Written for QLFC Round 7 as the Falcons' Captain.
Prompt: Write about someone at odds with a member(s) of their family.
Word Count: 1181

Birthdays are the Worst

I find myself releasing another long breath, my eyes fixated on the baby-blue canopy of my four-poster bed. Not that the slow breathing is bringing me any comfort.

Today's my least favourite day of all of the 365 days in a year. I wish there was a spell that could allow me to simply skip these 24 hours, but even if there were, I don't even have a wand yet.

Today's the day I'm supposed to be getting my Hogwarts letter, and even though I should be excited for it, I'm really not.

Today's my birthday, and if wishes really do come true, I wish everyone forgets it.

Because honestly, that would be much better than how my birthdays go. Shaky smiles, people keeping in their tears, everyone pretending to be excited for me when they'd rather be sad.

It's been 13 years, but I suppose the pain of loss is the strongest today, for my father, for my uncles and aunt and grandparents… even for my best friend. The whole of the wizarding world, actually.

Because today is the 2nd of May.

I squeeze my eyes shut, a ridiculous hope of magically waking up tomorrow morning floating through me. Really, I don't need my birthday.

One sheep… Two sheep… Three sheep...

"Vic!"

The door opens with a bang, and I grunt as my little brother launches himself on top of me. My other sibling is right behind him, even though she climbs the bed like a human and squeezes into the blanket beside me.

"Happy birthday, sissy!"

Louis tries to repeat it, speaking around the thumb he's stuck in his mouth, and it all comes garbled. I pull his hand out, and he promptly puts it back in, going back to suck on his thumb. He tries sticking his tongue out, then just blinks once when it doesn't work.

His face is utterly ridiculous, and I laugh. Dom giggles beside me, also staring at Louis' antics.

At least my siblings are alright.

-o-

Breakfast goes well. Mama's made me a small Gȃteau marbré—she and grandma have never seen eye to eye with food, so we always get double the treats on our birthdays—and I love it so much.

My Hogwarts letter arrives right when Louis decides to put his face in the cake slice mama's put in front of him. He's three and is a very stupid boy, and I love him so much.

Dad takes the letter from the owl and hands it to me, a huge grin on his face. I feel a sense of relief coursing through me—of course I was going to get my letter, I know that, but now that it's finally here…

I'm going to Hogwarts!

We'll get my school things and my wand tomorrow, though, because soon, we need to get going to the Burrow for my birthday party.

I really don't want to go.

-o-

"Happy Birthday, little Vicky!"

Grand-dad is standing right in front of the fireplace, his arms wide open.

"Victoire, let me clean up the ash—"

I ignore my mother in favour of jumping into grand-dad's arms. His hugs are the best.

Mama harrumphs, but Dom and Louis are already hugging grand-dad's legs too, so she can bear with it. Besides, it's not like grand-dad can't clean himself up.

Then grandma's there, standing in the door that leads to her kitchen, and she gets a huge grin on her face. I want to believe it's real, but more than that, I don't want to raise my hopes.

"Happy Birthday, Victoire!" Grandma seems happy, but she never is, really. Not on my birthday.

All our birthday parties are held at the Burrow. It's a tradition. Grandma bakes the cakes, and grand-dad sets up the tent in the yard—it's much bigger on the inside—and the entire family turns up.

They're always a blast, except mine. Everything's the same, except everyone's gloomy. All the elders seem to be searching for someone who's long since gone. It's the one birthday party Teddy never turns up on—he and his grandmother visit his parents' graves—and all in all, it's an unnecessary disaster.

Still, it's tradition.

I'd tried telling them I didn't want it, once. Safe to say, it hadn't gone well. Later, mama hugged me as I had cried into her chest and told me that I just needed to make it for another two years, then I'd be at Hogwarts for the next seven of these nightmare-days.

We go to grand-dad's tent and sit around for a bit as the rest of the family turns up, a few people at a time. I try to ignore the elders as much as I can, staying with my cousins. Being the eldest is no fun, with Teddy not here, but they're not acting as if it's a funeral, at least.

There's a pile of presents in the corner, and my Hogwarts letter sits there, too—it's the first one in the family, and dad brought it along to show it to everyone. Dad said we need to wait for the cake and the lunch before we open the presents, but I don't even want them. I just want this to be done with, so we can go home.

Suddenly, the chaotic noise inside the tent goes up a notch, then dies down entirely as grandma comes in, levitating a cake the shape of the Hogwarts castle.

She places it on the long table that we eat at, then lets out a tired sigh. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her smile droops every so often.

I love her, I really do, but right now, though, I don't want to look at her.

"Thank you," I mumble anyway. The cake looks amazing, as all of her cakes do, except I'd rather just get a real smile and a real wish from her.

Of all people, it's her sad aura that hurts me the most.

It's my last birthday here for a very long time, though. So I shoot her a quick grin (she doesn't return it), and move to her side to blow out the candles.

The birthday song is an extremely stupid tradition, I decide, when the horrible noise rises up from the crowd.

Then grand-dad's handing me a knife, and dad's helping me cut a slice of it. He's doing most of the work—the cake's giant, really—and he pulls out the slice.

I stare at it, horrified.

Inside, the cake's burnt to a crisp.

Somewhere behind me, there's a gasp, and grandma bursts into noisy tears.

She's made hundreds of cakes in her life, I'm sure. This… this is definitely a first.

I feel a tear run down my cheek, and then I'm turning around and running through the crowd, needing to get to the fireplace as soon as I can.

I throw in a handful of Floo powder and yell, "Shell Cottage."

The moment I reach home, I fall to my knees, crying. A minute later, mama's arms are around me, and she's shushing me, letting me sob in her shoulder.

Birthdays are definitely the worst.