Draco raised an eyebrow, and then his wand. "Shouldn't we light the candles, first? And sing to you? That is what Muggles do, I'm told. I have it on good authority."
"Candles?"
Even as Harry asked that, though, thin ones were rising up from the spires of the miniature Hogwarts. Others appeared in the lake, popping up on islands that hadn't been there the moment before. One word from Draco, and they were lit.
"Rhiannon taught me the tune, and I taught it to Severus," said Draco. "Ready?"
Harry grinned and rubbed his hands as his father and brother sang him the Happy Birthday song. When it was over, he blew out all the candles with a single breath. He was a little bit surprised, actually, that they didn't re-light. Seemed like the kind of thing a wizarding cake would do. But of course, this had been baked by some famous chef, not by Fred and George . . .
Draco had his head tilted curiously to the side. "Did you make a wish, really?"
Harry nodded. "But I'm not telling what. If I do, it won't come true."
"Making a wish seems a strange custom for people without magic."
"Perhaps in a world devoid of wizardry, people need wishes all the more," said Snape, lifting his wand to summon plates and utensils.
Liquorice icing, Harry found out, wasn't bad at all. But then, he'd also thought that a paint-flavoured jelly bean had been pretty good.
"Presents, now," said Draco, reaching out from his position on the couch to push them over towards Harry, who was sitting in a chair to the side of the table.
"You didn't have to get me so many," murmured Harry, a little embarrassed. "Really, the cake alone would have been enough. It was wonderful."
"Harry James Potter," said Draco sternly, "it's your seventeenth birthday. Wizards celebrate the event properly. In pureblood circles, that means three gifts from a brother or sister."
"Is that why you got me three? To be proper?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "No, I got you three because I was learning to count."
"Draco," chided Snape.
"Oh, fine. I got you three because you're my brother past, present, and future. If you don't open them soon, I'm going to suspect you don't feel the same way--"
"Prat." Harry grinned as he said it, though.
He started with the smallest box first. It contained a small pin such as one might wear on the collar of a cloak. The image on the pin matched the special crest Snape had made for him. Half-Slytherin, half-Gryffindor . . . except instead of being executed in small stitches, the emblem on the pin was formed out of tiny glittering stones.
Gemstones, probably. Harry swallowed, thinking about what Ron would say if he caught Harry sporting emeralds and rubies, even little ones. Not that the crest pin was ostentatious. Harry actually thought it in very good taste. But still . . .
"Thanks, Draco."
The other boy merely shrugged.
Harry's next present was a box of chocolate snitches. "Filled with Ogden's finest," said Draco in an undertone. "Which is even more potent with chocolate, so don't eat more than two at once, I'd say. Well, unless you want to wake up dazed and confused, and possibly in bed with someone whose name you can't quite recall--"
Harry looked away, biting his lip a little, but not because he was embarrassed. Well, perhaps he was a tiny bit embarrassed. But mostly, he was wishing that he could be like other people, and get drunk off his head just for the fun of it. No chance of that for him, though, not until Voldemort was dead and gone. Harry had to be on guard all the time. Or at least, better than that.
"All right, that's enough teasing your brother," said Snape, his dark eyes looking a little concerned when Harry glanced his way. Feeling uncomfortable, he quickly focussed his attention on the largest box, instead. Strangely enough, it contained the smallest present of all. Well, in one sense. In another sense, it was just about the biggest--and best--present that Harry could imagine getting from Draco.
There was nothing in the box but a small, small, rolled scroll. When Harry smoothed it out and read the embossed gold script, his eyebrows shot up so far into his hairline that they practically felt airborne.
Harry James Potter is hereby entitled to one free, deluxe broomstick maintenance-and-cleaning service. Upon his request and at no charge to him, the spells on his Firebolt will be reapplied, reinforced, and upgraded to XL standard. Optional name service is fully included.
----- At your service since 1695, Quidditch Brooms Internationale
At the bottom, written in dark green ink, was a note in Draco's hand: To Harry, upon his coming-of-age, with love and respect from your brother, Draco Snape.
"Wow," he said, so astonished that for a moment, he didn't know what else he could possibly say. From anyone else, a gift like this would be thoughtful, but from Draco, it was almost overwhelming. Helping Harry spiff up his Firebolt, after all, was only going to make Harry a better Seeker, next year, which would hurt Slytherin's chances!
"Yes, you should sound awed," said Draco, a little loftily. "I can't tell you how close I came to getting you a new cloak, instead. A nice one, mind."
"I'm awed, all right."
"Well, when I humiliate you in the first Quidditch match of the year, you won't be able to say it was because of my superior broom. Though of course you can decline their spell service, if you wish. I wasn't sure how comfortable you would be with the idea, to be honest."
"Um . . ." Harry glanced down at the parchment again. Sort of a wizarding gift-certificate, wasn't it? "Who exactly is this Quidditch Brooms Internationale? I've never heard of them."
"Developers of the Firebolt and Firebolt XL. The inventors, really. You can trust them to know what they're doing and do a fine job. Though as I said, you don't have to let them work on the spells if you'd rather not."
Harry nodded. He'd think about that later. "What's this optional name service?"
"Oh, you can have a name etched into the handle, though it only appears when the broom isn't in the air. You wouldn't want it to affect performance, certainly."
"Right . . . so, Harry Potter, in case it's stolen?" Come to think of it, though, having his name on the broom might make it more likely to be stolen. Well, perhaps not while he was at Hogwarts, but afterwards? People did seem to want a piece of him.
"If you like, though I thought you might want to use it as some sort of . . . well, like a dedication to Sirius Black. He gave you the broom to begin with, didn't he?"
"Yeah," said Harry, a little thickly. He tried not to think about Sirius often, because doing that always led to the same place. What would Sirius think of everything that had happened? Harry adopted by Snape, Harry calling the man Dad?
"A most thoughtful present, Draco." said Snape. Harry wondered for a moment if the man had sensed his morose thoughts and was trying to distract him. Then he wondered if maybe he was as vain as Draco had once said. Not everything was about him, after all.
Draco almost preened, even as he corrected his father. "Presents. Plural."
"Yes. You did well."
Well? Harry chanced a glance at his father. "You don't mind, about the broom? I . . . it was good, in a way, to see Slytherin win the Quidditch Cup, last year, but once I'm playing again, I pretty much have to do my best for Gryffindor--"
"You wouldn't be who you are if you didn't feel that way, of course," murmured Snape. "And as for the rest? Quidditch is well and good, and I would prefer to see Slytherin win, but family does come first, as I've said to you before."
That's true, he had. "Thanks again, Draco. For the cake and the presents both."
"Now, what sort of brother would fail to celebrate your coming-of-age?" asked Draco.
The irony in that wasn't lost on Harry. Or on Snape either, apparently. "You made it rather difficult to celebrate yours," the man said, his voice holding just a hint of sternness.