Written for @ginnyw-potter Happy Birthday, Kami!
The sun was dipping low, closing out the long summer day in a wash of gold and amber that shimmered across the surface of the small fishing pond. The noise of the family gathering faded behind them as Ginny and Harry slipped away, their footsteps unhurried, their shoulders brushing as they walked.
Ginny let out a laugh, bright and incredulous. “The whole cubicle?”
“Filled to the brim,” Harry said, grinning. “Letters, postcards—everything. Kingsley promised they had security wizards screening them all before delivering the lot. Said it like that was meant to reassure me before they buried me alive in it.”
“And what did you do with them?” she asked, glancing sideways at him.
“Donated them,” he said lightly.
“To the Harry Potter Memorial Library and Orphanage?” Ginny asked with a sly grin.
Harry nudged her in the side when she snorted. “You haven’t seen the latest Skeeter article? It’s apparently a Quidditch Training Centre now—for orphans and reformed Death Eaters.”
Ginny huffed. “Oh, well. How noble of you.”
“Apparently,” Harry said. “Anyway, I tossed most of them. Figured anyone who actually knows me would know where to send a birthday card.”
“You did not throw all of them away!”
“Well… Ron and Neville had a look through first.”
“I was mostly trying to clear a path back to my desk chair,” he admitted.
Ginny bumped his shoulder. “So what did your adoring fans send you? Anything good?”
Harry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I kept the ones from little kids.”
“Of course you did. For your very real, completely legitimate orphan Quidditch empire.”
They walked a few steps in comfortable silence before he continued, “There were loads of party invitations. People seem to think I’m terribly lonely. That I need a proper family to celebrate with. No one should spend a birthday alone.”
“If only they knew about Mum’s dinner.”
“Exactly.” He smiled faintly. “And then there were the homemade gifts.”
“Oh, not homemade gifts from rabid fans!”
“I got a pair of knitted socks,” he said. “They reminded me of Dobby.”
Ginny scrunched up her nose in judgment. “Who sends a stranger knitted socks?”
Harry’s grin turned crooked. “That wasn’t the strangest one.”
“A witch sent me—” he hesitated, already laughing, “—panties made of licorice wands. Neville opened that one. Went about as red as the… gift.”
Ginny doubled over, laughter spilling out of her.
“She included a homemade Bertie Bott’s recipe,” Harry added, barely holding it together. “Assorted… intimate flavours.”
“No!” Ginny gasped, clutching her sides.
“Ron tried them,” Harry said solemnly. “Said they tasted salty.”
“Stop!” she choked. “You are making that up now.”
Ginny shook her head, still laughing as she straightened. “Wow. And all we had to offer you was cake and decent company. You must feel thoroughly unappreciated by us in comparison.”
Harry took in the sight of her laughing, the setting sun reflected in her brown eyes. “It truly is a tragedy,” he said dryly.
But his hand found hers as they walked, and he didn’t let go.
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