A/N: Obviously since 'The Order of The Phoenix' was released, several details about plot have changed, which unfortunately rather mess up my original plan. So rather than starting from scratch, I'm going to carry on. Naturally this means there will be some small inconsistencies, some obscenely large ones, like the presence of Sirius who appears in the next chapter. I've tried to edit as much as I can to tie it in with Phoenix, but some things I just can't change. Consider this a tale with an alternative twist!

Hope you enjoy it!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Romanian Stuff and a Potions Essay from Hell

By midday, the sun was so hot that a languid, indolent afternoon seemed inevitable. Fleur and Ginny lay on the grass in the back garden, chatting contentedly. Every now and again a burst of girlish laughter would carry in the clear air to Harry and Ron on the patio, where they had covered the long table with books and parchments.

"It's no good, I can't concentrate!" wailed Ron, throwing down his quill in a sulk. "Why the hell did I ever carry on with this subject? Why didn't somebody stop me, Harry?"

Harry sighed. If the truth be told, this Potions essay was the worst he had ever seen in his life, and he had witnessed Snape in some pretty horrible moods. 'Horrible', however, didn't even begin to describe the Potions master's state of mind at the end of last year. Harry cringed at the memory of the night he had spent in detention down in the dungeons. He had made the mistake of prematurely rising to the usual bait - taunts about his father, James, and snide remarks about Harry and his friends. Simply sticking up for Neville had cost him eighty points from Gryffindor and the detention. He had been assigned the exceptionally unpleasant task of ridding the dungeons of some violent and probably slightly poisonous creatures infesting the darker areas. After no less than ten hours of back-breaking toil he had arrived in the hospital wing covered in cuts and gashes oozing various kinds of horrible things. Madam Pomfrey had been beside herself with horror.

Harry had a suspicion that the holiday Potions essay was the product of his own attempts to stand up to Snape after so long. There was only so much a man could endure in Snape's Potions class, and after six years of reasonably well-maintained self-control, Harry felt he could afford to fight back a little.

"Looks like we'll have to wait for Hermione after all," he said, leaning back in his chair despondantly.

"No!" protested Ron, loudly. "No, no, no. No way am I giving her the opportunity to criticise my working habits again. I'm going to do this - on my own."

Harry struggled to keep a straight face. "OK," he nodded. "I understand."

Ron stared at his barely started essay for a moment or two, before collapsing onto his arms. "Who am I kidding? I can't do this! I need Hermione! Where the hell is she when I need her?"

Another bright trill of laughter came from the girls on the lawn.

"What right have they got to be happy?" growled Ron.

Harry laughed. "Gin's just finished her O.W.L.S. Give her a break!"

"Yeah, and it's your birthday next week, and I don't see you getting away with not doing this damn thing!" He made a rude gesture at the parchment in front of him.

"I've never bothered much with birthdays," said Harry. This was really only true because the Dursleys had never given his birthday a second thought. It was only with much reluctance that they ever bothered with Christmas presents for him, and they had stopped that several years ago as well. Not that Harry minded. Hermione, Sirius, Hagrid and the Weasleys made up for it ten times over.

"Well, you ought to," Ron was telling him. "Birthdays are fun."

"Not when you have to spend the day shut up in the attic at the Dursleys!" snorted Harry. "You're damn lucky to have yours while we're at school."

"Well, this year you're here," pointed out Ron. "So this year you should have a riotous day to make up for all the parties you've missed!"

"Parties?"

"You know, like the ones Fred and George used to throw in the common room on special occasions!"

Harry laughed as he recalled the many Quidditch celebrations they had enjoyed in the old days. "Yeah, they do know how to throw a party, I have to say!"

Ron was getting excited now. His eyes were wide and he kept jumping up and down in his chair, gesticulating wildly with his arms. "Yes! We could have a huge one next week when Hermione and the others are here!"

"What others?"

"Oh, Fred and George are having Angelina, Alicia and Lee down at the weekend for a couple of days. And Bill and Charlie should be back in time for it too!"

"Hang on a sec, Ron," protested Harry. "Won't your parents have something to say about this?"

Ron waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, they won't mind. Dad will think it's terrific! He'll probably want to join in! And it'll give Mum a chance to feed people her stress cooking!"

"Look, I don't want to put anyone to any trouble - " Harry began.

"No trouble, Harry!" exclaimed Ron. "It'll be great, trust me! When Fred and George get back from the shop we'll get planning!"

A smile crept onto Harry's face. A birthday party. A real, proper birthday party for him. He assumed his first birthday must have been a pleasant one - the only one he'd been able to spend with his parents. If only he could remember what it had been like.

"We'll get Charlie to bring back some of that Romanian stuff," Ron was muttering, excitedly. "And we can dig out those old lanterns from the garage. Hey, Gin! Come over here a minute!"

Ginny smiled apologetically at Fleur, and rose to her feet. She started walking across the lawn to the patio.

"What?"

"Need your help!"

"With what?"

"Party next week, for Harry's birthday."

Harry, unconsciously following Ginny's graceful progress towards them with unusually intense interest, felt compelled to insist that it hadn't been his idea.

"It's a great idea!" Ginny exclaimed. "Why didn't anyone think of that before? Ron, you are amazingly intelligent sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" said Ron, gazing up at her pitifully.

"Yeah," she said. "You're a git most of the time."

"Thanks, Gin." Ginny nudged Ron's shoulder affectionately, and he smiled.

"You know - I'm really not so sure this is a very good idea," Harry said, after much inward debating. "I mean, I'm not very good at parties."

Ginny laughed. "Does that include all those mad evenings in Gryffindor Tower after your Quidditch matches? I seem to remember one last year that went on into the early hours during which you had the time of your life knocking back the butterbeer and singing along to - "

"Yeah, OK, no need to remind me," laughed Harry, wincing. "Since I can't remember much of that night anyway, perhaps I'm best left in blissful ignorance."

"Colin's got photos, Harry," she said, mischievously. "All I have to do is send an owl - "

"Don't you dare!"

"My point is that you love parties. You know you love parties, and you're going to love this one too."

"Your parents haven't even agreed to this yet!"

"Harry, not all families are like the Dursleys," said Ron. "The Weasleys are notorious fun-lovers, as you ought to know by now, and we adore any excuse for a party."

Ginny giggled, suddenly. "We should owl Charlie and get him to bring some of that Romanian stuff home with him."

"I was going to do that later," replied Ron, with an impish grin.

"What is Romanian stuff?" asked Harry, not entirely sure if he actually wanted to know.

"Ha-ha, you'll see," Ron answered. "Had it last summer. Woah, I can still feel the heat now!"

"That sounds horribly illegal, Ron," said Harry, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, don't tell Hermione. She'll kill us all!"

"It's really not as bad as he's making out, Harry," said Ginny, noticing the horror-struck expression on Harry's face. "It's a Romanian drink, that's all."

Ron sniggered. "Yeah, which just happens to be exclusively East European and should not technically be exported without a license."

"And I take it Charlie doesn't have a license," said Harry, grinning.

"Does he heck!" was Ron's elegant reply. "But he claims to have friends in high places, so he never gets into trouble. Oh, Gin, do you know if Dad's still got that Muggle gra - gra - gram-phone thing?"

"Gramophone, Ron. Yes, somewhere. It was in the attic, but it didn't stay there long. I'm guessing it's not in great condition." She rolled her eyes, smiling sweetly at Harry. "Did you want it for some music?"

"No, I wanted it to dance naked on top of the roof. Yes, for music, Gin."

"I've got a better idea," said Ginny, mysteriously, completely ignoring Ron's sarcasm.

"What?"

"Just give me a while, and I'll see what I can do."

Both Ron and Harry stared at her expectantly.

"Why does that make me feel really, really afraid?" said Ron, slowly, looking warily at Harry.

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"The last time you said that, somebody needed drastic medical attention."

"I was ten, Ron, and this is different." She started to walk back to Fleur, who was strolling leisurely along the avenue of trees at the bottom of the garden. "I'll sort the music, you can owl Charlie."

The boys watched her jog across the lawn to apprise Fleur of the news, then Ron turned back to the scrawled mess on the parchment in front of him.

"I really can't be bothered with this," he announced, screwing it up into a little ball. "We've got better things to do. Come on, Harry, and we'll find Mum!"

***

Mrs Weasley was thrilled with the plan, and refused to listen to Harry's well-meaning protestations.

"It's about time we did something for you," she told him, firmly. "When I think of all those birthdays you've missed. That family, honestly." She pursed her lips.

Privately Harry agreed with every notion the Weasleys had about his family, but he felt it might not be wise to encourage any animosity between them. He could remember the lengths the Weasleys had to go to a couple of years back to take him to the Quidditch World Cup, and how thoroughly ashamed he had been of the Dursleys. He had no desire to repeat the experience.

"I'm sure Fred and George will have some - ideas," Mrs Weasley said, with a tense emphasis on the word 'ideas'. No doubt she was already envisaging utter chaos.

"Wonder what Hermione will think," muttered Harry, darkly. He was remembering Charlie's 'Romanian stuff' with slight apprehension.

"Hermione will do as she's told for once," answered Ron, with considerable force.

Harry looked at him in astonishment.

"Well, I'm sick of her going on at me all the time." Ron's expression was distinctly peevish, Harry noticed. He had obviously just realised as he'd said the words that in telling Hermione what to do he would be practically signing his own death warrant.

In a gesture of comradely good will, Harry placed a hand on Ron's shoulder and nodded compassionately. "Good luck, mate. It was nice knowing you."