Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 22 - Sixteen Candles

Harry was flabbergasted. At one moment, his heart pounded with worry - and, yes, fear - as he believed he was being spirited into Hogwarts to escape imminent danger from Death Eaters. The next moment, the collywobbles vanished and Harry practically leapt for joy as he grasped that he had just encountered the very first birthday party ever thrown in his honor. The surprise had been total.

Harry could hear Hagrid roaring and Tonks howling with laughter behind him. He started to make a mental note of who was there. It seemed rather like a D.A. reunion. Harry saw Hermione and Neville - and Seamus, and Terry and....

"Hi, Harry!" POP!

Harry went temporarily blind from the flash of a wizard camera. "Colin, if you don't cut that out, I'll ... I'll...." Harry burst out laughing. "I'll buy a set of your photos...."

"All right, Harry," Colin replied, and trotted off to record something else for posterity. At least Colin had graduated to wizard cameras.

As Harry was trying to regain his vision and composure, he heard a rather loud, rather high female voice approaching him rapidly.

"Oh, Harry! I was shocked when I read the paper. I was shocked and scared and soooooo worried about yoooooou...."

Harry turned toward the high-pitched squeal to his right, just as the source of that squeal collided with him and gathered him into a smothering embrace. Long hair obscured Harry's vision and he breathed in an intoxicating feminine scent of shampoo and lilac perfume.

For a moment Harry supposed that it must be Hermione, since he had never known himself to generate anything like this reaction from any other girl likely to be in the room....

But nothing fitted.... The hair was too straight and too light ... and Hermione did not wear perfume - Ron once gave her some, but she had used most of it to make magical scented candles, and poured the remainder down the drain.

"Ooooooh, look at these muscles.... Someone's been working out."

The girl kept on cooing at Harry - trying to slip her hands inside his shirt, attempting to kiss him on the lips, and complementing his physique.

"I'd just luuuuv to take this new Harry for a test drive."

Harry soon realised he was in the midst of an encounter with Lavender Brown. Lavender was pretty enough. Those boys at Hogwarts who "rated" girls (most of them, unfortunately) would consider her prettier than Hermione. To Harry, however, Lavender had always been one of the "giggle girls" who embarrassed him any time the topic turned to anything remotely romantic, and generally made him feel like a prat. Consequently, Harry had never had any particular interest in Lavender, and certainly even less now.

"A little sugar now will get you lots more later," she whispered in his ear before trying to nibble it.

This Delilah had stolen his strength. Trying desperately to escape Lavender's amorous assault, Harry Legilimenced Hermione, whom he spotted through a gap in Lavender's hair, 'Help.... Please do something to get her off me.'

Hermione, whose attitude had been one of detached bemusement, thought for an instant, and then silently flicked her wand. The wand movement was almost imperceptible, but its effect was almost immediate. Lavender let out a somewhat pained "ooh," let go of Harry, and urgently climbed the stairs.

Thoroughly relieved, Harry thanked Hermione mentally. 'You're a life saver. What did you do?'

'Don't you forget it. Not much, really,' Hermione Legilimenced back. 'A very mild discomforting hex called Repletus Urinus. She needs to use the facilities very badly. Be careful though, I'm sure she'll be back.'

Beating her hasty retreat, Lavender nearly collided with the Twins, who came thundering down the stairs, whooping and hollering.

"...Did you see that? The slash by itself must have been ten metres long! Brilliant, bloody brilliant...!"

The Twins stormed into view, now dressed in their latest trademark - expensive, but horrible, matching bright-green dragonhide suits. Harry turned to look at them, as did everyone else. It was, to say the least, unnerving. The Twins looked as grave and sombre as they had when they first collected Harry at the Ministry, even though their facial features seemed to twitch unnaturally as they cackled with obvious delight at some grand prank they had just committed.

Harry wondered what in the name of Merlin was going on.

He did not have long to wait. Fred and George Transfigured two party serviettes from a nearby table into terrycloth flannels. Holding the flannels together, they drew their wands with their free hands.

"Fluvius," George said, drenching the flannels.

"Saponoro," Fred followed, and the flannels filled with white soapsuds. Stowing their wands, both Twins rubbed their faces furiously in the flannels.

Presently they finished, and flashed knowing grins at the crowd staring at them.

"Weasleys' Magical Notox Face-Freezing Lotion Potion," George announced.

"It'll preserve any facial expression you like for as long as you like, only fourteen Sickles a bottle," Fred added.

"And be sure to check tomorrow's Prophet," chortled George, "for an on-the-scene review of our new Nolovolo Fireworks...."

"As big as the Dark Mark, but not nearly as frightening," added George with a sly wink.

After finishing their dramatic entrance, the Twins congratulated Harry on his sixteenth birthday. Whilst impressed with the Notox Potion, Harry wondered what could have initially evoked such saturnine reactions from the normally genial Twins.

"What happened that got you all serious looking to start with?" Harry half-whispered.

"Ask us no questions, and we'll tell you no lies," Fred replied, his expression again turning serious.

"None of your business, partner," George added. "Family business ... bad news from Bill."

"Oh bollocks," gasped Harry, "you mean the engagement's off...?" Harry knew that Bill would be devastated. For Harry, just being turned down by Cho for a lousy dance had been bad enough.

"Oh no, the randy sod will make good on that, no doubt about it," George reassured.

"But what then?" Harry pressed.

"Just internal Weasley family business, which we'll sort out in our own way in our own time," Fred clarified. "I wouldn't pry, Mister persona non grata."

"Don't chance another Howler," George warned. "Nothing to worry yourself about - not now of all times. NOW IT'S TIME TO PAR-TEE!" he whooped.

"Get down! Get down!" Fred burst out, as he waded into the pressing crowd of partygoers that were forcing the Twins to cease monopolising Harry. He roared off with his fists balled up at chest level. Fred was next seen shaking his shoulders with what passed for rhythm and doing the white man's overbite.

"Jungle boogie!" George echoed as he likewise ran off, looking for any of the Seventh Year Gryffindor girls. He was always willing to make up in enthusiasm what he lacked in style and grace.

A mass of friends and classmates immediately filled the vacuum left by the Twins. Harry shook hands all around and made small talk with Colin, Terry, Parvati, Padma, and the rest. Most of the attendees - particularly the distaff side - complimented Harry on his newly-developed physique.

Her eyes flashing, Parvati squeezed his triceps. "Almighty Shiva, look at what I found," she cooed. "You know, Harry, I could teach you to tango with these.... Much more fun than those boring old Yule Ball waltzes...."

Even after Parvati was shouldered aside by other well wishers, Harry's cheeks were burning. More times over the years than he could count, he had wished for a birthday party of his own. But this was hardly what he had envisioned. Still, there were sixteen candles on his cake now - and all those fawning articles in the Prophet.

Harry could truthfully say that he had not given his physique a thought the entire summer. There had just been too much else to cope with. For him, the physical changes had been so gradual that he had not paid them much mind - other than being forced to discard some shirts. The tailor at Harrods had made a remark, but he had ignored that floppy ponce.

However, to those who had not seen him since last term, the difference was dramatic. All his running, training, and other exercise had wrought considerable change in how Harry was built, and everyone who cared to look could see that the change was certainly for the better.

Harry finally had a chance to look around. The ordinarily dank, dusty, and dark Honeydukes cellar was totally transformed. It was bathed in light almost as bright as day from several globes that might have been mistaken for Muggle lighting fixtures were they not suspended in midair and slowly moving around the room to illuminate wherever the greatest number of people congregated.

The large cartons of stored sweets, familiar to Harry from his previous adventures with the secret tunnel, were gone and replaced by several long tables. One table groaned under a large assortment of Honeydukes' finest - no doubt a contribution from the proprietors. Another table held a metre-high birthday card, which all the partygoers had signed in all sorts of magical inks. Some of the names shimmered, some pulsated, some changed color, and some moved around the card seeking the most prominent location.

Beside the card was a large punchbowl. It was filled with a red liquid in which multicoloured ice cubes floated. The ice cubes slowly changed hue as they melted. Newly committed to temperance, Harry wondered if the punch contained anything stronger than punch.

His question was answered soon enough, when with a distinct splooshing sound, the punch erupted and thoroughly soaked the Twins.

"Oh no you don't, laddies!" Tonks erupted as well. She and Hagrid were guarding the punch against just such an eventuality. "You silly fools will straighten up and fly right, or I'll have to give you the bum's rush...."

"I'll chance a bum's rush from you, babe," George replied, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously and giving her a wink. "Is your bum rushing yet?"

"Don't go there," Tonks warned, her eyes laughing. "You don't want to see what an enraged Metamorphmagus is capable of."

"Try us," joked Fred.

An odd expression passed over Tonks' face. Then, suddenly, her leg grew about two metres in length. In the same motion she tripped them both. "Inverso. Accio bottles."

The Twins were hanging helplessly upside down in mid-air trying to keep their skivvies hidden as Tonks divested them of their alcoholic cargo.

"Well, well, well," Tonks tutted, "'Rasputin's Revenge.' At least you brought decent vodka. I was afraid you'd try something horrid like Old Ogden's. I ought to boot you two right on out of here this minute. Some Order members you are!"

The off-duty Auror good-naturedly dropped the Twins to the floor in a heap and allowed them to skulk away. Afterwards, she let Harry know that the punchbowl was subject to an Anti-Alcohol Hex "as a concession to the parents." Never a stickler where Harry was concerned, she offered him a swig from her hip flask. "Birthday boy's privilege," she declared.

Harry declined.

The third and final table was also of great interest to Harry. It was piled high with an assortment of wrapped items that he presumed were his gifts. To his relief, none of the gifts seemed to be moving of its own accord, although it was not particularly easy to tell. Most of the gifts were covered in wrapping paper that sparkled, changed colours, or shifted patterns.

It dawned on Harry that, since Hermione was here, her gift was undoubtedly on that table, not buried in some anonymous mass of presents at Hogwarts. For a moment he felt butterflies in his stomach. He hoped it would not be embarrassing.

Once the excitement of the guest of honour's arrival dissipated, the crowd rather quickly resolved itself into generally male and female groupings. The girls clustered in tight knots, whispering, laughing, and occasionally gesturing towards Harry. They played pin the wings on the Hippogriff in one corner of the room. After each attempt, the charmed Hippogriff image would struggle to become airborne - often careening out of control when its wings had been inexpertly or inconveniently attached. The player whose Hippogriff flew the farthest without running into anything was the winner.

Except for the Twins, who continued to flirt outrageously, the boys segregated themselves elsewhere in the large room. They spent the time telling rude jokes, mostly about the girls' appearances, and playing more competitive games, such as Exploding Snap and poxy Quidditch, on some magical pinball machines underneath the stairs. Every so often there were colourful explosions and loud noises from that quarter.

Hermione, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood stood apart from either of the main groups, chatting more seriously amongst themselves. As was her wont, Luna was oddly dressed - in short grey robes, with what looked like a long pink gown underneath. Her gown appeared frayed at the bottom, but upon closer examination the lower hem was intentionally cut to resemble flower petals. The effect made Luna resemble a large morning glory. Yellow shoes and leggings completed the look.

Colin circulated widely, making a pest of himself with his camera. His brother Dennis was by his side, taking meticulous notes on each picture Colin took.

Almost every member of the D.A. was at the party, except for those Harry understood to be playing Quidditch for Hogwarts in Denmark. In addition to Ron, Ginny, and Cho, Harry counted Katie Bell, and Zach Smith in that category. Marietta Edgecomb, betrayer of the D.A. to Umbridge last term, was understandably, and thankfully, absent.

Making up for their nonattendance were three non-D.A. members, Avalon Danvers and Marona Zelandowicz (the only Gryffindors in Harry's year who had not already joined the D.A.), and Daphne Greengrass - the only student from Slytherin House in the entire room. The two Gryffindor girls mixed reasonably comfortably enough, but Daphne was keeping to herself - talking quietly with Tonks.

Harry knew that Daphne had come because he and Hermione had decided to invite her to become a member of the D.A. next year. 'Somebody ought to try to make Daphne feel comfortable,' Harry thought, and then appreciated that he was that somebody. If he failed to make an effort to include the willowy, green-eyed blonde and have her feel welcome, he could hardly expect anyone else to try.

Harry moved casually across the room and struck up a rather superficial conversation with Daphne and Tonks. No sooner had he begun than - "Ow!" He was walloped in the back of the head by an erratically flying model Hippogriff, with wings awkwardly pinned to its hindquarters.

With his glasses knocked askew, Harry lost his balance. Trying to steady himself, he leaned on the edge of the punchbowl, causing its contents to slosh over the side. With punch all over his robes, Harry cursed his luck. He had always been excessively tongue-tied in the presence of beautiful girls like Daphne, and his sixteenth birthday was proving no exception.

"Scourgify," the Slytherin giggled, cleaning Harry up.

"Er.... Thanks, I needed that," Harry said nervously. He had never been this close to Daphne for any period of time, and was only now realising the she was several centimetres taller than he was.

"You don't need much," Daphne replied, with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"I'd best check on the punch," Tonks hissed, noticing that the Twins were trying to make up for what Harry had spilled. She moved to confront them, leaving Harry to his own devices.

"Er.... I hope you're having fun...," Harry tried to make small talk. "Being the only one here from Slytherin, and all...."

"I am now," Daphne said, her wand disappearing into a pocket of her elegantly tailored cinnamon-coloured casual robes, "but your premise is incorrect...."

Drawn into conversation with Daphne, Harry failed to notice Seamus, Dean, and Dennis fiddling with something behind the table full of presents. He had just learned from the girl that Tonks had been in Slytherin when Dennis touched something with his wand, and a blast of music caught everyone's attention. After considerable effort, they had just gotten an antiquated and long-disused crystal-powered Wizard's Wireless to operate. The closing strains of a Weird Sisters song that Harry could not name wafted through the air. Soon the music was replaced by familiar voice.

"Good afternoon Mister and Missus Magical, and all the brooms in flight. Don't be frustrated, there's still lots of time to Apparate, Floo, or fly to the big WWN Harry Potter Birthday Bash here in Diagon Alley. We'll be boogying down in front of Gringotts with all of your favorite magical and Muggle tunes until eleven o'clock this evening. I'm Maaaaaaagic-Lee Jordan, WWN's newest magi-jock, broadcasting live until 4:30 and spinning oldies but goodies. Following me, 'Weird Wally' Wilson will be on to count it down to the finish line. But enough talk, here's 'The Third Spell's a Charm,' by Toil and Trouble."

Once the Wireless began playing, the separate boy and girl groups began melding together. Before last year's Hogwarts Quidditch broadcaster, Lee Jordan, had even finished his schtick, they were already pairing off. Somebody lowered the lights, and Tonks used two wands to cut a Lumos spell into hundreds of shimmering slivers. She twisted the wands to send tiny points of light whirling around the room, disco style. In the semi-darkness, Harry noticed Parvati dancing with Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie McMillan with Marona, and Terry Boot with Hannah Abbott.

Harry chuckled at the sight of Luna, still looking for all the world like a large, oddly coloured flower, trying to convince a very reluctant Neville to get out of his chair. George had prevailed upon Vicki Frobisher, a Seventh Year Gryffindor, to dance with him.

He had no time to notice much else, because he saw Lavender making a beeline for him. To avoid Lavender's clutches, there was only one choice - Harry asked Daphne to dance.

"Would you like to give it a go?" he asked.

"I though you'd never ask," she accepted.

It had all happened so fast. Harry had never asked a girl to dance in his life - and Daphne had accepted without hesitation. That somewhat startled Harry, since she had never given him the time of day before (not that he had ever asked). Thus in fifteen seconds, Harry found himself on the dance floor, accompanied by a very pretty girl he hardly knew, and with not the slightest idea what to do.

With minimal dancing experience, Harry decided to imitate whatever everyone else did. He was discomfited, to say the least, when the new song turned out to be a "touch dance" melody. Harry typically froze, but Daphne calmly arranged Harry around herself and leaned into him until he was off balance enough that he had to start moving. For someone so tall and svelte, she could be surprisingly forceful when she wanted.

After they had rocked back and forth for a little, Daphne said cautiously, "I hope you're all right with me, aren't you?"

"Why ... sure, Daphne," Harry answered equally tentatively. "I asked you, didn't I?" This was not turning into the disaster he had feared. Between Quidditch and his training, Harry had the coordination necessary to move gracefully to the music. All he lacked was experience. He was not a menace to toes, like Neville - who was making Luna jump nearby.

"You're not just doing this because my mother wants you to, are you?" she asked.

"Oh no.... What would your mum have to do...?" Harry finally understood she was talking about the D.A. rather than their joint activity of the moment. "I'm 100% sure of this Daphne. I welcome you with open arms ... er ... as you can see."

The girl laughed lightly at Harry's spontaneous, if stumbling, attempt at humour. Harry's unselfconscious naiveté was quite a contrast to the sort of groping she was accustomed to in similar situations with the Slytherin boys. Compared to this shy Gryffindor, they were all world class gits - especially Malfoy and his sidekicks Goober and Gomer.

"Good, because I'm going out on a limb myself, and I want to be sure it's going to be worth it - that this is a real invitation. My mother says you're an excellent student - and a better Defence teacher than most of the ones we've had."

Harry could almost feel his ears going pink. "Umm.... That's not very hard.... What with some of the teachers we've had.... Excepting Professor Lupin.... I ... er ... I do the best I can, Daphne. That's all I can do. I can't guarantee that everyone will be friendly at first," he cautioned, thinking especially of Ron, "but if anybody gives you trouble, you tell them to talk to me."

The song was winding down. "I'd much rather talk to you myself," Daphne said. "Ciao." She sashayed off as Harry stared after her. From the way she left him tingling all over, Harry wondered if maybe Bill's fiancée might not be the only part-Veela he had ever met - but that was silly. Aside from an occasional oddity like Tonks, Slytherin was virtually synonymous with pure-blood.

Fred and George made their way over to Harry. "Hello, dear partner," Fred whispered. "Now that we've gotten you safely here, we'd like to discuss your scheduling an appearance in our shop. Your Mister Howe says that if we were Muggles we'd make a fortune selling our wares on that Internet thingy. Muggles we're not, but fortunes are good, so we really do need your help...." The Twins were just about to lead Harry off for an extended business discussion, when Lavender came bounding up and rescued Harry.

If rescue it could be called.

Given Lavender's almost predatory look, Harry was not altogether sure whether the fire was worse than the frying pan. Fortunately, the next song on the Wireless was fast, loud - and above all short - "Sweet Little Sixteen" by some Yank named Berry. Imitating those around him, Harry wiggled, jumped, and twisted frantically to the music as he tried to keep Lavender from getting him in a clinch again.

The music had barely ended when Harry broke loose from Lavender and scooped up Padma Patil for the next song - a slower, but nevertheless no-touch number called "Magic Moments" by The Four Warlocks. Padma congratulated Harry on his O.W.L. marks, but did so in a way that left him with the distinct impression that she had done almost as well and gotten far less publicity for it.

After that dance, Harry fled to the punchbowl. He was hot, sweaty, and flustered by all the attention being bestowed upon him by the fairer sex. Harry had next to no experience dancing with girls, and was still getting over his fear of making a prat out of himself. He was afraid that he might look like he was having a seizure or something equally stupid. Still, Harry had just danced with three girls - two more than he had ever danced with in his entire life - and nobody had laughed at him or made any rude remark.

Harry warmly greeted Hagrid, who had stationed himself nearby - presumably to prevent, or at least divert to his own consumption, any further attempts at tampering with the liquid refreshment. Quickly gulping his way through two flagons of punch, Harry realised that girls were all but jostling to dance with him as soon as he turned away from the table. Somewhat wearily, and warily, he offered his hand to Avalon Danvers, who was more or less first in line. Squaring his shoulders, Harry returned to the dance floor.

Thereafter, things were a blur as Harry danced with one girl after another - the oddest being Susan Bones, who seemed more interested in exploring Harry's political views than in actually dancing.

Harry paid no particular notice when Maaaaaaagic-Lee Jordan introduced the next song as the "number one request and number one on the charts." It had an insistent ska beat, and Harry was just starting to dance with Parvati Patil when someone shouted, "Hey Harry, they're playing your song!" Looking up, Harry paid closer attention to the fast-paced words that some almost breathless bloke was belting out:

"Very few did reply to the Ministry's lies 'bout the return of Voldemort."

"Nobody listened to a frank admission that he's back without remorse...."

With a whoop, Dean cleared out a space for himself and began break dancing. Everyone else stopped to watch Dean's furious, whirling moves. With another whoop he had a partner - Tonks started break dancing as well. Neither Harry, nor anyone else, had ever seen a Metamorphmagus break dance. Tonks' head spins, back flips, and assorted gyrations were accompanied by rapid-fire physical Transfigurations into everything from Uma Thurman to a drunken mountain troll.

"What in bloody Hell is that?" Harry asked as he skeptically regarded the two.

"I have no earthly idea," Parvati replied. "Do you think they're having a seizure?"

"I don't think seizures are that coordinated," Harry answered, not getting the joke.

"Anyway, I can't watch any more without getting dizzy," Parvati sighed. "I need some punch. Remember, I've got a rain check for the next tango - or anything Latin."

Harry hardly heard her. He alternated between watching the break dancers and trying to make out the song's lyrics. The verses told a highly speculative, Harry-centric account of the fight at the Ministry. Harry could not catch all the words, many of which were lost against the throbbing guitar riff, but he did pick out the chorus:

"Potter's Marauders - undaunted in the face of death."

"Potter's Marauders - battling with every breath."

"Potter's Marauders - defiant of the feared Dark Lord."

"Potter's Marauders - our heroes of the second war!"

Harry had never heard the song before, but Michael Corner, who was standing next to him, was only too pleased to bring him up to speed:

"Mate, where have you been the past month...? That tune's about you.... It's 'Potter's Marauders.' A brand new group, the Four Broomsmen of the Apocalypse recorded it. It's been the hottest thing on the Wireless for the last few weeks. It debuted at number one on the wizard charts and remained there ever since...."

The blur continued. Eventually Harry found himself with Luna, dancing to a Muggle instrumental number that Maaaaaaagic-Lee Jordan called the "Mustafa Dance." The tune sounded somewhat familiar to Harry, yet different, as if he were expecting lyrics of some sort. Fortunately it was not terribly loud like some of the songs had been.

Harry had a hard time not gawking at Luna. She tended to put her hands together over her own head as she wiggled to the music - a move that emphasised her quite ample bosom. But that was hardly her most notable quirk. Rather, she had her wand above one ear, which was customary for her. That wand, however, was such an angle that it pointed directly at her dance partners. Harry sympathised with Neville's earlier reluctance to dance. Dancing with the business end of a partner's wand centimetres from one's face was quite disconcerting.

Luna's large silver-grey eyes were unfocused, and Harry could not be sure if she fully appreciated that he was there. She certainly never touched him.

"Er ... when did you get back?" Harry gently asked Luna. "I thought you were in Iceland chasing Crumble-Horned ... er ... whatevers."

"Snorkacks, Harry," Luna answered readily. "Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. And we were in Sweden, not Iceland."

"Right.... So did you catch anything?" Harry asked.

"No, but I think we have some photos of them flying upside-down ... or perhaps we were upside-down. We'll be publishing them in the Quibbler this autumn," Luna answered.

"Anything else memorable about Sweden?" Harry inquired, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Nothing much ... except the spirituous liquors we needed to develop our photos were outrageously expensive - something about Muggle taxes," Luna giggled somewhat inappropriately.

"Er ... Luna? Are you going to accept the Order of Merlin? I couldn't tell from your note." That was something Harry really wanted to know.

"I suppose," she answered with a sigh, bringing her hands down in front of her for the first time in several minutes. "Personally, I wasn't inclined to, but even Daddy thought that I should. He is very proud of me, you know."

"I know," Harry affirmed, recalling his exchange with Luna's father at his Ministry press conference. "That's why I don't understand how come you're so ambivalent about all this."

"I'm afraid that you don't know me very well, then, Harry," Luna replied. "Above all else, I detest being used - so does Daddy. He refused a Ministry offer of protection ... the story about Voldemort's return and all.... So maybe I should turn this down. It's all about the Ministry using us, you know."

"I s'pose," Harry agreed. "I guess I'm so used to being used by now that I hardly care about it anymore." Harry mentally reviewed the long list of those whom he felt were using him: the Ministry, Dumbledore, the Order, the goblins, the Twins - even his classmates had used him, in a way, to pass their Defence O.W.L. last year.

They danced in silence for a while, each absorbed in thought, then Luna asked, "Where's Ronald... and Ginevra? I would have expected them to be here."

"Who?" Harry asked. "You don't mean that's...?"

"...Ginny's real name, yes," Luna said.

"I never saw that one coming," Harry chuckled. "They're both playing Quidditch in Denmark. Their folks aren't too happy with me right now, so no special allowances were made for them to be here."

"I'm not really surprised," Luna replied. "A pity though. You just being you makes your friends' parents uncomfortable. Even Daddy's mentioned it...." Luna gave Harry an insightful look. "You're a hero, and for good reason - but danger is an occupational hazard of that business."

Harry was not really interested in engaging in this deep a conversation at this time. Recalling Luna's previous interest in Ron, Harry added, "Ron's with Cho now, you know."

A frown briefly darkened Luna's normally imperturbable face, but vanished as quickly as it had come. "A pity...," she mused. "They're both injured.... They're hurting, both in their own way. No good can come of it.... She's not like she was ... any more than Ron is...."

The music stopped, and Luna turned away, humming what sounded like "Weasley Is Our King." Over her shoulder, she delphicly said, "Cache your dreams before they slip away, Harry. Watch out for the shattered ones. When dreams shatter, they have sharp edges - and there are more of them."

Harry ran his hands through his unruly and now quite sweaty hair. He liked Luna. She was entirely fearless, and in her own way quite as loyal as Ron had always been - but Harry did not think he would ever understand her.

Several songs later Harry urgently made his way towards the punchbowl after dancing with Marona to something called "Frankenstein." It was excellent dance music - loud, fast, and long. Maaaaaaagic-Lee Jordan described Edgar Winters as the first major wizard cross-over into Muggle rock 'n roll, clearing a path for the likes of Uriah Heep and Stevie Nix. But because the song was so long, Harry was very thirsty again. He was also fairly content with himself. He was coordinated enough not to be a prat. Even better, dancing with girls was not the emotional nightmare he had feared, at least when they were all queuing up to dance with him.

Almost all, that is.

If he wanted to dance with the one person at this party whom he most wanted to be close to, he would have to ask. As he saw Hermione at the punch table chatting with Hagrid, Harry realised that she was almost the only girl at the party with whom he had yet to take a turn.

Hermione's outfit was almost defiantly Muggle-born. For one thing, she flaunted wizard decorum - Hermione wore her light summer robes hanging open, revealing Muggle corduroy jeans and a white T-shirt with a Union Flag overlaid with "My Country - Right Its Wrongs" in screaming orange letters.

Feigning a casual mien, Harry sidled up to the table next to Hermione, who was nursing an almost empty flagon of punch. She watched him intently, but said nothing. Her air was neither inviting nor standoffish. She wore a slightly askance look, as if she knew exactly what he was doing - which, with the emotional link, she most certainly did.

She was waiting.

Harry counted as an achievement that, whilst under Hermione's observation, he managed to ladle himself more punch without spilling it down either his front or his sleeve. 'Oh bother,' Harry thought to himself, 'why is this always so hard? I feel like Fourth Year again.'

'I hope I'm at least better company than dragons or merpeople,' Hermione Legilimenced to Harry.

Harry almost dropped his punch. In his nervousness, he had completely forgotten that Hermione could do that. "Er ... just reminiscing," he stammered. Since he could not even lie convincingly, Harry changed the subject. "You ... you wouldn't happen to know anything about how this party came about, would you?"

Hermione broke into a mischievous grin. "I might," she said mysteriously, inviting further inquiry. Drawing her wand and holding out her own now empty flagon, she incanted, "Replius." A stream of punch emerged from the punchbowl and smartly refilled Hermione's motionless glass.

"I figured it was you," Harry responded. "Nobody else here knew I'd never had a birthday party before, except Hagrid. Nobody else would have invited Daphne."

"All right, it was my idea," Hermione conceded, "but you ought to thank Neville at least as much. He handled almost all of the arrangements."

"How did you get everyone to come...? That's what I don't understand," queried Harry.

"I changed the Protean Charm I'd originally cast on the D.A. coins," Hermione explained. "I took you off the network. Then I asked everyone else if they were interested in a party. At first, it was going to be at the Burrow, but you went and had your little tiff...."

"It wasn't like I started it," Harry protested.

"I know that, Harry," Hermione reassured, touching his arm lightly. "But that complication did leave your party homeless for a bit. Then Neville offered to help organise things. He let this space, and cleaned it up.... I helped select it, since I knew about the secret tunnel to Hogwarts. Oh, and thank Tonks too - she enlisted Hagrid and the Twins, and between them they came up with the ruse that brought you here."

"Are you also behind all those presents that I received last night?" Harry asked. He was extremely conscious of Hermione's fingertips on his right forearm - three of them, about seven centimetres above his wrist.

"Now I truthfully have no idea what you're on about," Hermione replied curiously. She drew back her hand. "What on Earth happened?"

"It started just after midnight," Harry recounted. "Owls.... Hundreds of them.... With presents from people that I had didn't even know.... I couldn't keep up. I had to call for help from Dumbledore and the Order. If they hadn't changed the wards, the presents would have filled my room from top to bottom, and I never would have gotten any sleep."

"You wouldn't have been the first," Hermione said. "Atahualpa once gave...."

Tonks broke in. "Neither of you listen to Wizard's Wireless, do you?"

Harry and Hermione shrugged. They did not.

"You really need to stay more informed about what's going on - both of you. WWN has been running a 'Happy Birthday Harry' promotion for over two weeks now. Everybody's been urged to send you presents, since you're stuck with the Muggles. There's also a huge outdoor party going on right now in Diagon Alley. The Order's livid, since providing protection for both that - and for this," Tonks waved her arms - "is stretching us more than thin. I can't believe nobody told you."

"The Order isn't the only one who's livid," Harry grumbled angrily. "I told the station to sod off, but they kept right on, it seems. Maybe my solicitor...."

"Can't do anything, Harry," Tonks interjected. "It's the price of fame."

"You haven't any idea what that price really is," Harry said in a markedly downcast tone of voice.

"Relax Harry. Don't let it spoil your fun now. How about if I ask Colin and Dennis to inventory the lot?" Hermione suggested cheerily, not wanting Harry to get into a funk at his birthday party. "You can take anything you want, I'll pick through the rest for the D.A., and you can donate what's left over to some charity. What do you say?"

Harry agreed and Hermione carefully steered the conversation to more innocuous subjects. They went on talking, with occasional comments from Hagrid or Tonks, for several minutes. Harry failed to notice, but the pace of the party had slowed, as most of the guests kept at least one eye on the two friends. Everyone in attendance had heard one rumour or another about Harry and Hermione, and was hoping for clarification - one way or another.

The motivations generating this interest differed. Much of the female population hoped the rumours were false, so they could try their own luck - Teen Witches' Weekly or no. A similar proportion of the male guests would be right chuffed to have the rumours borne out, as that would remove Harry as a potential rival to their own romantic pursuits.

Then there was Neville, who was at the dénouement of his longstanding private crush on Hermione. Neville had regretfully decided that he had no choice but to move on. He'd spent enough time longingly eyeing the girl to know he stood no chance whilst Harry was in the picture - because he recognised how she looked at Harry in the same fashion. Not only was Neville an outsider to their profound friendship, but he knew in his heart of hearts that there was just no way he could compete with Harry's fame or (if other rumours were to be believed) wealth. A more kindred spirit was what Neville needed.

Harry and Hermione continued to chat - Harry becoming more and more conscious that he was dithering. He was oblivious to the lilting strains of "Miracles," the latest dedication, beginning to play on the wireless. Hermione was likewise. Others, however, were paying closer attention....

"Ow...!" complained Harry, as he jumped forward, having been jabbed rather roughly in the bum.

"Eek!" shrieked Hermione, taking similar evasive action in response to a hard poke in her own back.

The two practically fell over one another. Harry glared at Hagrid, who was inexpertly attempting to conceal his pink brolly behind his back. Hermione looked at Tonks, who smiled back as her Pinocchio-like nose retreated to its normal length.

"Er.... Would you like this dance?" Harry asked somewhat uncertainly, since it was a slow one.

"Umm.... Love to," Hermione responded, brushing aside any hesitancy. She stepped into Harry's arms and rested her head on his shoulder.

"...If only you believe like I believe, baby

We'd get by.

If only you believe in miracles, baby

So would I...."

Harry held Hermione wordlessly as he let the music take control. After a bit, he tensed up. It dawned on him that some of the lyrics were a mite suggestive....

That was not all.

Some of the thoughts he was thinking, maybe most of them, were not what one best friend should be thinking about another. They were inappropriate, more like. And she could.... He started to put some daylight between them, but Hermione pulled Harry back towards her.

She almost whispered something about Hyde Park, but thought better of it.

'I told you there would be repercussions, Harry,' Hermione Legilimenced.

Harry was jolted back to reality. He still had not gotten used to Hermione speaking to him mentally. It always surprised him. 'Er.... What do you mean?' he directed a thought back to her.

'When out of the blue you decided you wanted to tell me the truth about those hideous ... those suicidal....' Hermione paused to keep her composure. '...Those spells you were learning this morning, you needed a quick cover story, and I came up with one. I told you there would be repercussions.'

"Er.... Okay," Harry said aloud slowly and rather blankly. Harry was blanking out intentionally, as he used Occlumency to keep Hermione from finding out that what she thought was the "truth" really was not. Harry wanted to keep his word to the Unspeakables. It could be a matter of life and death, after all.

Hermione could tell Harry still was not following. She Legilimenced again, 'In order to get privacy for ourselves in short order, what did we have to fool our respective keepers into thinking?'

'That we were snogging.... Oh, I get it...,' Harry replied with instant comprehension.

'Well, duh, Harry. Even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day, doesn't it?' Hermione snarked.

His eyebrows furrowed, and then, when understanding dawned, he sighed.

Hermione continued, 'and the snogging worked, right? Tonks is my primary minder now, and it was no accident that she prodded me, or that Hagrid prodded you.'

'It's not that horrible a thing to put up with, now is it?' thought Harry somewhat petulantly. It might have been a one-off situation, but he would always remember it fondly.

'Come to think of it, it's not,' Hermione conceded. She relaxed into Harry's arms and the two sought no further conversation for the remainder of the song.

Since Lavender was still lying in wait when "Miracles" ended, Harry made a big show of offering to dance with Hermione again, to an odd wizard number that sounded something like Riverdance, but was played with mandolins. Harry and Hermione continued dancing together through the Muggle "Get It On (Bang a Gong)" and "Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof off the Sucker)." They probably would have outlasted Lavender, except that Lavender's own name was suddenly, and unexpectedly, mentioned over the Wireless.

Her resolve fortified by the lucky coincidence, Lavender cut in rather insistently. "You have to dance with me to my own dedication song," she protested.

That was one argument Harry had no good counter for. Lavender all but enveloped him. Fortunately for Harry's moral fibre, not thirty seconds into the song there was a loud crash, and the music abruptly stopped. Harry turned and saw Tonks sprawled on the floor, speaker cables around her ankles. Tonks winked at Harry. So did Dennis Creevey, who was standing next to Tonks. Now Harry would never learn what Sheena whatshername meant by those "sugar walls" she was starting to sing about.

That set just fine with Harry.

"Well.... I guess it's 'bout time ter give 'Arry here our gifts," boomed Hagrid.

Lavender looked rather mutinously at Hagrid, but slowly moved away....

"Ow!" Harry jerked up, grabbing his bum where Lavender had given it an appreciative parting pinch.

Hagrid had his brolly out again. Since becoming a full professor, his right to use magic had been restored. He muttered a few words Harry did not catch, and a fountain of red and silver sparks emerged. This luminous cascade surrounded the table full of wrapped presents. The presents hovered in midair, whilst the table itself gradually vanished.

At a muffled squeak of metal on metal, Harry and many others tore their eyes away from the shimmering parcels and turned their attention to where the table once stood. Only Harry, Hermione, the Twins, and a sprinkling of others knew where the noise was coming from.

With a second, louder squeak, a metre-square trap door set in the floor swung open, and the near end of the secret passageway to Hogwarts was revealed. At first it was dark as a pit, but gradually a multicoloured glow got brighter and brighter. Sixteen magical candles rose into view, and then the magnificent three-layered birthday cake beneath them. The candles glittered like nothing Harry had ever seen before. Their flames simultaneously bespoke fire and ice. Light from the flames - both direct and refracted - melded to produce a fluttering, prismatic effect that reminded him more of a cut-glass chandelier than a birthday cake.

Dobby and six other Hogwarts house-elves scrambled out from underneath the cake, shut the trap door, and rather raggedly arrayed themselves in formation between Harry and the enormous confection. Dobby stood in front - obviously in charge and just as obviously anxious. On his head was a chef's hat almost as tall again as he was. Holes were cut in the hat to accommodate the elf's long pointed ears. He wore a blue child's sailor-suit shirt, a pair of red and white striped shorts and the horribly mismatched socks Harry had given him the previous term.

The other elves were all wearing Hogwarts pillowcases with tea-towels wrapped around their heads bandana style. All of them were sporting badges bearing Harry's picture. As soon as the elves were settled in, Dobby began squealing out commands.

"Attennnn ... shun! Pre ... sennnnnt arms!" Dobby yelled, sounding more like a scalded housecat than like a lieutenant.

With some scraping and clattering, Dobby and the other six elves raised the large carving knives they had been holding into roughly vertical positions in front of their bodies.

Dobby continued, "On three.... One, two, three!" Dobby and the house-elves began belting out a loud, enthusiastic - and quite screechy - rendition of "Happy Birthday to You, Mister Potter, Sir."

The bemused partygoers quickly got cracking themselves, each in his or her own key - the result being cacophonous, uproarious, and altogether good fun. When that song ended, the elfin chorus launched immediately into "For He's A Jolly Good Fellow." Again, everyone else joined in.

The last strains of "and so say all of us" had hardly faded away when Dobby invited Harry to extinguish the candles.

"It's time, Harry Potter sir, for you to blow out candles," the elf invited.

"Uh.... Okay," Harry replied, wiping a tear from his eye. Neither song had ever been sung for him before. He moved forward to do the honours.

He felt a hand insistently on his arm, gently restraining him. "Harry, you're supposed to make a wish first ... it's tradition," Hermione reminded him.

"Uh.... Right."

As Hermione and the rest watched and waited, Harry pondered the question of what to wish for.

Should he be selfish? She was right beside him.

Or.... Shortly an insightful expression spread across his face.

'There's really only one thing I can do,' he thought. 'The most important thing of all is everyone's safety. I'll wish that everyone who came to this party for me survives to see my next birthday - and then renew the wish. Until what's to be done is done.'

Unless and until his primary purpose in life changed, that was really the only birthday wish that Harry could honestly make - and it would be the same one each year.

Beside him, Hermione smiled, until the very end. Then the smile fled her face, and her expression clouded. 'Not to question why,' she thought. But she said - and Legilimenced - nothing.

All of a sudden, everybody in the room - except Harry - glowed blue for a couple of seconds. By the time people caught on that something was happening, the transient glow ceased just as quickly.

A buzz of whispers arose, before, virtually in unison, Hermione and Neville asked Harry, "What was that?"

Harry had no clue, but Fred Weasley filled the void. "That was a Wishtracker...!"

Brother George added, "...You bloody altruistic git."

"Only the size of a Knut, it's lying on the floor next to you," Fred continued. "We were hoping that you'd make a rather more person-specific wish."

"That would have made for a better product demonstration," George pointed out.

Behind them, Hermione struggled to remain poker faced in the face of her realisation - Harry's wish had not included himself.

Harry, oblivious, bantered with the Twins. "So I suppose these are now on sale at your shop."

"Right in one!" the Twins chorused. "Lets you see who's making wishes about whom."

"Well all right, then," Harry said with some relief. His sense of obligation had just saved him from a potentially embarrassing - and revealing - situation.

Summoning all the breath he could muster, Harry blew out the candles.

No sooner had the magical flames been extinguished, than the still smoking candles began emitting a whirring, sputtering sound. Copious quantities of multicoloured bits of paper and balloons started pouring from their formerly burning tips. Awash in confetti and batting balloons about, the partygoers were cheering and laughing.

Fred and George had stationed themselves on either side of the room. As soon as the candles commenced spewing their magical contents, they again cried out in unison, "Crystal Confetti Candles, available now - and exclusively - at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, seven Sickles a dozen."

The elves were almost ignored in the hubbub - until Dobby's squeaky order of "serve" rang out. Instantly, he and the other six house-elves attacked the cake with their knives. Golden Hogwarts plates and silver forks seemed to conjure themselves out of thin air exactly as each piece of cake was cut loose, after which the servings soared unerringly into the hands of eager partygoers. Magically, with all the confetti and balloons filling the air, nothing had landed on the cake.

As the partygoers devoured helpings of crème bouquet wizard-food cake with vanilla frosting, Hagrid started nudging Harry towards the considerable collection of gifts. The party had been underway for quite some time, and the Order would soon have to redeem a number of promises made to a number of parents about returning their children safe, sound, and at the appointed hour.

After some encouragement, Ernie McMillan agreed to go first, on behalf of Hufflepuff House. Unfortunately, his "prepared statement" waffled on for several seemingly interminable minutes. The gift, however, was useful. The Hufflepuffs had sprung for forty identical enchanted mirrors, for distribution to all members of the D.A. in the coming year. Much of Ernie's speech had been an ill-concealed plea for Harry to continue the D.A.

The thought of mirror communication saddened Harry, as memories of Sirius flooded back, but he forced himself to consider the sentiment of the Hufflepuffs. A simple charm made the mirrors unreadable by anyone other than the owner, and the only other necessary element was a proper Protean Charm - one of Hermione's specialties. That charm, however, would have to await an initial D.A. organisational meeting at Hogwarts in September, when the new membership list would be established.

On behalf of Ravenclaw House, Luna presented Harry with a new Invisibility Cloak. The new cloak sported the dead useful feature of being able to expand or contract in area to any size between a king bedsheet and a serviette. He was appreciative of the gift, since the cloak inherited from his father was scuffed and starting to fray around the edges after several years of rather heavy use. He worried that someday a not-so-bare spot might betray his otherwise unseen presence. Still, Harry was surprised that Luna had any knowledge of his cloak. He could not fathom when she ever would have seen him use it.

Although it caused some grumbling among her fellow Ravenclaws (many not being altogether reconciled to someone they had only recently called "Looney" acting as House spokesperson in the first place), Luna also got Harry an individual gift - a Quick Quotes Quill. It had three settings: "verbatim," "fix grammar/syntax," and "embellish."

"This is the same model that Rita Skeeter uses," Luna pointed out, "except that she never bothers with the lower two settings."

"No surprise there," Harry commented.

Hermione nodded in agreement.

Luna added, "Coming from a journalistic family, I can tell you that having your own 3Q is an excellent means of controlling untrustworthy reporters."

"Are there any other kind?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Silencing Charms work nicely as well."

"Forget journalism," Hermione advised in a low voice. "This will be a wonderful timesaver in revising N.E.W.T.-level essays. Sixth Year and up are now allowed to use this sort of magical labour-saving devices. I'm so jealous of you."

"Wait a minute, there," Harry mock protested. "I'm the one with the green eyes here."

Lavender insisted on going first for the Gryffindors - who had not been anywhere near as organised as the other two other represented houses. Lavender giggled, and Harry blushed furiously, at the very skimpy Speedo bathing costume she had given him. If anything, this garment had even less fabric than the equally form-fitting trunks Eliza had bought for Harry earlier. Turning with alacrity to his next present, Harry did not stop to ponder whether the similarities were anything more than coincidence.

Neville went next. Harry thought his friend seemed unduly fidgety, particularly for someone who would soon be receiving a richly deserved Order of Merlin. Neville's present was flat and maybe a half metre square. Harry took a step backwards when he first set eyes upon it. It was an antique - an old-style imperial cavalry pennant carefully preserved under glass. Several argent and sable bands extending from the sinister chief to the dexter base crossed the escutcheon background. The charges in the foreground consisted of a skull and the number "17" with the motto "Death or Glory" placed in scrolls above and below. This blazonry left Harry feeling extremely uncomfortable. He turned to Neville for an explanation, as did the rest of the onlookers.

Neville hemmed and hawed, "Umm ... it's a keepsake.... Been in the family for generations.... One of my great-great-great uncles was a Squib, and a second son.... He served as an adjutant in the 17th Duke of Cambridge's Own Lancers in a Muggle war against the Russians.... Won a Victoria Cross at some place I can't pronounce.... He also received this pennant for that battle.... I think some Muggle later wrote a poem about it...."

Hermione's brow furrowed in concentration, recalling her Primary - the Remembrance Day assembly when she was in Second Form - where she had presented the recital from memory. Because the PM was going to be there, she had worked really, really hard.

Hermione closed her eyes. Her lips began to move ever so slightly, but no sound emerged.

Harry never noticed Hermione. Instead, his eyes bore into Neville's. "A Victoria Cross sounds awfully important, Neville," he said in what he hoped were measured tones, "but why did you decide to give it to me?"

Haltingly, Neville chose his words very carefully. "Umm.... After what happened ... you know ... in the Ministry.... Gran agreed that it was an appropriate gift. The motto and all.... Anyway, it seemed to fit."

It was as if an electrical shock hit Hermione, driving all thought of poetry from her mind. Her eyes flew open wide with horrified deductions. What must Neville have learnt that night after she had been incapacitated? Harry's wish....

Harry nodded curtly, both cutting Neville off and ending his own first attempt at silent Legilimency upon an unsuspecting person (it had failed). He very badly wanted to continue this conversation, but not in public.

Not waiting for the next gift giver, Harry grabbed something from the table. It was from Parvati. Harry opened it. She had given him a CD player. Harry thanked her warmly for the gift, but mentioned that he already had one. "Not like this you don't," Parvati replied, "this one's magical. You can take it to Hogwarts with you."

Harry nodded. Parvati was spot on, in what seemed to be a very lucky guess on her part. Besides, Harry didn't have any magical CDs - he wondered whether such things even existed, or if his Muggle CDs would work in Hogwarts' magical environment.

Fred and George then barged their way to center stage. They addressed the partygoers in their best theatrical style. "We've had a bit of a problem," started Fred.

"Actually it was a rather large problem," George corrected.

"It was a terribly large problem actually," Fred agreed.

"Which called for some creative thinking," added George.

"Very creative indeed, as it turned out," remarked Fred.

"Enough, get on with it," interrupted Hagrid. "There be others waiting, yeh know. Out with it. What was yer problem?"

Feigning hurt, George replied, "Very well, kind sir. The problem was what to get Harry for his sweet sixteenth birthday...."

"Or more specifically," Fred cut in, "what to get for a Boy Who Lived who has everything - or soon will."

Harry glared at them. That was not supposed to be common knowledge. The Twins did not seem to see him.

"He's already more powerful than we'll ever be," said George.

"He's soon to have more Galleons than he could ever spend - although I'm sure we could be of assistance in that regard," continued Fred.

"He'll have his own house-elves," remarked George.

Hermione scowled; Harry glared; but Dobby did something almost unthinkable - he contradicted a wizard in public. "Harry Potter, sir, need not own we house-elves," Dobby said indignantly, his already large eyes bulging even more. "We is happy to work for Harry Potter right now."

The Twins were quite taken aback, but decided not to make a show of it. They were loathe to confront the unknown magical powers of a free elf. They were even less inclined to have a go with Hermione's formidable mental and magical skills. But most important, they were reluctant to risk upsetting someone who was not only the man of the moment, but also their primary financial backer.

"Harry will soon have his own house," added Fred hastily. "A manor more likely."

"Perhaps a castle," commented George quickly. "Or at least some grim old place." That comment lightened the mood a bit, bringing some twitters from other members of the Order.

"He can have just about any girl he wants," responded Fred. Many of the females in the room began to blush - or worse. Tonks looked rather furious now, and seemed on the verge of cutting off the Twins.

"Or he could have the girl of his dreams, once he stops being so thick...," replied George. Harry went red with that comment, and again he was not the only one. "...Just need to get some folk in focus."

"Which brings us back to the original question," continued Fred, cracking an evil smile. "What kind of gift would mean something to someone who doesn't need anything? We're not the first to have that problem."

"Nor the last," added George.

"And certainly not the least," declared Fred.

"So we thought," said George, dropping his voice into a conspiratorial stage whisper. "How about something that doesn't exist yet?"

"Precisely, old bean," answered Fred, obviously mimicking Percy. "Something that has yet to be invented. The envelope, if you please."

George reached into an inner pocket of his lime-green dragonhide vest, and produced a large parchment envelope bound with a bright red waxen seal in which the initials "WWW" had been embossed. With an exaggerated flourish, he handed it to Fred.

Fred broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out what appeared to be some sort of certificate. To Harry it bore ironic resemblance to one of the many Ministry proclamations that Umbridge had posted at Hogwarts last Term.

Fred whipped out a pair of odd-looking glasses from his breast pocket, put them on his nose, and prepared to read. Suddenly the glasses started emitting bright flashes of red and blue light and a loud oscillating wail. The din caused all the onlookers' hands to go for their ears, until Fred took off the glasses.

"Siren Spectacles," announced George loudly. "Another Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes exclusive. Now where were we?"

"Of course," harrumphed Fred, affecting mock disdain for what amounted to a prank within a prank. He started to read. "By the power vested in me...."

"...And me...," George offered.

In unison they recited, "...as proprietors of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, otherwise referred to as '3W,' Harry James Potter, hereinafter referred to as the 'Birthday Boy,' is hereby awarded the right...."

"...And privilege," added George. "Equal right and privilege, of course...."

"...to request from the hereinbefore identified 3W the immediate development of any innovative prank idea that said Birthday Boy desires, for use upon anyone at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Provided, of course, that said prank is not prohibited by the rules of said school, as said rules are interpreted at the sole and unfettered discretion of the Birthday Boy. Signed and sealed this 31st day of July, 1996 by Fred...."

"...and George...."

"...Weasley," they finished together.

Harry burst out laughing. "You mean that any strange idea I might have to hex Malfoy or somebody, you'll put into practice?"

In the background, Daphne Greengrass made a sarcastic remark loudly enough to make sure Harry overheard. Harry did, and was reminded that not everyone in Slytherin should be considered target practice.

"Precisely," said George. "But don't be looking to turn his hair blue or anything like that."

"Oh, no," joined Fred. "This certificate assumes that you will be much more creative - and devious."

"Yes," continued George, "we expect your requests to be worthy of your exalted station. For example, if you wanted us to charm Snape's hair so that the grease came floating out and formed the words 'I'm a greasy git' over his head, that's something we could consider."

The room erupted in laughter. "Particularly if you want the prank to take place in the midst of class," added Fred.

"You see," said George, faking a serious tone, "we were very hurt two years ago when you didn't seek our assistance...."

"...Very hurt, indeed," interrupted Fred. "Particularly since our dear younger brother was being such a git at the time...."

"...As he is at this time," interjected George.

"Too right," replied Fred, "but that's a matter for another time...."

"...My timing is gone. Where was I...? Right, so instead you chose to bear the slings and arrows of an outrageous fortune all by your lonesome self," continued George

"When it would have been so easy for us to help solve your problem. But during those events we waited for you to ask," Fred responded. "A mistake we've vowed never to make again. Why don't you just show it, George?"

"Very well," muttered George as he fished through another pocket. "Harry, do you remember these?"

Harry looked, first in anticipation, and then in disgust. He could never forget them, but he had hoped never to see one again. It was a reminder of a very hurtful time - a "Support Cedric Diggory" button from the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament. Eyes narrowing, Harry replied, "Of course I remember. How could I ever forget? Now what are you on about?"

George replied quickly, trying to staunch the bile all too obviously bubbling up within Harry, "There was no need, my dear Harry, for you to have tolerated these in silence the way you did, when it would have been so very easy for us to do this...."

George pressed the button, but instead of it just flashing "Potter Stinks," a stream of glowing words started marching across the button - accompanied by an equally glowing luminescent dot. The lighted dot bounced as the button also burst forth with the Muggle Christmas carol "Jingle Bells," in a manner that encouraged a sing-along. The button began singing, in time with the words running across it:

"Jingle bells, Malfoy smells, Voldemort's a twit."

"Salazar haunts ponce bars, and Snape's a greasy git."

Laughter resounded throughout the room. Some of it was loud and raucous, like Harry, the Twins, and Hagrid. Some of it was nervous and twittering, like many of the Hufflepuffs, who quailed at the derogatory reference to the Dark Lord. Only Daphne and Tonks, the lone Slytherins in attendance, did not particularly appreciate the humour - particularly about Salazar Slytherin, who was, after all, a Hogwarts founder.

Their public demonstration at an end, Fred and George advanced on Harry and pressed both the certificate and the singing button into his hands. In whispered conversation, Fred said to Harry. "Actually there's one more thing about your 'Pranks Unlimited' certificate, mate. It's nothing written, but we do hope that after you're done with any prank you commission, you'll let us market it to the wizard public as 'conceived by Harry Potter.'"

"If you think up enough new pranks," added George, "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes could make a whole Harry Potter line of prank products. You'll receive royalties of course - how about an additional ten percent above your entitlement as a part owner? We think it would be a smashing marketing idea."

Harry pursed his lips, mulling the proposition. Fred and George waited with bated breath. Then Harry smiled, "Of course, I'll do that for you two. I'd do it for free, you know. We can all use the laughs."

It was never easy to follow a presentation by Fred and George. Harry reached out to the somewhat depleted selection of hovering gifts, but before making a selection he let Hagrid know that he needed a breather to use the facilities. On his way out, Harry spotted Neville chatting with a visibly tense Hermione. Harry covertly flicked out his wand and performed on Neville the same spell Hermione had used earlier to rescue him from Lavender.

Harry found his way to the men's room and waited. Less than a minute later, it became apparent that the spell had worked once again. The door creaked open, and Neville entered. Before Neville knew what was going on, Harry performed his pre-prepared triple combination spell that sealed the door, cast an Imperturbable Charm on the room, and relieved Neville of his artificial discomfort.

"Tell me what you know," commanded Harry. "I know you knew more than you could say in there.... Out with it."

"It's ... it's ... it's about that prophecy...." Neville stammered.

"I reckoned as much," interrupted Harry.

The other boy continued his reluctant explanation. "After I dropped it, and it broke... Whilst my legs were still helter-skelter.... I, I, I heard a couple of bits.... Not much, but enough to figure some things out...."

"Like what?" Harry pressed. "This is incredibly important, even more important than you might think."

"W-W-What could be more important than life or death?" Neville protested. "I caught something about neither you nor V-V ... Voldemort being able to live whilst the other survived. I don't have to be as clever as Hermione to figure out what that's all about. That's what I thought of when I saw the old pennant."

"All right," Harry said grimly. "What else do you know?"

"I-I-I ... I heard something about ... born as the seventh month died. That's how I knew it was you. And, and, and ... we almost share the same birthday. I know it's not right, but now I go to bed at night thanking my lucky stars that it wasn't me," Neville confessed.

"I can't say that I blame you," Harry affirmed. "I wouldn't want to be me either, except that it is what it is, and I haven't any choice in the matter."

"And there's one thing more," Neville continued, happier at the opportunity to get everything off his chest than he thought he would be. "I saw the sphere that contained the prophecy. It had Dumbledore's initials on it - bloody long set, you know. Years ago, he signed a commendation from the Order to Gran concerning my parents. I've read that letter more times than I can count, so I'd memorised his initials. Anyway, I can't really believe that any of this is news to you. Surely Dumbledore's told you more about the prophecy than anybody else."

Harry paused for a moment. He knew better than to confirm or deny. "Thanks for being straight with me, Neville," Harry said as he prepared to end the charms he had cast on the room.

"You deserve as much," Neville replied. "Oh, and Harry...?"

"What?" Harry asked.

Neville held out his hand to the other boy. "Thanks for the wand; it's just like the old one, except I think it's going to work better once Mister Ollivander makes some minor revisions."

Harry shook Neville's extended hand. "So your grand mum let you have it after all. From your letter, I had my doubts."

"Actually, she wasn't too keen on it," Neville admitted. "She's still convinced that you'll get me killed somehow. But I, I ... I told her that I couldn't think of a better way to die."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "She actually let you have it after you said that?"

"She did," Neville answered. "She told me I sounded like my father.... I think that's what she wanted to hear."

"You'll be all right, Neville," Harry said. "Oh, and I've been meaning to thank you too - for the party. Hermione told me you had quite a hand in it."

"It was nothing, really," Neville replied modestly. "I was just following orders. This was Hermione's show from beginning to end. She was just too busy to do everything herself - what with her training with you four days a week." Neville looked a little jealous as he mentioned the training.

"Well, I've already thanked her," Harry responded. "But I hadn't thanked you."

"I, I, I hope that you'll thank her properly," Neville choked out. "She.... She deserves it ... and I think she's a little upset right now. She didn't dance very much.... Only with me and a couple other Gryffindors - besides you, that is. She spent most of her time talking with Luna, Tonks, and me.... I'm sure my gift didn't help her mood any.... That Cross was a posthumous award. That's why I wouldn't tell her what it was ahead of time...."

Harry was getting uncomfortable again. He made for the door and motioned for Neville to follow. Hermione regarded both of them sceptically when they returned, but said nothing. Harry made sure to open Hermione's present next. Even though her gift consisted of two separately wrapped presents, it was not very large - almost getting lost in the shuffle.

Harry could tell what the larger of the two parcels was before he ever opened it. Merely hefting it removed all doubt that it was a book. The significance of the title, Black Ivory: A History of British Slavery, was lost on the onlookers. They were not privy to this aspect of the interplay between Harry and his best friend. Harry was well aware of the significance - and in any event, Hermione was not one to leave matters of this sort to chance.

'This is a serious book on a serious subject. I want you to take it seriously,' Hermione privately Legilimenced to Harry. 'As the heir presumptive, you need to understand how unspeakably vile the basis of the Black fortune is.'

'For you, I'll read it,' Harry Legilimenced back.

Only Tonks, who was Auror-trained to recognise Legilimency, had any idea that anything out of the ordinary was afoot, and she knew only that something had happened, not what.

Removing the wrapping paper from Hermione's smaller gift revealed a plain, jewel cased CD. Harry curiously opened the case and extracted a folded sheet of paper. "Displia," he said. The paper held a list written in Hermione's neat script. It was entitled, "The Most Beautiful Violin Music in the World, Interpreted by Hermione Granger, 25-29 July, 1996." The list indexed some 20 composers and compositions that were included on the CD.

"You ... you played all of these?" asked a stunned Harry.

"Yes," Hermione acknowledged. "After the way you reacted to the Tchaikovsky, I knew what my main gift for your birthday had to be. I'd rather make something than buy something any day. You saw the basement studio. That was where I recorded, arranged, mixed, mastered, and burned the CD. It's a magical CD, by the way, so you can take it to Hogwarts with you. The jewel case is not only charmed unbreakable, but repels outside magnetic fields, so as long as you store the CD in its case, it should keep indefinitely."

There were increasing murmurs of surprise among the partygoers. Hermione faced the crowd. "Yes, I play the violin - I am Muggle-born after all. It's a pity that Hogwarts doesn't consider music sufficiently magical to merit teaching. But there's more to life than just magic...."

The rest of the presents - such as Dean's gift of a Golden Snitch; Daphne's gift of the book, The Better Part of Valour: Living to Fight Another Day, which presented strategies for when and how to take flight from magical opponents; and Dobby's mismatched red and gold Quidditch socks - were anticlimactic by comparison. Soon the last of the giftwrap had found its way into the bins and party was over.

Dean, Seamus, and several others were Flooing to Diagon Alley to catch the evening portion of WWN's Potter Day extravaganza. Fred and George agreed to escort them, as the Twins were anxious to reopen their shop for the huge crowd of potential customers. Dean tried to get Harry to come, pleading that his presence would "help catch some birds." Harry refused, saying that he already had a date for the evening.

It fell to Hagrid to shepherd most of the partygoers home. Hagrid was apologetic about only giving Harry some baked goods (mostly the quiches Harry had liked), but Harry knew that Hagrid's real birthday present was his work repairing and modernising Sirius' GKN.

Tonks had become Hermione's regular minder, so she stayed behind. When everyone else had left, Tonks motioned Harry to sit down and told him that she had something for Harry from the Order. Very carefully, Tonks unwrapped a chamois cloth and revealed two wands.

Tonks recited a few obviously rehearsed lines, "Harry, on the occasion of your sixteenth birthday, the Order would like to return to you these wands, which are rightfully yours. Merlin knows you've suffered enough from the events that brought these wands into our, and now your, possession."

Tonks picked up the shiny reddish brown wand. "This is what remains of your father's wand. Unfortunately, it's non-functional. As you can see...." Tonks brought the wand to eye level and looked at Harry through its hollow center as if it were a spyglass. "It once had a Nundu-hair core, but that burned out completely when James tried to duel Voldemort on the night that ... er ... you became an orphan. Your mother's wand was never found; we suspect it was destroyed with the house." With that, Tonks handed the remains of James Potter's wand to Harry.

Harry accepted the wand reverently. As he stroked the soft russet sheen of the essentially intact wood, Harry thought of where he had seen this wand before - in Sirius's memory.

Tonks turned to the second wand. It was rather worse for wear, being covered in gashes, scuffs, and splinters. "Now this one is Sirius' original wand - the one he had before being imprisoned. Until recently, it was in pristine condition, but those berks at the Ministry insisted on destructive testing...."

"What took them so bloody long?" Harry asked hotly. "He only spent a dozen years in Azkaban for something he didn't do!"

"I can't tell you that, its classified information," Tonks said. "Suffice it to say that it was stolen by persons with an interest in seeing Sirius in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit."

"I know Lucius Malfoy ended up with it," said Harry evenly.

Harry's observation stopped Tonks in her tracks. Harry knew more than she thought he did - how much more she was not sure. "...Anyway, Ministry experts (Tonks gave the word sarcastic emphasis) were not satisfied with the ordinary Prior Incantato spell revealing that Sirius' final spell had not been the one that killed all those Muggles. They weren't even satisfied with the extensive magical history that we were able to draw from the wand using the Priori Incantatem effect, and the Order had to go all the way to Poland to borrow a brother wand."

Tonks was angry now; her hair was flashing bright red. "Oh no, the Ministry had to run a battery of abusive tests that ruined the casing - can you believe that this mess used to be the finest ebony? Say what you will," she cast a sidelong glance at Hermione, "we Blacks have always had exquisite taste in wands."

Tonks carried on, "Only after their bloody experts had destroyed Sirius' wand for nothing did the Ministry finally concede what we all knew. The wand evidence supported Headmaster Dumbledore's position that Sirius did not do what put him in Azkaban. Even then the Ministry tried to retain Sirius' wand as 'material evidence.' Dumbledore only got it back last week. Anyway, the uncontested portion of Sirius' will bequeaths his personal effects, including this wand, to you."

Harry took Sirius's wand from Tonks. For a brief moment, Hermione was afraid that her best friend was going to cry, but he never reached that point. Instead, Harry's green eyes stared into space, grieving for a father he never knew and a godfather that he knew all too briefly. He absent-mindedly touched the wands of his deceased father and godfather together. A few sparks guttered from Sirius' wand.

Harry was so lost in morose thoughts that he had stopped paying attention to anything in particular. Feeling Harry's anguish, Hermione was desperate for some way to alleviate it. "Tonks," she whispered, "is the core of Sirius' wand intact? It certainly behaved that way."

"I suppose so," answered Tonks quietly. "Dumbledore agreed to the Ministry's testing on the express condition that the core not be damaged. That core is extremely rare, Gallician Red-Wing dragon heartstring. I told you my family selected some extraordinary wands - or rather vice versa."

Trying to help Harry with the first Triwizard Task, Hermione had read more about dragons than she ever hoped she would. She thus knew that the species Draco gallicius was not only extraordinarily magical, even for dragons - but also quite extinct.

The more Hermione pondered, the more intense her eyes became. Harry had been vaguely paying attention to her since she started talking to Tonks. At first it was simply because he had to look somewhere. Harry idly thought that the colour of Hermione's eyes matched the colour of his father's wand almost exactly. But as the sparkle in her eyes grew, Harry wondered what brilliant idea she was working on now.

Finally, Hermione explained herself. "I don't know much about wand turning. I only read one book on the subject, and that was two years ago. But I don't think any magical principle precludes combining Sirius' wand core with the casing of Harry's father's wand - to create a single functioning wand. With that combination, I suspect the wand synthesis would produce great power - especially in Harry's hands."

Harry stared at his friend. "You're not joking, are you?"

"Harry, I'm as serious as can be," Hermione replied. "Do you honestly believe I find humour in something like this? Besides, you know that all of our instructors have been pestering us to get backup wands - well, here's your reserve."

Harry thought, and as he thought, his eyes gradually became as big as Hermione's. "That's bloody brilliant," he exclaimed, "even by your standards. Let's do it!"

Tonks had never tired of warning them both that it was risky not to have a backup wand. Harry, however, had gone his entire magical life without ever having a backup. Thus, he was not overly worried about the three to four weeks that Tonks estimated it would take Mr. Ollivander to complete the necessary custom crafting and wand turning. There was no doubt that he would take this job - it promised to as delicate as it would be prestigious. It was just the kind of challenge that England's (and maybe the world's) pre-eminent wand craftswizard would relish.

It was time to go. Harry took his new Invisibility Cloak, the magical CD from Hermione, and the magical CD player from Parvati. These he shrunk, and then stowed in compartments in his Auror belt. Tonks indicated that she would arrange to have Harry's remaining gifts discreetly delivered to Privet Drive - except for the Hufflepuff mirrors, which Harry entrusted to Hermione so she could devise how the D.A. could best make use of them.

"So where am I supposed to deposit you two?" Tonks asked. "I assume that all the necessary arrangements have been made, although nobody bothered to tell me."

"They have," Harry assured the Auror. "Drop me at any suitable Apparition point, and I'll be fine. You can take Hermione wherever she wants to go."

Tonks was confused. "But I thought you said you had a date for this evening," she said.

"I do," replied Harry firmly. "But it's not with Hermione."

Hermione scowled. She had known this all along, but she was none too happy with Harry being so blunt about it.

* * * *

Harry Apparated immediately to Eliza's flat, where she had her own birthday celebration to conduct give. Eliza had gotten Muggle motorbike leathers for Harry. Embroidered on the back of the blacker-than-black jacket was the motto "Potter's Marauders." The words formed a circle surrounding a design consisting of the Dark Mark overlaid with the familiar prohibitory red circle and diagonal slash seen on innumerable road signs. The leathers were V-pilot cut, extra thick, with reinforced stitching, a removable liner, and spandex stretch panels in strategic locations.

Harry was most impressed with the symbol. Eliza had to confess that it was not original. She had been in Diagon Alley earlier in the day and had seen the detonation of a huge firework that generated the design. That had given Eliza the inspiration she needed, and she had spent most of the afternoon redoing the embroidery - even using her wand - something she ordinarily avoided whilst in her Muggle neighbourhood. Then again, embroidering motorbike leather was no easy task.

Eliza had planned an evening visit to the Docklands amusement park. On the way, they did yet another commonplace Muggle thing that Harry had never experienced, stopping at McDonalds for American take away fast food. Harry was not particularly impressed. He barely tolerated the overcooked cheeseburgers, lard-soaked French fries, and fizzy drinks. In contrast, he enthusiastically chronicled the surprise party his friends had just thrown him.

"It sounds like you got more presents than in the whole rest of your life combined," Eliza observed. "Which of the gifts did you most prefer?"

That was sort of like asking a parent which of the children was the favourite. After considering the question carefully, Harry said "probably Hermione's CD, because she made it herself. There's something more ... er ... real to made gifts - like your embroidery - that beats purely store-bought presents."

Eliza brow furrowed, as she found Harry's honesty somewhat painful. "Can I see that CD?"

The moment she saw it, Eliza knew that Hermione had trumped her. Whilst Eliza may have introduced Harry to classical music - as she was acquainting Harry with a variety of Muggle delights - Hermione had moved to establish her unmistakable dominance in this particular field through her ability actually to perform that kind of music. From Hermione's handwritten list of compositions and composers, there could be no doubt of her mastery.

Gritting her teeth, Eliza knew that her rival was far too clever for this bit of oneupsmanship to have been an accident. Eliza wondered if perhaps the trump could be a two-way street.

At the Docklands waterpark, Harry and Eliza spent over an hour pleasurably splashing away on various rides and attractions. The main event, however, at least from Eliza's perspective, was the evening rock concert under the stars. Attending a rock concert was yet another of the many "normal" things Harry had never done. He had never heard of Stone Roses before, but he was probably familiar with very few bands that he could actually see in person. Most of the music Harry had been exposed was from his parents' or relatives' generation.

Eliza said it might be the band's last live concert, as there were rumours of an imminent break up. Harry decided that he did not care. This particular concert turned out to be one of Eliza's less successful ideas - maybe a rave party would have been better.

The outdoor setting was rather chaotic. Close to the stage, it was too loud, the singer was off-key, and it was almost impossible to see anything with everyone else standing and worse - moshing. The close quarters, the noise, and the motion combined to make Harry extremely tense.

Farther away, the sound quality was poor, and pedestrian traffic constantly interfered. Everywhere, loud and surly oafs or ubiquitous drug dealers sullied the experience. Drug dealing was something else that Harry had never experienced.

"Score some pot?" a rather scruffy young man asked Harry whilst continuing to walk in the opposite direction.

"Er ... what?" Harry replied, but the man kept going.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked Eliza.

"He was a dealer, Harry," she told him. "He wanted to sell you some pot. You'd have to follow him."

Harry blankly responded. "No way. I've already got two cauldrons, one of them collapsible."

After about an hour of frustration, it was getting thoroughly dark. Harry and Eliza found a reasonably out-of-the-way place at the base of the steel ride tower where Harry knew his minder, Mundungus Fletcher, had been perched. Harry had come to prefer having Dung as his minder when out with Eliza because Dung was, so ... flexible. Dung knew how to maintain his distance and to provide security whilst being unobtrusive. If it had not been for accidentally seeing Dung on the tower earlier, Harry would never have known he was there.

Harry and Eliza started snogging. At first, he was stiff and mechanical. The memories of Hermione's reaction haunted him. But, unlike Hermione, when the kisses and passion escalated, Eliza did not push him away. Far from it. His tender touches and openness only made her kiss him more enthusiastically.

The feelings became more and more enjoyable, and Harry went with the flow. Being physical with Hermione was like handling something fragile of incomparable value. But being physical with Eliza was simply natural - like the feel of his own, familiar wand as opposed to cradling a delicate prophecy orb.

As the two of them snogged, Harry began wondering what they were still doing at Docklands. They could hardly hear the band - the supposed reason they were there - and Eliza's flat was not only more comfortable, but also a hundred times more private. Harry got an idea. Peeling Eliza off him for a moment, and begging her forgiveness for the interruption, Harry pulled his new cloak from the storage compartment in his belt.

"What's that?" Eliza said, somewhat mutinously. Harry noticed that her cheeks were flushed and her lips were pouty. Whether she was aroused from the make out session or just sullen about having to stop, he did not know. But he was willing to find out.

"Just the thing," replied Harry, "an Invisibility Cloak."

"Show off," chided Eliza. "I should have known you would have one."

"I've got two now, actually," admitted Harry. "Here, hold it in front of yourself and hold on to me. I've got an idea."

"I like the idea of holding onto you better than holding onto this stupid cloak," Eliza grumbled. But she did what Harry asked.

"Wingardium leviosa," Harry incanted, his wand pointing at both of their feet. Slowly they began to float up the side of the steel tower, keeping themselves hidden behind the cloak. After about thirty seconds, Harry and Eliza rose to the small platform where Dung was keeping a rather desultory lookout.

"Wotcher, Dung," Harry called to the very startled Order member. "Would you mind too much if we booted you from your little hideaway here?"

"Not a problem," Dung rasped in his tobacco-ravaged voice. "Plenty more towers where this one came from." With a pop, Dung Apparated to another vantage point.

Eliza had to admit that Harry's idea was the best of the evening. This small platform, perched over thirty metres in the air, had an outstanding view, a cooling breeze, and (most importantly) complete privacy, since the ride had shut down at dusk. The Invisibility Cloak prevented anyone from seeing them.

Their eyes locked. Without another word, Harry and Eliza attacked each other once again. His hands had started up the back of her blouse, but somehow ended up in front. Whilst he twisted and turned beside her to try and hide the obvious physical evidence of his own arousal from Eliza, he doubted that he was successful. She was just too close to him too often. He even tried out Lavender's technique of breathily nibbling her ear. Eliza seemed to like it - but then she seemed to like anything he did.

The snogfest went on for maybe half an hour (nobody was counting), until Eliza decided to say what was on her mind.

"Harry, I've got another birthday gift for you," she purred, rolling herself on top of him.

"Oh really," he groaned, his voice deep and husky, "and what is that?"

"Your favorite kind," she teased, "the make-it-yourself variety."

Harry snaked his arms around Eliza's waist and squeezed gently, "I'm terrible at guessing, especially in this state." He brushed his lips against hers and smiled. "Why don't you just tell me?"

Eliza took a deep breath. "Let's spend the night together, Harry. I want you."

- 56 -

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C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch22 sixteen candles.doc 06/24/04