Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

The Kinolia

The Authors Notes: Thanks very much to Erin, who gave us the idea for one of Harry's gifts, and once again to Honeychurch and Lallybroch for wonderful background ideas. Happy Birthday to everyone!

~*~

On the first day of the Chudley Cannons' Quidditch trials, Harry woke earlier than everyone else, a familiar fluttering sensation in his stomach. He smiled slightly at the idea that Oliver Wood still inspired a sort of panic in him, after all he'd been through. But this panic didn't bring terror with it - this was a welcome sort of anxiety. Harry had missed his Quidditch nerves.

He jumped out of bed and dressed with more energy than he'd had in quite some time. Taking care not to wake Ron, he sped downstairs. Lupin Lodge was quiet and the sky outside was barely getting light; there was a smell of grass and dew seeping through the kitchen windows. The familiar scent and the sense of too-earliness reminded Harry of many Hogwarts mornings when he had been out of bed well before his classmates and down on the pitch with the Gryffindor team in half-darkness. Oliver had never minded dragging them from sleep at maddening hours. Harry remembered Fred and George's complaints, Angelina's heavy-lidded eyes, his own sense of a drowsiness so strong that he knew he'd fall off his broom. And then he would be up in the air, the wind in his face, wide awake in seconds - flying. He felt a brief pang as he made himself breakfast and sat down. Those had been wonderful times.

Hastily, he shoveled spoonful after spoonful of cereal into his mouth. His eyes were fixed intently on his Firebolt, which he had just leaned against the wall, and as he chewed, Harry went over his concerns in his mind. Was he too young to try out for a real team? No - of course not. Viktor Krum had done it. Was he good enough to fly next to professionals? Yes - of course he was - he'd played with Oliver, hadn't he, and Oliver was a professional. But still... Harry's stomach churned, much as it had before many important matches at school. Would he make an idiot out of himself? He hadn't practiced enough for this - he wasn't ready - hadn't played a real match in months.

But, nerves or not, he was going. He Banished his bowl and spoon into the kitchen sink and set water running. A minute later, he had grasped his Firebolt by the handle and was ready to go. Quickly, his heart thumping now, Harry strode to the front room to check the local map - being new at Apparition made him want to take care that he was exact.

He had just put his finger on the town in which the Cannons' practice pitch was located and screwed up his courage to Disapparate when he stopped. There were footsteps on the stairs. Looking up, he saw that Ginny was standing halfway down them, her hair rumpled and her dressing gown pulled shut with one hand. She looked half-asleep, but, upon spotting Harry, lifted her other hand to give him a small wave.

"Good luck today," she said, sleepiness making her voice crack a bit. She blinked even though the light was still dim, and stood in the middle of the stairs as if not quite sure what to do with herself.

Harry wondered if Ginny had woken up on purpose, just to wish him well. The idea made his cheeks warm, though he worked not to show it.

"Thanks," he replied casually, though he was gripping the Firebolt and searching his brain for something bright to say. "Let's just hope I can keep up with the professionals," was all that came to mind.

Ginny yawned a little, covering her mouth and finishing on a sigh. "Oh, go on, don't be modest, you know you'll be Seeker," she mumbled, throwing him a sleepy smile. "Just cross your fingers and hope for the best." Then she grinned at her own joke, giggled, and turned up the stairs. Harry watched her until all he could see was the hem of her nightdress and the heels of her bare feet. And then, feeling bolstered by her confidence in him, he straightened his shoulders, cleared his mind of everything but where he was going, and Disapparated.

This sensation was unlike all other modes of instantaneous wizarding travel, and Harry liked it by far the best. There was neither the spinning nausea that one felt using Floo powder, nor the jerk behind the navel and tendency to stumble on impact that a Portkey always seemed to cause. Apparition was actually enjoyable by comparison – just a simple, momentary blankness – then a new place. It was such a fast process that Harry had hardly blinked in the dead space between locations, before there was light and noise and the sound of a far off whistle carrying along the summer breeze.

Harry immediately felt his shoes grow damp and looked down to find that he was standing in wet, muddied grass. When his eyes traveled upward, he saw that he was at the edge of a wide field dotted with men and women, most of them as young as himself, though some were clearly Quidditch players gone to seed. Harry didn't recognize any of the players; there were no famous names here. Only hopefuls and has-beens, he thought, without meaning to think it. Well, that's the Cannons... But he shook the thought out of his head, imagining Ron's reaction to such a statement. And then he grinned to himself, because the imagined reaction was actually pretty funny.

Harry had expected to be early, but these players seemed to have been warming up for quite some time. He watched them flying this way and that, dodging and diving – Harry thought he spotted a Wronski Feint somewhere across the way and couldn't help a flash of satisfaction. He feinted better than that.

A shrill whistle distracted Harry from his view and he turned to see a young man of good height and strong build striding purposefully down the pitch with an almost fanatical gleam in his eye. Harry found himself grinning as though he were eleven years old all over again.

"Men!" cried Oliver Wood, raising a hand in the air to gesture the players toward him.

"And women!" cried a girl from down the field, rather indignantly. Harry snorted. Something about that was awfully familiar.

Oliver did not even have the decency to look chastised. "And women!" he added, impatiently. "Over here – NOW!"

This was something Harry understood. This was home. He hustled, Firebolt in hand, into the gathering group of players, wondering all the time whether Oliver would catch sight of him, or whether he was too focused on Quidditch at the moment to see the faces of his players. Harry would not have been surprised if the latter were the case.

And indeed it was - without noting Harry in the slightest, Oliver sorted the players quickly into positions and Harry found himself in a group with six other Seekers. Out of the corner of his eye, he sized up his competition, feeling all the time more confident. One woman looked slight and nimble enough to be a possible rival, and one of the men held a Nimbus Two Thousand in his hand - Good taste, anyway, Harry granted inwardly. But as for the rest of them... Harry squared his shoulders. He was going to be fine.

"Listen up!" came Oliver's battle cry from the center of the pitch. He began to pace back and forth before the players, who now stood lined up by position. "Some of you might have come out today thinking this would be an easy job - thinking as the Cannons haven't won a League in a hundred and six years, you'd be able to make this team even if you couldn't make any other."

Two of the men behind Harry shifted uncomfortably. Oliver peered in their direction.

"Thought that, did you?" he demanded. "Well, you've all got another think coming. You're not going to get soft treatment here and you can forget about getting on this team if you're anything less than brilliant. There's a reason that the Cannons have been down so long. Bad attitudes. Lack of dedication. Pathetic captaining. Unskilled players. Poor equipment." Oliver stopped, and looked into the sky for a moment, his arms crossed. "All right, there are a lot of reasons why the Cannons have been down so long."

Harry bit back a snort.

"But that's all about to change," Oliver continued, beginning to pace once more. "It's going to change starting today. I didn't leave the Puddlemere United to captain a losing team. I didn't come to the Cannons to cross my fingers and hope for the best."

There were a few snickers from the assembled players. Oliver stopped walking and glared hard at all of them.

"Think that's funny?" he intoned darkly.

The laughter came to an immediate halt and Harry shook his head slightly in amazement. Oliver had a way about him; that was for sure. Harry was beginning to feel that this wasn't going to be as simple as he'd imagined, and felt himself standing straighter, under his captain's scrutinizing gaze.

Oliver gave a snort of disgust. "Let's all cross our fingers and hope for the best? Sorriest motto I've ever heard. I don't know who approved that miserable change but that's the kind of defeatist attitude I won't put up with. So while you're up there today, Beating, and Chasing, and Keeping, and Seeking, you just keep this in the front of your minds - We. Shall. Conquer. That's our motto, and if you can't hack it, then you'll want to get out now."

There was dead silence on the pitch.

"Everyone staying then?" Oliver looked across them once more and then nodded, satisfied. "Mount your brooms. Let's see who gets to stay for good."

Harry was on his broom before anyone else could blink an eye, and when Oliver called out, "Seekers up - DID YOU HEAR ME? MOVE!" he was the first one into the air. Below him he could hear Oliver's manic shouts. "I want to see diving! I want to see feinting! I want to see you willing to break your necks for that Snitch!"

And he's not joking, Harry thought with a grimace as Oliver began to put them through their paces. Oliver would happily die for a Quidditch victory and it became clear - as he pulled the Seekers out of one feint only half an inch from collision with the grass - that he expected the same reckless abandon from the rest of them. The other players seemed to find such a demand daunting, and there was more than one mutter of "Is he insane?" in the air around Harry. But, having had a lot of experience in the neck-risking department, Harry couldn't be bothered to worry much about a little hard diving. Especially as the Golden Snitch was one thing that he really didn't mind risking life and limb for. He dove at full speed for an hour, thinking of nothing, remembering nothing, having no focus but the tiny ball of gold, which flickered its silver wings against the pitch.

And at the end of an hour, a whistle signaled the Seekers' break, and Harry watched the group of Chasers shoot into the air to await their instructions. He landed, breathing hard, and made his way toward Oliver, who was motioning for the Seekers to come his way. On all sides of him, Harry could feel the other Seekers sagging - they were winded from the exertion. He was exhilarated. The only one apart from him who seemed to be in shape enough for this was the slight woman whom he had noticed earlier. But even she was regarding Oliver with something very like terror in her eyes, and Harry guessed that she probably wasn't willing to lose her life over a Quidditch match. He hid a grin.

"I hope you men realize that this was just a warm up -" Oliver barked, as they drew nearer "- and that you plan to show up with a little more fire under your bums tomorrow. You-" he pointed sharply to one of the men behind Harry. "Good arms on you, but you're in the wrong position here."

"But I've always played Seek-"

"Things change. Get over there with the Beaters, I want to see what you can do that end." The man hurried off. "You-" Oliver continued, pointing at the man on Harry's other side. "Worried about falling?"

"I - no."

"Then what are you on about, pulling out of dives two feet before everyone else? Do that again and you're out of here. You there-" he nodded to the woman among them.

"Not bad. Not bad at all. Keep that up, you hear me?"

Harry saw the woman her duck her head, beaming. But instead of feeling glad for her, he felt a slight queasiness in his gut. He'd always considered himself to be a pretty damned good Seeker, but Oliver hadn't even noticed him yet. I must have lost my touch, or something... Harry found himself gripping the handle of the Firebolt with more than his usual intensity, and for the first time he realized just how much it meant to him to make the team. Cannons or not - he wanted this.

"And you." Oliver was looking straight at him. Harry snapped out of his reverie and jumped.

"Yeah?"

"Back for more, are you?" Oliver's eyes narrowed.

Harry felt a wave of relief. He had been recognized. This was going to be great. Perhaps especially because behind Oliver's steely Quidditch glare, Harry suddenly detected the fifth year boy he had met in Professor McGonagall's office. His chest filled with a strange, homecoming kind of warmth as he looked at his old captain and teammate for a moment in silence. Smiles tugged hard at the corners of both their mouths, though both struggled to maintain professional distance. But it didn't last - on irresistible impulse, Harry stuck out his hand.

"Oliver."

"Harry."

Oliver grasped his hand, pumped it up and down once, and nodded. "You can do better than that feint you just gave me, Potter."

Harry felt the other Seekers staring at him at the mention of his name, but he nodded back at Oliver. "I know it."

"Then do it. Tomorrow morning, six-thirty sharp, on this pitch. Got that, all of you?"

"Six-thir-" Harry began to protest, as if this was Hogwarts and he were being dragged from his Gryffindor four-poster yet again.

But Oliver cut him off at once with a growl. "Hold back on me again tomorrow and it'll be five-thirty. Seekers dismissed."

With that, Oliver strode off toward the Chasers, blowing his whistle and waving his arms in the air - and only when he was safely out of earshot did Harry allow himself to groan. "Six-thirty," he muttered, shaking his head. "That lunatic. That total -"

"Harry Potter - did I hear that properly?"

It was the female Seeker, and her voice was curious. Harry turned to look at her, feeling his defenses go up at once.

"Yes."

"Oh. That is - well I..." She seemed at a loss, and Harry didn't feel much like helping her. He hated being recognized, when it was like this. Self-consciously he flattened his hair over his scar.

But the woman didn't seem to notice. She just shrugged. "Well, you probably get this all the time - hope you don't mind - but I just wanted to say thanks."

Harry started. "Th- thanks?" he repeated, not sure what she meant.

The woman frowned slightly. "For what you've done, of course. Against the Dark Lord. I don't mean to bother you about it - just to say thanks." She smiled. "Nice flying, too," she added, and then walked away, leaving Harry with his mouth half-open in shock. No one had ever randomly thanked him for his fight against Voldemort, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. It.... well, it didn't bother him, he realized. It was really sort of... nice? He shrugged. At least it wasn't the same as having someone gape openly at his scar.

Across the field, up in the air, the Chasers were doing impossible loops around the goalposts, tossing the Quaffle back and forth in accordance with Oliver's commands. Harry sighed a little. He wished the Seekers' bit of it had gone on a little longer - he'd missed being up on a broomstick for a real purpose. Six-thirty in the morning was actually too far away, he reflected wryly, pulling his wand from his T-shirt and Disapparating.

The Quidditch pitch disappeared, the world went blank, and then he was stumbling – stumbling over something very solid, which was squealing indignantly.

"Ow, Harry, are you mad?!"

Harry had Apparated without any trouble into the front room of Lupin Lodge, but he hadn't taken the other occupants of the house into account. He'd Apparated directly into Ginny, and she'd gone crashing to the ground. She lay sprawled in front of the big fireplace, rubbing her elbow where it appeared she'd slammed it. She looked a bit vexed, but after a moment she began to laugh uncontrollably.

"I could get you fined for that, you know!" she managed, between gasps. "That's Reckless Apparition, that's what it is – I'm calling the D.A.L.!"

Harry knew he was crimson. "I'm so sorry..." he attempted, reaching out a hand to help her up. It was too late; she'd already pushed herself to her feet, still laughing, and to Harry's surprise he heard another, lower laugh coming from the direction of the fireplace. He spun toward the voice, praying that no one else had seen his fumbled attempt at Apparition, and his face burned even hotter when he recognized the plump face that was chuckling in the flames.

"Good to see you, Harry," said Neville Longbottom happily. "I guess you've got your Apparition License."

Harry glanced at Ginny, who had smothered her giggles but was still eyeing him mirthfully, and he shrugged. "Yeah," he agreed. "I probably won't get to keep it for long, though. Hey, Neville." He made himself grin back at his fellow Gryffindor, whom he hadn't seen since their last day at Hogwarts. "What've you been doing lately?" he asked quickly, hoping to distract everyone from the ridiculous entrance he'd just made.

"Well, I've just been talking to Ginny, here –" Neville smiled at Ginny, who smiled back "– and now I have to go to the greenhouses. I'm actually a little late."

Harry looked from Neville to Ginny and back again. "The greenhouses?" he repeated. "Why?"

Neville opened his mouth to answer, but Ginny held up a hand. "I'll explain, Neville," she said kindly. "You go on and don't be late – you know how Professor Sprout can be about that. Thanks for everything."

"Sure." Neville grinned again and looked at Harry. "Hope I'll see you soon, Harry. Pop in anytime you want. Only, don't knock me over, okay?"

Neville's head was gone with a 'pop' before Harry could even reply, and Ginny was sent into a second hysterical fit of laughter. But when she'd calmed down enough, she seemed to remember something important, because she opened her eyes wide and held out her hands palms up, as if waiting for information.

"Well?" she asked excitedly.

"Well what?" Harry asked, feeling irritable.

"Well the Cannons," Ginny replied. "Tuh, honestly. How was it? Did you see Oliver? Was anybody any good? How did the Firebolt behave?"

"Oh. Right." Harry felt himself beginning to grin. "Yeah, I saw Oliver."

Ginny clapped her hands together. "What did he say? I'll bet he was surprised to see you there."

"He didn't even recognize me."

"No!" Ginny looked scandalized. "But he flew with you for three whole years!"

Harry laughed. "I know. But that's Oliver – he's so intense about Quidditch, he didn't even notice I was there until the end."

Ginny shook her head. "Weird. And the other Seekers? Anybody with any real training or talent?"

"A couple were all right," Harry answered, warming to the conversation. "There was one with a Nimbus Two Thousand –"

"Oh," Ginny interrupted, "Good broom. I remember when you had one of those. Poor old thing."

"Yeah." Harry laughed, surprised at how easy it was to talk to Ginny about Quidditch. "Yeah, I miss that thing. Anyway, I expected him to be all right, but he couldn't fly at all, really. Kept pulling out of dives two feet too early. There was a woman there, though – she was really good. I've never heard of her, but even Oliver said she was good, and he never gives anyone a break. She seems all right, too – once she figured out who I was, she –" Harry stopped. He'd been about to tell Ginny about what the woman had said to him after practice. He wondered how he could possibly have rambled on so far.

Ginny tilted her head expectantly. "What did she say?"

"Oh, she just..." Harry shook his head. "Nothing, you know." He searched his mind for some other subject while the look on Ginny's face became decidedly curious. "Hey," Harry said suddenly, remembering what had happened earlier. "What was Neville doing here?"

Ginny seemed to forget her curiosity at once – she avoided Harry's eyes and turned slightly pink. "Nothing," she said quickly. "We were just talking."

Harry felt his brows pull together. "What about?" he asked, not sure why he felt entitled to an answer.

"Oh, you know. Things." Ginny looked extremely uncomfortable, and began to tuck something deeper into the pocket of her jeans. For the first time, Harry realized that she had a quill sticking out of one pocket and a bit of parchment peeking over top of the other. It was the parchment that she was attempting to hide. "Did you know," she said, too brightly, "that Neville's taken a position at Hogwarts?"

"No," said Harry shortly, staring at the pocket where the parchment was hidden and wanting very much to know what was on it. More than that, he wanted to know why Ginny was blushing about Neville. It bothered him more than he wanted to think about.

"Well, he has. Professor Sprout's decided she's going to retire from teaching and raise medicinal herbs for apothecary wholesale, and Neville's going to take her place!"

"What, you mean, he's going to teach Herbology?" Harry couldn't help but pay attention to that – it was a shock to think of Neville teaching anything. Though, Harry reflected fairly, Neville had always been just as good as Hermione, when it came to Herbology.

"Yes, he's going to apprentice with Professor Sprout this year while Hogwarts is closed, and learn all he can – and if he's ready by the fall, he says that Professor McGonagall's going to let him have the position. Isn't that wonderful?" Ginny exclaimed, looking truly happy for Neville's sake.

"Yeah," Harry offered, feeling slightly ungenerous toward Neville at the moment. "Sounds great."

Ginny nodded, then pulled her quill from her pocket and began to tap it self-consciously against her leg, still looking mildly uncomfortable. "Well, anyway," she said vaguely. After a moment, she gestured to Harry's broom. "I'm glad you had such a good practice. Do you go back out tomorrow, then?"

Somewhat relieved that the conversation was steering back to Quidditch, Harry nodded and sighed heavily. "Back to the pitch at six-thirty," he muttered darkly, though deep down he didn't really mind. He'd have gone back at midnight, if that was what Oliver wanted.

"In the morning?" Ginny stuck out her tongue. "That's inhumane."

"I know," Harry answered with a laugh. "But then, Oliver's not exactly human."

~*~

The first week of practices seemed to pass in a blur of wind-chapped skin, aching muscles, and early-morning fatigue, but Harry loved it. Especially since, by the end of Friday afternoon's post-practice drills, Oliver had weeded down the number of potential team members by about half. Harry's only remaining competition for the Seeker position was Maureen Knight, the slight woman who had earned Oliver's praise at the first day of tryouts, and that meant that one of them would definitely make the team and the other would be a reserve player. At the moment, Harry felt as though being a reserve player for the Chudley Cannons would be the most amazing job in the world. He Apparated back to Lupin Lodge after enduring a strict lecture from Oliver that he was "not to treat the weekend as some sort of pub-going holiday," staggered upstairs, and headed straight for the shower.

The water felt cool and refreshing and Harry stood under the spray until his skin was wrinkled. Then he stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and shook out his hair, which almost looked respectable when it was wet. Realizing that he hadn't bothered to bring any clean clothes with him into the bathroom, he stood at the door for a moment, contemplating. Should he Summon a pair of trousers from his room, or just risk dashing down the hall? Feeling revived and clean, he opted for the latter option, and, opening the door just a slit, peered out into the hallway. Seeing no one about, he stepped out and began padding his way down the hall to the room that he shared with Ron. His hand was on the doorknob when he heard a gasp. He froze, and then, turning his head to the side, saw Ginny standing at the top of the stairs, staring at him wide-eyed.

"Er – hi, there," he managed, clutching at his towel and making a mental note to keep a spare set of trousers in the bathroom from now on. He wondered if his face was red. She was wearing some sort of pale green shirt and her hair was down around her shoulders, rather than in her every-day ponytail. But Harry was in no position to dwell on how pretty she looked, and he immediately concentrated very hard on the door in front of him.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again and, grinning slightly, looked past him down the hallway. Then she said, "I was just sent up here to see if you were home. Ron and Sirius have been getting creative in the kitchen and were wondering when you'd want to come downstairs to eat."

"Oh," said Harry, grasping his towel more tightly. "I'll... I'll be right down, shall I?"

"Right," answered Ginny, not moving from her spot on the stairs. Harry hastily turned the doorknob and slipped into his room.

When he came downstairs a few minutes later, it was only to find no evidence of cooking and no sign of people. Curious, he called out, "Ron?!" No answer. "Hermione? Sirius? Anyone?" He thought he heard a muffled giggle coming from the direction of the open window. Slowly, he made his way toward the back door and stepped out into the garden.

"SURPRISE!"

Harry jumped back in alarm. Filibuster Fireworks started going off all over the place and as Harry looked around, he saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Angelina, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Sirius and Remus.

Harry blinked, not sure what to say. In all the excitement of the past week, he had completely forgotten that today was July 31st - and that meant that it was his eighteenth birthday. Every year since he was eleven, he had faithfully marked off a calendar that showed the days left until he could return to school. This year, there had been no need, and not having a calendar had made him lose track of the time. Feeling a bit dim for forgetting his own birthday, Harry muttered "Thanks" with a sheepish grin, and stepped off of the patio into the garden proper.

A long table had been conjured from somewhere and it was full to the brim with so much food that Harry knew that Mrs. Weasley must have been around all day cooking it. He would have recognized her distinctive Yorkshire puddings anywhere. There had been little need to decorate the garden itself, for it was in full bloom with beautiful flowers and herbs, many of which were only visible to a wizard's eye.

The meal was delicious. Harry found out that Mrs. Weasley had indeed Apparated to Lupin Lodge early, just after he had left for Quidditch practice, and spent most of the day preparing for the party. Having spent most of the day in drills, Harry found that he was ravenous, and contented himself with eating second and third portions while he listened to the conversation around him.

Ginny was sitting across the table from him and listening attentively to her brother George, who was telling her all of the latest gossip from Hogsmeade, where he lived with Fred above their joke shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Now that the war's over," he was saying excitedly, "we can dispense with all of that surveillance rubbish and start getting back to what we originally planned to do. Everything's selling like hotcakes - people just want to laugh, you know?"

Hermione was talking to Mr. Weasley about her job prospects, while Ron listened next to Harry, looking moody.

"You know that both of you are more than welcome to come and work at the Ministry at any time," Mr. Weasley was saying. Ron seemed to perk up at this news. "Yeah, Hermione," he enthused, "Dad's right. The Ministry needs you."

Hermione shot Ron a quick, pained look, and Mr. Weasley looked over at his son, as if to make a comment that perhaps Ron might consider applying for a job at the Ministry as well, but Harry was relieved to see that Mr. Weasley had the good sense not to say anything. Ron was fiercely proud of his job at the Snout's Fair.

Sirius was between Remus and Harry and not saying much. He looked a bit tired and Harry felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that Sirius was working himself too hard at Azkaban and Culparrat. Harry thought briefly of offering to go and help Sirius in his work with the prisoners, but then he remembered Quidditch and pushed the thought as far back of his mind as it would go.

Remus, on the other hand, looked perfectly at peace as he spread butter onto a roll and surveyed the table around him. Harry realized that his old professor had grown a little younger-looking since the beginning of summer – or maybe it was just the boyish grin on his face, as he leaned forward and said something inaudible to Sirius. Sirius immediately brightened as well, raised an eyebrow, and quietly said something back. Remus snickered, Sirius laughed, and Harry felt oddly content, watching them.

Mrs. Weasley was sitting on the other side of Ginny and next to her sat Fred, who was uncharacteristically subdued. Mrs. Weasley kept trying to engage him and Angelina into conversation, but they both said little and looked a bit nervous.

"How's Penelope?" Harry asked Mrs. Weasley, and she turned her attention to him.

"Oh! Wonderful dear, thank you for asking! She was feeling a bit under the weather today, you know - a witch in her condition has to be very careful - so she decided to stay home, although she sends her regards."

Fred and Angelina, Harry noticed, were now whispering rather heatedly to each other. Mrs. Weasley had just asked Harry about Quidditch tryouts and Harry was just about to answer her, when Fred uttered in exasperation, "Oh, all right then!" and stood up at the table.

Everyone stopped talking to stare at him, although, from the smirk he caught on George's face out of the corner of his eye, Harry had a feeling that George knew exactly what was coming next. Fred stepped a few steps away from his mother, closer to Angelina, and Harry reflected that it was quite funny that he should still be frightened of his mother after fighting in a war. Fred reached into his pocket and pulled something out of it, and Angelina did the same. Harry saw something glint in the sunlight and he realized that it was a ring. Fred cleared his throat and said very shortly, "Mum, Dad, everyone - er, well, the thing is, Angelina and I got married two weeks ago."

There was silence except for a loud gasp from Mrs. Weasley, who was now clutching her heart. Harry looked around and noticed that Mr. Weasley, still holding a forkful of vegetables, was trying very, very hard not to laugh. After what seemed like an eternity, Mrs. Weasley broke the silence with a sob, "Oh! Fred! Angelina! How could you? How? Didn't you think we'd want to be there?" Her eyes narrowing, Mrs. Weasley turned to look past Ginny at George. "Did you know about this?" she demanded.

"Of course!" George answered brightly. "I was the witness and I was the one who made them carry through on their bet."

"What bet?!" Mrs. Weasley screeched. George looked unaffected.

"I bet Fred and Angelina that if we sold over one-hundred trick wands within the first two weeks of the end of the war, then they would have to get married. And we sold one-hundred and three in the first week."

Mrs. Weasley gasped again, presumably shocked at her son's lack of remorse, and turned in preparation to launch into Fred, but to Harry's surprise, Fred seemed to have regained his courage. Angelina was now standing, and holding Fred's arm, and Fred held out his other hand to his mother, gesturing her to wait.

"Mum," he said, in a voice that was more serious than Harry had ever heard exit either of the twins' mouths. "We just felt like the time was right. I'm sorry we didn't tell you, but please understand," Fred looked over at Angelina, who winked at him and grinned, "we love each other very much, and, well, it just felt right."

Angelina was smiling, although she looked like she might cry, and she leaned forward and said, "Please, Molly, do forgive us. I didn't want to upset you, but I seem to lose my head a bit when Fred's around."

At that point, Mrs. Weasley started to cry, and Angelina started to cry, and Mr. Weasley finally put down his fork and walked around the table to congratulate the couple. Ginny was punching George on the arm for not telling her and Ron was looking delighted, as though pleased that one of his brothers had done something less than perfect.

***

After all of the excitement had died down over Fred and Angelina's announcement, everyone seemed to remember that it was, indeed, Harry's birthday.

"Which do you want first, Harry?" Sirius asked, clapping him on the back. "Presents or cake?"

It was a difficult decision, but Harry decided on "Presents first, please" and Remus and Mrs. Weasley started to clear the table while Sirius and Ron ran inside to collect all of the gifts.

A few minutes later, a large pile of brightly wrapped packages appeared on the table, and Harry's eyes opened wide at the shock of it all.

"You all - you really didn't - " he started, but George interrupted him. "Oi, shut up and open up Harry. Let's just say we owe you one. Here, open ours first." George pushed a very bright, very loud red and pink package towards Harry. "It's from me and Fred and Angelina," he added.

Feeling a bit apprehensive, Harry started to unwrap the gift, holding it a bit away from him. When it was unwrapped, he stared at it, astonished. On the table before him stood a perfect model of a Quidditch field. Seven miniature players stood at either end of the field, clutching tiny broomsticks. One set was wearing scarlet robes and the other - green. "Go on," prompted Fred. "Tell them 'Let the game begin!'"

"Er, 'Let the game begin'!" said Harry, looking down at the players. A referee appeared in the center of the field with a wooden box, and opening it, released two Bludgers, one Quaffle, and one Golden Snitch into the air. The players mounted their brooms and flew off.

"Wow!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yeah," Harry echoed, transfixed.

"We're branching out," explained Fred. "Magical games. You can choose the robes and the names of the teams. You can also select certain players to play for each team. We've got all the famous ones enchanted in there. So, if you want to see a team with Ludo Bagman, Catriona McCormack, and Viktor Krum," Fred stopped and winked across the table at Ron, who scowled, "then all you have to do is say so before the game starts."

"This is a pre-release copy Harry," explained George. "There's a serial number on the bottom." Harry looked at the base of the Quidditch pitch and noticed a golden "1" stamped in the wood.

"The whole thing was actually Angelina's idea," said Fred proudly. "We worked on it during the war when we needed a break."

"Thanks!" said Harry earnestly, already mentally forming teams in his head. He stared at the game for a few more moments, and then, remembering that there were other presents to be opened, he pushed the game over to Ron, who was eyeing it with great interest.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a new set of dark green robes ("To bring out your eyes, dear.") Hermione handed him a book - Common Quidditch Injuries and Charms to Prevent Them – while Ron offered him a bottle of "Goldie's Liquid Curse", the alcohol in the green bottle that had made him so drunk earlier in the month. Remus added to the collection by giving Harry a small wizarding alarm clock that shouted, in a voice very like Oliver Wood's, "Oi, Potter! Get your lazy arse out of that bed!"

"I thought it might motivate you," said Remus serenely.

When they'd all finished laughing, Ginny shyly handed Harry his present and sat twisting her fingers as he opened it. It was a slim, attractive looking book with a flattering picture of Harry, riding his Firebolt, on the front of it. The picture appeared to have been painted and the sky around him swirled and moved as he flew back and forth across the cover. In gold and silver lettering across the bottom was written, Thoughts of Harry, compiled by Ginny Weasley in honor of his eighteenth birthday.

Harry looked up in amazement and noticed that Ginny was now blushing so furiously that it was difficult to tell where her forehead ended and her hair began. He grinned at her and she smiled weakly back. Not sure what to expect, Harry opened the book to the first page. There was a wizard photograph of himself, Ron, and Hermione, taken during the beginning of their fifth year, looking very happy and silly as they prepared to head to the Halloween feast, followed by a short explanation of the book itself. Ginny had apparently gone to all of Harry's friends and asked them to write about a memory of him, or else to provide a picture – she explained that Dean Thomas had drawn the front cover, and Seamus Finnigan had written a small piece inside. Parvati Patil had written a rather humorous account of their "date" to the Yule Ball, thanking him for allowing her the freedom to meet Pierre Bardot of Beauxbatons, and enclosing one of her hair ribbons from that evening. Neville Longbottom had enclosed a list of all of the passwords ever used to enter Gryffindor tower while they were at Hogwarts 'compiled with the much appreciated assistance of the Fat Lady, who sends her regards as well'. So that's why Ginny was talking to Neville the other day, Harry realized, relieved to know the explanation.

Slowly, as everyone else returned to laughing together and eating, Harry skimmed through his book and tried to process all the kind things that had been written for him. There was a note from Mrs. Weasley in which she told him that she would always consider him a son in her heart, and one from Mr. Weasley thanking Harry for all of his insights over the years into Muggle affairs. Sirius and Remus had put their heads together to compile a "Marauders Map" of Lupin Lodge, so that Harry would always know when the toilet was free. Harry snorted with laughter, then glanced at Ginny, who was the only one still watching him.

"So, happy birthday," she said, meeting his eyes, though she was still twisting her fingers in her lap.

"Thanks," he said quietly, leaning toward her slightly to make sure she could hear him over the din of chattering around them. "This was a great idea. Really." He looked down at the book, which he had almost finished skimming, and turned the last page.

"No – why don't you finish reading it later –" Ginny attempted, but it was too late. Harry had already seen that on the last page was written a very short entry, in Ginny's handwriting. He adjusted his glasses unnecessarily, suddenly feeling both incredibly curious and very nervous. He was half-afraid she'd written something like the long-ago Valentine, and half-afraid that she hadn't. He peered apprehensively at the pretty cursive.

Harry,

I am here.

Love,

Ginny

Blushing more furiously than he would have been if Ginny had written a twenty-page love letter, Harry glanced up only to find Ginny looking at him questioningly. He stared back for a long moment, his head swimming with questions of his own. "I... thanks," he managed briefly, feeling like an idiot for his speechlessness.

She nodded, and turned away.

Harry was relieved a split-second later, when Sirius hollered, "My turn!" His godfather pulled his wand and shot the only package that was left on the table into Harry's hands. There was a card stuck to the top of it, and Harry opened that first.

He read to himself:

Dear Harry,

Your parents gave this to me shortly before their deaths. I was instructed to hold onto it, in case anything happened to them, until your seventeenth birthday. Unfortunately, things were rather hectic last year and I didn't think of it until just now. It's been in my Gringotts vault all these years. I'm not even sure what it is, although if it's what I think it is, we should have quite a lot of entertainment for this evening.

Happy Birthday,

Sirius

Harry didn't say anything for a moment - he just stared at the package on the table in front of him. Finally, he gulped, and announced to everyone sitting around the table, "It's from my mum and dad." Sirius nudged Harry with his elbow and said, "Go on then, open it up."

Harry eased off the paper surrounding the gift. Soon he had uncovered what appeared to be a plain picture frame, with a photograph of his father and mother. They were both smiling and waving at him, and Harry gazed at it intensely. This had belonged to his mother and father. They had touched this. And there they were. Harry had so few pictures of his parents that each one was like a treasure to him. He looked over at his godfather and whispered, "Thanks, Sirius." To his surprise, Sirius laughed.

"Just as I thought! That's not all, Harry! But perhaps we should have the cake on the table before I show you how to work this thing."

"Work it?" asked Harry, puzzled.

"Yes," answered Sirius. "That's not just a photograph - it's a Kinolia."

"A what?" asked Harry, even more confused, but he noticed that Fred, George, Ron, and Mr. Weasley had all uttered "Cool!" and "Wish I had one of those!" under their breath. Harry was used, even after eight years in the wizarding world, to not knowing many things that might be common knowledge amongst people in wizarding families.

"A Kinolia," explained Mr. Weasley excitedly. "It's the wizard version of a Muggle filum."

"Filum?"

"Yes, you know, their version of moving stories."

Harry was floored. He was holding in his hands a device that would show him not only stationary versions of his parents, waving and smiling, but something that might enable him to hear them speak, and laugh, and move. He didn't want to wait for cake, although Mrs. Weasley had already brought an enormous one to the table.

"How'd you work it Sirius?" he asked eagerly.

"I'm not sure if I even remember. Remus is the brains behind the whole thing - do you reckon you can work it out?"

"I think so," replied Remus. He surveyed the ground in front of them and muttered "Accio!" Soon, several blankets were flying out of an upstairs window of Lupin Lodge and spreading out on the ground below. "We should sit in a circle," he explained. "It's easier to watch that way."

Still clutching the frame in his hands, and feeling too excited to bring the slice of cake that Mrs. Weasley had placed in front of him, Harry made his way over to the blankets. It was getting dark now, but Harry didn't mind. Everyone else soon followed, Mr. Weasley making a grunting noise as he tried to get down on the ground. Ginny was the last one over, and Harry noticed that everyone seemed to have left a space for her next to him. She sat down gingerly, curling her legs up under her.

"Harry, place the Kinolia in the center there," Remus instructed and Harry did so.

"Now," directed Remus. "I think that all you have to do is point your wand at it and order it to play. Give it a try."

Harry extracted his wand from the back pocket of his jeans and pointed it at the frame. Eyes fixed on the identical ones belonging to his mother, he said loudly, "Play!" and watched as mist appeared to float out of the picture. Soon, he heard the sound of a woman laughing, and heard Ginny gasp slightly. Floating above everyone were James and Lily Potter, looking solid and young and healthy and happy, despite the fact that they were floating a few feet above the ground.

"Is it working, Remus?" Harry heard a voice ask from above. It was his father's voice. He had only heard his father's voice twice before, and both of those times, it had been filled with a sense of fear and urgency. Now, it was filled with amusement.

Remus on the ground grinned, as they heard a younger version of his voice reply, "I think I've got it this time."

"Right," said James Potter, walking around behind his wife and encircling her waist with his arms, "Go on then Lily."

Harry watched his mother laugh, and her face grew larger as the Kinolia zoomed in on it, while the rest of her body seemed to float away in the mist. She cleared her throat and began, "Hello Harry ... or ... Honora... we're not sure which you'll be yet, as you're currently about this big..." she held up her thumb and index finger in front of her face and squinted. "But we know you're there, and we want to keep a complete record of your entire life for you, so Daddy - " here she stopped and turned to beam back at her husband, "Daddy went out and bought this Kinolia for you."

There was a loud Thud! as Lily and James Potter's faces fell out of view and what appeared to be grass and some shabby-looking shoes came into focus.

"You're pregnant?" they heard a young Remus exclaim. "Really?"

Everyone on the ground turned to look at Remus, who was shaking with laughter at this point. He shrugged his shoulders and kept laughing, and everyone turned their attention back to the figures in the center of the circle.

The grass had faded away, and James and Lily Potter were standing in the center once again, but this time, Lily Potter looked much larger than she had before. She was standing sideways and grinning.

"Well, my child," she was saying. "You've gone and ruined my figure, but I love you anyway."

They heard laughter from behind the camera, but this time, there were three voices - Remus, Sirius, and – Harry jumped inwardly – Peter Pettigrew.

"Let me have a go." The voice definitely belonged to Peter. "You two go and stand with Lily." Harry felt himself shudder slightly. He didn't want Peter Pettigrew anywhere near his parents. He felt like reaching out to the solid looking figures in front of him and pulling them away - warning them. Involuntarily he reached out his fingers as if to touch them, before realizing that there was nothing solid to touch.

Quickly he pulled back his hand, his heart lurching with a sick helplessness. He opened his mouth to say that he would watch the rest of the Kinolia later, that he didn't want to see this anymore – but before he could speak, he felt something cool and smooth cover his fingers on the blanket. He looked down and saw Ginny's pale hand on top of his and felt the bottom drop out from his stomach. But he didn't want her to move – not at all. Tentatively, he turned his palm upward and laced his fingers slightly through hers, letting out his breath, which he realized that he'd been holding in. The Kinolia could keep playing, he decided briefly, feeling a shock run up his arm when Ginny moved her thumb along his index finger, just barely. The Kinolia could keep playing for the rest of the night.

Harry's eyes darted quickly around the circle of his friends, searching to see if anyone had noticed what had just happened, but to his relief they were all riveted by the image of a young Sirius Black, who had loomed up above them. Harry looked at his godfather, sitting on the ground opposite him, and saw that his eyes were glistening. The Sirius that was now laughing out of the Kinolia was young, strong, and dashing. His hair was longer and his black robes were cut fashionably. He put his ear down to Lily Potter's bulging middle and said, "What's that? Really? You do? Very interesting..." Looking up, Sirius winked at James and said, "Harry would like his present now." Lily opened her mouth, just about to ask something, when James held out his hand and said, "Moony! Bring in the gift!" A moment later, Remus appeared, looking much younger also - his hair was entirely brown - with a very small broomstick in his hand.

"James!" exclaimed Lily, shaking her head. "All of you! This child is not even born yet, and, " she added, pointing at Sirius, "we do not know if it is a boy or a girl yet. Either way, our child is not getting on a broomstick before it can walk. I've been reading up on it and Dr. Pedetria clearly states that children who fly before walking..."

"Yes, yes, we know all about Dr. Pedetria, don't we Harry," said James, kissing his wife's neck. "She's an expert." The laughter faded, as did the figures in front of them, and slowly, another vision, almost too dark to see, filled the air above the ground.

First they saw a dim figure, and heard a voice say softly, "Damn! How hard can this be to figure out? I hope it's working." Then they saw Lily Potter's face appear in front of them. She appeared to be sitting in a darkened room.

"Hello, Harry," she said softly. "I know that you're a boy, even though I give James a hard time about it. He's too arrogant sometimes, even though most of the time he is right about things." She sighed deeply and looked down. "James doesn't want you to know about the dark times that we live in, but my hope is that by the time you are old enough to see this, the darkness will be gone, and I think it's important to understand."

Lily looked off to her side for a moment, and when she turned her head back towards the Kinolia, her eyes were bright. "Your father isn't here right now. I don't know where he is. He can't tell me. The truth is, we are in the middle of a war. It's a terrible war, and I am so afraid. Every time your father leaves, I'm afraid he won't come back. That's a real danger, you know?" She laughed a bit and continued. "Of course you don't know - you're a baby, or, I hope you will be in two weeks. You are completely innocent. You are what is keeping me sane. Always know that your mother loves you very, very much."

She sat and stared at the air in front of her for what seemed like an eternity. Harry dully heard Mrs. Weasley sniffling and for a moment he wished everyone would just go away. He pulled his knees up in front of him, pulled his hand out from underneath Ginny's, and grasped at his hair with both of his hands, not thinking of anything in particular.

Soon, however, another, much brighter scene was forming. "It's a boy! It's a boy! I was right! Padfoot, where the heck is that broom?" James Potter's voice rang out clearly through the night air. James turned to face the Kinolia. "My wife is the most amazing, beautiful, brave, wonderful witch on the entire planet!"

Sirius appeared in front of the camera, threw his arm around James's shoulders, and held up the tiny broomstick from the earlier scene in his other hand. "I am a godfather!" he announced proudly. "And as godfather, I am allowed to give the boy his broomstick!" A muffled sound came from behind the Kinolia. Sirius scowled in a friendly manner. "We are not drunk Mr. Lupin. Not at all! I know that's why you're laughing, so you can just stop right now."

"Where's Peter?" asked James, slurring his words slightly.

"Dunno," shrugged Sirius. "Hey! Can we go in and record the baby?"

James held his finger to his lips and said, "Shhhh...sleeping..." but he opened the door behind them and they saw Lily Potter sleeping in a large bed. Next to her, in a small cradle, was a tiny, tiny bundle with a shock of dark, black hair. "Bloody hell, James!" exclaimed Sirius, loudly, and James shushed him again, "You gave the poor kid your hair."

"Yeah, well, he's got Lily's eyes," James said defiantly, "so he'll never have to worry about these ruddy things." James pointed a finger at his glasses and grimaced.

On the ground, Fred and George laughed in unison.

"Wait a second..." The Sirius in the Kinolia seemed to be pondering something and his face lit up brightly. "Remus, what day is today?"

"Why, I believe that it's July 31st," answered Remus, and Harry could hear the grin from behind the Kinolia.

"That's right," said Sirius, spinning round to look at James, "and that means that you owe us some money, Prongs. Surely you haven't forgotten our bet?"

"A man after my own heart!" called out Fred delightedly.

Harry watched as his father squirmed uncomfortably, shooting a glance at his wife, who was lying in the bed, apparently still asleep. "Well, let's talk about it outside, shall we?" James motioned to baby Harry, as if to indicate that they would wake him.

"All right," agreed Sirius. "Remus, let's get this down for the official record, shall we?"

"Mmmhmm," said Remus, following them out of the room. All that was visible was the backs of their heads.

"Pay up James!" Sirius said as they exited the room.

"I don't think it proves anything. That due date is just arbitrary. Just because Harry was born today, doesn't mean that..."

"Don't try to talk your way out of this one, Potter. Just pay up. Ten Galleons, wasn't it Moony?"

"I believe so."

"Remus," James hissed, "surely you can see that this is all very silly..."

"I lost a lot of sleep that night as well, James." Remus sounded like he was trying to hold his laughter in. Harry glanced over to where Remus and Sirius were sitting on the ground and both of them were shaking with suppressed laughter. Harry wondered where this whole conversation was leading.

"Fine," James dug into his pocket. "So evidence points to the notion that my son was conceived on Halloween. Big deal. I don't see why it's so funny. I don't see why it's worth discussing over and over again. Actually - " James straightened and grinned a bit, "it could have been any day in the week before or after Halloween as well. Any day."

On the ground, Harry blushed and Ron snorted.

"It's not particularly funny, James," answered Sirius, ignoring James's comment and dividing the gold into two piles and handing one to the Remus behind the Kinolia, "except that you're very fun to tease, and you were being very loud after that Halloween party. Don't worry, we'll use the money to buy a nice gift for Harry."

The scene faded. Everyone in the circle on the ground was now laughing. Harry wasn't really sure how he felt. Watching his parents on the Kinolia was, to a certain extent, painful. It just reinforced something that Harry had always suspected - that his parents were good, decent people, whom he would have like to get to know better, and that was never going to happen. And the reason for that was Peter Pettigrew, who was laughing and joking with them. On the other hand, he was thoroughly enjoying watching his godfather and his teacher enjoying their youth - before it had been snatched away from them. Harry looked around. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting next to each other, smiling. Ron had his long legs stretched out in front of him, one arm propping himself up and the other wrapped around Hermione. Fred and Angelina were holding hands, and George was staring off into space looking quite content. Remus and Sirius were whispering to each other and laughing a bit - Harry assumed that watching the Kinolia must evoke the same emotions in them.

Turning his head slightly, Harry saw Ginny out of the corner of his eye. Her legs were still curled under her. Her right hand picked at the piece of cake on her plate as she stared down at it. The other hand was picking at the grass on the ground next to her. It was white and girlish against the grass and Harry had an unexplainable urge to reach out and hold it again, knowing that it might make him feel better. But for some reason, he just couldn't make himself do it. Reluctantly, he turned his attention back to the swirling image above him.

Image upon image appeared on the Kinolia. Harry saw himself crying fretfully for no apparent reason at all. He watched Sirius levitate him using the Wingardium Leviosa charm. His parents danced, laughed, and smiled. His mother read him a bedtime story and sang to him. She was beautiful and calm and patient and he was a part of her. It was very difficult to take in at once. Harry wondered idly whether or not Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve was still in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. He felt that he could use one of his own about now.

There was a picnic. Everyone was outside, enjoying the day. People were swimming in a lake. Peter Pettigrew must have been holding the Kinolia, because first Harry saw himself being tossed between his mother and his father. Then the image panned to two figures sitting on a hill a bit away from everyone else - Remus and Sirius. Both looked glum and Harry looked over to their present-day selves to see if he could discern why. He saw Sirius reach out and touch Remus on the arm. Remus looked up and gave a small smile, and Sirius smiled back, withdrew his hand, and both turned to continue watching.

And then, the Kinolia stopped playing. Harry felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn't wanted it to stop. That meant that the scene at the lake was not long before his parents had died. Indeed, the Harry playing in the water had looked to be about a year old. That had been summer - his parents had died at the end of October. They must have been too busy hiding to use the Kinolia more often during the following months. There was a sort of silence outside, and for a few moments, Harry could hear nothing but the summer insects. Finally, Ginny rose and began gathering cake plates together. She Banished them into the kitchen and Mrs. Weasley also rose and began lighting lanterns around the garden. Everyone started chattering again. Harry picked up the Kinolia and held it protectively under his arm. Ron and Hermione came over to him, Ron wearing a big lopsided grin.

"So, you're a Halloween baby, Harry?" he smirked.

Hermione hit him. "It's really not that funny, Ron. No point starting teasing him about it. You'd think you'd have worked it out before now."

"You mean you worked it out and you didn't say anything? We could have celebrated Harry's "Conception Day" along with Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday all these years..."

"I'm sure Harry would have loved that, wouldn't you Harry?"

Harry shrugged.

Mrs. Weasley came out into the garden, a large brown package hovering in front of her. She deposited it on the table. It looked as though it had been delivered by Muggle post - it was addressed very neatly to "Harry Potter", and had about fifteen stamps on it.

"This arrived for you today, dear," Mrs. Weasley explained. "I'd almost forgotten it. I've no idea who it could be from. It came by Muggle post earlier today, and the man who delivered it seemed very confused." But she sounded a bit too cheerful. Harry could think of only one person, or rather, family, who would send him something in the Muggle way, although he hadn't expected to hear anything from them on his birthday.

Slowly, he examined the parcel. The neat handwriting on the front definitely belonged to his Aunt Petunia. By the looks of it, she had wrapped it as well. The brown paper was plain and coarse, but the ends were taped very, very neatly and it appeared that no extra paper or tape had been wasted in wrapping this "gift."

Ginny appeared at Harry's side. "Go on," she urged, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "maybe it'll be another tissue - Mum could use one, look, she's still all watery-eyed from the Kinolia."

"I most certainly am not," protested Mrs. Weasley, with a sniffle.

Harry grinned wryly - tissues were the Dursleys' standard idea of a gift for their nephew. Harry doubted very much, however, whether the Dursleys would waste an entire box on something so small. The box didn't feel heavy at all. Harry picked it up and shook it lightly. "Maybe it's just air," he joked.

Harry unwrapped the parcel only to find an old, beat-up shoebox underneath. A piece of paper was taped to the lid. Harry ripped it off, pulling away some of the box with it, hoping desperately that the box did not really contain an old pair of Uncle Vernon's shoes or a collection of his oldest, smelliest socks. It read:

We were cleaning out our attic and found these. They belong to you. If you do not want them, please do not send them back.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley

Well, Harry thought, fine with me. He was sure that he was happier to be away from the Dursleys than they were to be rid of him. Curious, Harry lifted the lid to the box. Inside was a blue blanket. Harry touched it carefully, not quite comprehending what it was. Sirius had now appeared on his other side, and everyone else had gathered across the table to see what the Dursleys had sent. Harry looked over to Sirius curiously, wondering if he knew what it meant. Sirius was staring at the blanket with an empty look. His eyes were as dark and hooded as they had been the first time Harry had seen him in the Shrieking Shack. Remus placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder.

"It's the blanket that Hagrid wrapped you in before he took you to the Dursleys," Sirius said quietly. "I showed up and saw...saw the house, and realized what had happened, and I saw Hagrid there, wrapping you in these blankets."

Sirius stopped talking for a moment, and Harry did not speak either. Sirius took a small breath and continued. "When I saw Hagrid, I knew that Dumbledore must have sent him. He comforted me, he was wailing quite loudly himself - I thought he was going to drown you with those big tears of his. Then I told him to give you to me - that I was your godfather. But he said that Dumbledore had instructed him to take you to him, and I knew that something strange was going on, but I agreed."

Harry lifted the blankets out of the box. They were dusty and wrinkled, but as he lifted them, a small piece of parchment flitted out of them. Sirius picked it up with trembling fingers. "I had a feeling that you never discovered this," he said with a bitter edge to his voice.

"I'm surprised that the Dursleys didn't burn these like they did my letter from Dumbledore," Harry said angrily. "Why'd they keep these, I wonder?"

"Probably hoping they'd be able to send you back in them," suggested Ron.

"Ron," hissed Hermione and Mrs. Weasley simultaneously, but Harry smiled a bit and picked up on the bait. "Yeah, maybe that's why they kept me in the closet all those years, so that I'd fit into my blankets."

Sirius handed Harry the piece of parchment. "Before I gave Hagrid my motorbike, I scribbled this and stuck it into your blankets. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I had a feeling that I wouldn't be seeing you for a while."

Harry picked up the paper and read aloud:

Be safe, Harry. I'll come for you as soon as I can. It's probably better that Hagrid wouldn't let me bring you with me, but I would have, Harry. Know that I would have. Someday, you will understand.

Your godfather,

Sirius Black

"Well," said Harry after he'd finished reading, "if I'd had that, it would have cleared up quite a lot, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, I dunno," said Ron cheerfully, "we still would have thought he was a Muggle-killing lunatic and he still probably would've broken my leg."

Everyone laughed at this and Harry gently folded the blanket and placed it back in the box, laying the note down on top of it. Although anger at the Dursleys was making his stomach churn, he couldn't really feel upset for long. He was too full and exhausted, and anyway, the blankets had belonged to him, and he'd seen moving pictures of his mother and father - he'd heard them laugh, heard them speak...

One by one, party guests started to leave. Fred, George, and Angelina departed first, after much fuss from Mrs. Weasley. Ron, Hermione and Ginny excused themselves to go help Remus rearrange things inside. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood in the garden for quite some time, talking with Harry and Sirius. Mr. Weasley was just in the middle of telling Sirius that he might be able to find his old motorbike, when he stopped talking suddenly and his mouth turned grim.

Harry turned his head so that he could see what had caused Mr. Weasley's sudden change of mood and saw Draco Malfoy in the distance, standing on the balcony of his uncle's house. Malfoy's silver-blond hair reflected in the moonlight and glowed. Mrs. Weasley gently placed a hand on her husband's arm and said softly, "Shall we be going now Arthur?" Mr. Weasley nodded, and the two of them said goodnight and Disapparated.

Now only Sirius and Harry were left in the garden.

"Did you have a happy birthday, Harry?" asked Sirius. Though he was smiling, the gravity in his voice made Harry think of the letter that Sirius had sent him a month ago. "You know that I have had my doubts as to whether I would ever be free to do my godfatherly duties by you. But Harry, now that I am, it's going to be the way it should have been all along. I promise you that."

Harry glanced up at Malfoy, who was still standing on the balcony alone, and reflected that living with the Dursleys all those years might have been worth it after all. It was better than being indulged as a child and ending up a lonely adult. Harry rubbed his hand absently where Ginny had touched it, and thought of the messages and gifts that had been piled up in his honor. At least he wasn't lonely.

Realizing that Sirius was still waiting quietly for an answer, Harry shook himself out of his thoughts and looked at his godfather. "This was the best birthday I've had," he said simply.

Sirius grinned, unable to hide his relief. "Good. Now, tell me what's happening with the Cannons. I haven't heard anything yet."

Together, discussing Harry's favorite subject, they strolled back into the house.