Something is tickling Harry's nose, something soft... like a feather, maybe?

"Stop it, Hedwig," Harry groans sleepily.

He hears a muffled laughter but decides to ignore it; it's way too early to wake up. Some moment later, Harry starts to doze off again, when he feels two soft feathers this time. They are caressing his face, tracing lazy patterns on his cheek. Hazily, he thinks he can smell something flowery; but it's impossible, Hedwig doesn't smell like flowers.

Reluctantly, Harry cracks one eye opened and catches a glimpse of a blurry mane of red hair framing a pale face. The figure has their hands pressed to their mouth in an attempt to stifle a laughter.

"Go'way, Ginny," he groans and pulls his blanket over his head.

The bed wiggles as Ginny climbs onto it. "Can't," she laughs, trying to tug the blanket off his head. "It's your birthday, I have to annoy you."

She finally manages to pull the blanket back, and he glares at her. "Says who?"

"Says the Ginny Weasley Amendment," she declares solemnly.

Rolling his eyes, Harry puts his glasses on and sits up. "Today's supposed to be a fun day for me."

"Oh, it will be," she assures him.

She takes the breakfast tray he didn't notice was on his bedside and puts it on his laps. A plate full of mini treacle tarts and two mugs of cocoa are staring at him. His mouth waters at the sight, it looks delicious.

"Happy birthday, Harry. I made them myself," Ginny smiles. "Come on, tuck in!"

He eyes her suspiciously, "You didn't spike them, did you?"

"Of course, not!" she sounds affronted.

He decides to trust her and takes a pastry. She holds her breath as he bites in. He chews slowly, savouring it. It is delicious.

"So?" she asks expectantly.

Harry gives her a brilliant smile. "For someone who doesn't have my legendary Quidditch skills, you sure know how to cook."

Her face lights up. "You like it, then?"

"Very much," he answers sincerely.

Laughing, she helps herself a mini treacle tart. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"Don't know," Harry takes a sip of cocoa, "Beat your arse at Quidditch?"

Ginny rolls her eyes. "We've played Quidditch every day for the past few weeks. We need to do something special today."

"Quidditch is special," Harry protests.

"Really? This is all you need to be happy? A broom and a snitch?"

"And you, of course. I would need someone to defeat."

"Prat," she punches him playfully on the shoulder.

Harry eats another mini treacle tart and moans happily. "Really, Ginny. You're the best cook."

She snorts. "Mom taught me. She says a 'proper wife' should know how to cook for her husband, whatever the hell this means."

"Well, your husband's going to be one lucky git," Harry licks his fingers in delight.

"Don't call my husband that," Ginny says sternly, but her eyes are twinkling.

"Sorry. Should I say Git Bear?"

She throws back her head and laughs just as Ron and Hermione enter his bedroom.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Hermione beams.

"Thanks, Hermione."

"Cakes!" Ron cries before sitting on Harry's bed and helping himself. "Haffy birfday, mate."

"Thanks," Harry chuckles.

"Seriously, Ron!" Hermione grimaces.

Ron swallows quickly and takes a sip of Ginny's cocoa, ignoring the dark look she shoots him. "What do you want to do today?"

"You'll never guess," Ginny mutters.

"Quidditch?" Ron grins.

"Quidditch," Harry nods, answering his smile.

"Please, not again!" Hermione groans, but Harry is too busy devouring his pastries to answer her complaint.