"Remember, students aren't supposed to know until it's officially announced," Snape reminded him, and Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll just add it to the list of all my other secrets, don't worry," he replied. Snape shot him a dark look.
"Cheeky little brat."
"Sorry, Professor, but your glare stopped working on me about the time Sirius turned you into a hamster the other week," Harry admitted apologetically. "All I can think of is those chubby little cheeks."
Snape growled again, sniggered. Harry smirked.
while
Sirius
The windows had stopped rattling, at least.
.-.-.-. The morning of Harry's fourteenth birthday dawned clear and sunny, and Harry was awoken by several owls tapping against his window. The most violent of which was the tiny ball of fluff Sirius had given Ron — who, according to the letter, was named Pig, which, what??
He'd stayed up until midnight, as he always did, wishing himself a happy birthday when the clock turned over. But for the first time ever, he fell asleep quickly after, eager to celebrate his birthday properly. For the first time ever, he had people to celebrate it with.
He had presents from all the usual people — The Weasleys, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid — but to his surprise he also had presents from the twins, Neville, Susan and Hannah, and cards from Daphne, Blaise, Ernie, Anthony, Sullivan, the Patil twins, and even Cassius Warrington. He'd never felt so popular in his life.
There was nothing in the pile from Draco, and Harry tried to ignore the stab of hurt that rose in his chest. Perhaps the owl was just delayed. Draco was still in France, after all.
His bedroom door burst open, and Padfoot bounced onto the bed, sending Harry's presents flying. "Padfoot!" he exclaimed laughingly, shoving gently at the huge dog. "You've made a mess."
"That's what magic's for!" Sirius replied, human once more and sitting on Harry's bed, beaming. "Happy birthday, Harry!" He opened his arms, and Harry wriggled over for a hug.
"Happy birthday, cub," Remus called from the door, watching the scene with fond eyes. "Sirius, let him up, will you? Breakfast is ready. Ceri made pancakes."
At that announcement, Harry abandoned his godfather and practically sprinted to the kitchen, skidding into the table and taking his seat. "Happy birthday, Master Harry!" Ceri chirped. "Ceri be making your favourite!" She placed a plate in front of him, stacked high with pancakes, loaded with homemade whipped cream and fresh berries.
"Thanks, Ceri!" he enthused, reaching for his knife and fork. "Couldn't wait for the rest of us?" Sirius mock-complained, when he entered the kitchen to find Harry with his cheeks bulging full of food.
"It's pancakes, Pads," he implored once he'd swallowed.
For once, Snape was the last one to the table, and he nodded at Harry in greeting. "Happy birthday, Potter."
Harry grinned at him, making sure his mouth wasn't full of pancake. Snape still looked mildly disgusted.
"So what are we doing today?" "Well, you've got your Potions lesson this morning, and—" Sirius broke off in a laugh at the offended look on Harry's face. "Kidding, kidding. You've got presents in the living room, and then a little surprise at about ten."
If it was the surprise Sirius had been hinting about for weeks, Harry couldn't wait.
Breakfast was a lively affair, and once all the pancakes were gone the four of them moved up to the living room, where there were several wrapped presents on the coffee table. "Go on," Remus urged, nudging Harry forward gently. Harry didn't know where to start. He'd never opened birthday presents in front of people before. At least at Christmas, everyone else had presents, too. He reached for the first one on the pile, a heavy box wrapped in brown paper; from Remus.
Tearing open the paper carefully, he gasped when it revealed a boxset of four beautiful hardback books. The Earthsea Quartet, the box read in shiny foil letters. "She's a muggle author," Remus explained. "I think you'll really like them. I started them when I was your age — the last one only came out a few years ago."
"Thanks, Remus!" Harry murmured, setting the books aside carefully to reach for his next present. The paper on this one was also plain brown, but the handwriting on top betrayed it to be from Snape. He was surprised it wasn't book-shaped. The paper parted to reveal a small leather roll-up bag, about the width of his calf all around. When he undid the buckle keeping it secure, it revealed a dozen potion vials kept in neat little pouches, each one labelled with the same spidery handwriting. Pepper-Up Potion, Pain Relieving Potion, Dreamless Sleep, the list went on. "Should you ever need to medicate yourself without the supervision of Madam Pomfrey," Snape drawled. "Though please do try never to need them. You're just starting to not be entirely useless, it'd be a waste if you got yourself killed."
Harry grinned widely, and with a burst of impulsiveness, took two steps across the room to wrap his arms around Snape's waist. "Thanks, Professor." Snape froze, and eventually lowered a hand to pat Harry's shoulder. Harry didn't push his luck, letting go and retreating back to the table. There were three gifts left, all wrapped in the same sparkly silver paper.
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