A/N: Just a short oneshot to celebrate Harry's birthday, which was yesterday, so: happy one-day-late birthday Harry Potter! (How odd, that I'm wishing a fictional character happy birthday.)

Anyway.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

"Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry Potter felt just like everyone else: glad, for the first time in his life, that it was his birthday."

– Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Page 17

It had been two years and four days since her death. In the panic of the flight from Privet Drive shortly before his seventeeth birthday, there had been little time to mourn her as a stray Killing Curse had missed its target and hit her cage instead. Though he had felt heart-wrenching grief as he had been forced to make the side-car of his late godfather's flying motocycle explode while it held her body, there had been little time to grieve in the aftermath, when faced with the shock of losing Mad-Eye and the many injuries suffered, not the least of which was George Weasley's loss of an ear.

She had been his only friend in the times he had been forced to stay at Privet Drive, growing restless when she was forced to be confined to her cage, and nibbling his ear affectionately when he would allow her to fly at night. Or—he remembered with a chuckle—cuffing him with her wings when she grew irritated, nipping his fingers gently when he did not provide her with a treat. He remembered the feel of her soft white feathers, how magnificent she had looked in her prime, her amber eyes shining with untold intelligence, her white and brown feathers glossy. How proud an owl she had been, holding herself with an air that said she obviously thought herself better than some of her feathered companions—Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, being the most frequent recipient of her attitude.

Now, on the eve of his nineteenth birthday, when the wizarding world had been freed from Voldemort, and the remnants of the Death Eaters were being rounded up one by one, Harry could not help but wish that she was there to share with him the peace, as she had been there for the tough times in the lead up to the Second Wizarding War. So it was that when Ginny bid him goodnight, long after the others had sought their beds, the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was the a picture taken in his first year, the photographic Hedwig fluttering in and out of the frame to land on the outstretched arm of his eleven-year-old self.

However, despite the melancholy turn his thoughts had taken the previous night before he had drifted off, Harry decided there were definitely worse things in the world than the manner in which he was woken up. He could not even complain about the time of his waking, for as it was his birthday, Molly Weasley had relented and acknowledged that one day with a lengthy sleep-in would not do him any harm. Having been freed from the Dursleys, Harry had no real desire to return to Privet Drive, and although number twelve Grimmauld Place had been left to him in Sirius' will, the rooms still seemed haunted with the innumerable ghosts of those who had died in the fight against Voldemort.

As such, he had taken up a near permanent residence at the Weasley's sprawling home, while he set in order his Auror training and waited for his girlfriend, the Weasley's youngest child and only daughter, Ginny, to finish her schooling, which she had at the end of the previous year. A frequent visitor to the home was Hermione, the third member of the Golden Trio along with Harry and another Weasley, Ron; she was staying at the Burrow for the weeks directly before and after Harry's birthday, bunking in Ginny's room as she had many times throughout their childhood.

In the haze of that state of conciousness between waking and sleeping, Harry was vaguely aware of the door to the room he shared with Ron creaking open. He knew without having to look that the bed Ron slept in was empty, as he had, no doubt, already been woken earlier by either Hermione or Molly. Unable to rise out of the foggy daze he had settled into, he did not open his eyes to check who it was that had almost interrupted his slumber. However, he was left in no doubt about the newcomer's identity when his bed was weighed down with the weight of another person, and soft lips pressed against his own as a voice chimed, "Happy nineteenth birthday, sleepy."

Harry could almost hear the mischievious Weasley grin on Ginny's face as she spoke, and she swam into view when he blinked groggily, clearing the sleep from his eyes with one hand as he fumbled for his glasses with the other, before realising she was holding them out to him. He took them with a word of thanks, and the blurred features of his girlfriend became clear as he slipped them on. He grinned at her, tucking behind her ear a few strands of fiery red hair that had fallen loose.

He pulled her toward him for another kiss, snaking his arms about her waist, but she evaded him, and his lips barely caught the corner of hers. He scowled, feigning hurt. "Nothing for the birthday boy?"

Ginny laughed at him outright, and it was a struggle for Harry to keep his expression straight. "Maybe later," she smirked, tapping him on the lips with one finger. She kissed him lightly on the nose before pulling out of his grip and standing. "Get up! Mum wants you downstairs, she says you've slept long enough, even if it is your birthday."

Harry stirred, peeling the blankets away from his body slowly, in no great rush to be up and about just yet—his bed was warm and comfortable. However, Ginny was having none of it. Leaning over, she grabbed one of his hands and forcefully pulled him out of the bed and upright. Laughingly dancing away when he tried to kiss her again, she leant against the bedroom door with her arms folded and a mischievious expression on her face which reminded him forcefully of George and his late twin, Fred. Informing him he needed to change, laughter sparkling in her eyes, she did not attempt to remove herself from the room. She only left when Harry, blushing despite himself, shooed her from the room after changing into a clean top and realising she was quite content standing there and watching him.

Moments later, upon his arrival downstairs in the kitchen, Harry was bombarded with birthday wishes and hugs, the most bone-crushing of which came from Mrs. Weasley, gushing that he was so grown up and handsome. He was sat down at the kitchen table, where a small breakfast was put in front of him, with an explanation that the reason it was so small was that there was a much larger meal to be had in a short few hours. Ginny sat on his left side as he ate, and Ron and Hermione on his right. They talked amicably for some time—with Ron complaining a little that there were to be no presents until the conclusion of the afternoon meal—until several loud cracks from outside alerted them to the fact that several people had just Apparated into the Weasley's backyard.

Together, the foursome rushed outside to see who it was, after Harry quickly cleared the table and set his dishes to washing themselves with a few waves of his wand. The moment they were out the door they were greeted by shouts from the new arrivals: Neville Longbottom, a classmate of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's; George Weasley, who had been working that morning; Luna Lovegood, who had been in Ginny's year; and finally, Percy Weasley. However, no sooner had the greetings and birthday wishes been finished, than a loud rumbling sounded from overhead. Squinting into the sky, Harry was able to make out what looked like a dark spot on the horizon, coming closer at a rapid speed. As it approached, it became clear that it was a giant, flying, motorcycle, and astride it was a dear friend of all assembled there, the half-giant Rubeus Hagrid.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, were simultaneously swept into a crushing hug, and, upon their release, Hagrid pressed into Harry's somewhat unwilling hands a box of his own, homemade toffees, which Harry had learnt from experience were best eaten only after being warmed for several hours in front of the fire, lest they stick your jaws together. Harry was somewhat surprised at the gift, as Molly had expressly forbidden the giving of presents until after the meal; however, Hagrid leant down, clapped Harry on the shoulder, and whispered in his ear, "Yeh'll have ter wait fer the real present, mind."

Harry grinned.

Time passed in a whirlwind of catching up on what had been going on in the lives of Neville, Luna, and Hagrid—Neville was going to apply for a position as Professor Sprout's assistant, Luna was taking a year off to decide what she wanted to do, and Hagrid was immensely pleased as he was staying on as Care of Magical Creatures Professor, and was even, rumour had it, being considered for Head of Gryffindor House.

In what seemed like no time at all, Mrs. Weasley was commanding everyone but Harry, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Hagrid to assist her in forming and setting the tables for what appeared to be another magnificant feast, although they all insisted in helping anyway.

The food was delicious; Molly's cooking, he reasoned, had only improved since he had first met the Weasleys all those years ago. However, Harry found it somewhat hard to concentrate, as Ginny's hand would occasionally creep beneath the table to skim her fingers over his thigh. Despite going through the experiences that he had, Harry was still a teenage boy, with all that implied, and he shifted uncomfortably throughout the meal, more than once missing something one of the others had said to him. He had a terrible suspicion that his girlfriend was enjoying his embarrassment and discomfort, a suspicion which only seemed to be confirmed by the smirk tugging at her lips. Despite Harry's growing discomfort, the celebrations continued without a hitch, and the Weasleys and their guests were soon nursing too-full stomachs, whilst Molly tried to brush off rounds of compliments on her cooking.

However, as everyone protested that they were too full for cake, Molly and Arthur backed down, and there was an excited buzz as Mr. Weasley announced that the presents would be given out shortly. Ginny grinned, kissed Harry swiftly and promised she would be back; Harry noticed Hermione do the same to Ron, and she, Ginny, and Hagrid left the tables for the interior of the Burrow. Several others pulled out packages from underneath the table, and although it seemed only Harry and Ron were confused about why Ginny, Hermione and Hagrid had spontaneously disappeared, presents were pushed upon Harry nonetheless.

For what was not the first time, Harry counted himself lucky he had found such great friends, and a family which considered him their own.

Luna gave him a beaded rope bracelet, which she informed him was spelled so that he would be able to detect the presence of all manner of magical creatures—"From nargles to wrackspurts to everyday things like Thestrals." Although he was not sure whether he would consider Thestrals particularly "everyday" he was impressed when she confided that the beads had the additional quality of being able to be used to store magic, should he be in desparate need.

Ron pressed into his hands a bulky package, which was revealed to contain a brand-new, limited edition Broomstick Servicing Kit, and also signed photos of the players of the Chudley Cannons, which Harry suspected would not have come cheap. However, underneath the table he passed to Harry another package, making sure his parents did not see. Harry shot him a questioning look; the tips of his ears went slightly red, and he muttered, "Open it later; I don't really think I need it anymore."

Harry was unable to reply as Mr and Mrs Weasley forced upon him a carefully wrapped box which they both handled rather carefully, brilliant smiles adorning their faces, and a knowing twinkle in Mrs. Weasley's eyes which Harry was not really sure he trusted. However, upon opening the box, being careful not to rip the paper too much, an impressive set of expensive, black dress robes were revealed. Harry had outgrown the old ones he had, and thanked Molly and Arthur profusely.

Molly waved off his thanks, beaming, and saying slyly while reaching over to ruffle Harry's hair, "Who knows when you'll need them next!"

Somewhat predicatbly—but brilliant nevertheless—George had given him a great box full of products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where he and Ron now both worked. The sight of the brightly coloured box caused a wide grin to split Harry's face in two; among the things inside were Extendable Ears, Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs (highly explosive fireworks), trick wands, Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Daydream Charms, and many other things, including, Harry noticed, a Portable Swamp.

Neville gave him a tiny pot plant, which appeared rather dull at first; however, when Harry's hand passed over the tips of the green leaves, it burst into bloom, dazzling him with an array of wonderful colours and releasing a sweet scent. Harry stared in wonder at the plant, which, after Harry moved his hand away, went back to looking green and boring, swaying gently from side to side.

However, just as Neville was about to explain the plant, a loud noise came from the direction of the Burrow, as Hagrid crashed backwards through the door, looking as if he were carrying something. The something was revealed to be a medium box from which hissing and squealing sounds were emenating, carried solely by Hagrid, while a worried Hermione looked on; Ginny rushed forward to clap her hands over Harry's eyes, instructing him to turn around in his seat. "No peeking," she whispered in his ear, pecking him on the cheek.

Harry had to admit that, having had experience with Hagrid's love of all things generally monstrous, he was somewhat nervous as the sudden weight on his lap told him that was where the box had been placed—the hissing and squealing which had now, thankfully, subsided had done nothing to reassure him, either. Ginny removed her hands from his eyes just as he saw Hermione lift the lid off the box.

"Hagrid helped us get her for you," she told him, a wide smile splitting her face, and her eyes sparkling.

Harry was confused—her?

However, the issue was cleared when he looked into the box, and his breath caught. He vaguely noticed that everyone else was now crowding around him, clamouring to see what he had been gifted with, but all his attention was on the small creature inside. Nestled on a soft bed of woollen blankets, blinking with sincere, amber eyes up at the small crowd gathered around its—her, Harry silently reprimanded himself—temporary home, was what was unmistakably an owl chick. Covered in dark-grey, fluffy down, with the occasional white feather peeking through here and there, along with a few pin feathers, she was adorable. Her round, intelligent eyes fixed on Harry, she shook herself once and clicked her beak softly. With trembling hands, Harry reached into the box, holding them out palm up, as if asking her permission to hold her. The chick regarded him sombrely, looking first at his hands and then up at him. After a moment's indecision, it appeared that she trusted him, for she clambered onto his outstretched hands, allowing him to lift her out of the box and settle her on his lap.

Harry stroked her back, wondering at how soft her down feathers were, and how immediately trusting she was of him. He was forcefully reminded of his old owl, Hedwig, and felt the sudden sting of tears. He looked up when Hermione spoke.

"She's still a week or two off being fully fledged; you'll have to feed her until then," she informed him. "I bought for you a book on owl care and some meat, they're up in Ron's room."

Harry nodded mutely, a wide smile breaking across his features. He looked at Hagrid. "What kind of owl is she? I've never seen chicks before, I don't know."

However, it was Ginny who answered. "Nyctea scandiaca. A snowy, just like—"

"Hedwig," Harry finished for her. He grinned. "Little Hedwig."

The chick clicked her beak at him, and as he removed his hand from her back she irritably preened the feathers he had touched—not that her treatments had much effect, as the majority of her back was still covered in down.

"I thought yeh'd like her," Hagrid rumbled, beaming at him. "Jus' like yer old one."

"I do," he assured them. "She's brilliant," he added, gazing at the small bird in wonder.

In response, the owl chick blinked at him, as if unsure what to make of her new owner. Seemingly having reached a decision, she made herself comfortable nestled against the palm of Harry's hand, tucked her small head beneath her wing, and promptly fell asleep. Looking from the faces of his friends—really, the people he had come to think of more as his family—to the sleeping bird in his lap, Harry silently decided that he was of the opinion that this was the best birthday he had had in years.

A/N: How cute. Snowy owl chicks are adorable—Google them, if you don't believe me. =3

To clarify, "Arienhwyfar" means Snowy Owl in Welsh, whilst "Nyctea scandiaca" is Snowy Owl in Latin. I was going to go for the Latin one, but decided Arienhwyfar was prettier, and bubo scandiacus, the Snowy's scientific name, is just too much of a mouthful.

So there you go, something light and sweet to celebrate Harry's birthday.

Personally, I'm wondering how much fanmail Daniel Radcliffe got wishing him a happy birthday.

- Naranne

P.S: For those of you wondering what Ron did not want Harry opening in front of his parents, it was his copy of: Twelve Failsafe Ways To Charm Witches. XP