AN: Written for Harry Potter's birthday on July 31st

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is © J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, and all other entities involved in the Potterverse.

Happy Birthday, Harry!

It's been nearly two months since Malfoy's birthday party. Albus and Scorpius' friendship coupled with Ginny and Astoria's reluctance to supervise the children's visits to each other has forced Harry and Malfoy to spend far too much time together. They've come to an agreement.

Harry and his children visit the Malfoys nearly every Saturday. They arrive for lunch and leave before dinner.

Apparently, Malfoy reads a lot. Harry draws.

Today is Harry's birthday and he knows Ginny has a "surprise" party planned for him. She does that every year and that kind of takes out the surprise element. Harry also knows that the Malfoys are invited. Astoria Malfoy seems to be Ginny's new best friend though Harry can't for the life of him figure out why.

But Astoria isn't what makes him nervous. It's Draco Malfoy (well, and maybe the copious amounts of coffee in his system).

Something happened on Malfoy's birthday and they still haven't found out what. Harry's sure something happened since it's definitely not an everyday occurrence for him to wake up in his sort-of-enemy's bed, with no memory of how he got there. He very cautiously approached Ginny about Malfoy's party and while she didn't say anything, her lips twitched slightly, giving away her amusement.

Harry sighs, sips his coffee and tries to focus on the report lying on his desk. The words blur together and Harry finds himself comparing Malfoy to Ginny. He sighs again. They come out equal.

He closes the report and takes out a worn sketch-pad. He still has three hours to kill before he can go home.

The party isn't so bad. The music is nice, the food is to die for and the company is everything he wishes for. The kids went to bed early. James is five, Albus is four and Lily will be turning two in October.

Harry looks around and spies Ginny talking to Astoria beside the food table. Malfoy is standing with them so that they look like a triangle. Malfoy says something to Ginny and when she answers she puts her hand on his arm to emphasise a point. Harry flushes thinking of the half finished sketch from this afternoon.

He tries in vain to push he thought of Malfoy and Ginny entwined (passion or a friendly embrace?) out of his mind.

Harry's somewhat obsessive when it comes to the details in his sketches and he's frustrated with the new one. He knows Ginny's body better than his own so it isn't hard to draw her but he barely knows Malfoy at all. He can't help thinking that he'd like to get to know Malfoy's body better, to draw him accurately. He's so absorbed in the implications of that thought that he misses whatever Hermione is talking to him about.

Presents have been opened, cake has been eaten and the guests are beginning to leave. Harry's sitting on the holiday swing in the garden behind the house, ignoring a beautiful sunset in favour of the sketch he began in the office today.

Lost in thought, he drew his wife first, splayed on sheets and naked. Then he added Malfoy, kneeling between her legs, one hand caressing Ginny's left breast.

Harry sighs. He doesn't usually draw such –explicit– things. Most of his drawings are of his children and friends; sleeping, laughing, sometimes angry. His early clumsy sketches depict bloody battle-scenes and rows of bodies. For him, it was –is– the best way to cope with the war, and the death and destruction it brought.

A hand on his shoulder startles him from his morbid thoughts, and Harry berates himself for not noticing the footsteps approaching him. He looks up, opening his mouth, and is surprised to see Malfoy instead of Ginny.

There's a strange look on the other man's face. Harry can't quite place the expression. But Malfoy's not looking at Harry. His gaze is fixed lower. Harry follows it and blushes at the sight of his sketch.

The sketch-book snaps closed, seemingly shaking Malfoy from his trance. The strange expression on his face morphs into amusement. "Well, well, Potter. Wouldn't have taken you for such a … creative man. You were always appeared to be quite straight-laced. Of course, appearances can be deceiving. More importantly, though, I hope your wife benefits from your imagination." Harry blushes more deeply and wishes he could wipe the smirk off Malfoy's pointy face.

At least until he notices the light pink on his pale cheeks. And suddenly Harry understands the expression the other man was wearing just before. It was lust. Malfoy was turned on at the sight of Harry's sketch.

Harry is too thrown off by this realization to register Malfoy coming closer until the sketch-book is gone from his lap and a pair of grey eyes is staring into his. He doesn't move as Malfoy takes off his glasses, making the grey eyes blur slightly. They become clear again when Malfoy comes even closer supporting himself on the back of the swing on either side of Harry's shoulders. Their breaths are mingling. Harry licks his lips and nearly touches Malfoy's.

Then Malfoy whispers, "Happy birthday, Potter."