This was written by Saras_girl on Ao3, but I loved it so much I had to share it.

"Do you know what tomorrow is?" Draco asks, wandering up behind Harry and pressing himself into his back, all warm and citrusy and distracting.

Harry ignores him for a moment, focusing on the flatiron steaks currently sizzling to perfection on the griddle. The baked potatoes are ready, the tomato salad is made, and he is buggered if he's going to overcook the steak and ruin a perfectly good summer dinner just because Draco is feeling impatient.

Sure enough, seconds later, Draco is weaving strong fingers through his belt-loops and pressing soft kisses at the edge of his collar. "Well, do you?" he murmurs, dropping his voice and ensuring Harry's attention.

Shivering slightly, Harry turns out the flames under the griddle and covers the steaks to let them rest. He turns in the circle of Draco's arms. "Yes, I know what tomorrow is. It is Wednesday."

Draco lifts an eyebrow. "And?"

Harry smiles. "And it's the thirty-first of July."

Draco strokes his fingertips over the exposed skin between Harry's jeans and shirt. "And?"

Harry rolls his eyes, smile turning indulgent as he allows himself to melt against Draco's warm hands, leaning back against the cooling oven and allowing the mingled scents of baked potatoes, meat and herbs to wash over him.

"And," he sighs, closing his eyes as Draco's hands slip under his shirt to caress his back, "it is my birthday. It is a day for you to celebrate the wonderful fact that I was born." He opens one eye to peer at Draco. "Will that do?"

"Well... while all that is true, it's not really what I was thinking about," Draco says innocently.

Both of Harry's eyes snap open now and he regards Draco with silent irritation, just daring him to say it—to mention the unmentionable. He wouldn't.

"Have you forgotten?" Draco says, expression suspiciously guileless.

"Draco."

"I can't believe I'm having to remind you—"

"Draco," Harry warns. "I strongly advise you not to go through with this. It isn't too late for your steak to end up inside your mother's dog. I'll even deliver it personally."

"...that tomorrow," Draco continues as though Harry hasn't even spoken, "is Harry Potter Day!"

Harry lets his head drop back for a moment, utterly exasperated. "What happened to 'we don't talk about Harry Potter Day'? Didn't we agree that the whole thing was a moment of madness by the Ministry, probably brought on by the birth of Kingsley's first grandchild and the need for a new public holiday? Draco? Is any of this ringing a bell for you?" Harry asks, picking up a spatula and using it to poke Draco away from him.

"Yes, of course, and tomorrow... is Harry Potter Day," Draco declares gleefully.

Harry turns back to the stove, shaking his head. This wouldn't be the first time in almost ten years together that he has suspected Draco of losing his marbles completely, and it probably won't be the last.

"No," he says firmly, bending to pull the potatoes out of the oven. "It's not."

"It is, though," Draco says, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. "All day long."

"Have you been sniffing colour-changing ink?" Harry asks, prodding the potatoes onto two plates.

"No. I'm just excited, you know... about Harry Potter Day." He pauses, and for a wonderful, shining moment, Harry thinks the madness is over. "You know... I think we need a flag."

Harry's eyes widen in horror. "Why would we possibly need a flag?"

Draco sighs. "Because tomorrow is Harry—"

"Fuck Harry Potter Day!"

Draco pauses for a second, and then Harry can feel his grin. "Well, now, that sounds even better. Consider me on board."

"Draco, you are hilarious," Harry sighs, turning around to face him once again.

"Obviously," Draco says, smile turning warm as he catches Harry's wrists, pulls him close and whispers the next words against his lips: "But more importantly, I am a deviant and a genius."

Harry laughs softly, catching Draco's breath along with his own. "I thought I was the deviant?"

"Yes," Draco concedes, rubbing his thumbs over the sensitive skin at the insides of Harry's wrists and leaning even closer. "But I do have my moments."

Harry says nothing; he can't argue with that statement. More annoyingly, he doesn't want to, because even though Draco is winding him up something fierce, the combination of the heat from his body, pressed full-length against Harry's now, the residual warmth of the oven and the dangerous glow of silver-grey eyes means that all of his words seemed to have evaporated away.

"We will, of course, be meeting Hermione, Ron and the rest of that rabble for the traditional birthday dinner tomorrow evening, but they are all under strict instruction not to knock on the door, rattle the wards or indeed disturb a single speck of ash in any of our fireplaces until seven o'clock," Draco murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corners of Harry's lips between every few words.

"Oh?" Harry mumbles, stomach tightening with interest. "And why is that?"

Draco trails a path of kisses along his jaw and then stops, warm breath tickling his ear. "Because," he says, voice dripping with warm amusement, "tomorrow is Fuck Harry Potter Day."

Harry gasps, fingers flexing as he tries—not very hard—to free his wrists from Draco's grip. Suddenly it all makes sense, and he doesn't know whether to kiss Draco or stand on his foot. Instead, he nudges him gently backwards until their eyes meet once more and attempts a stern face.

"You've been planning this."

Draco blinks. "Planning to spend the entire day debauching you in every way I can think of?" He shrugs, giving Harry that crooked half-smile that does irreparable things to his heart. "Absolutely."

"Right, and while that sounds... well." Harry flushes and grins. "It sounds like something I would definitely like to be a part of."

"But?" Draco says, eyebrow arched in challenge.

"I'm just trying to figure out the bit where you were willing to just keep winding me up on the off-chance that I'd say 'fuck Harry Potter Day'."

Draco grins. "I'm committed, what can I say?"

"I'll have you committed in a minute," Harry says, pulling his wrists out of Draco's grip and sliding his fingers into soft, blond hair as he demands and receives a long, slow kiss that sets his blood racing all over again.

"We could still have a flag," Draco muses. "It would have to be quite a lot filthier, though."

Harry snorts and turns back to the stove, listening to Draco's increasingly graphic plans for his imaginary flag as he plates up the steak, salad and potatoes in amused silence. When he turns around with the plates, Draco is sitting on the kitchen table and scribbling on a bit of parchment with a frown of deep concentration on his face.

"Food?" Harry offers. "You're going to need the energy if you plan to keep your promises tomorrow."

Draco looks up, eyes bright with enthusiasm. "I assure you. The first annual Fuck Harry Potter Day is going to be glorious."

Harry pushes a plate into Draco's hands and hoists himself onto the table next to him. As they cut into their perfectly-cooked steaks and eat, wrapped up in a crackling web of anticipation, Harry smiles to himself.

Suddenly, he can't wait for Harry Potter Day.