Choice – Chapter 2: Birthday

"Good morning," Harry called as he walked down the stairs of Black Manor.

"Good morning," Sirius and Remus chorused in reply. It had been four months since Harry first arrived with them, and he had made impressive progress. The child no longer tensed after physical contact, and they could swore that he almost laughed with them at times – yes, laugh, not the sheepish grin he was accustomed to give.

Harry gave them a small smile as he sat down at the breakfast table; he was so glad that he could finally loosen up some more. Pretending to flinch at every sound and squeak at all attempts of conversation was not exactly the most fun thing to do – especially if you had to do that for months. Yet Harry had the reputation of an abused plaything to keep; he couldn't very well be all cheerful and outgoing over night. Although, Harry did notice that the memories of the Death Eaters did upset him to a point where some of the fidgeting and nightmares were not faked. He gnashed his teeth; it seemed that they had affected him more seriously than he had formerly expected.

"Harry?" Sirius called, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. The little boy raised his head expectantly.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look, and Sirius continued, "Well, we thought we could give you a surprise..." Saying so, he clapped his hands and an enormous cake appeared on the table. It was almost as high as Harry himself and was constantly changing colors. Fireworks flew from the nine candles on top of it.

Harry felt his mouth fell open, "Wow..." He must admit he felt just as excited at the notion as any other nine-year old. It was his first cake, after all, and it was a rather cool one at that. He had no idea that Sirius and Remus actually remembered and made such preparations for his birthday. His eyes watered despite himself. Looking up, he saw the two staring at him anxiously. He gave them a true smile and said, "I, I like it. It means a lot to me, truly..." Getting up from his seat, he gave each a tight hug that surprised even himself.

"I'm glad you like it," Remus smiled, too, "We've also got you some presents." He took out a wrapped box and handed it to the child; Harry's eyes widened. With almost trembling hands, he opened the wrapper and found out it contained two books, Elementary Curses and Hexes and How to Counter them and Hogwarts, A History. Remus obviously had noticed Harry's evident passion for reading. Harry smiled again, "Thanks you, Remus."

Turning, he realized that Sirius had also handed him a gift and proceeded to open it. It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously, only to find out that it was full of photographs. Smiling faces of Sirius, Remus, a witch with amber hair and green eyes not unlike Harry's, and a man with messy black hair were everywhere. With a jump of heart he realized they were his parents; he even found a picture of himself, a mere baby by then. Harry stared at the pictures, willing the tears in his eyes to go away. Finally, he raised his head – and launched himself into a very surprised Sirius. Okay so maybe he was supposed to be avoiding physical contact, but heck to pretense!

Harry retreated to his room late at night that day; Sirius and Remus had kept him up partying. He was undoubtedly tired, yet somehow sleep evaded him.

Sighing, he opened his window to let in some cool summer night's air. The sky was quite clear, and moonlight spilt over the floor of his bedroom. Harry took out the little album again, and the happy faces of his parents smiled back at him. He felt a pang of emotion he couldn't quite grasp. Before, Voldemort had talked to him about his parents, never denying the fact he killed them. It was war, and it was necessary. Harry had agreed with his reasoning then; his parents were a distant past that he could hardly remember anyway. But the album had changed everything; he saw now his parents' laughter, their love for each other, and possibly their love for him. They had never been so – real before. For the first time in many years, he wondered what it would be like if they had lived; they might have even loved him...no, he knew they did love him. Yet Harry still could not feel real mourning; they were still people of the past, their love and care a possibility that never occurred.

Dimly he thought he ought to be angry with Voldemort. Voldemort...Harry's thoughts flew as he thought of the Dark Lord. He groaned as he realized that all hopes for going to sleep were truly gone now.

The sudden flips of wings startled him, and he looked up to see a falcon land on his desk. It dropped a small parcel and flew out of the window before he could respond. Harry eyed the parcel warily, before picking it up very carefully. However, he nearly dropped it in surprise when he saw the elegant handwriting on it. He set to open it immediately, all thoughts of prudence gone. Out of it fell a small silver serpent ring, a fluid and silvery cloak, and a small note. Harry knew the cloak was an invisible cloak, and he put it aside carefully; it would come in handy later. The ring though, was much more interesting. The little serpent's eyes were glittering, one emerald green one ruby red. Harry could sense magic interweaved in it, yet he could not figure out what exactly did it do. He detected no animosity, though; not that he would expect the sender to hurt him, for him already had a good of idea of who it might be. He slipped the ring onto his finger; it fit perfectly. The silver was cool and comforting, and ironically Harry found himself in an opposite position than he was in earlier: he was not on the verge of sleep when he so wished to stay awake.

However, he shook himself alert again; it was not yet time for such luxury, there was a note to read, certain things to straighten out, and peace of mind to be found. Harry reached for the note; it was short and simple:

Happy Birthday, my little one.

There was no signature, yet Harry knew it was from Voldemort; he would always recognize the handwriting. He frowned; he was somewhat relieved that whatever happened to the older man, he was at least well enough to send Harry a present. Yet there was no explanation whatsoever as to what really happened, or even about the gifts themselves. For all he knew, the presents might have been prepared before his fall, which was very likely since the Dark Lord was a busy man. But really...by owl-er-eagle post? He thought the Dark Lord should be employing more secure and less elementary method than that. Yet who knew what nasty spells Voldemort placed on the post should anyone but Harry open it?

Thus, overall, the note told Harry nothing about the Dark Lord's prescent state.Yet in his heart Harry just knew the other man was still alive, perhaps because of their connection through the scar. Harry shifted his position to sit more comfortably. He supposed now that he knew Voldemort was not fully vanquished, he ought to do something. Voldemort, though, had never really asked for his allegiance. So technically, Harry was not bound to help him. But, Harry did like that man. Oh he certainly did not agree with some of the Dark Lord's ideals. But he did have strong affections for his Voldie. Harry smiled despite himself; the look on the older man's face whenever he used that insolent nickname was always priceless. He strongly suspected that he was the only one to have done so and yet lived to tell the tale – er, not that he could tell anyone about it.

Harry's smile soon faded as he consideredyet another riddle. At times like this he always wondered why he was not a full-hearted supporter of Voldie's policies. He was sure Voldemort could have converted him if he wanted to. Harry was placed under his influence every since he was a small child, after all; and the Dark Lord could be quite – persuasive at times. Yet Sirius and Remus were actually more adamant at trying to convey their beliefs to Harry. Although, he supposed most people would consider growing up with a Dark Lord a strong enough influence. Harry himself was not quite sure why he turned out like he did. For all he knew, he should be running around torturing Muggles, being a die-hard follower of You-Know-Who... No, never a follower. Or rather, never a servant. Voldemort had made sure of that. Harry knewhow muchVoldemortthought ofthe Death Eaters, some of whom very powerful wizards. He also knew of Voldie's intolerance to anything that challenged his power. Thus it always puzzled him as to why the Dark Lord cared to treat him, a powerless child, as his equal. Harry always thought himself as rather weak although Voldemort promised otherwise. True, he was clever for his age and knew quite some advanced magic, but that was due tothe exellent lessons he received and his power was in no way spectacular. Besides, even if he had immense power, wouldn't it be better for the Dark Lord if he were trained to obey the other's commands without doubt and never pose any opposition? At the thought of his lessons Harry frowned slightly;something seemed to be out of place yet he could quite grasp it. It was strange that the Dark Lord found all the time to instruct him...or was it a Death Eater... Magic flared, unseen to Harry; and his expression relaxed as he dropped the line of thought. For of course whom taught him the lessons was of little importance; he had more pressing things to think about.

Harry sighed again; Voldemort had always managed to confuse him to no end. He would have loved to think that for once the ambitious Dark Lord was being nice to him simply for the sake of being nice to him, that the Dark Lord cared – or ever loved him. Yet he knew the chances were slim, and it wouldn't do to allow himself to dwell on such fantasies. He massaged his temples; the night was getting ripe, and it was becoming harder and harder to keep coherent thoughts. He decided he'd just stay with Sirius and Remus for now (not that he had anywhere else to go), what could a nine-year old do for a Dark Lord, after all? But if fate would chance that their paths cross again...Harry closed his eyes painfully as he thought of Sirius and others; he knew he would help Voldie then, though he would try his best to keep his own principles.

With that settled, Harry collapsed in his bed happily, finally letting sleep claim him. Not noticing the little serpent on his finger closed its eyes just as he closed his own.

A/N: Well, hope you enjoyed it, all comments are welcome!