Harry never really celebrated his birthday growing up. Him and every other child who had a summer got to celebrate their half birthdays when he was in primary. But the kids never really acknowledged it because the Dursley's wouldn't put out the cash for cupcakes for his class.
His first real birthday that was celebrated in any capacity was his eleventh, with Hagrid busting down the door with a squashed cake- not to say he didn't appreciate the gesture.
Ron and Hermione sent letters and presents- when Dobby wasn't intercepting them- but Harry never had the chance to get away from the Dursley's to spend the day with them.
His eighteenth was only two months after the battle of Hogwarts, so no one was really up for celebrating. He still got presents and birthday wishes, but he conveniently forgot to mention anything until it was far too late for the Weasley's to throw a party.
His nineteenth resulted in a fairly small birthday party- simple in Weasley standards. But as they got further away from the war, and the world had begun to heal, the party got bigger by the time Harry turned twenty.
He resented the parties a little. He, of course, was overjoyed by the love the Weasley family held for him- but the mean voice in the back of his head told him he didn't deserve it. Harry hated being back in the center of attention, even if it was just for the night. That, and whenever someone asked what he wanted, he truly had no idea- one night Harry woke up in a cold sweat with the realization that he has no interests, hobbies.
Since the beginning of July- the beginning of summer, really- a dread has filled Harry's stomach. He's turning twenty-one. James and Lily Potter died at twenty-one.
Harry hasn't felt like a child for most of his life, but once he was able to settle into however an eighteen-nineteen-twenty-year-old was supposed to act, he realized that twenty-one is young. Too young to die.
In another year he'll be older than they ever were. It's odd, isn't it? For a child to grow older than their parents so young. Well, he isn't a child anymore, but the point still stands.
He supposes that it's normal for people to surpass their parents in age. But that's supposed to happen in your sixties and seventies, maybe even fifties if their parents were unhealthy.
By the time Harry's in his forties, he will be double the age of his parents. People are still having children- sometimes for the first time- in their forties.
Harry never even considered the fact that he would make it to twenty-one, let alone eighteen. He assumed he would be dead by seventeen- being a child soldier doesn't give you much hope. He was dead at seventeen, technically.
No one understands. He's explained that he was new to celebrating- or even acknowledging- his birthday and he never wanted much for the day. But the Weasleys, especially Molly, have been insistent. He appreciates their care, he really does, but sometimes they overdo what they think he wants or needs with what he actually does.
This time around though, he's putting his foot down. And he tried, he actually put a boundary down for once.
Two weeks before his birthday, sitting at the table for the Weasley table for their weekly Sunday dinner, Harry nearly chokes on his food when Molly asks what he wants for his birthday party.
He swallows roughly, Ron amusedly patting his back. Harry gulps down half his water to stall.
"Oh. Er, I was actually thinking about nothing."
Molly smiles at him. "Dear, of course we're going to be doing something!"
"We wouldn't forget about you, Harrykins," George jokes.
Harry almost lets it go. Almost. But the sinking feeling in his gut only got worse.
"No, I, uh, I meant that I don't want to do anything."
The table drops into a quick, uncomfortable silence. Harry stares down at his plate as he pushes his food around.
"Nothing?" Arthur asks with a frown.
"You need to at least have a cake!" Molly exclaims. Harry knows she's just looking out for him, but he really needs her to drop this.
Ron's hand drops down under the table to rest on Harry's thigh. His thumb rubs soothingly back and forth.
"I don't-"
"Mum," Ron cuts in, still shoveling food onto his fork, "he said he doesn't want to do anything."
Harry intertwines their hands together in thanks. Ron squeezes his hand twice.
Molly's eyes flicker between them and Harry feels himself ready to explode. "Alright, then," she says with a frown.
"Did you know that in the states, twenty-one is the legal drinking age?" George asks.
The tension in the room pops and everyone goes back to their side conversations.
Later, after they've returned home, Harry can feel that Ron wants to ask, but he doesn't and he's very thankful for that. He wants to explain why he doesn't want a party, but that would only lead to explaining whatever he's feeling about it, and Ron has always been understand, but Harry doesn't think he'll really get what he's saying. Ron's parents are both alive and well, and he won't be older than them any time soon.
- - -
He should have known. He should have taken Molly aside and insisted that there be no party. They had come to the agreement that the Sunday dinner before his birthday could be an unofficial birthday celebration. No cake, no decorations, no one outside the family, but he would accept happy birthday wishes and a small present.
She didn't listen. Harry can tell as he and Ron stand outside the burrow. He hears the music and chattering of dozens of people and can see the decorations in the window. He sighs and readies himself to go in and face this.
"We don't have to go in," Ron says.
"Yes, we do," Harry forces out, taking a step forwards.
Ron grabs his arm gently. "We don't. We can go home right now. I'll tell everyone that I became horribly ill, and you had to nurse me back to health."
Harry smiles despite the dread swirling around inside him. "Ron."
"Harry."
Harry throws the front door open before Ron can stop him. Everyone in sight turns quickly- clearly caught off guard- but are able to gather themselves to yell, "Surprise!"
Harry fakes a surprised smile as he's welcomed into the room.
It's good. Fine. He's okay. It's not as bad as he thought, but all Harry wants is to be home, not surrounded by the reminder of what he's lost.
Almost every decoration has the number 21 on it. It's like it's mocking him. A stack of presents sits on the counter, and Harry knows that he'll get duplicates of at least three presents because no one knows what to get him.
When he hears someone mention cake, Harry begins to slink to the back of the room. It's not as hard as he expected it to be to get past everyone. He slips into the bathroom and locks the door behind him. He collapses on the lid of the toilet.
Just outside, he can hear them begin looking for him so he can blow out the candles on his cake. He can't do it. He can't face those numbers again. All he can think about is what the flavor of his parents last birthday cake was.
Suddenly a knock comes from the other side of the door, and Harry manically considers jumping out the window and running away before he hears Ron. "Harry? Are you in there?"
Harry makes a noise of conformation, and before he can reach over to unlock the door, Ron's already pulling it open and quickly slipping inside, tucking his wand back into his pocket.
"You alright?" Ron crouches down so their eye level.
"I dunno," Harry mumbles. "I said I didn't want to do anything."
Ron grimaces. "I know. I'm sorry. I thought I had convinced her."
"Are they looking for me so we can do cake?"
Ron nods, but he looks lost in thought. Harry sighs dejectedly and resigns himself to getting up and facing everyone. Ron pushes him back down lightly.
"Bill owes me a favor."
Harry gives Ron a look. "So?"
"Think I can get him to get the attention off of you."
Harry pats Ron's hair down absentmindedly. "How's that?"
"Fleurs pregnant. Told me last week."
Harry gasps lightly and shoves Ron's shoulder, forcing him to shove a hand out against the wall to stop himself from toppling over. "And you didn't tell me?"
"I forgot!"
"How will your mom feel about them announcing that tonight? At my precious surprise party?"
Ron stands and presses a peck to Harry's forehead, over the bulk of his scar. "Sounds like Bill's problem."
Ron disappears from the bathroom as soon as he came.
Harry sits in the bathroom for a while longer, listening as he assumes Bill and Fleur make their announcement. Suddenly, Ron is back, a sheepish smile on his face.
"They're letting us go for the night."
Harry eyes them suspiciously. "How'd you manage that?"
"You have developed a sudden and serious case of food poisoning thanks to the dinner I made last night."
"They'll never believe that, Ron! They know I don't let you cook."
"It was a surprise. Can we go home now?"
They sneak out of the bathroom and out the backdoor without anyone noticing.
- - -
For his actual birthday, Ron wakes Harry with a kiss of awful morning breath, and a mumbled, "Happy birthday, babe."
Ron listens and treats the day like any other, with the exception of a homemade breakfast, lunch, and a dinner that does not give him food poisoning.
They visit James and Lily's grave, and based off the way Ron softly sighs and goes, "Oh." Harry thinks he's starting to understand.