InsaneJournal

Birthday Cards (Weasleys, G)
Title: Birthday Cards
Summary: Three decades of birthdays in the Weasley family.
Characters: The Weasley Family
Rating: G
Word Count: 1464
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
Notes: For my dear freckles42 on her 25th birthday. I am sorry I stole Ginny's nickname from you but it was so inspiring. Have a fabulous day, and thank you for always being such a giving friend and cheerleader!

Originally posted to LJ on 4/7/07.




30 October, 1966

It's nearly noon, she thinks you forgot I bet.

I didn't forget.

Do you have a present for her?

I got her a card.

A card, Weasley? Is that all?

Should I have got her a present, too? She's not my girlfriend.

She would be if you got her more than a card.

What should I get her, then?

How should we know? Just, more than a card.

Does she like chocolates? I haven't got a lot of money.

Arthur glanced at Madame Pince, and the moment she turned her back he shunted the note back across the library table. Twin red heads bent over it, and one of Molly's brothers—Fabian, with his stupid purple-inked quill—started to write something in reply, grinning all the while.

But Arthur never found out he wrote, because Molly chose that minute to walk by his table, giggling with her friend Alice. Arthur stood, knocking his chair over, and Molly and Alice giggled some more, drawing a glare from Pince.

"Happy birthday," Arthur mumbled, and he snatched the card he'd got her from his bag and shoved it in Molly's direction, not noticing until after he did that it was crumpled at the corner.

"Oh," said Molly, and a smile creased her face, "Thank you."

Alice giggled again as they walked away, but Molly hushed her with a nudge and a frown as she clutched the card to her chest.


29 November, 1971

"I think he's got cake in his ears, Arthur! Oh, hold him, dear—don't let him slip—"

"I've got him, darling. Oh, there's definitely cake in his hair—do you see it? Just there—"

"Yes, I've got it—perhaps we should have had white frosting after all—"

"But he so loved the colours, Molly, and—oops, Billy, keep still, now—"

"Loved the colours so much he smeared them everywh—is that cake between his toes?"

"I've got it, darling—all clean, now, aren't we, Billy boy?"

"My god, Arthur, who knew this would be so exhausting?"

"What, having a baby?"

"No, having a birthday."

"Muriel enclosed a cheque in the card she sent—let's buy the baby a sleeping potion."

"Let's skip the sleeping potion, rub some Ogden's on his little gums, and have ourselves a drink."

"That's my girl—always thinking. Billy boy, come and see Daddy."

"Arthur, I was joking—"


22 August, 1982

Listen to me, Scabbers, today is my birthday and it's your birthday too because Mummy said she doesn't know when your birthday is so I could pick one for you. So I picked today because today is the best day to have a birthday. We're going to have cake later but Mummy says you can't sit at table with us. I'll put some in my pocket for you, though, because it's your birthday too, after all. Mummy says rats don't like cake but I don't think she knows. I like cake. I like presents, too. And I like cards. But I don't like the ones Auntie Muriel sends me. They always have kittens on them and I hate hate hate kittens, Scabbers, because they make me sneeze. Mummy says I shouldn't hate them, I should hate the sneezes. But I hate kittens and I hate Auntie Muriel's cards. I'll give you her card later, Scabbers, so you can shred it up in your bed. Would you like that, Scabbers? And then I'll give you your cake. Happy birthday, Scabbers. I love you.


12 December, 1984

Bill forgot it was his brother's birthday.

It wasn't until late that evening, in the common room, when Davy Corcoran tackled Charlie and shouted Happy Birthday, that Bill remembered. Bill gave a start and looked over, but Charlie just nodded at him and grinned and went back to wrestling with Davy.

Bill and Charlie gorged themselves that night on Bill's secret stash of chocolate frogs. Bill popped open the last one and gazed down at the card inside.

"Gryffindor," he breathed. He'd needed that card for as long as he could remember.

Bill looked over at his brother's sleepy, satiated face, slipped the card from the box, and shoved it at him.

"What's this?"

"Gryffindor," Bill replied simply. If Charlie protested, Bill was going to punch him.

But Charlie just smiled his thanks and shoved old Godric right into his pocket.

They lay in silence on Bill's bed for a moment, stuffed with chocolate, until Charlie spoke.

"Best birthday card ever," he said.

Bill was inclined to agree.


11 August, 1986

Ginny clambered into her mother's lap and pointed to George's straggling handwriting that looped across her birthday card.

"Mummy, I don't know this long word."

"Certainly you do, darling, let's sound it out together, come on—Gin—"

"Ginny!"

"Close, dear, let's keep going—Gin—ger—br—"

"GINGERBREAD!" Ginny whipped her head around to glare accusingly at her brothers, who promptly burst into laughter.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"

"Why, not, Gingerbread?" asked Fred, "Afraid we'll build a house out of you?"

"Not funny," Ginny protested, snuggling into her mother's embrace. She buried her head against her mother's neck and breathed in the scent of powder and hoped that Fred and George were on the receiving end of one of their mother's patented punishment glares.

But as she snuggled in, she smiled a little to herself. It was maybe a little bit nice to have a special nickname—oh, she didn't like being called Gingerbread, 'specially not in that teasing way the twins always said it, but it was special, all right.

But she'd never tell her brothers that.


1 April, 1990

Fred gave George a card that spat black smoke and turned his fingers blue. George's fingers turned back to pink and white and freckled after only a few minutes, for Fred's spellwork was rudimentary yet and besides, pranks should never be permanent. (Mostly.)

When George gave Fred his card, Fred grinned and opened it and…nothing happened.

Fred looked over at his brother with an anticipatory sort of grin on his face.

"Time delay?" he asked.

George shook his head and grinned back with his best attempt at an air of mystery.

Fred hopped off his bed and looked in the mirror. George reckoned he was looking to see if his eyebrows had disappeared or if he had cashews in place of ears or something like.

(They hadn't, and he didn't.)

As the day progressed, Fred grew increasingly on edge. At bedtime he jumped when George clapped him on the shoulder.

"All right," Fred said, "Day's over, let's have it."

George merely stepped back and spread his hands and grinned.

"What are you saying—you're not going to play a prank on me today? You mean I was waiting all day for noth—" Fred stopped short.

George smirked.

Fred paused, then laughed heartily and shook his twin brother's hand.

"My compliments to you, dear sir," he lauded as George's smirk fell into laughter, "On the execution of the Very Best Birthday Prank Ever."


1 March, 1992

Twelve's a pretty good age to be, and thirteen'll probably be even better, but for now twelve's all right. Better than eleven, when he wasn't even at Hogwarts and could only listen to Charlie's and Bill's stories which he never gets to hear anymore because they are never around anymore, or Fred's and George's stories which he reckons are probably mostly made up, or Percy's stories which are mostly about boring things like which classes he'll take when. But now he's at Hogwarts and it's better than anyone made it sound and harder than anyone made it sound but the best part, the very best part is, he's best mates with Harry and they're going to be mates forever which is pretty great, when they're twelve and thirteen and fourteen, you know, forever. It's brilliant. Ron's never had a best mate before, only his brothers and his sister, and they don't even do birthdays right, they play pranks and forget and start fights and eat the biggest piece of cake, but Harry's a proper sort of best mate who remembers and even tacks a card to the present he wrapped himself, which turns out to be about a hundred chocolate frogs, and Ron promises himself that if he gets any good cards from the frogs he'll share them with Harry, because that's the point of having a best mate after all.


6 February 1998

The owl was unfamiliar and it collapsed in Arthur's lap. It was still breathing, but it wouldn't wake. Arthur extracted the once-folded parchment from its beak and read it there in the silent kitchen in the yellow-grey morning.

Dad,

Voldemort's dead. Harry's killed him. We're all right. We're coming home. Don't tell anyone yet.

Love,

Ron.