Chapter 5: Hermione's Birthday

Okay, so, I have a problem: I have no idea when my birthday is. I forgot. And King Rosehalo cannot help me either, because Daisyland apparently doesn't have a registry of newborns… how does this empire run with such an incompetent leader?

Anyways, I was complaining to Harry that I didn't know when my birthday was and never having a birthday party and not getting presents and cake and getting to shove Crookshanks and Gloria the angry chicken into cakes and forcing them to jump out at me, and he was getting annoyed (his cute nose was crinkling more and more).

"Dearest, just throw a birthday party and tell people it's your birthday?" He asked. Ron was there too, but his head was on my lap and he was snoozing softly. He had shoes on, so I couldn't admire his pea-like toes. Damn.

A bulb flashed above my head (figuratively, of course) and I had the best idea of any ideas ever thought of.

"Harry, why don't I throw myself a party and just say it is my birthday?" I asked, and he blinked at me.

"Dearest, that was literally just what I said." He said in monotone, but I wasn't listening. I took out my trusty notepad that I always carried around and started to write what we'd need. Cake, drinks, balloons, cake, a stereo, a piñata, cake, a dance floor, a foot race, invitations, cake… oh, and cake.

I nodded, satisfied at my list, and transferred Ron to Harry.

"I'm going shopping, aglets. My party's on Saturday, be there or I will haunt and slice up with my razor blades your most precious possessions!

Ron sat up and screamed, "Jimmy, noooooo!"

"Uh, Ron? Who the hell is Jimmy?" Harry asked, his dark eyebrow unbelievably high into his silly red cap.

"My pillow," Ron answered, "She wants to slice up my pillow!" With that he sprang to his feet and started to run away, "Jimmy, I'm coming!"

Harry and I watched the pillow-loving gecko run as fast as his short and speckled legs could carry him to save his beloved Jimmy.

"I'll be there." Harry said, before running to assumedly hide his most precious possession.

. . .

Saturday

I looked at my handy work. My garden had a slip 'n slide, a jumping castle, a trampoline, a massive food and drink stand, a table labelled 'presents only', a piñata version of Gloria the chicken, balloons hung everywhere and the whole left side of my garden was dedicated to cake.

Crookshanks had argued not to jump out of a cake and was instead dressed as Gloria, whilst Gloria was scaring people by being a hissing chicken.

GLORIA HAS TEETH! She actually bit me! She's like a vampiric chicken, that one. Goodness me.

Anyways, Harry and Ron had just arrived, and I pounced on them.

"Where are my presents?" I yelled at them, climbing over and under them as I tried to sniff out the bright paper packages (probably tied up with Ron's gum).

"Hello to you too, Dearest." Harry said sarcastically (honestly, it didn't fit him) and handed over a present. I tore the paper off with my teeth whilst Crookshanks clawed at it. Soon it was open and Harry had thought it appropriate to give me a tea set. It was such a thoughtful gift. Ron had given me a massive pack of non-chewed gum – I nearly burst out in tears.

All in all, it was a fantastic party, even if someone drank all of my red drinks – I will eventually find out who it was and skip my way over there with a sharp dagger and slice his pillows.

Luna gave me this massive sunflower that clucked. Gloria the chicken attacked it, thinking it was a goblin pretending to be a clucking sunflower. King Rosetrout came by too, and he offered me a large back of cockroach clusters – I dumped them into Ron's mouth as fast as I could.

At the end, when all the food was up, the cakes had been destroyed, the jumping castle had broken (because someone (Gloria) had left their shoes on. Why on earth was a chicken wearing heels?), the trampoline had gone missing and the slip 'n slide was strangely malformed, we all sat under trees.

"This was fantastic. I have another birthday coming up on Saturday, you all better be here." I said without thinking.

"It… it's not really your birthday?" Someone asked, I don't know who, "I'm taking my present back!"

"You can't," Ron said before I could, "Witches choose their own birthday."

"So, next Saturday – be here."