I am currently on holiday and I wrote this before I left and queued it up because I don’t think I’ll have internet whilst I’m away. Anyway, I think I queued it correctly so this should be appearing on the 31st (aka Harry Potter Day) but if it hasn’t can we all please pretend so I can save face? Cheers :)
Nobody, least of all himself, expects him to reach his eighteenth birthday, and even at the end of July, when all the funerals are long over and the rebuilding is well underway, when even George has started making noises about going back to the shop to see what he can salvage, it seems to take everyone by surprise that he is actually still alive to have one. Not least because it’s Molly Weasley, who barely drags herself out of bed most days, who resembles a haggard old woman and not the sweet, plump mother he’s come to know so well, who brings it up.
“What would you like for your cake this year, dear?” she asks, pushing the vegetables Ginny and Ron have cooked around her plate.
“My—my cake?” Harry asks, genuinely confused.
“For your birthday, dear,” she says. “Surely you hadn’t forgotten? It’s the day after tomorrow, you know…” Truth be told, he has forgotten, and judging by the slightly stunned and guilty expressions of the other Weasleys, they had, too.