Harry Potter and the New Bloom (A Marauders AU)

You Are Not Eleven Everyday

Harry Potter lay awake at near to midnight, staring at a lighted dial, watching his birthday tick nearer. After all, you are not eleven everyday. Five minutes to go, and he heard something creak outside.

Four minutes to go. 

Three.

He was having such a hard time keeping his eyes open. Midnight was taking a fair time coming and he was terribly tired from such a long day, so full of excitement...

Two.

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. It felt so monumental.

Thirty seconds...

Twenty...

The creaking grew louder. Harry stared at the door of the room, his heart pounding.

Ten...

Nine...

A tell tale crack and a soft hiss.

Three...

Two...

One...

BOOM.

The door flew open and a bright burst of color filled the room as a cracker exploded - a firework of colorful confetti rained over his bed and fell in twirling bits all around. Tiny dots fell like snow and Harry sat up in the soft cushy mattress, his warm blankets falling onto his lap as he grinned and snatched his glasses up from the nightstand.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!"

The chorus of voices filled the room and he laughed as all three of his favorite people tried to push their way through the door of the room at the same time.

"Bugger off, the both of you, he's my bloody son, I'm going in first," grunted James, Harry's father and absolute most favorite person in the world. James's hair hung over his forehead and stuck up in all the same places that Harry's did. He wore pyjamas printed with golden snitches that matched the pair on Harry's own body, too, so that apart from their eyes and stature the two might be twins. James often called Harry his carbon copy and Uncle Padfoot (one of the other two trying at squeezing their way through the door) referred to Harry as Prongslet, a modification of Prongs, which was what he called James.

"Yes but in addition to being his godfather, it's also National Mutt Day," Uncle Padfoot argued, "Therefore, in celebration of me, you ought to allow me through first."

Uncle Moony, the third person trying at squeezing through the door, "It's also National Avocado day, yet you don't see any of us throwing guacamole at Harry, do you?"

"Remcyclopedia," James said in an accusatory tone.

Uncle Padfoot used the moment of James being shocked at Uncle Moony's extensive knowledge of non-existent holidays to win the struggle and leaped into Harry's room, triumphantly grinning back at the other two, and promptly bursting into his black, shaggy dog form and running over to the bed, jumping up and trampling on his godson with excitement, tail wagging wildly so that it seemed the entire back end of him shook and the bed shook and Harry laughed as the dog lapped his face in joy, barking up a storm. Harry wrapped his arms around the shaggy beast and closed his eyes, face crunching up from the slobbery kisses.

James shook his head as he followed after Uncle Padfoot, laughing in fake annoyance, "Bloody beast," he muttered, "Always getting your way! National Mutt Day my arse." He crossed the room, followed by Uncle Moony, grinning as he went and climbed onto Harry's bed, laying down beside his son and stretching out, arm 'round the back of Harry, across his pillow.

Harry grinned and threw himself back into James, curling up close to his Dad, using his arm and shoulder as a pillow and staring up in admiration at him. Uncle Padfoot - who preferred to be called Snuffles when in his black dog form, actually - curled up across Harry's legs as Uncle Moony came over and sat on the edge of the bed by the foot, leaning against the post, the dog's head in his lap. Uncle Moony scratched Snuffle's ears and the dog kicked in satisfaction as the lot of them settled in.