help but smile at Harry with
the soppiest grin he had ever known. An identical one was adorning Harry's face, and silent tears were
running down his face.
Hell, if Harry could cry, Draco could too. If he was going to be slightly out of character today he
might as well go the whole hog. Together the men cried a river, and their individual salty tears became
lost in one another's.
*~*~*~*~*
An hour later, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Begrudgingly, the men untangled
themselves and smoothed out their clothes, making themselves appear presentable to their guests.
Within ten minutes the apartment was filled with people, and there was a huge stack of presents behind
the dining room table. The guests were mingling as pleasantly as could be expected considering the
clash of Slytherins and Gryffindors, purebloods and muggle borns and, most precarious of all,
Weasleys and Malfoys. Yet a cautious truce had been silently agreed upon, and the rivals were
socialising in a relatively good-humoured manner. Butterbooze was being guzzled by the six-pack, and
the first barrel of mead was quickly reaching its dregs.
However, through all of the celebrating and drunken banter a couple could be seen quietly dancing in
front of the crackling heat-less fire to the songs that Lee Jordan, the self elected dee-jay for the
evening, was playing on the magical jukebox. As was always the way, Draco had trained his Harry
well and the brunette was no longer shy of dancing in front of others. Or if he was, he didn't actually
care right now. Slowly, pressed so closely together that it was difficult to tell where one person began
and the other ended, the two men were revolving around and around, feet moving in perfect step with
one another's and heads resting on the opposite's shoulder. Occasionally the steps would cease and the
couple would stop, their lips would find each other's and they would quietly make out in the corner
until the next song began, at which point they would begin the routine all over again. And if anyone at
the party paid them any heed at all, they would soon notice the ring on Draco's finger and the identical,
peaceful looks on the two men's faces and would roll their eyes, muttering to someone nearby that it
was about time too.