A Summer of Reflections

Chapter 2

Harry smiled at the familiar faces surrounding him. They were gathered in the kitchen, the long table in the center of the room draped in red and gold streamers, while balloons of the same colors floated – untied and apparently of their own free will – in mid-air over their heads. Hermione had explained this phenomenon was accomplished by some sort of a Stagnation Charm, which was something Harry had obviously missed Professor Flitwick talking about in Charms class. He had been mentally making a note to pay more attention during his lessons when Hermione mentioned that she’d read about them in Achievements in Charming, after which Harry did not feel quite so bad.

They had just finished a marvelous supper and were now chatting in small groups amongst themselves. Mr. Weasley and Tonks were still seated at the table; Harry could hear them talking quietly about various goings-on at the Ministry. Lupin was standing near the fireplace next to Hermione, who was telling him about their fruitless search for Sirius’s letter earlier that day. Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny were standing in a group – laughing at some joke of Fred’s – and while Harry was a part of this crowd near the kitchen counter, he wasn’t truly following their discussion.

His eyes were – as they had been all night – focused on the girl talking animatedly in the corner. Harry thought she looked really nice tonight, and if he’d had any guts, he would have told her so at dinner. She had been sitting next to him the entire time and they’d talked as they always did, but he hadn’t found what he felt was a right break in the conversation to pay her a proper compliment. He thought it would have sounded extremely odd – not to mention he would have been totally embarrassed – if he’d suddenly told Hermione he liked her jumper just before (or after) he said, "Can you pass the peas?"

But now, as Harry watched her across the room – the firelight reflecting in her eyes and dancing off her curls – he wished he’d told her something. When she turned her head just then, her gaze meeting his for an instant, Harry wondered if Hermione knew just what sorts of traitorous thoughts were floating around – as stagnant as his birthday balloons – inside his head.

"I don’t think he’s listening. It’s just about time for your cake, Harry, dear," he heard Mrs. Weasley say as she walked by him, her arms full of empty dishes while the ones she couldn’t carry were floating along at her side.

"Oi! The cake!" said Fred suddenly. "I almost forgot."

He and George disappeared for nearly ten minutes, by which time the others had joined Harry, Ron, and Ginny at the kitchen counter. Hermione stood just a little behind Harry to his right. If he’d reached out his hand, he could have touched her. But he didn’t. He did, however, deliberate on the fact that if he chose to do so, he could – for she was right there, only inches away – which Harry found was a very comforting thought.

Mrs. Weasley had wanted to bake the cake, but had settled on making dinner for everyone instead, since Fred and George had insisted they could buy one on their way from their joke shop in Diagon Alley. They’d been buying lots of things for the family lately: dinner here, a few fancy gifts there. Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes was doing well, better than anyone had expected in fact, and the twins were doing what Ron called "showing off" their profits. Mrs. Weasley called it squandering their money, but had relented in this case – allowing for the fact that Harry’s birthday was a special occasion, and there were exceptions to be made from time to time.

"It’s not going to make me sprout feathers, is it?" asked Harry – thinking of Canary Creams – upon seeing the concoction Fred and George set on the kitchen countertop a few minutes later. It looked innocent enough – like a normal, Muggle cake, with white icing and red letters that said, "Happy 16th Birthday, ‘The Boy Who Lived’" – but one never knew when it came to Fred and George.

"No. Don’t worry. We picked it up at Florean Fortescue’s on our way here. He makes the best ice cream cakes around, " said Fred.

Harry was about to say it didn’t look like any ice cream cake he’d ever seen (and he’d seen quite a few with piggy Dudley as a relative) when George told him, "There’s vanilla and chocolate ice cream in the center."

Harry didn’t even want to know how baking a cake with ice cream in the center was accomplished, but he was sure if he asked Hermione later, she would tell him.

"Oh, I’ve always wanted to try one of those," said Ron, who was practically drooling on the countertop. "It must’ve cost a gaggle of Galleons!"

"Mere change, little bro. Mere change," said George, putting his arm around Ron’s shoulders. Ron frowned and pushed George away from him.

"Why isn’t Harry’s name on it?" asked Mrs. Weasley suddenly. Harry thought she looked like she was trying very hard not to appear as though she could have baked him a much better cake, name and all.

"Well, when we told Mr. Fortescue who it was for –"

"He’s a big fan of yours, of course, Harry," George interrupted his twin. "So we really didn’t want to offend him. Especially after you see what –"

"We don’t want to ruin the surprise, now do we, George?" warned Fred with a grin.

The others eyed each other curiously, but Harry was remembering the kindly old man who had brought him free sundaes when he’d sat outside the ice cream shop studying during the couple weeks he’d stayed in Diagon Alley a few summers ago. Whatever the surprise was, it couldn’t possibly be bad – though Harry had to admit he was just a tad uneasy upon hearing Fred’s next words.

"Anyway, Mr. Fortescue said Harry Potter couldn’t have just any old cake. He needed to have something extra special. What was that little incantation again, George?"

George pulled out his wand and pointed it at the cake, muttering something completely incoherent to Harry.

"Secret recipe," whispered Fred in Harry’s ear.

"Oh," nodded Harry.

"And Ron’s right. This did cost a pretty Galleon."

Harry raised his eyebrows at Fred, wondering what was going to happen next.

There was a long, drawn out pause and then the cake, amazingly, started rising tier upon tier from the center – red and gold icing crisscrossing itself along the sides as it went – until it stood twelve rows high, far above everyone’s heads as they all stood gaping at it.

"Pretty cool, huh?" said Fred.

"Yeah," murmured Ron, his eyes popping out of his head.

Hermione stepped a bit closer to Harry’s side.

"It looks like a wedding cake," she said quietly, not looking in his direction. But Harry turned his head and looked at her.

Actually, he had been thinking the same thing. He remembered seeing photos of his parents – in the treasured album Hagrid had given him more than four years ago – standing by a similar-looking cake, smiling and laughing as they stuffed small pieces of it into each others’ happy mouths.

This image shattered abruptly though when sixteen candles shaped like miniature Firebolts suddenly rose from – Harry didn’t even know where – to zoom around the edges of the cake in circles. The yellow frosting on the sides rearranged into little iced balls and all thoughts of weddings flew quickly from Harry’s mind.

He grinned broadly.

Just for him – for his birthday – Harry had the ultimate Quidditch cake!

"That was our idea," said Fred, while George nodded at his side.

"The tiers were great – an added bonus – but unfortunately Mr. Fortescue didn’t like our idea of bursting Snitch icing balls. So we added those a few minutes ago, along with the candles."

At the word "bursting," everyone turned and looked at the cake wide-eyed.

"Fred! George!" bellowed Mrs. Weasley as the frosting balls detached themselves from the cake and started flying speedily around the room.

"Great for a food fight," said Fred, laughing. "But apparently not good enough for –"

"’The hero who conquered the Dark Lord,’" the twins chorused together – dodging the iced balls aiming at their heads – reminding Harry quite embarrassingly of that stupid singing Valentine he had received in his second year. Occasionally they sang lines of it to him for "old time’s sake." (As they liked to tell him, "What are your best friend’s older brothers for?")

Chaos ensued for nearly five minutes as everyone ducked the dozens of Snitches circling their heads and whizzing past their ears.

Harry reached for a chair with one hand and Hermione with the other. Blocking them between it and the counter wall for protection, Harry turned just in time to see a rogue Snitch invading them from the side. In fact, it was aiming right for Hermione’s head! Harry snatched it from the air just inches from her cheek. It crushed like messy glue between his fingers.

"Not such a good idea, I guess," he muttered, trying to uncurl his fist full of frosting. He heard Hermione chuckle softly next to him.

He gazed at her a moment later to find she had not come out totally unscathed either. A small streak of yellow icing had grazed her cheek just slightly. He wanted to brush it gently away.

"Hermione, you have –" he started to say, but was distracted when Lupin, who was standing next to Tonks nearby, pulled out his wand and aimed it high into the air.

His clever charm stopped the frosting balls mid-flight. (Harry remembered Hermione doing something similar with a bunch of electric-blue pixies in one disorderly Defense Against the Dark Arts class.) Finally, the last iced Snitch fell to the floor with a loud splat.

"Nice one!" Harry told Lupin as he pushed the chair away and stood up, pulling Hermione with him.

Mrs. Weasley was so furious with her sons, she had Fred and George scour the room clean, but everyone else laughed. The mood in the room was quite light-hearted as the twins – who didn’t look disheartened in the least bit, but on the contrary appeared rather pleased with themselves – made their way around the kitchen until every trace of frosting (that was not still attached to the cake, of course) was gone.

"Did we ever find out who sent you that Valentine anyway?" Ron asked Harry suddenly, wiping clumps of icing from his hair as he spoke.

Harry glanced over at Ron in mild annoyance. He had forgotten all about Fred and George chanting that stupid song until Ron had decided to bring the subject back up again. In fact, he was certain he would have forgotten about the dumb thing years ago if everyone didn’t keep reminding him of it.

"Well, I didn’t send it," said Ginny loudly, climbing out from underneath the table where she’d been hiding. "I know you all thought I did."

She turned and looked at Hermione, whose cheeks were suddenly rather red, but that could be due to the fact that Hermione had been rubbing frosting vigorously from them.

Harry raised his eyebrows at her.

"Don’t look at me!" she said, averting her eyes from Harry’s gaze.

"Are you kidding?" said Ron incredulously. "The only person Hermione sent a Valentine to that year was L—"

"Lavender Brown got a very mushy card from an anonymous admirer that year, if I recall correctly, Ronald," spat Hermione back at him. "I wonder who on earth that could have been from."

Ron’s ears turned red, but before he could make a retort, George said, "That git Malfoy probably sent Harry that song. You remember how all the Slytherins were laughing at him."

"That’s because they generally think it’s funny to make a fool out of me," said Harry, wiping his hands clean on a dishcloth. His eyes were still on Hermione, who was at the moment refusing to look his way.

"At least you got a Valentine, Harry. Seven years of school and not one boy ever had the nerve to send me one," said Tonks, suddenly joining in the conversation. She had quite a bit of frosting on her T-shirt, but that didn’t stop her from running her forefinger along the edge of Harry’s cake – that is, until Mrs. Weasley suddenly swiped at her hand as if she were one of her own children misbehaving.

"You never got a Valentine?" asked Ginny with surprise.

"Nope," said Tonks, licking her finger, her eyes rolling pensively toward the ceiling in thought. "Not one."

"Well, why ever not?"

Harry knew Ginny admired Tonks, and even he conceded that Tonks was not unattractive – when her hair wasn’t violently pink or purple, that is. But even then, though Harry generally preferred brunettes, he had to admit she had a certain style and flare, one that most teenage boys would find quite appealing.

"Because they knew I would curse them if they ever did," replied Tonks with a smile. "Only my friend, Alden, was ever bold enough to suggest sending me one."

"Alden?" asked Ron, sniggering loudly.

"Well, it’s better than Nymphadora, ain’t it?" barked Tonks back at him. Ron immediately stopped laughing.

"Anyway, Alden asked me what I would do if he ever sent me one and when I told him it would be worse than the Bat-Bogey Hex, he laughed and said he would like to see me try it. Alden was funny that way, you know. But he never did send it, the louse! He said his owl got lost on his way back from India. That’s where his Mum and Dad lived. And he told me he was too embarrassed to give it to me in person. Not that I believed him, mind you. Alden was always a terrible liar."

"It sounds as though you liked him a lot," said Ginny.

Harry, too, had heard the fondness in Tonks’s voice as she’d talked about her old friend.

"Alden?" asked Tonks, her cheeks suddenly as red as her hair, the current shade of the moment. "Well, he was my best friend in school, but there was never anything romantic between us."

"Oh, come on," said Ginny. "It doesn’t sound that way to me."

The red in Tonks’s face extended a bit farther into her hairline.

And for some reason, at that moment, Harry looked at Hermione. Though it appeared as though she was only half-listening to the conversation, he could tell otherwise. Her eyes had turned to his the second he had looked at her, and something in them made Harry want to grab her hand and pull her closer to his side.

"It would have only gotten in the way of our friendship," Tonks was saying as Harry tried to focus back in on her words, "if we had let anything happen between us. Though I can’t say I haven’t had my regrets."

And she looked very sad all of the sudden.

"Why? What happened?" asked Ginny curiously.

Lupin, who had been hovering near the edge of the group, said quietly, "Alden was set to join the Order when he was killed by Voldemort’s supporters shortly after he and Tonks graduated. And a fine Auror he would have been."

He placed his hands on Tonks’s shoulders comfortingly and she smiled slightly.

Harry turned and looked at Hermione again only to find her frowning at him, her eyes shining just the tiniest bit.

"No more talk about You-Know-Who," ordered Mrs. Weasley, shuddering. "This is supposed to be a celebration, and I won’t have this party ruined by –"

"Yes, Molly dear, we hear you," interrupted Mr. Weasley. "Harry, why don’t you sit down over there and we’ll bring your cake over to you."

After setting the cake on the table, Mr. Weasley lit the candles with one quick flick of his wrist. Then they all gathered around Harry as the twins started a serenade – only this time it was a song Harry appreciated quite a bit more than his old singing Valentine. Soon everyone had joined in raising his and her voices to Harry. And for the first time in his life, Harry knew what it felt like to be in a room full of people who truly cared about the fact that it was his birthday.

And yet, as his friends chorused their happy words around him, Harry felt a sudden pang of loss at whom was missing in this room, at whom was not there to share this day with him as they should have been, as he would have wanted them to…

His parents… Sirius…

Sirius would have been singing the loudest, Harry thought sadly, just before the broom-shaped candles stopped zooming in circles and he heard Hermione whisper, "Make a wish."

Harry looked up at her through the reflecting light, in the dim haze swirling from the tiny candle flames, and saw a deep fire raging behind those beautiful brown eyes. His dark thoughts dissolved instantly away, fading with the smoke from the flickering candles. And Harry found, in that moment, he didn’t need to wish for anything, for he was quite sure – though he would not be as certain later, in the bright light of day, and would claim he had only imagined it – that everything he wanted was right there in front of him.

All he had to do was reach out for it.