fic: Draco's Birthday: Through the years
Title: Draco's birthday: Through the years
Pairing: HP/DM
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,427
Summary: It's like a series of drabbles of Draco's birthdays through the years, starting at age six.
Age six:
Lucius Malfoy sat his fidgety son on his lap, and told the excited boy that his special present was, under no circumstances, to leave the fluffy rug his bed was placed on. Mother would apparently be very angry if it was dragged across the floor. The small boy nodded, eyes riveted on the mound neatly perched on his white rug, and wriggled. His father sighed, and released his impatient son, who was very soon lost beneath an enormous soft dragon toy.
Draco giggled, a little muffled by the soft toy, and reached his short arms as far around the green neck of the dragon as he could reach. Small tufts of blond hair appeared from beneath a wing, and bright grey eyes sparkled at the older Malfoy. He smiled back, for just a moment, crossed the room, ruffled his young son's hair, and left Draco to snuggle up to his new present. For the next few weeks, Draco shared his large double bed with a certain fluffy dragon.
Age eight:
Reaching up, the young Malfoy clambered awkwardly onto a chair and wiggled his bottom until he was comfortable. Narcissa touched the tip of her wand to the last candle, and Draco screwed his eyes up, wished very hard, and then took in a breath until his cheeks were puffed out, then blew all the candles out in one go. As the candles were removed, Draco was very proud to see that he could read 'Happy birthday, Draco!' on the cake. 'Birthday' was a long word, after all.
The blond licked his lips, and watched his mother cut out a really big bit (well, it was big to him) and handed the plate to him along with a fork and several napkins. When he was done, the woman gestured at the side of his mouth, and Draco crumpled a napkin into his hand, scrubbing at the side of his face and managing only to smear the chocolate a little further across his face. Narcissa tutted fondly.
Age ten:
Even though Lucius Malfoy could see that his son wasn't listening to his lecture on flying safety, he delivered it anyway. Perhaps it would filter through his excitement to at least rest in his subconscious. Finally, he sighed, and handed the gleaming broom to his son who, to his credit, didn't immediately snatch it out of his hand, but received it and beamed his thanks to his father.
Lucius absently patted Draco on the head as he sat sedately on his own broom, nowadays rarely used, and showed the boy how to sit properly, and grip the broom. Despite the lecture and safety demonstration, the man decided to prepare himself for a few injuries anyway. He left his son outside on the gloriously sunny day, and heard the boy whoop excitedly as soon as his father was out of sight.
Age twelve:
Surrounded by friends, Draco had to stand up to catch the large parcel several owls flew in with, or several dishes would have been knocked off the table. The boy carelessly pushed aside his plate and tipped his parcel onto the table. His usual favourite sweets, of course, and a cake preserved in a box which stopped it from being squashed, made by his mother. His mother only made cakes herself once a year; Draco's birthday. A couple of trinkets from various family members, and his mother's pin, which was wrought white-gold in the shape of the Malfoy family crest. Draco turned the exquisite piece of work over in his hands, a warm, pleased feeling filling his body, and immediately attached it to his robes. There was also a long letter.
'I hope you have a happy birthday, my dragon. It's your first one away from home, and I quite miss preparing a party for you.' ... 'I'm afraid your present is a little more of a serious nature this year, but you recognise the pin, don't you, darling? I feel very proud thinking of you wearing our family crest at last. You are my pride and joy.' ... 'You will reply and tell us if anything was dissatisfactory, won't you? I'm sure that my cake-making skills have dwindled over the years. It's your favourite.' ... 'I've used up quite a roll of parchment, dear me. Do write back soon, Draco. Love, mother.'
Age fourteen:
Draco closed his eyes curiously, and listened for any indication of a parcel being gotten out. It was quite a surprise when he suddenly felt plush lips on his cheek, slightly sticky because of the shimmery glitter lip stuff Pansy had on her lips. Draco opened his eyes and smiled, as he was supposed to. He had sticky, shimmery, glitter stuff on his cheek now.
"Close your eyes again," Pansy smiled, encouraged; Draco did so. He smelled something which was a tangy cross between oranges, peaches and strawberry. It smelled a little sickly sweet all together like that. He felt the same stickiness on his lips, and soft pressure as she moved her mouth a little, and he responded in kind. "Was that nice?" Pansy asked anxiously as she finally pulled back.
"Quite nice," Draco replied politely, also as he was supposed to. He had sticky, shimmery, glitter stuff on his lips now too.
Age sixteen:
No time. It was almost done, Draco could feel it. He had forgotten about birthday celebrations completely this year; everyone else probably had too. He staggered out of the room at an uncommonly late hour, and staggered sideways. He was too tired to walk in a completely straight line. He felt himself bump into something, except he could have sworn there was nothing there. His mind was reeling from sheer exhaustion, and grabbed onto whatever he had bumped into to keep his balance.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was Harry Potter, Harry bloody Potter, would you believe? He was bending over Draco, and Draco was blinking slowly at him, as though his mind were catching up to current events. And Harry Potter was leaning over Draco, asking if he was all right, and Draco vaguely remembered his legs buckling a little, and Potter lying him down in the middle of the corridor and sitting with him. That's all he remembered, because he fell asleep right there, in the corridor, and there was a bloody Gryffindor cloak pillowed under his head when he woke in the middle of the corridor in the morning.
Age eighteen:
Draco was half-starved, and wandered down the stairs in his loose pyjamas, following his nose. Someone was cooking breakfast. In his house. What? There wasn't supposed to be anyone in his house. "Potter." Draco blinked at the wide-awake person happily frying eggs in his saucepan, in his house, where there wasn't supposed to be anyone else. "What are you doing in my house?"
"Cooking you breakfast. I didn't know if you liked your eggs scrambled or whatnot, so these are poached." Draco scowled at having his question deflected, but sat down anyway. He smelled bacon and fried tomatoes too. "Someone told me that it's your birthday. So I Apparated in. Sorry I didn't ask you first, but that would have defied the point of 'surprise'."
Harry scooped two perfectly poached eggs onto Draco's plate, and Draco found it hard to scowl at him anymore. Maybe it was because he was on the verge of drooling. "Want to see the cake I bought?"
Age twenty:
"Harry, I'm too old for- Mmmf!" Draco was cut off by his boyfriend leaning over and sticking his tongue into Draco's mouth. Draco leaned into Harry. "Okay. I'm not too old for that." Harry laughed, something which was always amazing to hear, because it was so innocent and free, and gave him another kiss. Draco made happy noises. "Another one," he demanded, curling his hands into Harry's collar and pulling the other boy back down. Potter's lips were rough, but soft and welcoming, and had no sticky substances on.
"You're never too old for cakes and candles, Draco." Harry revealed one which made Draco gape. "The photo's a rather Muggle idea, so I just adapted it a bit," Harry busied himself with sticking candles around the photographic image on the cake. Draco stared at it; it moved, of course. It was a child photo of him, running around in circles on the garden wearing his father's old Slytherin scarf which was miles too long, before running over to the camera and happily waving. He remembered the bubbly happiness of being a child.
He remembered it well, because that was how he felt nowadays, with Harry.
Pairing: HP/DM
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,427
Summary: It's like a series of drabbles of Draco's birthdays through the years, starting at age six.
Age six:
Lucius Malfoy sat his fidgety son on his lap, and told the excited boy that his special present was, under no circumstances, to leave the fluffy rug his bed was placed on. Mother would apparently be very angry if it was dragged across the floor. The small boy nodded, eyes riveted on the mound neatly perched on his white rug, and wriggled. His father sighed, and released his impatient son, who was very soon lost beneath an enormous soft dragon toy.
Draco giggled, a little muffled by the soft toy, and reached his short arms as far around the green neck of the dragon as he could reach. Small tufts of blond hair appeared from beneath a wing, and bright grey eyes sparkled at the older Malfoy. He smiled back, for just a moment, crossed the room, ruffled his young son's hair, and left Draco to snuggle up to his new present. For the next few weeks, Draco shared his large double bed with a certain fluffy dragon.
Age eight:
Reaching up, the young Malfoy clambered awkwardly onto a chair and wiggled his bottom until he was comfortable. Narcissa touched the tip of her wand to the last candle, and Draco screwed his eyes up, wished very hard, and then took in a breath until his cheeks were puffed out, then blew all the candles out in one go. As the candles were removed, Draco was very proud to see that he could read 'Happy birthday, Draco!' on the cake. 'Birthday' was a long word, after all.
The blond licked his lips, and watched his mother cut out a really big bit (well, it was big to him) and handed the plate to him along with a fork and several napkins. When he was done, the woman gestured at the side of his mouth, and Draco crumpled a napkin into his hand, scrubbing at the side of his face and managing only to smear the chocolate a little further across his face. Narcissa tutted fondly.
Age ten:
Even though Lucius Malfoy could see that his son wasn't listening to his lecture on flying safety, he delivered it anyway. Perhaps it would filter through his excitement to at least rest in his subconscious. Finally, he sighed, and handed the gleaming broom to his son who, to his credit, didn't immediately snatch it out of his hand, but received it and beamed his thanks to his father.
Lucius absently patted Draco on the head as he sat sedately on his own broom, nowadays rarely used, and showed the boy how to sit properly, and grip the broom. Despite the lecture and safety demonstration, the man decided to prepare himself for a few injuries anyway. He left his son outside on the gloriously sunny day, and heard the boy whoop excitedly as soon as his father was out of sight.
Age twelve:
Surrounded by friends, Draco had to stand up to catch the large parcel several owls flew in with, or several dishes would have been knocked off the table. The boy carelessly pushed aside his plate and tipped his parcel onto the table. His usual favourite sweets, of course, and a cake preserved in a box which stopped it from being squashed, made by his mother. His mother only made cakes herself once a year; Draco's birthday. A couple of trinkets from various family members, and his mother's pin, which was wrought white-gold in the shape of the Malfoy family crest. Draco turned the exquisite piece of work over in his hands, a warm, pleased feeling filling his body, and immediately attached it to his robes. There was also a long letter.
'I hope you have a happy birthday, my dragon. It's your first one away from home, and I quite miss preparing a party for you.' ... 'I'm afraid your present is a little more of a serious nature this year, but you recognise the pin, don't you, darling? I feel very proud thinking of you wearing our family crest at last. You are my pride and joy.' ... 'You will reply and tell us if anything was dissatisfactory, won't you? I'm sure that my cake-making skills have dwindled over the years. It's your favourite.' ... 'I've used up quite a roll of parchment, dear me. Do write back soon, Draco. Love, mother.'
Age fourteen:
Draco closed his eyes curiously, and listened for any indication of a parcel being gotten out. It was quite a surprise when he suddenly felt plush lips on his cheek, slightly sticky because of the shimmery glitter lip stuff Pansy had on her lips. Draco opened his eyes and smiled, as he was supposed to. He had sticky, shimmery, glitter stuff on his cheek now.
"Close your eyes again," Pansy smiled, encouraged; Draco did so. He smelled something which was a tangy cross between oranges, peaches and strawberry. It smelled a little sickly sweet all together like that. He felt the same stickiness on his lips, and soft pressure as she moved her mouth a little, and he responded in kind. "Was that nice?" Pansy asked anxiously as she finally pulled back.
"Quite nice," Draco replied politely, also as he was supposed to. He had sticky, shimmery, glitter stuff on his lips now too.
Age sixteen:
No time. It was almost done, Draco could feel it. He had forgotten about birthday celebrations completely this year; everyone else probably had too. He staggered out of the room at an uncommonly late hour, and staggered sideways. He was too tired to walk in a completely straight line. He felt himself bump into something, except he could have sworn there was nothing there. His mind was reeling from sheer exhaustion, and grabbed onto whatever he had bumped into to keep his balance.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was Harry Potter, Harry bloody Potter, would you believe? He was bending over Draco, and Draco was blinking slowly at him, as though his mind were catching up to current events. And Harry Potter was leaning over Draco, asking if he was all right, and Draco vaguely remembered his legs buckling a little, and Potter lying him down in the middle of the corridor and sitting with him. That's all he remembered, because he fell asleep right there, in the corridor, and there was a bloody Gryffindor cloak pillowed under his head when he woke in the middle of the corridor in the morning.
Age eighteen:
Draco was half-starved, and wandered down the stairs in his loose pyjamas, following his nose. Someone was cooking breakfast. In his house. What? There wasn't supposed to be anyone in his house. "Potter." Draco blinked at the wide-awake person happily frying eggs in his saucepan, in his house, where there wasn't supposed to be anyone else. "What are you doing in my house?"
"Cooking you breakfast. I didn't know if you liked your eggs scrambled or whatnot, so these are poached." Draco scowled at having his question deflected, but sat down anyway. He smelled bacon and fried tomatoes too. "Someone told me that it's your birthday. So I Apparated in. Sorry I didn't ask you first, but that would have defied the point of 'surprise'."
Harry scooped two perfectly poached eggs onto Draco's plate, and Draco found it hard to scowl at him anymore. Maybe it was because he was on the verge of drooling. "Want to see the cake I bought?"
Age twenty:
"Harry, I'm too old for- Mmmf!" Draco was cut off by his boyfriend leaning over and sticking his tongue into Draco's mouth. Draco leaned into Harry. "Okay. I'm not too old for that." Harry laughed, something which was always amazing to hear, because it was so innocent and free, and gave him another kiss. Draco made happy noises. "Another one," he demanded, curling his hands into Harry's collar and pulling the other boy back down. Potter's lips were rough, but soft and welcoming, and had no sticky substances on.
"You're never too old for cakes and candles, Draco." Harry revealed one which made Draco gape. "The photo's a rather Muggle idea, so I just adapted it a bit," Harry busied himself with sticking candles around the photographic image on the cake. Draco stared at it; it moved, of course. It was a child photo of him, running around in circles on the garden wearing his father's old Slytherin scarf which was miles too long, before running over to the camera and happily waving. He remembered the bubbly happiness of being a child.
He remembered it well, because that was how he felt nowadays, with Harry.