xiv.

On the morning of his eighteenth birthday, Harry was awoken by a thump to the head.

“Mmph,” he mumbled, already reaching for his wand as he sat up. He reached out and grabbed his glasses, shoving them onto his face. The grinning figure of Ron Weasley came into focus, perched on the end of his bed.

“Happy birthday,” he said, far too cheerful for the early hour, and threw a lumpy parcel at Harry, hitting him in the chest.

“Mmph,” Harry said again, grumpier this time, and put his wand away. He opened the messily giftwrapped parcel and was greeted with a bright yellow t-shirt. My best friend went to Bondi Beach and all I got was this lousy t-shirt! It read, in neon green, along with a cartoon of a surfer on the beach.

Harry started to laugh. “Thanks, mate. This is great,” he said appreciatively.

“Oh, it gets better. Tap it with your wand,” Ron advised.

Harry grabbed his wand again and tapped it. The surfer walked off the little cartoon picture, and was replaced by an orange-headed figure and a bushy-haired one, waving at Harry.

“This is far better than those Potters Stinks magic, innit?” Ron said cheerfully.

“Just a bit, yeah,” Harry said, grinning. “Thanks, Ron. This is perfect.”

“I wanted to modify the t-shirt to say I defeated Voldemort and all I got was this lousy t-shirt, but Hermione reckoned it was far too dark,” Ron said.

“Don’t know where she got that idea,” said Harry dryly. He tugged off his pyjama top and pulled on the t-shirt. It was slightly tight on him, but it was fast becoming his favourite item of clothing.

“Bondi Beach is great, mate,” Ron said. “We should go sometime. Maybe we can tell Robards we have to go, to investigate an Auror threat or something.”

Ron had returned to work with him the earlier day, after having two or three doses of a potion Hermione guaranteed would help with the jet lag, and he was already fast winning Robards over. Robards, despite his grumpy exterior, was always the first to laugh at a joke Ron cracked or to agree with him when he suggested taking a break to get some tea before getting back to work.

“I bet he’d agree to that,” Harry said.

Before Ron could respond, the door opened and Ginny walked in. She was wearing an old t-shirt of Harry’s – Harry wondered how she would react if he told her that the shirt had once belonged to Dudley Dursley – and some pyjama shorts, the ends of which were uneven, as if she had cut them herself. Harry had no doubt that she had.

“Hey, Harry. Heard some git’s turning eighteen, or something,” she said cheerfully. “Ron, Mum wants help with the birthday breakfast,” she added.

Ron eyed her suspiciously. “Really? Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about what I walked in on last year—”

“Oh, is that how you want to play it? Because Hermione stayed in my room yesterday, and she had plenty to tell me about the room you both stayed in in Australia,” Ginny said sweetly. “And all of the activities that may or may not have taken place there, in the bed you both may or may not have shared. Girls talk, you know. So. Before you can be even more of a massive hypocrite, you should probably get downstairs and help Mum.”

Ron blinked a couple of times. His ears had gone red. Harry couldn’t say he blamed him. Ron and Hermione alone in a bed was something he’d rather not think about.

Without another word, Ron got to his feet and left the room. Harry waved his wand, and the door closed, locking into place with a little click.

“So, is that why you stayed with Hermione in your room yesterday? To get blackmail material?” Harry asked, lips quirking into an amused smile.

“I’ll never admit anything,” Ginny said, and moved onto the bed. She straddled his waist, and he leaned back against the pillows. “Excellent t-shirt, by the way,” she said, leaning over and poking the smiling cartoon figure of Ron.

“Oh, thanks. Birthday present,” Harry said.

“Mm. Yes. Speaking of which… you know, I was thinking. I never gave you a proper present last year, did I?” Ginny said. Her eyes had a glint to them, and Harry didn’t stop himself from leaning over and resting his hand on her waist.

He thought back to last year, to the glorious few moments he’d spent with Ginny on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, exactly a year ago. He would never admit how much he’d thought back to that morning during the following year, in musty tents and on the run in the cold. “I think it was a great present. Best I’ve ever gotten,” he told her.

Ginny smirked down at him, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking about. She probably did, knowing her. “Yeah? Well, what I meant was… I never finished giving you that present, did I?”

Harry matched her smirk with one of his own. “Mm. Suppose you didn’t.”

“Got a lot to make up for this year, don’t I?” Ginny murmured. She leaned down, pressed an unbelievably gentle kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Remember what you said? About not thinking you’d make it to an eighteenth birthday?” she asked quietly, pressing a trail of kisses down his neck.

“Yeah,” Harry responded, although he was finding it hard to think coherent thoughts right now.

“Did you mean it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said again.

Ginny didn’t say anything for a moment, and when she pulled back to look at him, her eyes were suspiciously shiny. She didn’t look away, though, and her gaze was steady as she looked at him. She moved her hands to the base of his t-shirt, tugged it off him and tossed it aside carelessly before she rested her hand on the scar on his chest. Lightning bolt shaped, just like the one on his forehead.

“I’m so fucking glad you made it,” she said.

He rested his hand on top of hers. His throat felt a bit thick. “Getting a bit sentimental, Weasley?” he said, moving his free hand to brush her hair off her face.

“Tosser. You’re meant to say I’m glad you made it too and you’re the best girlfriend,” she said. She chuckled, but it sounded wet.

“I’m glad you made it too,” he repeated obediently. “And you’re the best girlfriend.” As he looked up at her, into her bright eyes, he meant every moment of it.

“Look at you, listening to instructions. Snape would be shocked. Turns out the Potter boy does know how to listen, after all,” she said, in an impression of Snape’s drawling tones that was almost eerily accurate.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Merlin. I know he ended up being on our side in the end, but you really shouldn’t talk about him when we’re about to get naked.”

“Awfully cocky, aren’t you, Potter?” Ginny teased. “Who said anything about being naked?” But then she was pulling off her – Harry’s – shirt, and his mouth was suddenly too dry to even consider a witty response.

*

Immediately after breakfast, Ron and Hermione cornered him.

“I know you haven’t opened your presents yet, Harry,” said Hermione, “but we’d really like to show you ours, first.”

“You already got me a present, though,” Harry said, looking down at the t-shirt he was wearing. Hermione, too, had already gifted him a present over breakfast: a book, fittingly enough, about the Quidditch league in Australia. He was already looking forward to reading it.

“Well, yes. But this one isn’t from us. Not technically, anyway,” Ron said, with a grin.

“What’re you on about, mate?” Harry said, looking from Ron’s manic grin to Hermione’s bright smile in confusion.

“Harry. Just trust us on this one, okay? You’ll be back in time for dinner,” Hermione promised.

“I—okay,&r dquo; Harry said slowly.

“Good lad,” said Ron, sounding relieved.

They tugged him outside. “Remember. You have to trust us,” Hermione told him, and then took his arm. Ron took his other arm, and they both held on tight. “Okay. Now close your eyes,” said Hermione. Harry did.

The next thing he knew, his body was being squeezed in on both ends. With a small pop, the three of them Disapparated from the Burrow. 

The first thing that hit him was the sound. He had gotten used to the relative quiet of the Burrow and the chaos of the Ministry, but what he first heard was the sound of cars, of traffic. 

He opened his eyes when he heard the unmistakable sound of a car horn. He was standing, sandwiched between Ron and Hermione, on the top of some steps, in front of a familiar front door. He turned around and looked at the busy London street, and then turned back to look at the sight of the front door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

“What…&rdquo ; he trailed off and then looked at Ron, who just smirked.

“Hang on, mate,” Ron advised and then leaned over and knocked on the door.

It opened within seconds, and Andromeda Tonks smiled at them. “Happy birthday, Harry,” she said, and stepped aside.

Slowly, Harry stepped in. He had been inside the house within the last year, but it looked unrecognisable.

In his mind, Grimmauld Place had transformed since they left, into a menacing place infiltrated by Yaxley and the lot. He hadn’t planned on stepping foot in it ever again. 

“I was wondering what to get you,” Andromeda said conversationally, “and I was speaking to Kreacher about it. And he thought he had a good idea.” 

She led the way down the hall, and Harry followed her, but froze suddenly, looking at a spot on the wall. Gone was the portrait of Sirius’s mum. In its place hung a small photograph Harry recognised from Sirius’s bedroom. Sirius, Remus, Peter Pettigrew smiled at him from the picture, and, right in the centre, they were joined by Harry’s dad. They looked young and carefree, and happy.

“How did you… how did you get the Sticking charm off it? I couldn’t remove it from Sirius’s bedroom,” he said, voice a little thick.

Andromeda laughed. “I couldn’t, of course. Kreacher, however, is a different story. Elf magic works differently. And, if you were worried about Walburga--”

“Somehow , I don’t think he is,” muttered Ron.

“--then we have stored her in the attic. I don’t think Kreacher is as fond of her as he once was,” Andromeda continued.

“This is… this is great,” said Harry quietly. “Thank you. You’ve restored the house, and--” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Instead, he looked at the picture, at James’s young face.

“Well, this house was always meant to represent family,” Andromeda said. “Over seven generations of Blacks have lived here. The only difference is that now that family is ours,” she said, and gave Harry a smile. 

“The elf heads are gone, too,” said Ron. “Which is a big difference, I think. Certainly makes for an improvement, don’t you reckon?”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“I know you don’t want to live here right now,” Hermione said, looking around. “And I can’t really blame you, Harry, but… now you’ll always have a place to come back to. A place that’s yours.”

*

Dinner that evening was an incredible affair. Mrs Weasley had made all of his favourites, complete with treacle tart, and a cake that was bigger than his head. Unlike last year’s Snitch-shaped cake, this year’s was simple: chocolate, iced with a ‘happy birthday Harry’, but it reminded Harry off the cake Hagrid had brought him on his eleventh birthday, and he loved it.

They had the dinner outdoors; Ginny had lavishly decorated the trees and the orchard for the occasion, and Harry couldn’t honestly remember the last time all of the people he cared about were all together like this. Hagrid, Luna, Bill and Fleur, Andromeda and Teddy, George, and Neville and his grandmum were all present, and dinner was loud and cheerful, as they all spoke over each other and helped themselves to thirds of everything.

To his surprise, towards the end of dinner, none other than McGonagall showed up. “Happy birthday, Potter,” she told him, and then, sounding oddly choked up, “I’m very happy to be here.”

Without thinking about it – or perhaps it had been the Firewhiskey he, Ron, Ginny and George had indulged in – Harry leaned in and gave her a hug. “Thanks for coming, Professor,” he told her.

McGonagall seemed to hesitate, and then said, “I believe it was on your mother’s eighteenth birthday that she and your father went to Hogsmeade together for the first time. It was not a Hogsmeade weekend, mind you. I caught them sneaking back into the castle after being out late together.” With a small smile twitching at the corner of her lips, she added, “I should have given them detention, of course. But… let us say that it slipped my mind.”

Harry stored this titbit away in the back of his mind, in a special place where he stored all of the details he knew about his parents. “I… really?” he said, hungry to know more.

“Really. Within a year and a half, they were married,” McGonagall told him. “They would have been very proud of you, Harry. As am I,” she said quietly.

Harry blinked rapidly, and nodded. “Thanks, Professor,” he said again.

Ginny came up to him, slipping her hand into his and giving it a squeeze. “Hi, Professor,” she said cheerfully. “Thanks for coming. There’s still cake, if you’d like some.”

“I would, actually,” said McGonagall with a smile, and went to join Mr and Mrs. Weasley.

“Come on. We’ve got to show you your present,” Ginny said with a smile.

“We?” repeated Harry, but all Ginny did was give him a mysterious smile and tug him back into the house.

To Harry’s surprise, Luna was perched on the couch, even though he could have sworn he had just seen her deep in conversation with George. “Happy birthday, Harry,” she said.

“You already said that,” Harry pointed out.

“Yes, but Daddy says it’s good luck to wish someone the same number of times as the age they’re turning. This is my thirteenth happy birthday,” Luna said. She was wearing a bright blue dress, which sparkled in the light, along with a matching hat that was adorned with what seemed to be a brooch shaped like an enormous cauliflower. Harry decided not to ask about it.

“I’m sure his fiftieth birthday will be loads of fun, then,” Ginny said dryly, exchanging an amused look with Luna.

“Would you like to see your present, Harry?” Luna said. She waved her wand, and an object came zooming down the stairs, settling itself in front of Harry. A gift-wrapped present.

Harry glanced at Ginny, but all he received from her was an enigmatic smile. He unwrapped the present slowly, and took it out of the box so he could get a proper look at it.

It was a painting. Harry recognised it immediately as one that Luna had made, because of its similarity to the one on the ceiling of her room. It was relatively small, about the size of a roll of parchment, but he looked at it for a long time, looked into the painted faces of himself, and Ginny, and Ron, and Hermione, and Luna and Neville, and all of the Weasleys, and, in the corner – he noted with a little jolt – his parents, and Sirius, and Remus and Tonks, holding baby Teddy. A thin golden chain was painted across the bottom of the picture, a single word, again and again. Family.

“This was Ginny’s idea,” Luna told Harry cheerfully. “I hope it’s alright.” She stood up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “But I think you both’ll want a romantic moment alone, won’t you? I’ll go wait outside, you can thank me later.”

“She’s incredible, isn’t she?” Ginny said, watching her admiringly.

Harry leaned over and tugged her closer, wrapping his arms around her and leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss. “I love you,” he whispered against her hips. Even to his own ears, his words sounded thick. Raw.

“Well, yes. I knew that,” Ginny said, as if it was obvious. “I love you too. Obviously.”

Harry smiled at that, and kept his arms held tightly around her. He thought about last year, at Bill’s wedding, when he had imagined Ginny marrying someone else and had hated the thought so much, from the very bottom of his heart. Everything was different now. He got to hold her and be with her. Someday, he might find the words to tell her how much she meant to him, how amazing this present was, how he never wanted to let go of her.

There would be time, though. Years and years of time. For now, he had her in his arms, it was his birthday, and they would get through everything else together.

*