A great thanks to all the reviewers. It's strangely rewarding to have one's lines quoted back to you. Also very informative. Since some of the favorites are ones that nearly got axed during editing, I've started a new policy of "leave almost everything in, apparently someone's going to like it."
I have chapters nine, ten, and eleven done, but the upcoming one, the wedding, is oddly difficult. Nine is full of R/H fanservice and action, ten is full of R/H fanservice and filler, and eleven is full of R/H fanservice and the WTF-ery of the whole "Lupin freakout and Harry tantrum," all of which is ripe for parody. But the upcoming chapter is a toughie (it's easily as sweet as the Harry-and-Mrs.-Weasley-hugs). So have patience with that update.
CHAPTER SEVEN: IN WHICH HARRY GETS LAME BIRTHDAY PRESENTS, EVEN FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE
RON: Harry, wake up. You keep saying some bloke's name in your sleep again.
HARRY: *defensively* Look, what you people have got to understand, I dream about Cedric because he was my original second-war-casualty angst-bunny, not because I'm gay for him…
RON: Not Cedric. You were saying "Gregorovitch."
HARRY: … Huh. I don't even know who that guy is. I think I was tapping into Voldemort's dream, actually.
RON: So is Gregorovitch Voldemort's angst-bunny or—
HARRY: Bitch please. It's my birthday. Where's my present?
RON: Yeah, my favorite team paid loads of money to get this sports player, and now we have he turns out to be comically sucky.
READERS: *sympathetically* Yeah, in the wizarding world too?
HARRY: I'm seventeen! I get to do legal magic now!
SUMMONED GLASSES: *(cartoonishly) poke him in the eye*
RON: And you're going to defeat Voldemort?
HARRY: Shut up. I just… don't find spells as interesting now that I can't be arrested for them.
RON: Well, mate, I got you a book. Happy Birthday.
HARRY: A what? *taken aback* Well, this is shaping up to be a very unusual year, now isn't it?
RON: It's a book about pulling girls, you idiot!
HARRY: I've always seemed to have the opposite problem. How is this supposed to help me with Romilda Vane?
RON: Shut up, I want to work in an ambiguously innocent double entendre before breakfast.
MRS. WEASLEY: Ooh, Arthur and I got you a present too, Harry! My dead brother's watch! Because I didn't think you had enough dead-people-angst in your life.
HARRY: Mrs. Weasley… *chokes up*… I'm touched… right in the -
(But now he's hugging her, again stopping any jokes I might have made dead in the tracks of all the heartwarmth. Dammit.)
HARRY'S OTHER PRESENTS: *he has a Dudley-esque pile, which is kinda poetically just, I guess*
HERMIONE'S: *is a totally lame Sneakoscope, because the Trio paid such attention to the first one*
BILL AND FLEUR'S: *a magical razor, gives… Monsieur Delacour a shot at what I think is… another double entendre?*
THE DELACOURS': *chocolate, wonderful French chocolate I presume, and a much more effective Dark-force-fighting tool than the Sneakoscope*
FRED AND GEORGE: *WWW merchandise, which feels like a cop-out, since Harry should probably get all new products automatically*
THE KITCHEN: *gets overcrowded*
HERMIONE: *as they leave* Oh yes, I forgot my own "adult" humor over breakfast!
RON: *splutter*
HARRY: Hmm, speaking of which, you know who I didn't get a present from…
GINNY: *appears*
HERMIONE: Ron, you and I are going in this other direction.
HARRY: Hi, Gin. More double entendre?
GINNY: Seems kind of indirect, doesn't it?
HARRY: … Huh boy… Erm… Wow, nice day to totally not be dating anymore, isn't it!
GINNY: Indeed.
BRITISH READERS: All right, American cousins—this is what we mean by "snogging".
AMERICAN READERS: *entranced*
RON: *bursts into the room*
HARRY AND GINNY: *stop snogging*
RON: All right, Harry, I think you've got enough birthday presents for one year, don't you?
HARRY: *grumbling* I will so remember this one, buddy.
THE SCENE: *is awkward and sucks*
HARRY: Ohmigod. Ginny is crying. It's like one of the signs of a dark series finale.
RON: *clenching fists* Yeah, she is, let's talk about that, now shall we?
READERS: *murmuring hopefully* Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!
SEXUAL TENSION: *is very high*
BIRTHDAY GUESTS: *thankfully arrive*
GEORGE: *is still maimed, in case you forgot in the midst of all the double-entendre and Horcrux-recap*
HERMIONE: *helps decorate*
RON: *is one smooth operator*
HARRY: *in a desperate effort not to revert to the sexual tension, resorts to talking to the ever-fascinating Monsieur Delacour*
BIRTHDAY GUEST RUNDOWN: *summarized for your convenience*
LUPIN: I haven't really acclimated from 'stoic misery' to this whole 'wedded bliss' thing. Grrrrrr.
TONKS: *glowing with the glowy of new pregnancy, but we aren't really to know that yet unless we're really good at foreshadowing*
HAGRID: Harry, I got yeh a genuinely cool and useful presen'.
THE ANTI-THEFT MONEYBAG: *is made of mokeskin or something*
HARRY: *taken aback* Wow, this is quite nice. Thank you, Hagrid, for saving the birthday loot from utter and resounding mediocrity.
CHARLIE: Norbert's a girl now.
IMPRESSIONABLE YOUNG READERSHIP: We are so sexually confused. Curse you, Rowling!
ROWLING: I'm sorry, what's that? A hex that made me lose two million dollars? Ah well. *yawns*
MR. WEASLEY'S PATRONUS: *is a weasel*
CLASSIC SUGAR QUILL FANDOM: *squee!*
TALKING WEASEL: *in telegraphese, which is kinda funny. do we pay for talking Patronus messages by word?* Rufus Scrimgeour is accompanying me. To the freakin' birthday party.
DELACOURS: Er… what's this highly impressive and unique magic a signal for?
LUPIN: For me to manhandle my pregnant wife. Goodbye.
HARRY: What, no present?
SCRIMGEOUR: I need a private word…
HARRY, RON, AND HERMIONE: Grr, this is the part where the adults go talk with the Minister about plotpoints and we have to go to all the trouble of eavesdropping.
SCRIMGEOUR: … with Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger.
MR. POTTER, MR. WEASLEY, AND MISS GRANGER: Whoa. Being of age is awesome.
THE TRIO: What's this 'bout?
SCRIMGEOUR: I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private. Is there such a place round these here parts?
MR WEASLEY: You get your news about the Burrow from the same source as the Malfoys, do you?
SCRIMGEOUR: There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur.
MR WEASLEY: I'm sorry, was I just utterly p'wned or something?
SCRIMGEOUR: *prepares for the interrogation by continuing to draw lines in the sand. trying to get the Trio apart, dissing Arthur, calling the Boy Who Lived's best friend "Ronald"... you know, that sort of thing*
HARRY: Dude, I hate you and all the political amorality you stand for.
SCRIMGEOUR: I come bearing the Will of Albus Dumbledore.
HARRY: Oh, I didn't realize you were a harbinger of more Dumbleangst! Awesome! Wow, I'm shocked Mrs. Weasley let you into the house!
SCRIMGEOUR: Didn't give her much opportunity, did I? Look how Aurory I'm being in my imperious command and magnificent interrogation skills.
HERMIONE: You don't have magnificent interrogation skills, Minister; Ron is just really transparent.
SCRIMGEOUR: I have the legal authority to hold Dumbledore's requests.
HERMIONE: Ergh, legally speaking, you don't.
SCRIMGEOUR: Impressive. Can I seduce you with a job offer in fancy-schmancy Magical Law?
HERMIONE: Minister, please. I have a Shakespearean name and I can so totally make the Shakespearean lawyer jokes to match.
RON: I don't know who Shakespeare is, but I smell BURN!
RON: He left me a Deluminator? I didn't think he knew my name.
HERMIONE: He left me a book of fairy tales? *overcome with emotion*
RON: This is totally another cue to be sensitive, I just know it!
HARRY: And me? I bet I'm gonna get the best birthday present of all! It'll be—
SCRIMGEOUR: He left you that Snitch from Book 1.
HARRY: *deflating* —awesome.
SCRIMGEOUR: And why would he bequeath you that, O Chosen One?
HARRY: Apparently he just doesn't have the gift-buying knack. Like most people in my life this year.
HARRY: (... though at least he tried. Unlike certain newlywed Lupins I could mention. Hrmph.)
SCRIMGEOUR: Huh, I've cornered you now, Potter! Touch the Snitch and let's see what underground magic Dumbledore's put on it!
HARRY: *sweating* Erm… uh… squirm…
SCRIMGEOUR: Now, Potter.
HARRY: *oh all right fine*
NOTHING: *happens*
HARRY: That was dramatic.
PARODY READERS: *raise eyebrow at Miz Parody Lady*
MIZ PARODY LADY: I can't help it, you can't improve on that line.
HARRY: Well, is that all?
SCRIMGEOUR: No… Dumbledore left you something else…
HARRY: *bounces up and down* All right, Dumbledore, birthday gift redemption time!
SCRIMGEOUR: Gryffindor's sword.
HARRY: AWESOME!
SCRIMGEOUR: … which I am totally not giving you.
HARRY: This birthday sucks.
SCRIMGEOUR: Yeah, well, so do you, obstinate child who keeps refusing to play politically nice!
HARRY: YOU REALLY WANT TO GET IN A SHOUTING MATCH WITH THE CAPSLOCK KING?
SCRIMGEOUR: Well, fine, I better calm down before Molly Prewett gives me her "indoor voices" lecture. But seriously, Potter, I want us to work together to bring Voldemort down.
HARRY: *holds up his I must not tell lies hand* With this track record? Dream on.
SCRIMGEOUR: You're going to lump me in with Fudge and Umbridge? I take serious offence. Good-bye.
MRS. WEASLEY: Well I never! Really!—Arthur, are you paying attention?
MR. WEASLEY: *fiddles around with the Deluminator in an adorably predictable manner*
HERMIONE: *sneaks into the boys' room after-hours. noooo, not like that. more like this:*
HERMIONE: So, Ron. The gift Dumbledore gave you is so lame. We could have done the same thing with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.
RON: *"a little defensively"* Still, it's cool. And Malfoy can't purchase one of these to foil our plans - from my own brothers!
HERMIONE: Well, he left me a book so ultra rare that I've never even heard of it.
RON: Ha, piss off, it's a book of Wizarding-Grimm tales.
HERMIONE: Wait what now?
HARRY: Stop flirting, you two. I want to see what important message Dumbledore sent me from beyond the grave to help clear things for me in my confusion and despair.
DUMBLEDORE'S IMPORTANT MESSAGE SENT FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE TO HELP CLEAR THINGS FOR HARRY IN HIS CONFUSION AND DESPAIR: I open at the close.
HARRY: Oh, look. A fortune-cookie koan. *headdesk*
RON: At least he gave you a sword.
HARRY: A sword which he could have given me during all of the boring parts of Book 6! Sheesh! This is the lamest birthday since Aunt Marge, Ripper, and the tree.
RON: What's that?
HARRY: ... Never mind. That's all between me and the Sole Object of My Eternal Ire... *cracks knuckles*
HERMIONE: Ron, you're a literary scholar since when now?
RON: Ahem. I smell a good chance to shoehorn a discussion of the sociological impact of fairy tales into this fine reading experience.
HARRY: Let's take it!
HERMIONE: Wait, Ron… Harry and I grew up hearing Muggle tales, you know, Cinderella and the Disneyfied Snow White.
RON: Indeed, I'm much more "up" on this fairy tale stuff than you. For example, I am cognizant that the printed Beedle versions will probably differ from the orally-transmitted versions told to me during my childhood. Allow me to speculate upon this phenomenon in relation to the corpus now in Hermione's possession.
READERSHIP: … Ron Weasley, we just so did not see this coming from you.
RON: I know. I've got Hidden Depths like that.
Meanwhile, I'm convinced this wasn't the only hushed midnight conference. While the Trio is speculating impotently, two parents have likely dragged their elder daughter outside for a Missing Moment...
MADAME DELACOUR: *in French undertone* Darling, why are you marrying into this family again? They're sweet and quaint enough, to be sure, but they and all of their suspiciously numerous friends seem quite mad.
FLEUR: *in French undertone* True that, but they have produced that muscle-bound, ear-bejeweled, devil-may-care bastion of hotness whose name I can't pronounce.
MONSIEUR DELACOUR:*you get the idea* And your mother and I are frighteningly sure that they're involved in some secret, violent underground vigilante movement...
FLEUR: Indeed. Which makes Beel even more hot.
MADAME DELACOUR: It's not too late, we can whisk you away before tomorrow if you don't want to have to give your firstborn war-related Significant Names!
FLEUR: Maman! I am so having sugary honeymoon sex tomorrow night, no matter how many Ministry or Death Eater thugs try to intervene. So there.
M/M DELACOUR: *les sigh*