This was the best birthday ever in the history of birthdays! Harry couldn't remember when he had felt quite as good as he did at this particular time. He should turn sixteen more often if this was the sort of treatment he could expect.

He was snapped out of his wonderful reverie when his stomach did a back flip. This wasn't one of the horrible, uncomfortable flips where he produced a Technicolor yawn...no, this flip was a shivery, delicious flip, the cause of which was a small, cool hand tentatively working its way under his tee-shirt and up over his stomach.

"Gin!" he groaned, and his eyes fluttered shut, blocking out the dappled sunlight that filtered through the feathery canopy of the copse of silver birch trees that Ginny had led him into half an hour earlier. His stomach did another delicious little wiggle when an exploring finger dipped into his belly button.

Soft lips teased the corner of Harry's jaw before a warm, feathery breath tickled his ear and whispered words penetrated his befuddled senses. The hand was working its way upwards. "Do you like that?"

Like! What kind of insipid word was ‘like'? Stupid word really. ‘Like' did little to describe how Harry was feeling about that marauding hand. And when the pad of a finger brushed fleetingly across a nipple, the resultant spasm that coursed through Harry's body and the groan that issued from his throat made it necessary for him to remove the word ‘like' from his vocabulary altogether. But was there a word that actually did do justice to how he felt at the moment? Harry didn't think so.

And now she was doing it again...and again, and Harry thought he was going to explode. He sucked in his stomach in an effort to ease the tightness of his jeans. Yeah, like that was going to work when Ginny had wiggled her lower body closer to his...she had been lying on her stomach, side-on to him, but now their lower bodies were in contact and her leg had worked its way over his.

They were lying on the soft, mossy ground in this little hiding place where Ginny said she had been coming since she was a little girl. She loved to read here. Her little girl self would have been able to step between the close growing trunks to this little dell within, no problems whatsoever, but it was a tighter fit for her now. Still she managed it fairly easily. Harry, on the other hand had only just gotten through; if he had not lost so much weight when he had been sick, he wouldn't have made it.

Reading was not the purpose of this expedition today however. Ginny had dragged him here to give him his birthday present, and then to follow it up with their present activity. Harry definitely preferred this activity to reading, or even opening presents...hell, he preferred this activity to breathing!

Ginny was practically adhered to his side now...her hip was digging into his while her hand continued its exploration of his torso and her foot, sans sandal, was rubbing his calf through his jeans. Her lips travelled down his sweat-slick neck until her tongue dipped into the hollow of his throat. Harry groaned again-indeed, it was the only noise he was capable of producing at the moment-and his eyes practically rolled up into his head. All he was physically capable of (at least consciously-one part of his body was working independently of his brain) was lifting a very heavy arm and digging his fingers into the long, soft, fiery tresses at the base of Ginny's skull, and pressing her face more tightly against his skin.

Ginny let out a little groan of her own as she became impatient with the tight neckband of Harry's tee-shirt. Harry's breath whooshed out of him-he felt as if his lungs would never re-inflate again-when Ginny quickly pulled her hand out from under his shirt and it brushed across the fly of his jeans. And even though that part of his body that worked independently of his brain was restrained by several layers of cotton and denim and a metal zip, Harry knew he would have needed to be inside an iron lung to be oblivious to even that accidental touch.

Ginny didn't seem to have noticed what she had just done-that had not been her goal-and if she noticed Harry's tense stillness and his short panting breaths (it seemed his lungs were still capable of working after all), she ignored it. She was intent on exposing his torso to her gaze and her touch. And when her lips lowered to take that well fingered nipple into her mouth, Harry yelped and practically lost consciousness as every last vestige of blood drained from his brain and migrated south.

Harry pressed her head closer for a fleeting second, but then, with a groan, he reluctantly wrapped both hands around the sides of her head and eased her face away from him. "Gin!" he panted. "You're killing me. You really need to stop." The words were little more than a croak. Harry peeled his eyelids open and looked at the blurry, pale oval with its twin, chocolate-coloured orbs, framed by the curtain of fire. He saw her smile knowingly and lower her head again, but he exerted more pressure to keep her from her goal.

"No, really...Gin, you have to stop." Harry tried to move sideways away from that bony little hip that was still digging into him.

"Do you want me to stop?" Ginny whispered, and Harry felt that little hand move down over his fluttering stomach. He swallowed around the dry lump in his throat. Did he want her to stop? Hell no. But...He grabbed her hand before it reached the waistband of his cargo pants.

"You have to stop," he reiterated, albeit reluctantly, and when she tried to twist her hand out of his grasp, he held on tight.

"I want to make you feel good, Harry," she said with a stunning candour that made some of the blood that had pooled in Harry's groin rush northwards again to stain his cheeks with heated colour.

He groaned again and shut his eyes, raising a shaky hand to rub it over his face and then back, through his hair. That was what he wanted too. And he wanted to reciprocate. God, did he ever want to reciprocate.

"Ginny," he squeaked, "your dad and your brothers will kill me...hell, Ron'll kill me all by himself. And your mum trusts me."

Harry opened his eyes, and even though his vision was blurry, he could see the tiny smile on his girlfriend's face flicker and die. And before he could stop her, she pulled away from him and sat up, her back to him and her knees drawn up so that she could wrap one arm around them and pluck at the mossy surface she was sitting on with the other. "Sorry," she said in a whisper. "I just thought, well...it's your birthday and we've never...I've never...I'm sorry."

Harry's excited flesh had settled down somewhat, enough to enable him to scramble into a sitting position without too much discomfort considering the tightness of his pants. He scrabbled around for his glasses which Ginny had plucked from his face after they had gotten in the way when they had really started snogging.

"Don't be sorry," said Harry. He had crawled around in front of her so that he could see her face. Still on his knees, he took her face in both of his hands and raised it so that she was looking directly at him. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I loved you touching me. I didn't want you to stop..."

"Then why?" she said.

"Gin, we have to think about this carefully. You're not even fifteen yet."

"I'll be fifteen in less than two weeks," she pointed out impatiently. "I'm not a little kid, Harry. I know what I'm doing...at least, I know what I want to do...what I want us to do together."

Harry groaned and sat back on his heels, looking at her as if she was one of Florean Fortescue's giant knickerbocker glories, and he was loath to devour it because it was such a work of art. "Ginny...your family," he said helplessly.

Ginny pulled away from Harry and with jerky movements, she slipped her sandal back onto her foot before jumping up and stalking off across the mossy ground towards the trees.

"Ginny!" cried Harry and he jumped up, to race after her.

"I get it Harry. All I was thinking about was you-us-but you obviously had your mind focused elsewhere."

Harry grabbed her arm to stop her from going any further. "Gin, that's not fair."

"What's not fair is the fact that I can't keep your mind on me-on us-so I'm obviously not very good at what I was trying to do."

"Not very good! Ginny..." started Harry, hopelessly.

"No, Harry," she interrupted, and he was appalled to see tears swimming in her eyes. "Do you think any of my brothers worry about what I might think of their antics when they're with a girl. Or do you think they feel guilty because of what our mum might think. No, they wouldn't! And nor do they wonder what the said girl's mother would think either. None of them are that self-sacrificing. Their take on the matter would be that it is up to the girl to call a halt if she wants to."

"I bet none of them were fifteen, Gin."

Ginny's face became stony. "Is there a magical age when it's all right to do more than just snog your boyfriend, Harry? If I was seventeen would it be OK, or would you still kowtow to my family?"

"Gin, Ron's like a brother to me...the twins, your mum and dad are-shit-they're the closest thing to a family that I've got."  Not true anymore, but Harry couldn't get into that. He would always consider Mr and Mrs Weasley as family because they had made him part of their family.

Ginny just stared at him, her brown eyes huge with hurt and sadness. She gently twisted her arm until Harry's hand fell to his side. He felt absolutely wretched. When Ginny had ambushed him after lunch, and dragged him outside to lead him quickly to this favourite spot, he had come perfectly willingly.

She had pulled him down onto the springy surface under the birch canopy and given him a homemade birthday card (thankfully, not a singing one) and his present. It had been so natural for him to then lean over to kiss her, and for that kiss to lead to the snogging session that had, sadly and inexplicably ended here, with Ginny stepping back from him, her face pale and set.

"Gin..." Harry knew his voice sounded a little impatient, but hell, he had gone from floating on cloud nine to feeling like shit in the space of fifteen minutes, and she was being a little unreasonable...wasn't she?

Ginny smiled a tight little smile that looked infinitely sad. "You have to decide whether you want a sister or a girlfriend, Harry," she said in a wooden little voice. "I might be living up to Aunty Muriel's assessment of me as being forward, but I know what I want, and it isn't another brother." She leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on his unresponsive mouth. Then she turned and walked to the trees.

But before she stepped through, she turned back. "And just so you know, it wasn't my intention to have us go all the way today. Contrary to what you may think, I am not that forward." And with that, she slipped between the trees and disappeared.

Harry just stared after her. He couldn't believe that the euphoria and excitement he had felt a very short time ago could have deteriorated to this. Why couldn't he have kept his big mouth shut? They had both been in it together until he had baulked. Ginny was right to be peeved. What kind of a fool was he? To give up the pleasure he had been feeling because thoughts of Ginny's family had intruded.

Harry turned back to pick up his gift. He stared down at it, a small smile curving his lips. It was a carved, oval, wooden picture frame with a photograph of the whole of the Weasley family...sans Percy. Ginny had explained that she had asked Bill to spell an old photo of Charlie over Percy, because she didn't think that Harry would appreciate a photo of Percy, when Percy had spent the last twelve months denigrating Harry.

They were all standing in front of the Burrow in an attitude of perpetual motion, waving at the observer. Ginny was standing in front of Bill, who had his arms draped around her neck and his chin resting on her head. She was laughing at something and Harry thought she looked absolutely perfect. The original photograph-with Percy in it-had been taken to send to Charlie in Romania, because he had not been able to get home for his birthday. But in this copy, not only had Charlie replaced Percy, but Ginny was also her present day self, thanks again to Bill.

The higgledy-piggledy house itself wasn't part of the photo. Ginny had superimposed the family in front of a brilliant pencil drawing of the Burrow. Harry had vaguely known that Ginny was really good at drawing-he thought Hermione might have mentioned it to him-but he was ashamed to say, he had never taken the time to look at any of her art, even though he had often seen her sketching at Hogwarts. For his gift, she had spelled the drawing of the Burrow to take on sepia tones, and with the coloured Weasleys in the foreground, the effect was very unusual, but very attractive.

Harry put his gift back in the box-thinking how much effort Ginny had put into it. She had said that she had done the drawing at school, so she had had it planned for a while. Bill had sent her the altered photograph as per her instructions and Ginny had constructed the whole at school because she had needed to use magic.

As Harry forced his way back through the gap in the trees, he heard Ron calling him. Fifteen seconds later, they came within sight of each other as Harry rounded the copse. Ron stood still and allowed Harry to skirt the pond to reach him. Harry wasn't too thrilled to see the set look on his mate's face.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked in a confrontational tone. He saw the loosely wrapped gift-Harry had put the paper back around the box-in Harry's hand. "Is that from Ginny?"

"Yep," said Harry blithely and he pulled the frame out of the box and wrapping and handed it to Ron. Ron took it reluctantly and stared at the montage. After grunting his grudging approval, he thrust it back at Harry.

"Why did you have to drag her off? She could have given you that at the house."

"Well, Ron," said Harry with exaggerated patience, "just to set you straight, I was the draggee, not the dragger, though note; I wasn't complaining. And as for why, well, I imagine privacy had a lot to do with it."

Ron's blood was obviously heating up because the colour was starting to rise in his face. On Ginny, the high colour was attractive, on Ron, well...it just made him look plain mean.

"You were gone for ages," bit out Ron.

"We were gone for about twenty-five minutes all up, Ron. Don't exaggerate. And if you were keeping a real close eye out, which it appears you were, then you would have seen that Ginny got back to the house a few minutes ago."

"Yeah, she did," said Ron, attacking from a different direction now. "And she looked miserable. She looked as if she had been crying. What did you do to her?"

Harry felt his own temper rise, but he didn't want to mar his birthday by having a fight with his best mate. He just looked his disgust before stalking off, making sure his shoulder bumped Ron's arm as he passed him.

Ron grabbed Harry's arm and spun him back around. He thrust his face close. "What did you do, Harry? Why's she upset?"

Harry yanked his arm out of the tight grip. He thrust his face close to Ron's so that now, they stood nose to nose. Harry was at a disadvantage because Ron was taller than he was and was looming over him slightly. "What I do with my girlfriend is none of you bloody business, Ron," he yelled, not exactly sure why he wasn't saying he hadn't done anything, except that it was none of Ron's business. "But if you're worried, why don't you ask Ginny. If she doesn't set your big-brother mind to rest, then you can beat me up. Or at least you can try."

With that rash challenge ringing in the air, Harry spun about and stalked off. He was seething. First Ginny's overreaction to his trying to do the right thing, and now her bloody brother was acting like he had raped her or something equally mental. This was really great. Harry knew Mrs Weasley was preparing a birthday dinner for him, and now, celebrating was the last thing he wanted to do.

Harry never thought that he would say it, but all of a sudden, he wanted to be back in the comfortable dungeon quarters with his dad. There was always peace and quiet there...well, there was now that he and Snape weren't at each other's throats all the time. And when the fleeting image of himself going to Snape for advice about how to handle this situation with Ginny rose in his mind, he snorted with suppressed laughter. Yeah, right...Severus Snape would be just the person to discuss girls and how to survive in a relationship, with.

"Harry."

Harry looked up. Hermione was coming down the stairs but not being in the mood to be lectured by his friend, Harry just said "hi," and brushed past her. When she called after him, he ignored her, sure that she and Ginny had just been speaking.

When he got to Ron's room, he shut the door firmly, even though he could here Hermione's light steps ascending the stairs after him. He leaned against it and sure enough, Hermione tried the handle. Harry had never known anyone as determined as she was.

"Harry, can I talk to you?"

"No." Harry wasn't in the mood for diplomacy, and the succinct answer seemed to take the wind out of Hermione's sails.

Eventually, in a subdued voice, she said, "You might feel better."

"I feel fine, thanks Hermione." And then, because he didn't want another miserable female on his conscience, all because of something he had either said or done, albeit unwittingly, Harry opened the door and poked his face through the opening. Hermione, who had turned to descend the stairs, spun back around. She did indeed look miserable. "Look, Hermione, I really am OK. Ginny and I just had a disagreement about something. Maybe you should talk to her, make her feel better."

Harry sincerely hoped though, that Ginny would draw the line at actually discussing what the two of them were out of sorts over...that was their private affair. He was aware that girls seemed to talk everything over with their best friend, and Harry knew Hermione and Ginny were really close. All he had to do was picture Lavender and Parvati with their heads bent close together every time they were together.

Hermione set his mind to rest at once. "She doesn't want to talk either, and she looks really upset."

Good! She should be upset, thought Harry, but then he felt a dagger of remorse pierce his heart. He didn't want Ginny to be miserable because of what he had said and done in the copse. "We'll work it out Hermione. But at the moment, I just want to be by myself to think. Maybe you could go and calm Ron down and stop him from planning my execution."

Hermione smiled...a sad little smile, but a smile nonetheless. "All right," she said and then she closed the distance between them and surprising Harry, she took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead.   

"Honestly, boys really should come with a set of built-in instructions when it comes to how they should be with their girlfriends."

"Hey!" objected Harry. "Not everything is the boy's fault, you know."  But Hermione had already disappeared down the stairs. All of the indignation went out of him and he shut the door and threw himself down on his camp bed. "What boys need is a manual that just pops into existence when they decide on the girl they want, so that they know exactly what that particular girl likes and wants," he said out loud. And how far she really wants to go, he added silently.

If it had been him who was trying to force the pace and was pushing Ginny further than she had been willing to go, Harry could then understand that she would have had every right to be upset. But to go off in a huff just because he had tried to be a gentleman and stop things before they had gone too far...well, that was just plain mental. And as for having to decide whether he wanted a girlfriend or a sister...well, that was just fucking idiotic. He wouldn't have been doing the things he had been doing-even to the limit he had done them-if Ginny was his sister for ‘F's' sake.

She had really not been fair. How was he just supposed to wipe Mr and Mrs Weasley and what they would feel out of his mind when he and Ginny were getting hot and heavy? He had been able to up to now because they had not done anything that Mr and Mrs Weasley could really object to, had they? But today was different. If Ginny had continued with her explorations, Harry doubted he would have had the strength of mind to stop. She had said that she had no intention of going all the way, but if she had touched him there, he would have wanted to go a hell of a lot further than she would perhaps have been willing to go.

Harry threw his arm over his eyes, blocking out the orange light that pervaded the whole room, compliments of the Chudley Canons paraphernalia that covered practically every vertical and horizontal surface; there was even a poster on the ceiling over Ron's bed. Usually, it didn't bother him, but at the moment, Harry couldn't cope with fireball orange.

He conjured the memory of what had happened in the copse before he had called a halt, and as was inevitable, his body reacted with alacrity. He squirmed at the memory of Ginny's lips and hands; her tactile exploration had been exquisite torture. Back there in the copse, Harry thought he had died and gone to heaven. Now, as he groaned and flipped onto his stomach, heaven seemed a long way away and he had to wonder if he would ever attain those dizzy heights with Ginny again.

8888

Molly had pulled out all the stops for Harry's birthday dinner. The knowledge that they had so very nearly lost him at the beginning of the holidays and the sad fact that Harry had reached the age of sixteen without ever having had a proper birthday celebration (that he could remember at least) made her determined to make Harry Potter feel special in a good way for once. It was not a huge party...it was, in fact just family and the people who were closest to Harry.

And that was what made it so special for Harry. He would have felt highly embarrassed if all and sundry had turned up to make a fuss of him...Harry hated being the centre of attention; Molly had gotten that right.

It wasn't really a large guest list when you took the Weasleys out of the equation. There was Hermione, of course-and Molly considered her an honorary Weasley, just as she did Harry-as well as Remus, Tonks, Hagrid and Kingsley. She had also invited Albus and Minerva to dinner, but Minerva had declined dinner, saying that they would come for a short time later, as Albus had been unwell of late, and she didn't want him out and about for too long. Molly had chuckled after receiving the owl from Minerva; she could just imagine Albus's indignation and disappointment. No one loved a party as much as Albus Dumbledore.

Oh, yes...Molly heaved a sigh as her eye fell upon the silver haired vision of perfection sitting next to Bill halfway down the table. Fleur, the girl her precious son was engaged to and whom Molly really could not come to terms with. Nobody who had that kind of other-worldly beauty could make a good wife in Molly's opinion. From everything Molly had seen of Miss Fleur Delacour, she was as taken up with herself as much as every male within hailing distance was. All that time spent admiring one's reflection was time taken away from looking after her husband. And that, particularly when said husband was one of Molly Weasley's sons, was just not on.

Molly looked sour as Fleur's irritating trill of laughter rang out and all of the men, even the older contingent...Arthur (whom she would be having strong words with later), Kingsley and Hagrid, had their glazed eyes fixed upon the French woman. Remus was not fixated on her at least...he was gazing down at his hand where he was turning his spoon end over end. Tonks was whispering in his ear and Remus' lips were lifted in a slight smile. Molly frowned as she watched the two of them. Tonks looked ecstatic now that she had Remus, but Remus, never looked equally so. Perhaps it was just that the man was a more serious individual than his exuberant girlfriend. It could not be easy being Remus Lupin; Molly did not envy him his existence. She wondered why it was that the nicest people were the ones who usually had more than their fair share of misery.

Shaking her head sadly, Molly's gaze moved on, settling on the younger generation, all of whom practically had their tongues hanging out as they stared, mesmerised, at Fleur...all but Harry, and of course Bill. Despite having fallen in love with Fleur, Bill had never exhibited the glazed eyes and the slack mouth that so many young men suffered from when confronted by the part-Veela. He appeared to be immune to the stunning looks, which Molly had to admit, was all to the good; he was not entering into this relationship totally blind-sided by Fleur's unearthly beauty.

Harry, dear boy, kept on darting covert looks at Ginny, whom, Molly had noted earlier, did not look her usual carefree self. Harry too, when he was not forcing himself to join in the festivities, looked a little sad. It seemed that the young couple might have had a falling out.

Well, at least Harry appreciated a girl whose beauty was not the result of being a descendent of an enchanted race of magical beings whose main purpose in life was to ensnare susceptible men. In Molly's opinion, her daughter was just as beautiful as Fleur Delacour.

The long table was outside on the verdant back lawn and in the deepening twilight, Molly felt a great contentment-despite the impending nuptials of her eldest son-in her home, and with her family and friends. The Dark Lord and his evil mission seemed a long way away this evening. Multi-coloured fairy lights were strung between the branches of the trees and clung magically to the walls of the house, lending the festive scene a magical aura. The table itself was lit by four glass lanterns inside which Bluebell flames flickered merrily, and which were placed at intervals down the length of the table. It would have been perfect if Charlie and Percy could have been there, but they weren't...one by choice, and the other by necessity.

Molly hated Charlie heading off to practically the ends of the Earth to live and work with dragons. Not only was he too far away for her to keep in close contact with, but his job was highly dangerous and she worried constantly that one of his charges could seriously injure, or even kill him. Percy, of course, was just too stubborn to admit that he had been wrong. Molly recognised that Percy was very like her in the stubbornness department, and she just had to hope that one day he could swallow his pride and come back to them.

The people around the table seemed to have broken into separate factions now: Fred and George were showing Hagrid some card tricks, Remus, Arthur and Kingsley were discussing what Molly assumed was Order business, Bill and Fleur had their heads together, blissfully unaware of anyone else for the moment, Tonks had Ginny and Hermione in fits of laughter by doing foolish things with her face; Ron was looking on, but not finding the performance as funny as the girls, and Harry was sitting with his hands clasped between his knees, looking at the ground. Molly wondered what had happened between the boys. She had not seen them exchange a word all night.

Molly shelved the worry of the boys' behaviour and stood to start stacking dishes. Once she had a pile of plates, she spelled them to float through the air towards the back door. As they floated past Harry, he seemed to come out of his reverie, and realising that Molly was clearing up, he jumped to his feet to help.

"No, Harry dear...this is your party. You don't clear the table on your birthday," she said, putting her arm around his shoulders and squeezing.

"No, really...I don't mind helping Mrs Weasley..."

"Sit down, Harry." Mr Weasley had come to lend his efforts and he put a hand on Harry's shoulder and pushed him gently back into his chair. He smiled.  "Haven't you learned yet that you do not argue with a Weasley female?"

Harry returned the smile but it was devoid of humour. He glanced at Ginny who was watching the exchange. "I have learned that, yeah."

8888

Harry took Molly and Arthur's strictures to heart and he was the last to leave the table, only getting up to follow Ron, Hermione and Ginny when they stood to go back inside. All of the adults had already departed the table, Tonks and Remus being the last to leave, deciding to walk past the protective charms to Apparate away, rather than use the Floo.

Tonks had been regaling them with tales of her antics when she had been at Hogwarts. Harry had laughed along with the others, although he got as much enjoyment out of watching a sparkling Ginny as he did out of the stories. Remus, of course, had to top Tonks and he had launched into several anecdotes involving a demented caretaker and a certain invisibility cloak and enchanted map. Harry had listened avidly to these tales and Tonks had had to admit herself outpranked by the masters...the Marauders, whose adventures were still talked about as being the stuff of legends, even though the four miscreants had left the school a good six years before she had started.

The evening had ended on this happy note and as Harry followed in the girls' wake as they walked back towards the house, Ron fell into step beside him. Harry glanced at him, noting the hands thrust deep into jeans pockets, the sloping footsteps and the colour riding high on Ron's cheekbones as he kept his gaze riveted on the ground. Harry waited for him to dredge up the courage to speak-all of the indicators showed that he had something to get off his chest-and he did so after the girls had entered the house.

"Harry, I'm sorry mate. I've been a total pillock again." Harry stopped and thrust his own hands into his pockets. He kept his gaze on Ron's large trainer-clad feet. He wasn't going to make this easy. He was more than a little sick of Ron flying off the handle when it came to him and Ginny.

"You'd been gone for a while, and when Ginny appeared, she was miserable and looked as if she had been crying..." The reminder of Ginny's tears jolted Harry. He had temporarily forgotten that she had been so upset.

"Anyway, I jumped in feet first, as usual. Hermione's had a go at me, and Ginny's threatened me at wand point, again, for acting like a prat towards you." Ron fell silent again. He scratched the side of his neck and looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "So, are we OK?"

"Are you just apologising because Hermione and Ginny are giving you a hard time?"

"No!" said Ron. "No, I've had a shit of a day, true, but then again, I can see that you've had an even worse one. And it's your birthday. I really am sorry. It's obvious, now that I've had time to think, that whatever happened between you and Ginny has made you just as miserable as she is. And she's not really mad at you...she's just sad. Like you." He fell silent and dug at the grass with the toe of his trainer, dislodging a divot which he then attempted to tamp back down with his heel. "So, are we OK?"

"Yeah, course," said Harry after pretending to deliberate for a few seconds. "Only do me a favour. Next time you want to attack me because you're trying to protect Ginny, just remember that I would never deliberately hurt her and that she is perfectly capable of looking after herself."

Ron grinned. "You've got that one right. If I find you with giant flying bogies flapping around your face, I'll know you have displeased your lady and I might leave you to suffer for a short time, but then I would perform Finite for you."

Harry laughed. "You're all heart."

Ron clapped him on the shoulder and they entered the house together. They heard the roar of the Floo as they shut the door and looking at each other, they walked through the kitchen where Molly had set cups and saucers and plates of birthday cake and left the kettle simmering and the teapot standing, waiting for its offering of boiling water. They entered the living room in time to see Professor McGonagall step out of the green flames, followed almost instantly by Professor Dumbledore.

Ron looked at Harry as his mother stepped forwards and embraced their Head of House and Arthur greeted Dumbledore. "Did you know they were coming?" he asked and as Harry shook his head, Dumbledore spotted him.

"Ah, Harry...happy sixteenth birthday, my boy." He crossed to Harry and laid his hands on his shoulders, his wide smile visible through the silver moustache and beard. "I trust you have had an enjoyable day."

"Yes thanks, sir," said Harry, grinning back. "It's been great, thanks to Mr and Mrs Weasley." 

"Yes. Harry, happy birthday," said Professor McGonagall, smiling as she joined their little group. "I'm sorry that we could not get here for your dinner, but Professor Dumbledore is still recuperating from an injury he sustained in mysterious circumstances and which he has so far failed to divulge the origins of." Minerva bestowed a very disapproving look upon the headmaster who managed to look supremely unaffected by this telling off. Harry, on the other hand, had to bite his bottom lip to stop a smirk adorning his features and Ron, not quite as successful as his friend, had to turn a snort of mirth into a cough. When Minerva looked at him over the top of her glasses, Ron's ears turned red and he thrust his hands into his pockets and lowered his gaze to his truly fascinating trainers.

Harry glanced towards the Floo, hoping to see it flare again and his father step out. But when the grate remained disappointingly lifeless, he sighed and turned back to Dumbledore who was fishing in a deep pocket of his midnight blue robes. He pulled out a small cube-shaped package, wrapped in gold paper and patterned with tiny wands that were shooting multi-coloured stars over and over across the golden surface of the paper.

Harry's cheeks reddened as he took the little package. "You didn't have to get me anything, sir," he said softly and Dumbledore patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"I am fully aware that I did not have to get you anything, my boy. And I have to admit that I really did not go out and buy this little offering." Harry looked confused and Dumbledore indicated that Harry open the package.

Intrigued more than embarrassed now, Harry ripped the paper off to reveal a plain white box. And when he took off the lid, his eyes widened before he tipped a walnut sized ball into his palm. Tiny wings unwrapped themselves from around the body and fluttered somewhat feebly before drooping and brushing Harry's palm.

"A Snitch!" Six voices stated the obvious, and Harry's head snapped up to see that Hermione, Ginny, Bill and Fleur had come to stand with him, Ron and Dumbledore.

"A pretty exhausted Snitch," added Bill, his eyebrows raised.

"This, children," said Dumbledore, smiling at Bill's exasperated expression at being referred to as a child, "is not just a Snitch. This is the first Snitch that Harry caught in his very first Quidditch match."

"Oh! exclaimed Harry, removing his eyes from the nearly motionless Snitch to Dumbledore's old, lined face.

"It is just a keepsake Harry. I thought you might like it as it has your signature attached to it now. I have kept it all this time and now I bestow it upon you."

"But isn't it needed for the matches?" asked Harry, a little confused, although when he looked at the drooping wings, he was sure this winged ball didn't have another match in it.

"Ah, no one has ever explained to you the remarkable qualities of a Snitch, Harry?" said Dumbledore and Harry was relieved to see that he was not the only one looking confused. Ron, the Quidditch king looked as puzzled as Hermione, Ginny and Fleur. "Perhaps you could explain, Bill."

"When a Snitch is caught, Harry, the successful Seeker's magical signature becomes attached to it, so that if there is a disputed call, it can easily be proven who the true catcher was. Until the Snitch is caught, no human hand has ever touched it, not even the maker, who wears gloves throughout the making."

"I didn't know that," said Ron, his face reflecting his amazement that there could possibly be anything about Quidditch that he did not know. Ginny nodded her agreement.

"But, said Harry," seeing a slight flaw in this explanation. "Sometimes both Seekers touch the Snitch if they're neck and neck."

"True, Harry, but the Seeker who grasps the Snitch in his fist is the one who leaves the signature. Just brushing it with a fingertip isn't enough to transfer any of a Seeker's magic to the ball. It has to be enclosed in a fist."

"Ahh," said Harry, and he looked at the first Snitch he had ever caught with more interest. "So, that must mean that a new Snitch is used for every match."

"Correct," said Dumbledore.

"The professional teams keep all of the Snitches that won them games, in glass showcases in their clubrooms," continued Bill. "Occasionally, of course, the match is not won by the team who catches the Snitch. The last world cup is a case in point. I think the Seeker is then allowed to keep the Snitch as a keepsake."

"And as you were the youngest Seeker for over a century at Hogwarts, and you won that match, I have kept this in a showcase. But I think that you should have it."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, sir," said Harry sincerely and he hefted the little winged ball in his hand. It must have been his imagination, but Harry  thought that it felt a little heavier than a Snitch normally felt. But as he returned it to its nest of red velvet, he dismissed the errant thought as imagination."

"Look after that Harry," said Dumbledore.

"I will sir, thank you.

"Do not try to use it for an impromptu game. It is only suitable to be a keepsake now."

"I'll keep it safe. Don't worry."

"Come along all," said Arthur, who had reappeared in the doorway. "Molly has tea and cake."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, rubbing his hands together and walking briskly towards the kitchen. Gathering the young people about him like chicks, he began to usher everyone towards the kitchen and Molly's wonderful cake. Albus couldn't resist sweets of any sort.

But the roar of the Floo had everyone stopping their forward momentum and all looked back to see a black-garbed figure step out onto the rug as the green flames died behind him. Harry's eyes lit up and he almost smiled, but he remembered the admonishments from the other day and managed to keep his lips together.

"What the hell's he doing here?" he heard Ron mutter beside him.

"Severus!" Arthur advanced past the gaggle of people and strode to Severus, his hand outstretched. "Molly said you would be dropping by."

"Arthur," said Severus, taking the proffered hand and bestowing his usual cursory smile on the man.

"I was beginning to think that you had gotten lost, Severus," said Dumbledore.

"What a shame he didn't," came another acid mutter next to Harry's ear, and Harry frowned and glared at Ron, unable to help himself. Luckily, Ron had his narrowed eyes fixed on his professor and so did not see Harry's annoyance.

Hermione clearly had and she shushed Ron as they were shunted slightly to the side by the appearance of Molly in the doorway where they were all gathered. She didn't look entirely pleased with the appearance of the tall, dark man in their midst either, but she had invited him and good manners precluded her from making any comment as to his tardiness, especially as Dumbledore and Minerva had only been there for fifteen minutes themselves. And to be perfectly truthful, Severus had told her that he wouldn't join them until late as he didn't want to put a damper on everyone's appetites by interrupting their dinner.

"Well, come along, do," said Molly, "or the tea will be cold".

Ron didn't waste any time scarpering into the kitchen, unceremoniously dragging Harry with him. All of the others followed, Severus and Arthur bringing up the rear. "Don't bats go looking for food at night?" asked Ron with a snigger as he pulled out a chair as far away from Professor McGonagall as the large table would allow. "That's why he's turned up, for some of Mum's cake." It was all Harry could do not to thump him one, and he ignored Ron's attempts to pull him down into the chair next to him.

The general confusion and noise as people settled around the table and pulled crockery towards them could not cover up the fact that Severus too resisted being shunted into a chair by Arthur. Instead, he became a magnet for all eyes as he walked up to Harry and silence fell as if someone had cast a Silencing Charm.

Harry had to blink when Severus smiled at him, but when he put his hand on Harry's shoulder and held out a package wrapped in plain grey paper. Harry couldn't help his lips parting in shock. What had happened to subterfuge? Severus Snape would never give Harry Potter a birthday present.

"Happy birthday, Harry." No way! There was no way that Severus Snape would ever call him Harry, and especially not with the hint of fondness in his voice.

A quick glance to the side showed Harry that he had not imagined the fact that his secretive father had just handed him a birthday present-with a smile attached-and called him Harry in front of a room full of Weasleys. Most everyone's mouth was slack with shock as they stared goggle-eyed at the two dark-haired wizards standing close together at the end of the table. Only Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Fleur were unfazed...Dumbledore was, in fact beaming at them. Professor McGonagall also had the slightest of smiles on her face and Fleur just looked bewildered at this inexplicable reaction to Harry being handed a gift. It was his birthday after all. But of course, she did not know the Potter/Snape history

"Err..." Harry didn't know what to say.

"I had no idea what to get you as I have never acknowledged a teenager's birthday with a gift before," said Severus, ignoring the audience. "But I thought you might appreciate that." And he indicated the package in Harry's hand with a slight movement of his head.

It seemed Ron could not curb his tongue an instant longer. "What is it? A bomb?"

"That will do, Ron," admonished his father, who had recovered faster than his wife, sons, Hermione and Ginny, because he had seen Severus's panic the day Harry had disappeared from Privet Drive.

Harry covered up his emotion by placing Dumbledore's gift upon the table so that he could unwrap the book-sized gift. He did it slowly and with slightly shaking hands, trying to settle his shock with the preciseness of his movements. It was indeed a book...an old Charms textbook. Though it was in fairly good condition, it was obvious that it was second hand. Intrigued, Harry opened the cover and as his eyes focused on the name written on the blank inside page, a lump rose up in his throat, preventing him from taking a breath for a few seconds.

‘Lily Evans' was written in small, neat writing, and animated lilies at either end of the name bobbed their pretty heads merrily in a non-existent breeze. It seemed like forever that Harry remained focused on the words his mother had written before he was even born, but finally he raised moist eyes to his father's face. He tried to swallow the lump, but Severus saved him the necessity of talking.

"Your mother and I used to study together and somehow or other, that book remained in my possession."

Harry tried to hold himself aloof, he really did. But when Severus put his hand on Harry's shoulder again and squeezed, Harry took it as an invitation and launched himself against his father's chest. Severus did not push him away, but closed his arms around the thin shoulders while the other people in the room stared and stared at the truly incongruous scene being played out before them with varying expressions of shock, horror and delight.