Happy Birthday, Harry

cakeandmilk

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 22/08/2009
Last Updated: 22/08/2009
Status: completed

This is a very late piece for Harry’s birthday, but I decided it’s worth a shot. It is Harry’s birthday and Hermione feels unnerved because she is worried that Harry might not like her gifts.

Chapters

1. Hermione's Uncertainty

1. Hermione's Uncertainty

Disclaimer: JK Rowling created the world of Harry Potter.

Rating: I think it's safe to say that it's PG.

Summary: This is a very late piece for Harry's birthday, but I decided it's worth a shot. It is Harry's birthday and Hermione feels unnerved because she is worried that Harry might not like her gifts.

AN: I want to express my deepest gratitude to my beta Reader Dimethylmercury from Perfect Imagination who has this unbelievable patience with me and my writing.

AN2: This story is on Hermione's POV. It does not state Harry's age but I estimated it at around him being twenty-three. Oh, Harry and Hermione are together so I think it justified that Hermione is a bit seductive here. Also, I would like to dub myself as “She-Who-Loves-One-Shots”, if the title is not taken yet. ;)

“Harry…” I whispered as I crawled into his bed. Harry lay unmoving inside the sheets.

“Harry,” I repeated, moving closer to him.

“Wake up, Harry,” I murmured into his ear. Harry shifted but those emerald orbs remained hidden underneath eyelids.

I decided that desperate times call for desperate measures. I covered his body with mine and sure enough he stirred and he placed both his hands around my waist and murmured something like “Hmm' mynee”.

I smiled and bent down into his ear. “Could you please wake up, Harry” I whispered.

Slowly but surely, his eyes slid open and I found myself staring into the green eyes of the person, I loved most in this whole world.

Those green eyes pierced at my soul with great depth and warmth that made my knees buckle despite being tucked into Harry's gentle embrace.

I saw something, or rather some things, in those eyes: sleepiness, tiredness, fogginess and yet there was still hope, trust, willpower, and love in there; a whole dose of love melting and drowning me under his breathtaking gaze.

I also found them very fascinating to look at. There was… something in his eyes that made me long for more. There was something in his eyes that captivated me — held me. There is something there that made me want to study the intricate lights playing in those bright green orbs. It is absolutely riveting and I am enraptured by it like a `Hermione hypnotized by a fascinating book' as Ron would say. Except that this is far more riveting than any other book.

“Hi,” I greeted gently.

He smiled in that absolutely adorable sleepy way.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” I said as I stared at him. He grunted and then glanced at the dozing magic alarm clock resting on our bedside table before saying in this lovable, husky, sleep-induced voice “Thanks. I am happy to know that you are the first one who greeted me with barely two hours after twelve.”

I smiled and his eyes slid closed once again hiding those orbs I love so much.

“Harry,” I coaxed again.

“Mmm…” he said.

“I want to give you my present now,” I said. Oh, I do hope I do not sound awfully giddy.

“Now?” He asked, eyes still closed.

“Yes.” Please.

“Can't it wait until later? I am kind of sleepy, love,” he said. He was about to roll around in the bed with me still perched on top of him before I planted my hands on his side of the head.

“Well, it is up to you actually, if you want to have it now…” I trailed off, tracing his bare shoulder with my index finger.

I rolled my eyes. Things I have to do just to get this man's attention. I leaned down closer, if that was even possible, to him and I knew the telltale signs that I had his full attention and interest when he slyly sniffed in my `Hermione's-most-definitely-intoxicating-and-addicting-smell', he called it. It is ridiculous, really. He once told me that I have this certain smell. I had scowled then but he had said it was a positively enthralling smell — one that always made him want to pull me closer, which I find sappy and sweet at the same time.

As I leant down, his arms around me pulled me even closer to him. “Fine, give me my present,” he said half-heartedly.

I bent down to his ear and murmured huskily, “Presents,” emphasizing the `s' to it.

I kissed his scar very lightly, lingering there for as long as I could. I kissed his nose, and as I passed his eyes, I could see again those wonderful orbs firmly focused on me with desire. Good It is having the desired effect.

I watched as his eyes slide close once again before I fully leant down and kissed him on the lips. And like I expected, he responded instantly. Boys and hormones.

I kissed him slowly but thoroughly.

I felt his hands run up and down my back and I buried my hands in his hair as he deepened the kiss.

We were probably kissing frantically now. His hands roamed down my back and started wondering around my thighs and… other parts.

I pulled away from his lips reluctantly, before I completely forgot what I planned to do before this part, and kissed slowly his jaw and his neck. I felt him smile in my hair and whisper, “I am beginning to like this particular present.”

I pulled away so very slowly, teasing him, before replying, “We will get back to that later. My other present first,” then leapt off the bed before he could object and tighten his grip on me.

I went to our wardrobe and pulled out a brown box, not a huge one but big enough, with a big red bow and sat in front of him. Nervously,

I placed the box in front of his sitting form and breathed out anxiously.

I sat on my heels and urged him to open the box he was staring at curiously. “Go on. Open it,” I sort of commanded.

He took the lid off and for a while, I held my breath for his reaction.

Seeing the contents of the box, you would probably think and say that they were just some useless old and dirty stuff that needed to be incinerated. Yeah, you could probably say that and Harry would probably punch the living daylights out of you and I would probably hex you into the next century.

I fidgeted with the hem of my oversized shirt while he stared at the contents of the box. His hands flitted about the box as if afraid of touching it.

Finally, I broke the silence, stuttering embarrassedly. How could I, Hermione Jean Granger, hailed by Witch Weekly as one of the most powerful witches in the century as well as Wand's End's Smartest and Most Achieved Witch in a century and considered a Pioneer for Medical Improvement in the Wizarding World, feel absurdly self-conscious and atrociously uneasy in front of my boyfriend for three years and best friend of twelves? And it is just because of a present. Pitiful.

“It is a-a couple of things I snagged uh… that was kept in Godric's Hollow, you know, before the Death Eaters drove us away.” I bit my bottom lip as his gaze remained on the things. During the war we visited the Potter's house for a while. Only, Harry never quite had the time to treasure the moment since the Death Eaters drove us away; he had barely enough time to compose himself from the onslaught of emotion.

“I figured that-that it would take a long time before you…set foot in their house again. So, I figured you might want something from the house. You know, some memories to hold on to while you are not ready yet. Some good memories you know, could do you, well, good,” I chuckled nervously, “And… I think it would bring you…closure.”

He fingered the frame that held his parents' forms twirling at a ball. I cleared my throat and said, “You see when we were there, I went into this room and I found that picture at the bedside table” I started apprehensively. “I figured that it was your parents' room…I hope you do not mind,” I added, rather lamely.

He gave me a small smile before he placed the frame gently on the box again. Next he took the photos out and stared at them. “I found those in-in their room too. Some of them are Muggle photos and the others are Wizarding photos.” I saw him look at it them one by one with a small smile forming on his lips, but I could not help but to notice the sullen glint in his eyes.

I desperately tried to think of something comforting but failed miserably so I settled for, “I saw you pick up some photos when we were there so I thought that you could add this for your collection.”

Next he picked up the pacifier and the small shirt and stared at it as if drinking it in. “That was yours… obviously, when you were a baby.” Then I plucked one photo from the box, the one he was looking earlier, the one with his Mum, and Dad were in front of the table with Harry in front of a huge cake. Oh, god my hand is shaking. I hope I did not sound too excited. “See there?” I asked, pointing at him blowing the candles, at the photo. “You were wearing that shirt,” I finished quietly.

He smiled again, a sad smile I deduced, and put the baby things down and I put the photo back into the pile. His fingers then skimmed across the journal and I hurriedly explained, “that was your Mum's journal… I think.”

He looked at me and I said again hurriedly, “I did not open it or thumb through…I swear.” And then he shook his head, smiled, and stared at it for some more.

He gave a slight chuckle as he picked up the old dog-eared Quidditch cards. “I think those are your Dad's,” I said confidently.

Timidly, he picked up the flower and stared at it long and hard, willing for some memory to come back at him. I spoke up.

“That is a flower from your parents'…grave.” Upon my mention of `grave' he stiffened and I bit my lip, berating myself.

Breaking the silence, I said matter-of-factly. “It is a French honeysuckle.”

“I cast a charm on it so that it would not wilt; I kept it through the war.”

I sighed and looked at my hands. “It… it gave me something to look on to. It is a flower that… that still bloomed in the gloomiest place and in the middle of a war… and, and yet it still blossomed. It gave me peace… and hope…” I sighed before adding quietly, “Like you did.” I was about to take a trip down memory lane but I would be trudging a path that is too depressing, so I focused on Harry.

I felt Harry's stare upon me and I can not help but to blush under it. “I figured that, since I have you now… you can have that,” I said giving a small smile as I looked up at him and looked down again. Focus, Granger.

He gently slid back the flower inside the box and pulled out the last contents inside — the two satchels. He opened the red one and poured into his hands the contents — pieces of splintered wood.

“I found that on the floor and I-I examined it, I thought that they were too fine to be just splinters of the wooden floor… so, I had them looked at by a wood expert.” I watched him as he played with the splinters in his hand, looking for some familiarity like what he did earlier with the flower. So, I elaborated. “I was right. They were not just ordinary pieces of wood… They were actually wands.” At the mention of this, he stopped playing with it and looked up at me.

“I asked Mr. Ollivander for help and we were able to identify which were your Mum's and which ones were your Dad's,” He looked at me again and I said, “The red satchel belongs to your Mum.”

He stared at the splinters in his palm before putting them back inside the satchel. He weighed both satchels with his hands placed them back in the box together with the rest of the things.

I waited for him to say something but he kept his head down and stared resolutely at the box.

A long moment passed and I could not bear the silence anymore.

“You know if-if you do not like it, I could always… I will keep it, you know. I will not return it back to Godric's Hollow, but I will keep it. And then I can just buy you another gift. I mean, it is uh, still awfully early and… and I could drop by to Diagon Alley later.”

Right now I was speaking so fast that I did not even know what was coming out of my mouth. “You know, I could, I could buy you that new broom at the Quidditch Supplies that you always wanted. Uh, the one you kept staring at. Maybe I could ju-”

I was cut off by a pair of lips that abruptly attached themselves to mine, interrupting me mid-sentence. As I recovered from shock at being kissed suddenly, I started to respond as well. I felt a pair of strong hands skimming my neck and going straight to my hair, tangling themselves there.

Harry's kisses were gentle yet strong, almost domineering. But they did not make me feel weak; it made me feel even stronger given the pure emotion he was putting unto that kiss.

I could probably imagine his face as he did this, eyes shut, brows furrowed in deep confidence and concentration, lips fighting against my own, and hands roaming my curls.

It was absolutely wonderful. I locked my hands behind his neck as he deepened the kiss. He pushed me back slowly to the bed until I was lying there beneath him, never once breaking the kiss.

I wanted nothing more than to see his eyes and look at what was brimming in those wonderful orbs. I pushed him away and as we tried to catch our breath and I saw it right there in his eyes. It was close enough to touch. It was longing, a bit of lust yes, gratitude, and love.

It utterly took my breath away.

“So, I take it you like the gift then,” I said as I stared into his eyes.

He chuckled lightly and pulled me up into a sitting position and hugged me fiercely. I bet he got a whole lot of `Hermione's-most-definitely-intoxicating-and-addicting-smell' because he sniffed my hair fondly.

Then he answered, “I love the gift. Thank you.”

He pulled back enough for me to see his face and he remained especially close to my face and I can still smell his Harry's intoxicating smell. “It is the best gift, really,” he whispered

“Really?” I asked excitedly, sounding ridiculously like a little kid.

“Yes. I admit that it got me off there for a moment. But you did the most amazing thing. You turned the bad memory into a great one,” he whispered while he stared at me.

“I did not make you sad?” I asked.

“No. You, Hermione Granger, gave me back my parents.”

He sighed then he closed his eyes and leant his forehead to mine. “You did. You were able to bring their memory back and wrapped it in a bow and present it to me all glittery and stuff.”

I smiled and then he continued, “You brought me back to Godric's Hollow and I am finally happy. You even altered my childhood memory, Hermione.”

He picked the pacifier from the box and said, “You gave me something to look back to even though I do not remember it, but part of me does…”

I chuckled at his twisted logic and then I pulled him close as he levitated the box into his closet and hugged him closely.

A moment passed and I said, “Are you smelling me again?”

He nodded. I chuckled, but we never let go.

“I love you,” I murmured.

“Yes. I love you too,” he said into my ear.

“I would do anything for you, you know,” I whispered again. “All you have to do is ask.”

“I know. And sometimes, that scares me,” he confessed, never letting go. “But, I would do anything for you too.”

A comfortable moment of silence passed wherein I felt at peace. Once again, the result of being wrapped up securely in Harry's arms.

“So…” he began, “about that other gift…” His husky tone made me shiver.

I chuckled and let him go. I spread my arms and said while smiling, “Go on, then. Have your way with me.”

And he tackled me onto bed with me squealing in delight.

I think birthdays really should be about all the best things in your life and being thankful enough for being there to have it. It is about appreciating life and sharing that appreciation to others. That is what I did; it may have not been my birthday but I made Harry happy and with that, I am happy. Harry has me, Ron, the Weasleys, and all the people that love him for him.

After a long and painful journey, we are here — happy. We will never forget those who have sacrificed their life for us to get here. But we will never disgrace their honor by putting their sacrifices in vain.

For most wizards and witches, Harry's birthday represents the dawn of their hero — something worth of a holiday. For me, Harry's birthday marked my happiness and my fate — something worth of love in return.

Oh, yes. Happy Birthday Harry indeed.

~*~

AN3: Comments?

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