A/N: This story was written as an entry for The Houses Competition, Year 3, Round 10.

House: Gryffindor

Year: Head Girl

Category: Additional

Prompt: 3. [Event] A birthday (Note: The main focus is the middle 'flashback' scene for this; I've used the opening and closing scenes (also a birthday) simply to round out the story :))

Additional requirements: A happy occasion.

Word count: 1957 words (written on Google docs)

Betas: Thank you to CK (Theoretical-Optimist) for beta'ing!

Additional notes: You wanted me to do a happy story… I, therefore, make no apologies for what could be the cheesiest, most cringe-worthy story I've ever written (and if you've read my other stories, this could be saying a lot).

I know it sounds horrible that a mother could forget their own child's birthday, but it has happened (believe me, I know) in real life. In some cases, it doesn't mean the mother is any less a good mother, or that she doesn't care or love her child; sometimes, things just get so busy that people need a little reminder. I know that gifts vary from family to family, and it doesn't matter what someone gets but the thought behind it; on that note, however, when Frank was born (1957–59), gifts were often quite practical and sparse compared to modern day events, no matter the economic status of a family.

I've always seen Augusta as a very proud, practical woman, and not one for fuss. However, we do see in the books that she'd do anything for her son, even with a lapse in organisation/ memory. Not much is known about her husband other than the fact that he once put a fanged gerbil in her purse, so I see him as more of a practical joker like his brother Algie (he, too, of course, loves his son, but I know many a person to get a little… distracted… when it comes to fun).

This marks my final entry for THC (at least this year) so I do hope it brought a smile to your face. A huge thank you to my team, all of whom have been there to support and encourage each other no matter what. Go Gryffindor! Xx

September 16th

"I don't even know why she bothers. It's not like he has a clue what she's doing; he wouldn't even know what day it is."

"I think it's quite demeaning, making him dress up… but hey, what the old bat wants, she gets."

Augusta was tempted to whack the two young Healers with her cane as they whispered to each other. She may have been getting on in years, but her hearing was perfectly fine. She also knew what was best for her son, and after taking a moment to glare them down, she turned back to his bed.

"I remembered the streamers this time," she said, smiling at Frank. "Your favourite colours, too."

Although her son continued staring up at the stark white ceiling, she was sure his lips twitched a little. She nodded, waving her wand around so that more red and gold streamers and balloons filled the bland room.

September 16th was a special day, and she knew Frank looked forward to it as much as she did.

Thirty years earlier…

Augusta looked around her living room with narrowed eyes. The armchairs that once held carefully placed cushions were now covered in socks, vests, and bright polka-dot ties, her coffee table was being used to display several pairs of shoes, and a wide sample of frog spawn soap covered the mantle. If anyone had turned up at that moment, they'd have thought a Niffler searching for treasure had torn through her house; in reality, it was simply her husband.

She sighed and began to pick up the laundry he'd deemed too serious to take on his trip. He'd been invited by his brother Algie to demonstrate the man's latest joke products, and it had been all she'd heard about for the last fortnight. Each day had been spent arguing whether or not it was appropriate for Trevor to wear fluoro yellow robes to various business meetings, or whether or not it was a good idea for him to keep Jarveys in his suitcase. Whilst it had been good that he'd wanted to pack for himself—normally, he'd leave that task up to her—she wished he hadn't left her with such a mess.

"Frank, what have I told you about running in the house? Come and help me please," she said, looking up as her seven-year-old son came skipping into the room.

He tilted his head, almost as though he didn't even know the house rules. She sighed and motioned for him to take an ironing basket out of her hands.

"You know better. I'll let you concentrate on the rest of the clothes whilst I sort your father's… experiments."

"Okay…" Frank slumped his shoulders but did as he was asked.

Together, they managed to straighten up the room before lunch, as well as the dining room and kitchen. It seemed her husband had thought it necessary to turn up the entire house to find things for his trip, where she found a glove in her kettle. She sighed in relief when they finally sat down at the kitchen table.

"What should we get for lunch?" she asked.

Again, Frank tilted his head, and his eyes wandered over to the calendar pinned to the wall. "I thought we were having beef stew?"

Augusta followed his gaze over to the calendar. "Why would we be—oh."

Her heart plummeted as she saw the red circle around the box marked September 16th. In all the years since his birth, she had not once forgotten her son's birthday. Each year, she would ensure his presents were all tucked away, including the practical pair of shoes or new robes from her and the 'fun' gift her husband would select. Each year, she'd carefully prepare Frank's favourite meal of beef stew and would order a special cake. If it was a milestone birthday, like his first or fifth birthdays, she'd even allow Frank to invite some of the other children in the neighbourhood over for games.

This year, however, her mind had been too wrapped up in another of Trevor's crazy schemes, and with his trip being pushed forward a week, she hadn't even realised where the rest of September had gone. Trevor himself should've been careful when picking dates, but if being organised was a subject at school, he would've received a 'Troll.'

She prided herself on her own organisation, and she couldn't let Frank know she'd forgotten. Raising an eyebrow, she said, "Of course; I just supposed you'd have liked your presents first."

Frank's eyes lit up, causing her stomach to churn. He nodded eagerly, and she quickly headed back out into the living room, her heart thudding.

Whilst she was sure he didn't mind not receiving new shoes, she did wish Trevor had thought to leave a present before getting wrapped up in his ideas. Her blue eyes scanned the room, hoping to find something that she could give him. The only options were a small bag of Drooble's Gum that Trevor had left behind, a few basic quills she hadn't yet used, and an old chess set she'd stowed in the glass cabinet because it was missing a few pieces long ago.

Summoning them over to her, she quickly wrapped them in some parchment and returned to the kitchen.

"Happy birthday, Frank," she said, placing the gifts on the table. "Mind you, you're getting old enough not to be spoilt…"

He looked at her as though asking her permission to open them, and she nodded. She watched as he eagerly tore open the gifts, her heart once again plummeting as she saw the look on his face when he looked at each item.

"Thank you, Mummy," he said, smiling at her.

She could see that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but he was trying. Her little boy was being so mature, not wanting her to feel bad when she had disappointed him.

"Oh, Frank, I'm sorry, dear," she said, trying to stop her eyes from watering. Frank opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head. "I did forget what today was. I'm afraid that with your father's grand plans and all, we've overlooked your special day."

"It's okay; these are nice," he said, gesturing to his gifts.

Augusta shook her head again. Whilst she had pride in the way she raised her son, she still couldn't fathom how mature he was being. Squaring her shoulders, she walked over to the kitchen cupboard.

"No, they're not. We'll have a proper celebration next week when your father returns and make the rest of today special. I'll cook that beef stew, try to bake a few cupcakes, and we can even decorate the kitchen if you'd like."

This time, Frank's face lit up with a proper grin, and he raced out of the kitchen. When he returned, his arms were laden with different pieces of parchment, scissors, and a few inkpots.

Augusta smiled and got to making the stew, with Frank coming over to help her stir and taste-test.

"Alright, just a bit of salt needed…" she said, picking up the salt pot. "Merlin! No, no, no!"

As she went to dust a little in, however, the lid fell off, and the entire contents fell into the stew. It was probably another of her husband's pranks—after all, the man thought it quite funny to place items like frog spawn soap and fanged gerbils in her purse—and she made a mental note to scold him later.

"It's ruined!" she said, turning to Frank.

His eyes were wide as he stared at the mess, and she was sure he would soon tear up. His shoulders started shaking, however, and he burst into laughter.

"I love Father's pranks," he said when he finally calmed down.

"Yes, very amusing," Augusta muttered, trying to scoop out as much of the salt as she could. "You won't have your favourite dinner now, though."

Frank simply shrugged and headed back to the table. "It's okay. Will you help me with the decorations?"

"Alright, just a minute."

Sighing, Augusta quickly whipped up a cake mixture. She didn't often bake, but it was too late to order the proper cake her son deserved. Hoping for the best, she took care in following the exact directions on her mother's old recipe cards and ensured that the lids on each pot were sealed and all ingredients were correctly labelled before using them.

After tasting the mixture to see that it was edible, she placed the cakes in the oven and sat down with Frank. He passed her some ink and showed her the red and gold pattern he was doing.

"I'm sorry we couldn't have gone to the store for proper decorations," Augusta said, showing him how to curl the parchment around her wand to make it bouncy.

"Why? I like these better," he said, humming as he drew a few stars.

She raised a thin eyebrow, looking at the design. As talented as she thought her boy was, the decorations were quite sub-par to the streamers available at Gambol and Japes. Still, she held her tongue, and when the timer went off, quickly checked the cupcakes.

She sighed in relief as she took them out. They were the perfect golden colour, with a nice soft texture inside. She took the tray over to the kitchen table, smiling at her son. Perhaps she could still salvage his birthday.

"Alright, these just need to cool before we can ice—"

Even when she tried to make it better, it seemed fate was determined to ruin the day. She'd been too busy congratulating herself for getting something right that she hadn't seen one of the streamers tied to the chair before it was too late. She tripped over, sending the tin crashing to the floor.

Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the pile of crumbs on the floor. "Oh Frank, I'm sorry…"

Her seven-year-old hopped from the floor, his eyes shining. He picked up the only cupcake not to have been demolished completely and held it up to her.

"Can we do this every year?" he said, trying to hold back a smile.

"Pardon?"

Once again, laughter rippled through the young boy, stopping only as he took a bite of the cake and grinned. "Can we celebrate like this always?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full…" she said, sure she'd heard him wrong.

Frank swallowed and grinned at her. "This has been a fun birthday," he said.

"You don't have to pretend." She took out her wand to clean the mess, but a hand stopped her. She saw that Frank's little arms were around her as he smiled up at her. "I'm sorry for not making this special, Frank."

"You did because you tried," he said, squeezing her.

More tears flew to her eyes as she held him, unable to help the smile growing on her face. She vowed never to forget his birthday again; from now on, September 16th would always be made special, even more so than it already was.

Augusta placed a cupcake on the small bedside table and helped Frank into a sitting position. When she was sure that he was comfortable, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and sat on the plastic seat next to his bed.

"The Healers will bring you your stew soon," she said, winking. "I've made sure they haven't put too much salt in it, and if they bring it out too cold, you let me know."

Frank didn't say a word, but she could see his blue eyes twinkling. She knew he remembered, and she took his hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

"Happy birthday, Frank."

She felt the slightest twitch against her hand, lifting her heart.