For the rest of the day, Harry decided not to ask Ron or Hermione about their argument. Instead, he let the minutes pass by spending copious amounts of time with each one, half the day with Ron and half the day with Hermione. He wished that they wouldn't be like this for his birthday; besides, he wanted them to have fun.
Later that evening, Harry alone began to set up the living room. He placed his mattress in between Ron's and Hermione's beside the fireplace, as the Dursleys forbade them to use the couches.
As he was laying the pillows and blankets down, Ron came stumbling in with his pajamas on, a bored look on his face.
"I'm bored," he announced, plopping down on the mattress closest to the wall.
"Yeah, well, it would have been more fun hadn't you and Hermione had another stupid fight," Harry snapped, tossing a pillow on Hermione's mattress.
Ron looked guilty for a moment.
"Sorry, mate," he said quietly, sliding under the covers.
Harry didn't answer. He went into the backyard where Hermione was reading a different book called Durmstrang Revealed.
"Why are you reading that?" Harry asked, ambling across the lawn to Hermione's spot on the grass.
"I was curious about Viktor's school," she explained, turning a page. Her eyes were still glued onto the book.
"Well, come on in, I've already set up the mattresses."
Hermione carefully marked her page and followed Harry into the living room. Ron was already half-asleep, the covers pulled up over his head.
"Harry, where's the bathroom?" Hermione asked in a high-pitched voice, daring not to look at Ron.
"Second door to your right," Harry replied, steering her to the hallway.
When Hermione quietly came back and went to sleep, Harry was still wide awake. He was thinking about Sirius, Lord Voldemort, the Ministry, his OWL results, and a lot more. He couldn't believe how complicated his life was. Even the little things, like Ron & Hermione's spat, bugged him almost as much.
Ron's soft snores were silently filling up the room, while Hermione, Harry could tell, was still tossing and turning.
Harry glanced at the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. It was already twelve o'clock – he was sixteen.
Harry looked over at Hermione, who had chosen a comfy spot and was already falling asleep. He sighed and turned on his back.
Once he did this, Harry heard a little pop – the sound that occurred usually when someone's head appeared in the fireplace.
But before Harry turned around to look, he realized that it couldn't be – there were no flames flickering, and therefore the head would not be able to appear.
But as he gazed at the shadows on the wall, he noticed that somehow flames had appeared in the fireplace.
He gasped and whirled around; knowing that it wasn't Sirius, but it reminded him of Sirius so horribly that he wanted to believe it was.
Instead, he caught sight of Lupin's balding head, the flames licking the sides of his face.
"Lupin!" Harry exclaimed quietly. "How did you know we were here? How – how did you get the fire starting? How did-"
Lupin laughed.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Lupin said cheerfully, sticking a poorly-wrapped present into the flames.
Harry hesitated.
"Don't worry, you won't get hurt," he laughed again.
Harry grinned and took the present.
"You really didn't have to...thank you..." Harry said happily, but he was happier seeing Lupin than receiving a present.
He set the present aside and went closer to the fireplace.
"How are things?" Lupin asked quietly. Harry knew he was talking about how he was coping with Sirius' death.
Harry shrugged.
"Not as bad. Ron and Hermione are here, as you can see," Harry said, gesturing towards the two unmoving figures.
"Tell them I said hello," Lupin said.
Harry nodded, and there was a silence. Neither of them knew what to say at that moment.
"So how did you get the flames starting?" Harry asked curiously.
"My secret." He winked.
"Well, how did you know we were here?"
Lupin's head bobbed a bit.
"Ron's parents told me that he and Hermione were here, and I thought I'd try and see if you were sleeping in your living room – you know, just to check up."
Harry smiled.
"I tried to connect your fireplace to the Floo Network at first, but they said it already was."
Harry nodded.
"The Weasleys came in my third year. You're lucky the Dursleys don't know about this, or they'd beat me half to death."
Lupin's smile faded.
"Are they treating you fine?"
Harry thought about it for a second.
"Yeah, I guess – wait, are you in the Order Headquarters?" Harry asked.
Lupin nodded.
"It feels quite strange to be here without Sirius," he commented sadly.
Suddenly his head turned round.
"Well, I'd better get going. Happy birthday!"
And with that, his head popped again; the flames disappeared; and the darkness of the house cast over the room again.
Harry looked down at Lupin's present. Harry had a feeling that he should open it, now.
So he crept upstairs, turned the light on in his bedroom, and unstuck the piece of parchment from the wrapping paper.
Dearest Harry, it said. Happy sixteenth birthday! I hope you'll find this present helpful in many ways more than one. My best wishes, Lupin.
Harry's stomach churned. Lupin was already as shabby as he was, he didn't need to waste his money on Harry...
Harry carefully set the parchment aside and tore open the red wrapping paper.
Once it was unwrapped, Harry noticed that it was a black leather-bound scrapbook. His heart beating, Harry flipped it over and opened it.
There was a picture of Lupin, Sirius, and Harry's dad. Peter Pettigrew appeared to have walked away.
Lupin was waving and smiling, mouthing the words "Happy Birthday" and Sirius was grinning and transforming into a black dog; chasing pigeons in the picture.
Harry laughed aloud, thinking of the time in his fifth year when Sirius had done the same thing while walking him to Platform 9 ¾.
Then Harry's eyes moved to his father. His father was also waving and smiling, but his eyes were sad. Harry guessed that James had wanted to be there for Harry's sixteenth birthday.
Harry turned the page, finding more pictures of the three of them and also a lot of other stuff, such as notes passed between each other during class, and assignments they'd received back.
For the first time in many years, Harry's eyes filled up with tears as he paged through the book.
Later that evening, Harry alone began to set up the living room. He placed his mattress in between Ron's and Hermione's beside the fireplace, as the Dursleys forbade them to use the couches.
As he was laying the pillows and blankets down, Ron came stumbling in with his pajamas on, a bored look on his face.
"I'm bored," he announced, plopping down on the mattress closest to the wall.
"Yeah, well, it would have been more fun hadn't you and Hermione had another stupid fight," Harry snapped, tossing a pillow on Hermione's mattress.
Ron looked guilty for a moment.
"Sorry, mate," he said quietly, sliding under the covers.
Harry didn't answer. He went into the backyard where Hermione was reading a different book called Durmstrang Revealed.
"Why are you reading that?" Harry asked, ambling across the lawn to Hermione's spot on the grass.
"I was curious about Viktor's school," she explained, turning a page. Her eyes were still glued onto the book.
"Well, come on in, I've already set up the mattresses."
Hermione carefully marked her page and followed Harry into the living room. Ron was already half-asleep, the covers pulled up over his head.
"Harry, where's the bathroom?" Hermione asked in a high-pitched voice, daring not to look at Ron.
"Second door to your right," Harry replied, steering her to the hallway.
When Hermione quietly came back and went to sleep, Harry was still wide awake. He was thinking about Sirius, Lord Voldemort, the Ministry, his OWL results, and a lot more. He couldn't believe how complicated his life was. Even the little things, like Ron & Hermione's spat, bugged him almost as much.
Ron's soft snores were silently filling up the room, while Hermione, Harry could tell, was still tossing and turning.
Harry glanced at the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. It was already twelve o'clock – he was sixteen.
Harry looked over at Hermione, who had chosen a comfy spot and was already falling asleep. He sighed and turned on his back.
Once he did this, Harry heard a little pop – the sound that occurred usually when someone's head appeared in the fireplace.
But before Harry turned around to look, he realized that it couldn't be – there were no flames flickering, and therefore the head would not be able to appear.
But as he gazed at the shadows on the wall, he noticed that somehow flames had appeared in the fireplace.
He gasped and whirled around; knowing that it wasn't Sirius, but it reminded him of Sirius so horribly that he wanted to believe it was.
Instead, he caught sight of Lupin's balding head, the flames licking the sides of his face.
"Lupin!" Harry exclaimed quietly. "How did you know we were here? How – how did you get the fire starting? How did-"
Lupin laughed.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Lupin said cheerfully, sticking a poorly-wrapped present into the flames.
Harry hesitated.
"Don't worry, you won't get hurt," he laughed again.
Harry grinned and took the present.
"You really didn't have to...thank you..." Harry said happily, but he was happier seeing Lupin than receiving a present.
He set the present aside and went closer to the fireplace.
"How are things?" Lupin asked quietly. Harry knew he was talking about how he was coping with Sirius' death.
Harry shrugged.
"Not as bad. Ron and Hermione are here, as you can see," Harry said, gesturing towards the two unmoving figures.
"Tell them I said hello," Lupin said.
Harry nodded, and there was a silence. Neither of them knew what to say at that moment.
"So how did you get the flames starting?" Harry asked curiously.
"My secret." He winked.
"Well, how did you know we were here?"
Lupin's head bobbed a bit.
"Ron's parents told me that he and Hermione were here, and I thought I'd try and see if you were sleeping in your living room – you know, just to check up."
Harry smiled.
"I tried to connect your fireplace to the Floo Network at first, but they said it already was."
Harry nodded.
"The Weasleys came in my third year. You're lucky the Dursleys don't know about this, or they'd beat me half to death."
Lupin's smile faded.
"Are they treating you fine?"
Harry thought about it for a second.
"Yeah, I guess – wait, are you in the Order Headquarters?" Harry asked.
Lupin nodded.
"It feels quite strange to be here without Sirius," he commented sadly.
Suddenly his head turned round.
"Well, I'd better get going. Happy birthday!"
And with that, his head popped again; the flames disappeared; and the darkness of the house cast over the room again.
Harry looked down at Lupin's present. Harry had a feeling that he should open it, now.
So he crept upstairs, turned the light on in his bedroom, and unstuck the piece of parchment from the wrapping paper.
Dearest Harry, it said. Happy sixteenth birthday! I hope you'll find this present helpful in many ways more than one. My best wishes, Lupin.
Harry's stomach churned. Lupin was already as shabby as he was, he didn't need to waste his money on Harry...
Harry carefully set the parchment aside and tore open the red wrapping paper.
Once it was unwrapped, Harry noticed that it was a black leather-bound scrapbook. His heart beating, Harry flipped it over and opened it.
There was a picture of Lupin, Sirius, and Harry's dad. Peter Pettigrew appeared to have walked away.
Lupin was waving and smiling, mouthing the words "Happy Birthday" and Sirius was grinning and transforming into a black dog; chasing pigeons in the picture.
Harry laughed aloud, thinking of the time in his fifth year when Sirius had done the same thing while walking him to Platform 9 ¾.
Then Harry's eyes moved to his father. His father was also waving and smiling, but his eyes were sad. Harry guessed that James had wanted to be there for Harry's sixteenth birthday.
Harry turned the page, finding more pictures of the three of them and also a lot of other stuff, such as notes passed between each other during class, and assignments they'd received back.
For the first time in many years, Harry's eyes filled up with tears as he paged through the book.