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It would end up being his worst birthday ever.

Although, it started off, great.

"Harry," a voice awoke him that fine Saturday morning, "Come on Harry!" Harry murmured something, rolling around, opening his eyes wearily, to see his father. The sight awoke him immediately. His father wasn't dressed in a suit, or a lab coat, he was wearing a black turtleneck, and he was smiling. "Happy birthday son, I wanted to be the first one to wish you Happy Birthday."

Harry sat up, rubbing his head and smiled bashfully, and slightly self-consciously. He was only in his underwear, it had been a hot night, and now his father and Bertrum were standing in his bedroom. "Wow...t-thanks dad," he smiled gratefully, but it actuality, he was slightly worried. His dad never cared about his birthdays, sometimes, if he remembered, he would leave a card outside his door, but it wasn't even in his handwriting. Sometimes a message on the phone, that was far too brief. And he would never ever ever take a day off work. But here he was. "This is so nice."

"You're 17 today," he clapped him on the back with a smile "My boy's 17! Go on, throw on some clothes, we're waiting."

"Thanks dad," Harry was properly grinning now, he didn't care if it was weird, it was wonderful. His father left the room after mussing Harry's hair and Bertrum lingered.

"He's been extra-ordinarily proud of you recently. He wants to show you how much he appreciates your hard work. What with the speech, and Poppy, how you conducted yourself about a certain pill." Bertrum arched an eyebrow and Harry wondered how he seemed to know everything "Happy birthday, Master Harold." and he turned to leave.

Harry stood up, and called after him "One thing, Bertrum," he called, Bertrum turned back with a kind smile and it almost looked amused. Harry's cheeks tinged pink and he lifted his blankets to cover his nearly bare body. "How come sometimes you call me Harry? And sometimes, it's...Master Harold." He put on a posh accent, hoping for a laugh, but Bertrum did not laugh.

"So you can choose, Sir." Bertrum replied easily "Once you inherit this estate, you have complete control, and are not just second in command to your father. At that point you choose, whether for the rest of your days I address you as Master Harold, or as Harry. Or as Sir. Whatever you wish."

Harry rolled his eyes, and he looked really sweet at the moment. His hair all messed up and stuck to the side, a bashful grin on his face. "I'm Harry, Bertrum," he said, so incredibly sincerely that Bertrum felt truly touched just by the statement. "To you, to you...you're like my uncle. One of my best friends, you're family Bertrum. I'm Harry. Not Master Harold." he laughed, hugging Bertrum tightly, and the old butler felt truly loved by all in that moment. "I'm Harry," Harry leaned back, smiling spectacularly. That brilliant grin, that trademark smile that only he had. A little stronger on the right than the left, but it was so incredibly him.

"Of course, Harry," he smiled and nodded "But as your father's requirements, when you are in the company of others, you must be addressed as Master Harold."

"I'll sound like some evil king," Harry laughed, rolling it off "Alright Bertrum, just wait till I'm in charge, no Master or Miss, you address how you want. I promise you that." He rose his chin in triumph and Bertrum smiled incredibly wide.

"Happy Birthday Harry, let it be your best one yet."

"I think it will be," he laughed loudly "Has my dad taken the day off?"

"Well, a half day." Bertrum chuckled "But I think that's the best it's ever gonna get."

"A half day?" Harry echoed, pleased. "That's amazing. That's wonderful. Be down in a second!" And he almost fell into his ensuite bathroom in his haste.

Bertrum stood there, in the empty room for a few moments, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He loved the Osbornes, they were his family, and they loved him. He had known Harry since he was a boy, known Norman since he was a boy, and he and Norman's father had been friends young in their teen years. And Bertrum wasn't sure how much he could take. Each Osborne that was born, all men, was better than the one before, better, brighter, kinder, but they all died. Everyone died. When Norman's father, Harry's Grandfather, Thomas Osborne had passed, Bertrum wasn't sure he'd ever get over it. Then his lovely wife died. But then Norman stepped into his father's shoes, and Bertrum was okay again, but Norman would pass soon, and then it would be Harry, and the older butler couldn't help but think he should be dead! He had visited a cemetery far too many times in his life. Had mourned for an Osborne too many times. The surname felt like a part of his soul, and their first names? Stitched into his heart.

At first, he had tried not to get attached to Harry, to try and steer clear, and it as easy at first, because of Norman's plain dislike for him. But then he saw Harry painting, spoke to him, and the boy was so kind and accepting and he needed someone. And Bertrum just wanted to be needed. And now? And now that damn boy was on his heart! Just like his father, and just like his grandfather, and his grandmother, and his mother, and Bertrum wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He headed out of the room, and down the stairs. Norman looked up at his seat from the table where they would have breakfast soon "Bertrum!" He cried, "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," he murmured, wiping the last of his tears, and looking into Norman's worried eyes. He would never say it, Norman would never ever say it, but he loved Bertrum like a brother, the butler had been with him all his life. "I'm just so incredibly old."

"Nonsense," Normal laughed, hugging him tightly "You're not old! You're only as old as you feel, and Bertrum, you've got the spirit of a young man." Bertrum smiled, and stood tall.

"I'll alert the chefs to bring out breakfast." He nodded tightly "One moment Master Norman."

"Oh Bertrum," Norman laughed "When it's just us, call me Norman, we're friends, aren't we? We're brothers. Why without you, I would have given up Osborne Industries, remember? When I was a teenager and I was going to runaway with her? You told me, you talked me into continuing my father's legacy, and asking her to do it with me. Because of you we got married, and she had Harry, and I run one of the most successful businesses out there. Bertrum, I owe you everything, and worry not, if something bad happened to me, and to Harry, before the new Osborne can be brought into the world. Everything is yours," he gestured around them, and Bertrum gasped, touched.

"What?"

"That's right," Mr Osborne laughed "You've always been in the will, Bertrum. You're family."

"Oh Sir. I'm touched. But I hope I never have to inherit it." Mr Osborne smiled, and the old butler walked to the kitchen. Now Bertrum was happy, and he wasn't the greedy type who would try to kill off the Osbornes to inherit everything, but he truly knew they valued him. And he would die a happy man. And he worried not. He would save them. He wouldn't let them die. On his watch. There would not be another Osborne death in this house.

No Osborne would die, until he died!

Line Break

"Jerome..." Poppy frowned, Jerome was talking animatedly to Mara on the phone. They were working out the kinks in their relationship. "We need to go now, Harry's birth-"

"Poppy!" He snapped, pressing the phone against his chest, looking slightly wild "I'm doing something-"

"If you don't come now, we won't catch him before he goes to that party up in the manor with his cousins-"

"Then I guess I'm not coming!" He snapped, slamming the door. Poppy swallowed, clutching the present she'd bought for Harry in her hands. She was disgusted, at both Jerome and Mara. Which was rare. It was Harry's birthday for goodness sakes! Couldn't they put themselves aside for a few moments, just to visit him? He was only asking for one day. She left, and stepped into the taxi, watching her house disappear into the distance.

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