Happy birthday, Harry
The night before Harry’s new birthday, Merlin cooks up a feast. Arthur and Draco set about decorating the place the second Harry goes to sleep with pointers from the ever helpful peanut gallery in the walls. Gwen has a vision, apparently. Ron is in charge of wrapping presents and setting them all nice and pretty on the table, right up until he proves useless at it and Draco takes over.
Harry comes down the next morning with Goldie twined around his shoulders like a scarf, crooning in his ear. They’ve become very close. He is drawn to the kitchen by the smell of something marvellous, wondering who on earth it’s for. Did they have guests? The thought makes him curl into himself a little, remembering nights when the Dursleys had guests. If they're already here, he should probably make himself scarce before he’s spotted.
Before he can convince himself to do one thing or another, he is nearly floored by a blur of ginger.
“HARRY! Guys, he’s up, it’s the birthday boy!!”
The birthday boy?
Everyone is waiting with big cheery faces in the kitchen that double in brightness at the sight of him. Draco is in a lovely red cashmere sweater, and for the moment the tiredness has fled from his eyes. He has been very unhappy lately, so Harry is terribly glad to see him content, if only for a moment. Em has an apron with a niffler on it (folded double) with matching oven mitts, and he's just setting a massive slow cooker, steaming invitingly, down on the counter. Arthur blows a triumphant little tune on a trumpet he must’ve found somewhere like a royal courtier announcing the king. Ron bounces up and down on Harry’s shoulders behind him as Harry tries to convince himself to wake up.
“Happy birthday, pumpkin!!” Em cheers, throwing his oven mitts off and racing over for a hug. He ends up getting both of them in it, as Ron is still bouncing.
“Whaa- me?” Harry asks incredulously. “It’s not my birthday!”
“We’ve decided it is!” Arthur calls from the back. His hair’s a mess. Harry doesn’t think he’s worn a shirt once since summer started, and he’s obviously not making an exception today.
“Hope that’s alright. Since your other one’s more a day to remember, we thought you should have this one too,” Em explained, already fussing with Harry’s hair. “We got inspired. A package came for you in the mail- a birthday present. It must’ve been delayed or lost in transit or something. But we thought, well, why not have a birthday, then?”
“Yeah, we got you presents and everything!” Ron crows. “You gotta open ‘em!”
“Waddya say, huh?” Em asks, excited tone almost covering up his apprehension at how Harry will take this- almost. “Presents, then breakfast?”
Harry stutters out something breathy that makes a big grin split across his friend’s face. Em graciously turns away, blocking the others’ vision of him, as he wipes his suddenly misty eyes. It’s for him. They’ve done all this for him, for no reason.
Ron insists Harry open his present first, so he does. It’s not hard to pick out- Ron’s terrible at wrapping. The gift itself is very thoughtful, though.
“A hairpin! Your hair’s growing, and it’s been annoying you, so that should keep it out of your hair, you know?”
“Ooh, nice!” Morgana calls.
Gryffindor themed, too. Harry gets Arthur to help him put it in his hair, even though it’s a complete nest since he just got out of bed. Ron watches on excitedly, bouncing Daisy in his arms. She is a bit unimpressed with Goldie, so the snake takes her leave with a little kiss to Harry's cheek.
“How do I look?”
Arthur cackles. Draco raises his eyebrows with a mocking smile. Ron gives him a hesitant thumbs-up. Em valiantly fights down a snort and smooths his face out.
“Very handsome,” he promises solemnly.
“Geez, tough crowd,” Harry laughs. Em hits Arthur with a tea towel.
“Oi, what was that for!”
“Don’t laugh at him!”
“I wasn’t- I- look at him, Mar!”
“You are supposed to be supportive!”
“Don’t listen to them, shortstack, you’re looking great,” Gwaine crows.
Harry has learned to tune them out by now, and so he does. Life goes on without his attention, as usual. He doesn’t notice when his hands land reverently on an immaculately presented little box. Handsome black with a sleek silver ribbon- no wrapping required. Harry looks up to find Draco’s eyes watching him handle it. Immediately, he is more careful with it.
“Can I…?”
“It’s yours, isn’t it?”
Gently, Harry works the ribbon off the box. It’s got weight to it. He’s stumped for a moment on how to actually open the thing- it looks seamless- until it does it for him. At his touch the velvet parts, peeling back in many folds like a blooming flower and revealing its contents to him.
The inside is even softer, if that’s possible, and a bright triumphant yellow, furthering the flower imagery. Tucked into its centre is a tiny, intricate model of a snitch, delicate wings unfurling with its box. Harry gasps. He does not look up to see Draco’s eyeroll, nor how everyone else has stilled.
“Well take it out,” Draco encourages dryly.
Harry can hardly believe he’s allowed to touch, but it’s obviously from Draco, and if he wants Harry to take it out then he will.
Between his thumb and forefinger, it feels all the more fine a thing. Harry gently pulls it from its resting place and it goes willingly. Surprising, though, is the chain that unfurls behind it… and keeps unfurling.
“It’s a necklace!” Ron gasps from somewhere to Harry’s right. There are titters from the round table as well. Good on them. Harry himself can’t speak.
“Put it on, then,” Draco grunts, but it’s a little softer this time.
There’s no clasp mechanism, but the second Harry holds the chain around his neck, the ends of it click together seamlessly. Magic. The gold of it is so rich it almost seems to make Harry’s coffee-coloured skin glow in response. Harry isn’t one for preening, but even he has to admit it suits him perfectly.
“Draco,” he says breathlessly, “Are you sure I can keep this?”
“Would you like me to return it?”
“Do you want to?” Harry says, at once making to remove the precious thing. He probably has his greasy fingerprints all over it now, he hopes he hasn’t ruined it.
“No, you-” Draco snarls like Harry is being especially stupid. “It’s yours, dumbarse. It was made for you, wasn’t it?”
Harry puts his hand over it where it hangs at just the right point on his chest. He looks Draco in the eyes and hopes he can convey what he means.
“Thank you.”
Draco gives a churlish grunt and a dismissive hand-wave, staring deliberately at a point in the wall, his eyes snapping back to Harry in short, unpredictable bursts. It makes Harry smile.
“Hermione got you treacle tarts,” Ron blurts into the ensuing silence. Harry laughs as Arthur goes back into his cackles and Em slaps Ron on the arm with a hiss of ‘timing!’
Ron is a little sheepish handing Harry over a patented Mrs. Weasley sweater, this one with a snitch pattern across it. Obviously he’s embarrassed to give it following Draco’s lavish offering, so Harry makes sure to be extra grateful (because really, he is) and gives Ron a great big kiss on the cheek for it.
“We’ll give you ours later,” Arthur informs Harry. “I’m really hungry, so open your last one quick.”
Harry’s last present is wrapped modestly in rough brown paper- several layers, the long journey it’s obviously been through having been expected. There is a lumpy package wrapped in twine, a square of what feels like fabric, and a letter. Harry starts with the letter.
Bambi,
Bambi?
I am not sure if this will reach you. I am never sure, but I hold out greater hope than I previously have- this is the first year I have caught you away from your Aunt and Uncle. I have desperately held out for this a long, long time.
There is something in here from me, and something in here from your father.
Harry stands up in place, the chair scraping out behind him.
His good dress robes. He wanted you to have them, but then, he wanted you to have everything. As it is, he never even got to teach you your second language. Do you even know it? If this does reach you, maybe you can tell me.
If any of my letters have gotten through to you, you’ll know this, but I send you something every year. Usually it’s on your birthday, but I couldn’t wait this time. I’ll be coming to Hogwarts and I just had to know if I could reach you before I arrived. Enclosed is- well, you’ll see. You’re far too old for these things now, I gather, but like I said, I send one every year, so…
Anyway. If we meet, as I have wanted to since James blurted out that Lily was pregnant before she could, then I’ll tell you the story behind it. I promised him I would.
Your friend for all your life,
Uncle Moony
Harry sits down heavily, breathing fast. Then he shoots up and runs across the room, shoving the paper into Em’s hands. Em’s eyes scan the carefully scrawled words at a breakneck pace, his face going slack even as his hand shoots out to grab Arthur’s forearm in a vice grip.
“Arthur.”
At once the boy turns to read over his shoulder, catching up as Em looks up at Harry. He stands, eyes only for the kid he’s come to see as his child.
“Are you alright?”
“What is it, what’s it say??” Ron demands. No one answers him. Draco looks between Harry and the letter intensely, eyes raking them for information.
“Every year, it said,” Harry gulps, suddenly having trouble taking in air. “Someone’s been looking for me every year. Someone’s cared about me all this time. They knew my dad.”
“Holy…” Ron trails off, eyes going wide. “You serious?”
“Harry, are you alright?” Em repeats. “Don’t answer, just think about it.”
Harry tries. He really does. But someone cared about him.
“Feel my chest, yeah? Breathe in as deep as you can. Follow my pace. In…”
Harry breathes in for an inordinately long time.
“Out…”
Harry breathes out.
“In…”
In.
“Out…”
Out.
Right. He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t lose his head over… no, fuck that, someone who knew his father was looking for him!!
“This is great. This is- he said he was coming to Hogwarts this year. I’m gonna get to meet him this year!!” Harry gasps.
“We’ll do you one better,” Arthur vows. “We’ll trace the sender’s magic. But Harry…”
“Harry, if this is your uncle, we’ll make sure you get to meet him. But it might not be, you understand?”
“What?” Harry deflates a little. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because you have a lot of money, Potter,” Draco admonishes hotly. “That a lot of people want!”
Oh.
Oh.
Harry hadn’t considered that.
“But you don’t know, mate. This could be the real deal!” Ron tries, clapping his slowly spiralling friend on the shoulder.
“Yeah, Harry, there’s always a chance. We will find out,” Em promises. Harry knows Em keeps his promises.
Right. That’s right. Maybe he has an uncle, but either way people care about him.
Harry gives them a valiant nod and tries to appear unaffected. He doesn’t want to be the cause of everyone’s concern- on his birthday he's supposed to be happy. They’ve done so much just for him, he can’t be sad. He has to be grateful for the family he has.
The first gift, the square of fabric, feels like cool water. It unfolds almost (but not quite) as smoothly as the invisibility cloak did when Harry first received it. Fine black silk, embroidered gold and rich red velvet in intricate patterns, grand tassels that recall royalty and buttons that shine gloriously in the sun. And it just keeps unfolding, more and more of it. Harry’s head spin with the detail of it. Each inch of the thing must’ve taken ages to make.
“That… sure is something to send someone you’re trying to steal from,” Ron gapes.
“Wow, Potter. Your dad had taste.”
“Wait, is it a dress?” Ron asks, squinting at it as it unravels even further, past where even a grown man’s knees would go.
“There’s matching trousers…”
“Oh! It’s a kurta!”
Arthur crossed his arms and looked disparagingly at his other half.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Em, it’s a sherwani.”
“What- no it’s not. Look at the length-”
“Exactly, that’s the same length as-”
“A kurta has always been that-”
“Guys!” Harry comes very close to yelling. He doesn’t even find himself shrinking back as everyone stills and their gazes whip to him. This is important. “What is that?”
“A Sherwani- oof-” Arthur glares at Em, who has just elbowed him rather hard in the ribs. “-and a Kurta, they’re both types of formal Indian dress wear.”
“So it is for men, then?” Ron checks.
“Yeah.”
Draco approaches, casting an appreciative gaze over the fabric. His eyes skip up to meet Harry’s in a question, and Harry nods. With permission, Draco runs an analysing hand over the stitching in the hem.
“This is fine work. Real fine. It’s either genuine or a bang-up fake. Either way, it’s expensive.”
No one says anything to that. The implications lie in the air between them, buoying Harry’s heart like an updrift.
“You didn’t tell me your dad was Indian, mate!” Ron exclaims, nudging Harry’s shoulder.
“I didn’t know,” he says honestly. Arthur shoulders his way past Em to look Harry seriously in the eyes. His voice goes a little deep with his mood swing.
“You- I’m sorry. You didn’t know?”
Harry shakes his head uncertainly.
“No one told you? No one-” he cuts himself off angrily, stopping his ire before it gains momentum. Em shoulders past him this time.
“Do you want to know?”
Harry’s eyes are wide as saucers as he nods.
“Harry, you should’ve said so. If you want to know about your parents, we will find out.”
Harry is out of words. This has been far too much. He just falls on Em in a hug, and then Arthur. They don’t say anything else, either. He is grateful.
The second gift is a much more humble, hand-stitched stag toy. The antlers are so big that the deer can’t stand without overbalancing.
“Bambi,” Draco reminds Harry. “The letter called you that, right?”
Harry sends him a curious glance. When did Draco watch a muggle movie?
Harry tries to put it out of his mind over breakfast. They’re right- maybe nothing will come of it. And the Osso Bucco is delicious.
Ron and Draco are put on dishes, Em and Arthur wasting no time sequestering Harry away to receive his true final gift.
They assure him that nothing’s going to change, and they’ll rip up the contract the second he says the word. It can mean as much as he wants it to. What it does mean, though, is that he never has to go back to hell.
Harry puts his adoption papers down so he doesn’t cry all over them and flies at his very real family.