Drarry Oneshots 2

Beds, Knobs, and Broomsticks

Top!Draco

Bottom!Harry

Summary: A long-term mission to the Baltics that will take him far away from London sounds like the perfect time to cash in the embarrassing 'Butler in the Buff' coupon Harry received as a birthday gag gift—until Harry winds up injured in the field and sent home to recover three days into the mission, obliging him to endure one full month of inappropriate attentions from horny housekeeper Draco Malfoy.

Author: fencer_x (on ao3)

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It started, as so many terrible things in Harry's life did, with his birthday.

Nothing good had ever come of him getting older, so in retrospect, why should he have expected this year—his twenty-second—to be any different?

Sure, he had a great job as an Auror (a proper one, even; not a junior! Granted, not a senior either, but well, he was only twenty-one—nope, twenty-two!), and it was fantastic seeing Teddy shoot up like a weed, looking more and more like whichever parent he felt like favouring on any given day as time went on, and shop-hands were finally starting to call him Sir instead of Son...

...but birthdays, among Harry's circle of friends, always meant birthday parties, and Harry had found over the years that he really could do without such a to-do, especially over him. He got enough attention in his day-to-day; was it so much to ask that his friends and more-or-less family just let him have a bit of peace and quiet, especially on this, the anniversary of his birth?

"You're mad!" Hermione had said, and, "Absolutely cracked!" Ron had added. "How can you expect us to just ignore your birthday? You've told us fifty times that you never even had a proper one 'til Hagrid showed up and scared the mess out of the Muggles."

"Quite," Hermione had huffed, frowning down at her midsection; she was convinced her growing waistline was the product of all the junk food she'd been consuming of late and not on account of, you know, being nearly eight months pregnant. "I'm sorry, but your birthday though it may be, we just can't let you have your way."

"Out of the question," Ron had nodded—then added in an aside to Hermione that he couldn't possibly have imagined escaped Harry's notice, "He tries this every year; you'd think he'd learn."

"Well we'll just have to keep reminding him," Hermione had said, "that his birthday is a chance for the rest of us to celebrate him, to express our love and affection for him, and to show him how glad we are to have him around."

She had delivered the reminder in a guilting maternal tone Harry was certain she'd picked up from Mrs Weasley, and that had been that. No more protests would be heard, so Harry was left with no choice but to present himself promptly at 7 PM at the Leaky Cauldron, where Neville had cleared out a back room that had once been used to store ale kegs but was, under Hannah's supervision, now to be requisitioned for stag parties and the occasional reluctantly held birthday bash.

As parties went, he'd certainly had worse—the food was decent, the drink even decent-er, and the company the decent-est. George and Angelina had called it an early night at the Wheezes shop, Dean and Seamus had Portkeyed all the way from Dublin just for the occasion, Luna was in town for once between far-flung safaris spent looking for Dapple-spotted Manticores or something or other, and Hannah was keeping an eye on the pub's front room so that Neville could sneak in a round of For He's a Jolly Good Wizard. It wasn't exactly a Friday night in Gryffindor Tower, but it was close enough that the nostalgia got Harry just a little bit choked up.

"You all right there, mate?" Ron asked, clapping Harry on the back and giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Do we need to tell Neville to cut you off?"

Harry shook his head, eyes watering as he knocked back a glass of water he thought was probably his but honestly wasn't sure (was that lipstick on the rim? Oh well). "Went down the wrong pipe is all."