July 31st, 2010
Harry glanced at his wife with an exasperated look on his face. A large stack of presents sat to his left, and the entire Potter-Weasley clan (as well as Teddy Lupin and his grandmother) was gathered around him. He had begged Mrs. Weasley (he still couldn't bring himself to call her Molly) for a small get together- only the Potters and Ron's household- but she had insisted on the entire Weasley family joining in on the celebration.
Looking down at the partially unwrapped gift in his hands, he pulled away the rest of the colorful paper. He smiled when he saw the usual book, and turned to thank Hermione.
Teddy Lupin, hair emerald green to match his godfather's eyes, tossed a small package to Harry, earning a reproachful look from Andromeda Tonks. The savior of the wizarding world grinned and tore the paper off the find a wolf figurine. He chuckled and balled up a piece of discarded wrapping paper. He chucked it at the metamorphagus, but ended up missing Teddy altogether. Victoire Weasley, several feet away from the intended target, scowled as the paper ball hit her shoulder.
"For such an amazing quidditch player, you have awful aim mate," George said, his mouth curved upwards into a grin.
"Never said I was a chaser," Harry replied. "Sorry, Tori. You okay?" The blonde rolled her eyes and nodded before turning towards seven year old Roxanne.
He reached for another present, but stopped as loud, high-pitched squeals began to ring in his ears. "Daddy! Daddy! I drew a pic-ter!" Lily Luna Potter, paint splattered on her clothes, face, and hair, wobbled her way to her father as fast as she could. She held up her paper proudly. Four stick figures stood up holding hands, while one lay sideways.
"Family holding hand," she squealed, beaming. "Except Jame, he DEAD." The three year old clapped her hands excitedly and giggled before throwing her arms around Harry. "Happy Birfday, Daddy!" James glanced up at the sound of his name, but shrugged it off. Harry and Ginny potter shared an amused glance as Molly Weasley, deciding presents were taking entirely too long to unwrap, brought out a cake.
He was thirty years old, and all was well.
Er... Happy Birthday, Harry.
Disclaimer: if it's familiar, it probably doesn't belong to me.
word count: 382
Yeah. I swear this was longer when it was hand written.