Harry woke up on Friday the 31st of July with an odd weight on his chest. Stirring from sleep, he wasn't all there and struggled to make sense of it. Hedwig was the only possibility he could think of. His eyes still closed, he groped at the bedside table for his glasses, carefully putting them on.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Quickly, he fell out of the bed in fright with a small, greyed creature floundering backwards. The large ears drooped, reaching its chin, while its eyes were opened wide, engulfing most of its face. Spindly arms swung to keep it from falling back.
In a high pitched squawk, it exclaimed, 'Dobby is sorry Mr Harry Potter sir. Dobby did not mean to frighten the great Mr Harry Potter sir!'
Harry calmed slightly, still peddling back towards the wall without taking his eyes off Dobby. There were purple marks on the ill skin with several lengths of what looked like scabs.
'Great Mr Harry Potter sir does not be afraid of Dobby. Dobby has come to warn Mr Harry Potter sir. Hogwarts is not safe, Mr Harry Potter sir, you must not go! Does Mr Harry Potter sir understand?'
Unsure, Harry nodded, edging towards the door.
After squeaking, Dobby asked, 'So Mr Harry Potter sir won't going to Hogwarts?' When Harry didn't respond, Dobby fearfully asked, 'Is Mr Harry Potter sir going to Hogwarts?' Harry's weak nod elicited a twisted scream, but Dobby seemed to focus on something in the distance before saying, 'Dobby must going now,' and disappeared with a light "pop" sound.
Gently, Harry's heartbeat settled, though his mind was still reeling. His weakening legs eventually brought him to his senses and he took a few steps before collapsing on his bed. Absently looking out the window, he guessed it not long after seven. Subdued, he slunk into the bathroom, having a shower and getting dressed.
In the kitchen, he put two slices of bread into the peculiar horizontal toaster. A small Teflon pan sat on the hob, being heated by a small blue flame while he melted a bit of butter before adding an egg. The toast was ready half-way through and he buttered both slices, placing the first egg on a slice and frying another egg afterwards. He had ate the first awaiting the second, moving on to that one afterwards.
Raiding the fridge, he washed a bag of grapes along with a couple of apples. Tucking into those with a glass of milk, his thoughts were still on Dobby. He had no idea what it was or what it could do, apart from appear at will in his bedroom, and was scared. Being told not to be afraid wasn't very comforting nor convincing for him, but the lack of any aggression was.
Hedwig tapped the peculiar plastic-looking glass that made up part of the zipped door. Smiling, he let her in, taking off the little package and letter she carried and sitting it on the table. Harry still found the mix of house and tent bizarre, with all the rooms having at least one moss-coloured fabric-looking wall and several small, flexible windows.
A clock struck eight (he thought it powered by magic), snapping him out of worrying and instead he rushed to put on shoes and grab a bag with his usual assortment of pens, pencils, paper, books and money. Barrelling out and down the road, he made it in time to catch the half-hourly bus towards London. He switched to another after a dozen stops before, finally, rumbling to a stop by the park near Hermione's house a bit after nine.
It was a short walk down the road and he knocked on the door. There was what sounded like hushed whispers, but Hermione shouting, 'Mum, can you get it?' covered them.
'Yes dear,' Cleo replied, her footsteps sounding as she walked up to the door and opened it up. 'Morning Harry, are you well?' she asked, stepping aside for him to walk in with a nod. 'Hermione's finishing a bit of tidying. If you wait in the lounge, I'll get drinks and snacks.'
Harry smiled and shallowly bowed his thanks. They walked down the hall and Harry turned into the room.
'Surprise!' the occupants screamed. Harry looked around, finding his four best friends, Hannah's mum Helen, Neville's grandmother Augusta and Hagrid.
Cleo was curious when she heard Harry sniff and stepped beside him slightly, looking at the joyous smile. Two thoughts ran through her head. The first was, 'Did he honestly think we wouldn't do something for his birthday?' The second was, 'Yes.' It took a large amount of self-control to not crush him in a hug or start crying and cursing his family.
The rest of the room looked on in a mix of concern and confusion as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Hermione edged out of the crowd slightly and asked, 'Are you okay Harry? I thought you'd want everyone here, I...'
David placed a hand on her shoulder and asked, 'They're happy tears, aren't they Harry?'
Harry was still in shock at the tender looks from so many people. Even Augusta looked a little worried and they had barely talked to each other at all. He noticed Hermione had moved and said something, as did her father. Slipping into lucidity, he processed what they said and nodded. Before anything else happened, he walked over and hugged Hermione for a moment, willing her to know how much he appreciated this.
'Everyone gather around for the presents I think,' Cleo said, herding the children onto the couch and surrounding armchairs. Watching (a now grinning) Hermione and Susan drag Harry over gave her thoughts of either a very lucky or very unlucky future for the boy. She quietly observed his surprise and glee while presents were continually placed before him.
Susan's was first. He carefully unwrapped the sky-blue present revealing a small box with a fine yellow cloth and a pot of what looked (and smelled) like shoe polish. 'Aunty says every witch and wizard worth their salt takes good care of their wand.' A little pamphlet was also there, but he knew he could look at it later.
A smile and nod later, he started on the one Hannah gave him. 'Be careful,' she said as he did. The peculiar tall dome covered in emerald gave way to a pot with a small cactus. 'I thought you'd like a plant in your, er, room. Even Ron would struggle to kill a cactus – it just needs a bit of water every now and then.'
Repeating the thank-you gesture, additionally grateful for her not revealing his living arrangements, he moved onto Neville's gift. It was a small, soft package wrapped in Gryffindor red and gold. Opening it revealed a posh-looking tie of the same Gryffindor red, but with a golden seahorse near its centre. 'I-it's tradition to get boys a tie w-with their family crest for their last birthday b-before going to school. I g-guessed you didn't get one.'
Harry placed it next to the two other presents, giving Neville the same smile and nod. His next one was a small ball of quidditch wrapping paper along with a note. Opening it, he read, 'Potter, Happy birthday from your team-mates. Don't feel like you have to get us anything, this is really a thank-you for the cup. Clap to start or stop it. Wood, Weasley, Weasley, Spinnet, Johnson, Bell.' He chuckled, instinctively knowing Wood had written it from the direct nature and lack of first names. Prying off the paper revealed a golden ball. With a clap, near-invisible wings shot out and it jumped into flight, but Harry reached out and grabbed it before it disappeared. Letting it go, it started darting around the room right until he clapped again, sending it plummeting to the floor where it bounced on the wood before rolling to a stop.
'An enchanted snitch! That's so cool!' Susan squealed.
Hermione, though, just asked, 'Wood?' and smirked when Harry nodded.
After David picked it up and threw it back to Harry, the next present was in place. It was simply an envelope addressed to him, but he opened it up and read the first of three slips of parchments. 'Dear Mr Potter, Although you may not know it, I have copies of every assignment, test and the like I have ever set as a teacher. While I make a habit of keeping the contents private, I have loosened my own morals this once. I hope that the included tests help you feel closer to your parents. Best wishes to you on your birthday, Professor McGonagall.'
It was an odd sensation for him as he pulled out the two tests. "James Potter" was printed at the top of the first in an untidy scrawl, much like his own when he rushed. "Lily Evans" was on the other in an elegant and smooth script. Harry felt strange reading what his own parents had written about transfiguration for their own end of first year test. There was no reason for him to care - it wasn't like they had written him a letter or anything - but it felt so personal, like he was holding a little bit of his parents in his hand.
No one interrupted him, though Hermione kept trying to read while he shuffled the papers. Finally, he placed them back in the envelope along with McGonagall's letter. There was only one present left. He hefted it up onto his lap, untying the piece of string holding the smooth brown paper over it. A leathery-looking front of a book was revealed, with "Pictures of the Potters" in a bold, golden font. Harry carefully picked up the album, hugging it closely before looking at Hagrid with teary eyes.
'Yer welcome, 'Arry,' Hagrid said. 'There's no' too many, bu' more 'an I thought I'd find.'
Harry lay it back down on his lap and stroked the front cover once before opening it to the first page. There was a list of people who had contributed pictures and a simple happy birthday message. Turning to the next, he was confronted by a small, animated boy with messy black hair who kept fidgeting in his seat. If it weren't for the eyes, he would have said it was a picture for him – well, the boy in the picture also had nicer clothes. On the opposite page, there was a stationary picture of a small girl with long, auburn hair and familiarly green eyes. It was a bit faded, but he really saw what people meant when they said he had his mother's eyes. His favourite part was the cheeky grin she had, just like when Susan would do something mischievous. Feeling the tears starting up again, he carefully closed it and gave Hagrid the biggest grin he could.
Hermione squeezed Harry's shoulder and whispered, 'I'll give you my present later.'
Cleo took the opportunity to slip out and into the kitchen, returning with a large cake. At first by herself, then with everyone else, she chanted, 'Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Harry. Happy birthday to you!'
The chocolate cake had a dozen candles equally spaced around the outside with "Harry" written in icing on the top.
'Go on, blow them out,' Cleo encouraged. He took a deep breath in and blew, just managing to get the last out. A cheer resounded and David fetched a knife, cutting the cake up while Cleo put them onto paper plates and passed them out. She found humour in the simple delight cake provided to children.
After everyone, apart from Augusta who stated that cake was for the young people, had finished, David rounded up the children and took them down to the park. Cleo had cursed her sly husband as she sat in the one armchair with Helen on the other, Hagrid on the couch and Augusta a bit to the side in a borrowed dining room chair. An awkward silence lay between them. She contemplated suggesting they join the children, but was unsure if it would be a good idea to expose the other three to muggle children give the eccentricity of some she knew and that Augusta had a vulture on her head didn't help either.
'Tea or coffee?' she asked, hoping for the ice-breaker.
'A cuppa tea would be lovely,' Hagrid said, pulling his own giant mug from one of the many pockets on the inside of his shaggy coat. 'Four sugars and jus' a bi' of milk, ta.'
Struggling with the bulky mug, she turned to Helen who shook her head and Augusta politely declined. Cleo hastily made her way to the kitchen, dropping the mug onto the counter with a clang. She filled the kettle and got out the milk and teabags while waiting. The little pot of sugar was a bit low, but she decided to fill it up later in case she ended up spilling sugar everywhere and had to clean up. Her musings on other kitchen-related tasks and purchases was cut short by the hissing of the kettle. Seconds later it clicked and the bubbling water calmed, though the torrent of steam continued. Scolding water filled most of Hagrid's mug, the two teabags leaking colour. After a bit of prodding, she took them out and counted four spoons of sugar in before giving it a gentle stir. A dash of milk lightened it before a proper stirring evened it out.
Trying to pick it up proved troublesome, so she got out a tray and added a plate of biscuits beside it to detract from the idea that it was due to her inability to actually carry what was probably a pint of tea from a handle with one hand. She chuckled at her own competitive streak that hated showing weaknesses, one she knew her daughter had. It became ever so evident when they would play boardgames or read the same book, times she remembered with fondness as the end result was always a beaming Hermione or a grumpy Hermione who would be tickled until she smiled. Of course, if she tried that now, there would be a good chance of being hexed whether or not the law said she wasn't allowed to. Perhaps she could convince Harry to do it as she doubted Hermione would retaliate against him, except with her own tickling and Cleo fully supported the idea of tickling more happiness into the boy.
As she placed the tray down on the table, inspiration struck at the common ground amongst those present. 'Harry's such a sweet boy, isn't he?' she asked.
David laughed as Harry and Hermione dragged the other three down to the park. By the time he sat on a bench under an old oak, they had been running around to see the ducks and a tree with a huge heart carved into it (he hadn't told them that "DG" and "CS" were in fact himself and his wife, but was sure Hermione would work it out if she thought about it) and the really big slide and the hat that was stuck in a tree since before Easter but after Christmas. He was truly sorry that simple things wouldn't keep them entertained when they got older.
Thinking about his little princess growing up made him shiver.
Back to the present, he wondered what Harry was doing not spending his birthday with his family. Cleo and he had their opinions, but he couldn't fathom how distant they would have to be to not even celebrate his birthday. Based on Harry's reaction to the party, even after throwing two other little ones at school from what Hermione had said, Harry had never and never expected to have a birthday party. David could understand that they trust Harry to get the bus by himself – they had raised a strong, independent girl themselves and would let her take the bus by herself if it wasn't into a bad area. What he couldn't understand was having Harry out of the house for most of the day every day for the entire summer holiday. If Hermione tried to pull something like that, Cleo would have grounded her for a week and he would have talked her down five days since he was wrapped around his daughter's finger and they all knew it.
The idea of being responsible for a child and being so irresponsible was bad enough. When he observed those small flinches and subtle positioning that placed him as far away from any adults, especially males, as possible, he wanted to scream in anger and sorrow. Yet, he couldn't do anything. He knew how vicious that fear was and that Harry would never admit to it until he placed absolute trust in someone. Hermione probably knew, he thought, but would never ask her about it because he wouldn't dare do anything to hurt his precious daughter's first friendship.
Watching the five of them running around, seemingly aimlessly, he pondered on the nugget of info which was that Susan's aunt worked in magical law enforcement. Harry would be more than willing to lend Hedwig for a piece of mail and had done for Hermione before, so it would be easy enough to do. The important question, as far as he was concerned, was, 'What happens next?'
Of all his faults, David (and his wife and daughter) knew his biggest was his ability to over think. He knew that Harry was something of a big deal in the magical world, so even a whiff of child abuse would be more than enough to get them to jump into action. What he didn't know was what would happen next. Sure, he would be removed from the household, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. Obviously, he and Cleo would welcome him, but he wasn't deluded and knew the magical world wouldn't let their celebrity live with more muggles after the last time.
That was what was stopping him. As bad as he assumed Harry's home life was, Harry still turned up happy and unhurt every day at their little house. There was no substitute for a loving family, but there was no doubt in his mind the wrong families would try to get him. Perhaps he was merely deluding himself and thinking of Harry as the son he never had and didn't want to lose him by risking it.
However, while his daughter was Harry's friend, that didn't give him a right to meddle in the boys life. For whatever reason, he was living with horrible people but living well. As long as Harry was happy, that would be enough for him.
It was on that thought he tuned out his brain, choosing instead to cherish the moments with his happy daughter and her happy friends. Oddly enough, he added a happy owl to that list as Hedwig arrived, nuzzling against Harry before apparently joining in the game.
That was what he strived for with his actions: happiness.
Cleo busied herself with sandwiches and drinks, her husband and the children shortly returning. If she was honest, everything had been finished half an hour earlier, but Augusta's blind praise of her son and distaste of her grandson's hobbies and skills had Cleo on edge. Helen, bless her, would keep trying to change the topic to no avail. She reckoned Hagrid was probably just as upset about the relentless assault on poor Neville, a kindred spirit of the groundskeeper it seemed, but his gentle giant persona wouldn't let him speak against anyone, especially not the prudish old woman.
'Honey, we're back!' David chimed.
'Food will be done in a minute,' she called back, piling cheese sandwiches onto one plate before putting the ham ones onto another. Another few plates with different fillings were set in place and two jugs of different juices joined them. Several stacked plastic cups completed the ensemble and she bustled through to the lounge.
For the life of her, she didn't know how they were still standing. Her little Hermione was panting and thoroughly reddened as though this was the closest to rest she had had since leaving a couple of hours previous. Even her David, who would rather miss brushing his teeth – a sin for any dentist – than his weekly gym appointment, had a healthy gloss of sweat, no doubt from being pulled into one game or another.
It gave her heart a gentle pang remembering her own unfulfilled wish of further children as she gazed across the cheery group. She placed the tray down, automatically inviting them all to take what they wanted and handing out the remaining plates from earlier. The cheese ones were gone first and she swooped back to the kitchen, making a couple of replacements.
Eerie silence awaited her. There was something off-putting about a silent group of children, which she assumed was because the only time they were quiet was when they were doing something they shouldn't or watching T.V.
Hagrid had, after no one else wanted any, taken the plate of her more exotic crispy green pepper and cress sandwiches. She admitted it was a bit ambitious given the young ages and reserved culture, but as long as someone enjoyed them it wasn't wasted. Helen had indulged her by taking a couple with Marmite and found herself on the "love it" side. Augusta declined, though would have had a drink if Cleo hadn't said it was orange juice and not pumpkin juice (Hermione had told her they were practically the same and Harry confirmed – apparently not every magical shared that opinion.)
Chattering picked up amongst the kids once they finished, removing any social pressures on the adults, much to Cleo's appreciation.
Much sooner than any of the children wished, the time was one o'clock. Augusta practically dragged Neville out, after formally thanking the hosts and wishing a Harry a happy birthday. Helen with Susan and Hannah was more friendly, sparing a few complementaries before having to drag Susan and Hannah, otherwise there was a good chance they'd never leave.
Having become attached to the kindly man, Cleo asked if Hagrid wanted to stay on, but he insisted he had to get back to the school. Her quaint house was near empty again and all she could do was stand with a smile and watch over her two charges going through the album. She suppressed a chuckle when Hermione's head first drooped slightly and again a few minutes later.
When Hermione actually slipped into dreams, she let out the chuckle. Harry looked petrified with her head lolling on his shoulder, so Cleo took pity. She nipped off to get a little blanket and lifted Hermione while Harry escaped to an armchair before gently lowering her daughter down onto the couch.
Leaving Harry to his present, Cleo slipped off into the kitchen and joined her husband in a cup of tea. They didn't speak for a few minutes, each lost in thought until Cleo finally asked, 'Can we keep him?' David kissed her forehead, holding her close with one arm. 'Please?'
Loosening his grip, he leant over and kissed her properly before looking into her eyes. 'Love you.'
Taking a sip, she said, 'I know,' hiding her smile behind the cup. Slowly, it slipped away though. 'I just want him to be happy,' she barely whispered.
'I know,' he quietly replied, adding, 'One of the many reasons I love you.'
Harry trotted into his humble home much earlier than usual after a day at the Grangers' house, but he had felt tired enough without a tummy full of food. Glancing at the clock, he probably had enough time to cook something nice, but didn't feel like going through the effort.
A few minutes later, he dropped into a chair with a bowl of cereal. It didn't take him long to get through it and moved onto a salad afterwards. As strange as it was, he liked the bizarre differences in taste.
Only when his light dinner was over did he notice the package Hedwig had delivered him in the morning. It had completely slipped his mind, having been pre-occupied with Dobby and then rushing out. He knew it was from Lupin, but no more than that.
A bit bigger than his hand, it was soft and, tearing the paper off, he held a little stuffed stag. It wasn't new, evident by a little rip and slight discolouration. Intrigued, he turned to the accompanied note, which read, 'Happy birthday Harry! I hope you like your present – he's called Prongs and he was your favourite toy when you were a baby. Best wishes, Remus Lupin.'
There were a few important points as far as Harry was concerned. The first was that Lupin admitted to knowing about him as a baby, which disagreed with the previous stance of Lupin having grown apart from his parents after school. The second was the name "Prongs" when the Weasley twins called him "Little Prongs" and it didn't seem like a coincidence. The third took a moment longer as he compared the stag in his hand to the remembered ones he made to practise transfiguration, which were eerily similar.
All in all, it was a mystery that need not be rushed, so he put it aside to focus on writing thank-you letters to everyone who had gotten him a present (including the contributors to Hagrid's book) which took him a good hour. As tired as he was, he decided to make use of his last present.
From his bag, he pulled out the nice set of pencils and paper Hermione had gotten him. He closed his eyes, remembering the scene when he first walked into the lounge. With all his concentration, he extracted the image from his mind to his fingertips as he reproduced it as well as he could.
That night, a very tired and very happy Harry fell asleep in his comfy bed. A rather tatty stag stood next to a little cactus, a thick book and a clean and shiny wand on his bedside table. On the walls, a dozen or so pieces of paper were stuck to the wall, three more added only that night. A near silent fluttering gave a reprieve from absolute silence and the odd flash of gold glinted. It was a very happy Harry indeed who had forgotten of the oddity that was Dobby.
Author notes
Honestly, did anyone think that the Grangers wouldn't throw Harry a party? This will be the penultimate summer chapter with the final one taking Harry and co up to Platform 9¾, including a bit of shopping in Diagon Alley (I apologise in advance for Lockhart, but I can't "kill" him off until near the end of the school year I'm afraid) and a bit more of that enjoyably insane house-elf. Meeting the Weasleys promises to be a painful affair in the uncomfortable situation way too.
Unstorily, a week for a chapter really is quite nice. I would have put it up last night, but I didn't get in last night, so apologies for that. My next experimentation area will have to be chapter sizes I guess, though the ~5k words have been treating me well.
Anywho, until next time, Harry is not a leading producer of jazz music.
Edit: Sorry for delay. Did have it ready on Sunday, but had an error when trying to edit the story to add this chapter. I'll try to get the next chapter up on Friday as an apology.