Holy smokes, I'm back. Chapter 2 of "A Birthday Surprise" is here. I hope you enjoy it. :-)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related things. They all belong to JK Rowling, Warner Bros., and/or Scholastic.
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Previously:
He cracked open an eye, and saw Hermione sleeping soundly under his arm. He smiled. She looked so angelic, sleeping there. He fondly tucked a loose strand of her bushy brown hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. She had no idea—no idea—what he had been planning for so long. How he had organized it, planned it, for months, in time for her eighteenth birthday. He smiled, remembering her birthday was tomorrow. He knew she would love his surprise. She had to love it. She would love it.
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When I was younger, before even Hogwarts (that seems like a lifetime ago—and maybe it was), my birthday was the one day of the year when I felt special. Actually, it was more the day before my birthday that made me feel special—the actual big day never lived up to my expectations, and so my birthdays have passed unremarkably. Sometimes, before I had two best friends, I imagined how my mother felt about me and came up with the conclusion that she viewed me as I viewed my birthday: something to celebrate, to be sure, but always disappointing.
Nowadays, however, my birthday's a happy day for getting everyone together. It's celebrated by meals and the best gift I get is to be with family and friends: breakfast with my parents, a quiet lunch out with Ron and Harry, and a small bash for dinner at the Weasleys'. That year, I knew exactly what (or who) I want for my birthday, but I couldn't help but think that it would be just like every other. Ever since the Final Battle, Harry, Ron, and I had centered our lives on finding stability, comfort, and anonymity. That's nice and all, but now there was no chance of any excitement.
That said, when I woke up on the morn of my birthday in Harry's arms, I could sense that our familiar lifestyle was about to be changed forever. His arm was flung over my neck, and I had to grab his hand and fling it across the bed to move it. Of course, this woke him up. His eyes flew open and in them I could see him registering the situation. I giggled and the moment shattered.
Breakfast with my parents went by without a single incident out of the ordinary, as I'd expected. Mum warned me about keeping on top of things, as always, but I turned the tables when I started recommending organization strategies to her. After eating, I still had a few minutes before the boys would come by to pick me up for lunch. I climbed the polished wooden staircase up to my old bedroom, and smiled when I recognized the lace curtains. They had been my attempt to act more feminine. Same with the dusty dolls in my closet—ever since Mum had grown intense about my education, I had less time to play and be a girl than I probably had wanted to.
I ran a finger across the dust that had settled over my abandoned room. For a moment, I felt spiritual and sentimental, but it was over when I sneezed three times and Ron banged on the door. I smiled at his infamous impatience and left my sorrowful childhood behind me as I joined the boys on the way to lunch.
That year it was Harry's turn to pick the restaurant. He picked a nice place on Diagon Alley that I had never been to, or even noticed, before. When we entered, it was as if we had been dropped into a mysterious land of velvet. Everything was royal-purple velvet, or wine-red velvet, or jet-black velvet, or midnight-blue velvet. I glanced at Ron's face and had a hard time trying to suppress a grin at his repulsed expression.
Harry led us to a booth hidden in the back because of his extreme dislike for the paparazzi. Ron gingerly sat down on the plush violet velvet cushion, as if it could infect him. I slid into the side opposite him, and Harry gracefully sat next to Ron. I couldn't help but sigh at my unlikely romance with him.
Like breakfast, lunch flew by without many hitches. Harry's leg brushed against mine a few times, but he just smiled at me and moved. Ron didn't notice anything, of course; he was too occupied with stuffing his mouth with anything and everything in sight. I rolled my eyes and shoved a napkin at him.
"Pig," I muttered. Harry laughed quietly.
"So, Hermione," he said, "what were you hoping for for your eighteenth birthday?" I almost blurted out his name, but stopped myself in time. Thank Merlin.
"Are you telling me that you haven't gotten anything yet?" I managed to taunt without revealing anything about the cruel battle going on inside me. We all knew that no one in my immediate family-and-friends circle got me anything for my birthday anymore; after the war, everyone was glad just to be together and that was the best present I could ever ask for (except Harry, of course). Ron's mouth fell open with shock and regret at my teasing.
"Bloody hell, I forgot to get you something again!" Ron groaned. Harry and I almost died laughing and Ron just sat there rubbing his temple with one hand and holding onto his wand, as if his life depended on it, with the other.
We all went to take care of our own errands—Harry had something to do that he would not reveal, and I imagined that it must be a birthday surprise; Ron had to return to his place and prepare for another meeting with his overprotective mother—and agreed to meet at the Weasleys' dinner party later. I had nothing in particular to do, so I wandered around Diagon Alley for a while. Everybody I passed seemed intent with his or her shopping. Thinking back to my first year at Hogwarts, I remembered the excitement and anxiety that lingered in every child and parent. Today was no different: a mousy-haired eleven-year-old girl was running around the shops, pointing at various objects in the windows and yelling back to her mother, "Do I need this? How about this? Ooh, can I get this?" while her brother had his nose pressed up against the glass in the Quidditch store with an assortment of other schoolboys yearning to be a star Seeker, Catcher, Beater, or Keeper.
Around four, I noticed the familiar messy black head of my favorite Seeker bob through the sea of people and around the corner. Didn't Harry say that he was shopping in Hogsmeade today? My need for knowledge got the best of me and I discreetly followed him, always making sure that we were separated by a few people. The bustling black cloaks and loud laughter and chatting were an easy cover-up, and so I slipped into the same shop he did without being noticed. The sound of fresh first-years died when the glass door closed, and then it was just me, Harry, the nondescript shopkeeper in the back, and three nervous young men picking out rings. I almost couldn't force myself to go on when I realized that Harry belonged to the group of men getting engaged, but when he told the shopkeeper what he was looking for in that voice of his I knew I couldn't go back now.
I strode right up behind him, with a look on my face of such intense concentration that the shopkeeper started and almost shrieked in alarm, and whipped out my wand.
Mm, brilliant. I do, in fact, know what happens next. The next chapter will come soon (I swear). Thanks so much for reading,
--insanehpluver