AN: Written for Draco Malfoy's Birthday on June 5th.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is © J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, and all other entities involved in the Potterverse.
Happy Birthday, Draco!
It's the hair in his mouth that wakes him. Going by the smell, the hair probably belongs to Scorpius, which is a relief since he's not so sure about the arm wrapped around his waist. He's sure the arm belongs to a man since the chest pressed against his back doesn't have breasts.
Draco lifts a hand to brush away his son's hair and tries to remember last night. It was his thirtieth birthday and for some reason Astoria saw fit to throw a huge party. Draco was suddenly reminded why he liked the Manor's size so much. Several attendants brought their children with them, and the empty guest wing abruptly transformed from a curse into a blessing.
The worst part about the whole thing was Harry Potter's presence. His name still holds a lot of sway and its common knowledge that he'll be Head Auror soon. Besides, their wives are friends. Astoria refuses to tell Draco how she met Ginevra Potter or why they're friends but her argument is supported by Scorpius' pleading to allow Albus Potter to visit him. Draco's not very good at denying his son anything.
As a result he spent most of last night avoiding the Potters and Astoria while doing his best not to get too drunk. His birthday party was a depressing event.
That still doesn't answer whose arm is wrapped around him so tightly. Draco very carefully extricates himself from his son and slowly, cautiously turns around. The face is almost unfamiliar at first glance. The missing tension and glasses are very confusing. And Potter has always kept his eyes open around Draco. To see them closed is…disconcerting.
Draco sighs. Fuck. A quick glance tells him that they're at least wearing underwear. What a relief.
Potter makes a little noise in his sleep and pulls Draco closer so their hips are touching. Draco freezes at the contact and spends a full fifteen minutes contemplating how to leave without alerting Potter before coming to the conclusion that it's impossible.
And unnecessary, judging by the way Potter's expression is morphing from peace to wariness. His eyes open. Draco can't help notice how green they are.
"Morning, Malfoy. Happy Birthday!"