Chapter 11: A Birthday in the House

Relative to the first three weeks of summer, the final week before Harry's sixteenth birthday passed fairly uneventfully. Under Mrs. Weasley and Remus Lupin's watchful care, the Weasley children's moral support, and Professor Dumbledore's tutelage, Harry's physical and emotional well-being improved dramatically.

Only once had Voldemort attacked Harry's mind, and because of the Headmaster's Occlumency training Harry had been able to force him out within a few seconds. The effort involved had sent him back to bed for the rest of the day, but Harry had been encouraged and even proud of himself for managing the feat.

Due to Mrs. Weasley's wonderful cooking and insistence that Harry eat three square meals each day, Harry had gained enough weight that he lost the gaunt, unhealthy look he had when he had arrived. The day before Harry's birthday, Madam Pomfrey had pronounced herself satisfied that he was healthy once again, and had allowed Harry to stop taking the potions she had prescribed. She did, however, discreetly leave a few vials each of headache potion and dreamless sleep potion in Lupin's care, after he had told her quietly that Harry still had considerable trouble sleeping.

The dreams had not stopped, but they rarely morphed into visions. They were simply nightmares, and while they were plenty bad enough for a normal teenager, Harry actually felt a bit of relief that Voldemort seemed to have given up trying to invade his mind. It also helped that whenever Harry woke up, he would find either Mrs. Weasley or Lupin dozing in the armchair by his bed, ready to help him if he needed it. Although he was starting to find being constantly watched a bit irritating, he had to admit to himself that when he woke in the night, he was glad they were there.

Ginny and Ron were nearly always at Harry's side during the day, and he found that he did not mind their company. It felt more like they were just spending time with him like they would at Hogwarts than watching him, even though he knew that Mrs. Weasley still insisted that Harry never be alone in case of another attack. They played games, talked about school and Quidditch, wondered about O.W.L. results that would be coming for Ron and Harry soon, and even did chores around the house. Harry, of course, was not required by Mrs. Weasley to help with the chores, but he found that the mindless tasks were a welcome distraction from his troubles, so he often helped Ron and Ginny clean out dusty old cupboards, sweep floors, and even scrub the toilets.

All in all, Harry was feeling happier than he had since before the end of term. As he drifted off to sleep on the eve of his sixteenth birthday he finally felt as though things were not quite as bleak as they had seemed before.


Nine a.m. on the last day of July found Arabella Figg strolling down Wisteria Walk on her way home from buying cabbage from the local grocer, her carpet slippers slapping the pavement in a shuffling cadence. Her mind was not on the walk, which she made every morning, but on one of her cats who had fallen ill. Imagine her surprise when she found, standing on her front stoop and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Petunia Dursley, dressed in her suburban-housewife best and sporting her usual pursed lips. Mrs. Figg stopped in her tracks and stared. What in Merlin's name was Petunia Dursley doing on her front stoop?

"Mrs. Dursley?" she inquired, trying to sound polite, but not able to completely mask her surprise.

"I want to know how he is," Petunia snapped with no preamble. "I know you are one of those freaks he hangs around with. I have known it for years. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

Mrs. Figg was completely taken aback by this statement. Petunia Dursley had never shown any sign before of caring about Harry's welfare. Was she actually concerned about him, or was something else going on? "Er...of course...won't you come inside for a bit? Quite hot already, isn't it?" she babbled in her confusion.

"I will not be staying more than a few minutes," Petunia said bluntly as she followed the batty old lady into the house. Her pointed nose wrinkled as she smelled the combination of cabbage and cats that permeated Arabella Figg's home, and she scanned the cluttered décor with obvious distaste. "I only want to know if the boy is alive or dead. I have a right to know."

"Of course you do," Mrs. Figg answered. "The problem is, I don't rightly know. I'm afraid that I haven't talked to anyone since a few days after they took him away through my fire." In her fluster, she didn't even think to offer her neighbor a cup of tea.

"He was alive then?"

"Yes, and they expected him to make a full recovery," the squib answered, confused even further when she saw no sign of emotion, relief or otherwise, cross Petunia's face. "I'm afraid they don't often remember to keep me informed, you see. My job is to watch out for Harry, and when he is not here..."

Petunia nodded curtly. "I want to speak with them. I know you can make that happen."

"Well, I..." Mrs. Figg wondered if Petunia Dursley, a Muggle, was permitted to use the floo network, or if she was even able to.

"That old man. The one with the revolting eye," Petunia began. "I want to speak with him or with that other man who came and took Potter."

"You don't want to speak with Harry?" Mrs. Figg asked tentatively.

"Of course I don't want to speak to him. Why would I want to speak to him? He's the reason my family has been tossed into the middle of this mess." Petunia was growing extremely impatient. Dudley would be awake soon, and she needed to be back at Number Four before he realized she was gone. She would have come earlier, but she had had to wait until Vernon had left for his office.

Mrs. Figg was startled. No, she was more than startled. She was completely shocked.

"Mrs. Figg," Petunia began haughtily, no more respecting the woman in front of her than she respected the people who cleaned the toilets at the market, "I want to speak to someone, and I do not have all day to wait. If you want that boy to return to my home next summer, you will contact one of the men I wish to speak to."

Mrs. Figg simply stared at her, slightly offended and completely befuddled. She knew the boy had to return to Privet Drive next summer, and she could not see any way to avoid fulfilling this rude woman's request. "Right," she muttered. "We'll just have to use the floo."

"Fine," Petunia snapped, not knowing or caring what the ridiculous word "floo" referred to. "Quickly, then."

Mrs. Figg moved to her fireplace. Petunia watched, completely unimpressed, as the old woman grabbed a handful of glittering powder from a flower pot on her mantle, tossed it into the grate, and muttered something unintelligible as she got down on her knees and stuck her head right into the emerald-green flames. Because Dumbledore himself had never told Petunia Dursley the location of Headquarters, she could not understand the woman's words, but she honestly did not care. She watched as Mrs. Figg kept her head in the fire for a moment and then nodded curtly when the old woman leaned back out, shaking soot from her hair and rubbing her forehead, announcing, "Someone will be here in a moment."


Remus Lupin and Molly Weasley sat in the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, planning the small gathering that would be held that evening in honor of Harry's sixteenth birthday. Molly had sent Ron, Ginny, and Harry upstairs not five minutes before, telling them that their task for the morning was to clean Buckbeak's room and keep the hippogriff company for awhile. The animal had not had proper company since Sirius's death, and it had been a good excuse to make sure Harry stayed out of the kitchen and occupied while the preparation was going on.

"I don't think it would be wise at this point to startle Harry," Remus advised.

"No, of course you're right," Molly answered. "It will only be a small, quiet dinner with all of us. I will bake a cake of course, and he'll have his presents."

Remus nodded. "Maybe Fred and George could bring in a few jokes from their shop. I believe Harry would enjoy that diversion, as long as they agree not to do anything that would startle him too much."

Molly was saved having to reply to this request by the flash of emerald-green flame in the kitchen grate and a loud yelp when Mrs. Figg's head collided violently with the copper teakettle on the trivet.

"Arabella?" Remus asked, jumping to remove the teakettle from the fireplace. "Is something wrong? Do you need to talk to Albus?"

"No, no," the old lady answered, "and I can't stay in here long. This is murder on my knees."

"What is it?" Molly asked anxiously. She was suddenly afraid for Harry, even though she knew he was safe upstairs and that Ron or Ginny would have gotten her straightaway if anything had happened to him.

"Well, it's...well, I can't rightly explain it, but I've got Harry's aunt here and she insists on speaking to one of you. Says she wants to know how Harry is, but she doesn't want to talk to him. She was quite adamant about that, actually."

"Petunia Dursley wants to speak to one of us?" Remus asked in bewilderment. "Whatever for?" He did not believe for a moment that the woman was concerned about her only nephew; something else was going on. Even as he tried to remain calm, he could feel the pent-up anger he had felt towards the Dursleys all summer simmering dangerously close to the surface.

"I don't rightly know," Mrs. Figg answered. "She said that if we want Harry to go to her home next summer, she insists on speaking to one of you now."

"Oh, I will speak with her," Molly snarled, her voice dangerously low.

"Molly, stay calm," warned Remus, although he was clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Can one of you come here, then?" Mrs. Figg pressed. "She won't leave until you do, and I've a sick cat to mind."

"Right, Arabella," said Remus. "You may tell her one of us will be along shortly."

Mrs. Figg nodded and her head disappeared from the flames. Molly and Remus simply stared at each other for a moment before Molly whispered in barely-contained rage, "I'll go, Remus. I've a few things I want to say to that woman."

"That is precisely the reason why you will not go, Molly. We cannot risk anything negating the blood protection," Remus answered with a forced, steely calmness in his steady voice. "I will go."

"We'll both go."

"Don't be silly. You know that one of us has to stay here," Remus reminded her gently. "I will go, and I will tell you everything that is said as soon as I return. Besides, the children will find it far less suspicious if I leave than if you do."

Molly knew that was true. Since Harry had recovered, Remus often left headquarters to speak to Albus or to perform some duty for the Order, while she usually stayed at the house, taking care of everybody and helping to manage the constant stream of messages between Order members. She hesitated and then nodded. "But you tell her, Remus...you tell her..." Molly could hardly get the words out, she was still so furious with the Dursleys.

"All right, Molly," Remus said in the same calm voice. He was just as furious as she was, but both of them knew that he was much more likely to keep his temper than she. "Let's just see how this goes." He took a handful of floo powder and threw it into the flames, saying clearly, "Arabella Figg's," and stepped into the fire.


Showing the first sign of apprehension, Petunia Dursley took several steps back as the flames in Mrs. Figg's fireplace burned green again a few moments later, and the thin, haggard-looking man she had seen with her nephew stepped out of the fire. He did not even look at her at first, making rather a show of brusquely brushing soot off of his faded brown robes and greeting Mrs. Figg. Finally, he turned to her. "You wished to speak to someone about Harry," he stated quietly.

"Yes," Petunia answered, and then quickly recovered her usual haughty, snappish attitude. "You drop the boy on my doorstep, leave him in our care, and then take him away at your own whim, without even the courtesy of letting us know if he is alive or dead. You seem to forget that it has been my family, not your kind, who has taken care of him all of his miserable life."

Remus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing himself not to lose his temper with Harry's aunt. He pointedly ignored her claims of having "cared" for Harry in any way, and answered in a low voice, "Harry is alive, Mrs. Dursley, and is expected to make a full recovery. Now, if that is all you wanted to know, I'll just be -"

"That is certainly not all I want to know," Petunia almost screeched. "I want to know what caused him to get that way, or who caused him to get that way. I want to know if it had anything to do with that man...that man who killed my sister." Her voice lowered by the end of the sentence, and Lupin thought that he might have detected a note of emotion when she said the word "sister," but he could not be sure.

Remus hesitated. He had to tread very carefully here. If he said the wrong thing, she was sure to forbid Harry to come back to Privet Drive, and that would make Harry an open target to Voldemort with the remaining blood protection negated. He decided that for the time-being a half-truth would have to do. "Mrs. Dursley," he said, his voice clipped. "About a week before he came back to Little Whinging, Harry went through a horrible ordeal with Voldemort." He shot a warning glance at Mrs. Figg, who had gasped when he said the name. "He also had to watch as his godfather, the closest thing he can ever remember to a caring parent, was murdered. Quite understandably, Harry has been having a rough time of it."

"I know about the nightmares," Petunia informed him coolly. "The boy told me about them."

Remus almost lost his temper. "Was that before or after your husband hit Harry around the head so hard that it caused his face to bruise, Mrs. Dursley?"

Petunia looked away from him and did not answer the question.

"Harry also had vivid flashbacks during his waking hours," Remus continued, willing himself to calm down and telling her something that, if not quite the truth of Harry's condition, might explain it sufficiently enough to satisfy her. "These flashbacks left him physically and mentally weak, and the food you gave him made him sick."

"The food I gave him was perfectly good," Petunia snapped, assuming that Remus was making a slur on her cooking.

"That is not the point," Remus answered. "You asked how Harry came to be in the condition we found him in while under your care, and I have answered. Will that be all?"

"No," Petunia said softly. Lupin could detect, for the first time, some fear in her voice. "I want to know if...that man..."

"Voldemort," Remus prompted, causing Mrs. Figg to gasp once again.

"I want to know if having that boy stay with us is going to cause that man to come after my family."

"Mrs. Dursley," Remus began. "While Voldemort is still alive and at large, there is no family in the world, magical or non-magical, that is safe. You may not understand it, but Harry is our greatest hope in defeating him once and for all, and by keeping him safe, you are helping to ensure not only the safety of your own family, but the safety of countless other families as well."

Petunia had not been looking for that answer. All she wanted to know was that Vernon and Dudley were going to stay safe if she allowed Harry houseroom for one more year. "This...thing..." she could not bring herself to say the word 'magic.' "This protection you say the boy has. Will it keep us safe as well?"

"You will be as safe as Harry is while he is with you," Lupin answered quietly. "Blood magic is a powerful magic, and as I am sure Headmaster Dumbledore explained to you, when your sister Lily gave her life to protect Harry, he remains safe while he can still call home the place where her blood resides."

Petunia nodded, and with a curt glance at her thin gold wristwatch, she turned and hurried from the room without another word. Dudley usually woke around midmorning, hungry for breakfast, and it was already nearly ten. Remus watched her go and swore softly, biting back the barrage of words he wanted to throw at her back. He could not fault her for her concern for Vernon and Dudley, but he was immeasurably angry that not a modicum of that concern extended to her nephew. He sighed, told Mrs. Figg goodbye and that they would contact her again in a few days, and flooed back to Headquarters.


"Harry, Ron, Ginny! Come down for dinner now!" Molly called up the stairs.

Harry grinned at his two friends, knowing that he was actually heading down to his first-ever birthday party, and the three trooped downstairs. "Now, Harry," warned Ginny. "You'd better act surprised, or else they'll all think I told you."

"Well, you did," Ron commented, and then, imitating Ginny's voice, said, "Oh, no, Harry, nothing's going on...well, almost nothing...well, it's supposed to be a surprise, you know..."

Harry chuckled at this. Ginny, despite all of her experience dealing with her older brothers, was still useless when it came to keeping secrets under pressure, and he had to admit to himself that he had enjoyed teasing her until she told him why they hadn't been allowed in the kitchen all day. He had no idea about the conversation Remus had with Aunt Petunia that morning. Molly and Remus had decided that they did not want to spoil his birthday party, and would talk to him about it at another time if they needed to talk to him about it at all.

"Ginny didn't really tell me anything, Ron," he teased. "Only that it was a surprise, and it was going to be in the kitchen, and that it had something to do with my birthday." Ginny blushed, and then blushed even more when she realized how much Harry had been making her blush during the past week as his normal personality had begun to return to him.

When they reached the kitchen, Ron and Ginny let Harry go through the door first. He looked around and saw the Weasleys, Tonks, Moody, Lupin, Dumbledore, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Professor McGonagall, and...Hermione. No one shouted "surprise" or made any sudden movements; they all just stood grinning behind the table, which was loaded down with food, a huge birthday cake, and the biggest pile of presents Harry had ever seen.

"Hermione!" Harry heard Ron exclaim as he came in behind him. "Mum didn't tell us you were going to be here!" Harry noted with some amusement that Ron's voice had gone all high-pitched at the sight of their friend.

Hermione rushed around the table, but before she greeted Ron and Ginny, she threw her arms around Harry's neck in a tight hug. "Oh, Harry, I've been so worried!Are you all right? How are you feeling?" Harry staggered a bit under the force of the hug, but hugged her back all the same.

"I'm fine now, Hermione. Really!" he assured her. She finally broke away from him, gave Ginny a quick hug, and then turned to hug Ron. Harry and the rest of the people in the room couldn't help but notice that her hug lasted a little longer than was strictly necessary.

"All right, you four," Mrs. Weasley said. "No reason to stand around in the doorway. Come on in, and let's get this celebration going!"

The food, as usual, was fantastic, and Harry thought he had never done anything so much fun as blowing out the candles on his birthday cake in one huge huff that made him gasp. The only cake he had ever been given on his birthday had been the small cake that Hagrid had brought five years before when Harry had turned eleven and found out he was a wizard.

After everyone had been served cake, Harry opened his presents. He was amazed at the sheer number of them. So this is why Dudley gets so excited about his birthday, he thought. In truth, though, as excited as he was about the presents, just the fact that all of these people had come to celebrate his birthday was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

Fred and George, of course, gave Harry a huge box full of merchandise from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, "compliments of the owners." Bill and Charlie gave him a sleek silver carrying case for his Firebolt which had anti-theft detection. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny gave him an old-looking box with a large gold key to keep any special possessions safe and hidden, and Ron gave him the usual box of Honeyduke's chocolates and candies. Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley, and Professor McGonagall presented him with an assortment of books on Defense, as well as a copy of Advanced Transfiguration. "You will need that this term, Potter," McGonagall told him, smiling at him with something of a proud glint in her eyes.

"I will?" Harry asked. O.W.L. results had not come yet, and he knew he had to receive at least "Exceeds Expectations" on his Transfiguration exam to make Professor McGonagall's N.E.W.T. class. McGonagall nodded, but would not say anything else on the matter even when Hermione mutely pled with her from across the table.

Harry's last gift was an oddly-shaped, squashy package from Professor Dumbledore. Harry couldn't think what it might be. The last package he had gotten from Dumbledore had been his father's invisibility cloak. He opened the wrapping and laughed when four pairs of heavy woolen socks, in an assortment of colors, fell into his lap. He looked up at his Headmaster and saw the familiar twinkle in his eyes. "A man can never have too many warm socks, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I'm particularly fond of the red ones," he added.

Harry felt a well of emotion as he looked at his friends, no, his family, from Bill with his long red hair tied back in a ponytail, to Hermione, who had tears sparkling in her eyes. "Thank you," he choked. "Just...thank you."

"You're quite wel-" Mrs. Weasley started, but was interrupted by Lupin, who exclaimed, "Harry!"

Harry suddenly let out a loud yell and fallen to his knees, clutching his forehead. His face paled to a deadly white, and he swayed. Charlie, who had been standing nearest to him, caught him right before he hit the ground.