HAPPY BIRTHDAY! ~June Monthly~

[Equinox Chick]

IT’S BIRTHDAY TIME

Yippeeeeee!

What fun! (or perhaps not)

A party in June. It could be a grand affair. A garden party, or a small celebration in the pub for your chosen character. Or maybe they don’t want to celebrate, preferring to forget the passing of years, but someone has lumbered them with this ghastly surprise.

Here are three Harry Potter characters with birthdays in June:

Draco Malfoy – 5th June
Dudley Dursley – 23rd June
Dobby – 28th June.

Your task this month is to write a drabble about one of these people on their birthday. You do not have to write from their POV, but they should be prominent in the drabble. It is about them, okay, so don’t mention Dobby in passing and think that will do, or I’ll cake woman you.***( see below)

And here is an additional prompt that you must use.
The birthstones of June are either ‘pearl’, ‘moonstone’, or ‘alexandrite’. The birthday boy needs to come into contact with one of these stones.

Points
Once again there will be 5 participation points per entrant, but only if your entry meets the criteria.
First place will receive 15 points
Second place will receive 10 points
Third place will receive 5 points.

And now let me talk about cake woman ...

*** Should the barmaids receive no quality drabbles, then we reserve the right to award neither place points nor participation points. You don’t want this fate to happen to you clickie
So use a beta, drabblers. We can overlook the occasional typo or misplaced comma, but canon spelling errors or numerous mistakes – a big fat no-no.


Criteria
All drabbles must be between 300- 500 words.
All MNFF guidelines must be followed.
Drabbles cannot be rated any higher that 6th-7th.

Closing date is June 30th 10pm BST

Use this form for your entry. Post your drabbles in this thread. Any questions? Ask away in the Ask a Barmaid thread, or shoot me a PM.

[B]Name:[/B]
[B]House:[/B]
[B]Title:[/B]
[B]Wordcount:[/B]
[B]Ratings/Warnings:[/B]
[B]A/N:[/B] 

Have Fun.

~Madam Carmerta~

[Liandrin]

Name: Liandrin
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Throwing a Wobbly, Draco Style!
Word Count: 500
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th Years/Snarkiness
A/N: Somebody doesn't want to turn thirty-one . . .

“No, I won't do it. I've had enough.”

“Draco, you're the one who came to anger management classes of your own free will—”

“And now I am leaving of my own free will.”

“Fair enough, but why not stay for a little while longer? We threw a birthday party in your honour.”

“No, this entire affair is absolutely ridiculous. I won't be a figure of mockery any longer.”

“Figure of mockery? Draco, I don't think—”

“Think? You don't think about anything! Besides, if I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it. Am I asking you now? No! So get bent.”

“Draco, where is all this hostility coming from? Everyone here just wanted to reach out to you and show you that we care.”

“By giving me a set of pearls? Honestly, do I look like the kind of bloke who wears women's jewellery?”

“Well, I—”

“I don't care what Blaise has told you! That was just one time. ONE time! And it was for a laugh, alright. Theo dared me.”

“Okay . . .”

“Don't give me that look!”

“What look?”

“The raised eyebrow coupled with a smirk. I invented that look!”

“Okay, someone's a little tetchy today. Turning thirty-one is no reason to throw a wobbly.”

“I'm not throwing a wobbly! I'm fan-bloody-tastic! I'm just sick of all you women – and I use the term loosely – fawning over me and trying to get me to 'deal with' my anger. I'm dealing with it just fine!”

“ . . . ”

“And don't think I don't know what you've all been saying behind my back!”

“Huh?”

“Oh, don't act so innocent! I've heard all the ghastly rumours circulating about me snogging the She-Weasel and that Mudblood Granger and – Merlin forbid – Potter back in school. Potter! How do you figure any of that? Stop laughing!”

“Sorry. I, hmm . . . I suppose it's because some of the girls fancied you a Slytherin Sex God back then.”

“Sex on the what now? How absurd! I mean, it's not like I don't know my way around women, but I have better taste than to have been bedding half the female population of Hogwarts!”

“Alright, so you're not a Casanova.”

“Cas-a-what? Speak English, woman!”

“Casanova: he was this Italian author known for his—Eh, forget about it.”

“I swear, all of you women are completely mental. M-e-n-t-a-l. Can't I have one birthday – ONE birthday – in peace?”

“Alright, fine. It's your birthday, so we'll accommodate that wish. You may go, and we'll take back all the cake and presents.”

“Wait now. Cake, you say? And presents? Are any of them good? They're not more bloody pearls, are they?”

“ . . . ”

“Stop staring at me like a stupid Muggle and serve me some stupid cake!”

“Happy birthday, Draco.”

[mzap]

Name: mzap
House: Hufflepuff
Title: A Party for Dobby
Wordcount: 492
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years; none?
A/N: It's been a while since I've done one of these.

“DOBBY!”

“Coming, Mistress,” Dobby said, scurrying down the stairs and reaching the doorway of Narcissa Malfoy’s bedroom.

As soon as he arrived, she glared at him. “How many times do I have to tell you that my jewelry needs to be hung, and not thrown in drawers like some rag?”

Dobby twisted his already iron-burned hands and then shakily stated, “Dobby is sorry, Mistress. Dobby won’t let it happen again.” Feeling the immediate guilt, he rushed to the wall and began pounding his head, repeatedly.

“Dobby!” Narcissa shouted again. “Stop that infernal racket and sort these pieces out. I have a party to attend tonight and I want you to have finished sorting everything within the hour. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mistress. Dobby will have it done.”

“I expect you shall… or you will be putting your ears in the oven again.” Without another word, Narcissa left her bedroom and Dobby immediately went to the dresser, pulling out strings of pearls, diamonds, and other precious stones, to be hung on jewelry stands. While he worked, he continued to feel guilty for making such a stupid mistake, such as misplacing his Mistress’ jewelry. How could he have made such an obvious blunder?

As Dobby pulled out a pearl necklace, he recognized it as the one the Master had given his wife for his birthday. In all his years in Malfoy manner, Dobby had never received any acknowledgement of his birthday. He didn’t even know the day of his birthday. More sadness consumed him, but there wasn’t much else Dobby could do but continue at his work.

~*~

“Dobby!”

Dobby turned from the pudding he had been preparing for the Hogwarts professors and found one of the younger house-elves looking at him expectantly.

“Dorie! What is you doing here?” Dobby smiled.

“Dorie is needing Dobby to come with her. There is a surprise for Dobby!” she squeaked, jumping a little.

“A surprise for Dobby?” Dobby stood confused; no one had ever given him a surprise.

“Yes! Yes! Come with Dorie!” she squeaked again, taking Dobby’s hand and dragging him to another section of the kitchen. There, crowded together, was a gathering of house-elves and a very large cake.

“Happy Birthday, Dobby!” they shouted in unison. Dobby’s eyes immediately filled up with tears, unable to take in what had just happened.

“Dobby is so surprised,” he said, smiling. “But… but how did you know Dobby’s birthday?”

“We choose it!” Dorie said, jumping in happiness again. “Dobby didn’t know his birthday, so we choose it!”

“Dobby is so happy.” He smiled. Every day there were reminders of how glad Dobby was to not live with the Malfoys anymore, particularly with how cruelly they had treated him, but this surprise party was one of the best things that someone had ever done for him. As Dobby sat down with his fellow house-elves, he enjoyed the cake and festivities, pleased to finally have a celebration of his own.

[Northumbrian]

Name: Northumbrian
House: Ravenclaw
Title: One
Wordcount: 500, because I like round numbers.
Ratings/Warnings: 1st/2nd years, none
A/N: Another Draco Drabble from me? I must be going soft in the head. Do babies really bounce?

~*~

‘Shouldn’t he have more hair than that, Cissy?’

‘It’s very fine, like his father’s. It will grow, Bella.’

‘Did you have to invite the Crabbes and the Goyles?’

‘You know that I did. The Notts and the Greengrasses will be arriving soon, too. The Parkinsons were trying for an invite; Lucius was wavering, but I said no. I admit that Parkinson is useful, but he’s little more than a common criminal.’

‘Crabbe and Goyle aren’t much better. Their blood is pure, but their manners are appalling. And those boys of theirs! Ugly lumps covered in snot and dribble! Babies are such foul little creatures.’

‘Draco is clean, and in his best robes. You’ll change your mind, Bella, when you have a baby.’

‘Me, don’t be ridiculous! Why would I want a baby?’

‘Why do you think Rodolphus married you?’

‘Because the Dark Lord wants more Pureblood marriages, Cissie. Rodolphus isn’t interested in children, or me; he’s more interested in cousin Regulus. Rodolphus is perfect; he’s wealthy, and he lets me do what I want. You don’t actually love Lucius, do you? Marrying for love is what Andromeda did! … Merlin! … You do! You foolish girl!’

Pop.

‘Mistress, The Nott family and the Greengrass family have arrived. They are with the Crabbes and Goyles in the west drawing-room,’ announced Dobby.

‘Thank you, Dobby. Tell Lucius, and our guests, that the birthday-boy is on his way. Would you like to carry your nephew down to greet them, Bella?’

‘Can’t he walk?’

‘It’s his first birthday, Bella. He can toddle, if you hold his hand, but he can’t manage the stairs. The Dark Lord wants more Purebloods, remember. Showing an interest in children might be useful, even if you don’t produce any. Your fellow Death-Eaters are downstairs and you know how much Lucius despises Clarissa Crabbe. If we’re not there soon he’ll be unhappy.’

‘You should join us, Cissie, accept the mark. You’re not pregnant, Draco is growing. You have no excuse.’

‘I’m a mother, Bella, with a son to raise. One day, but not yet, he is happy with Lucius. Now, hold Draco under his bottom, cradle my precious one carefully.’

Pop.

‘This has just arrived, Mistress,’ Dobbie handed Narcissa a small parcel. ‘It is safe.’

Narcissa took the parcel from her house elf and unwrapped it. Inside were a moonstone ring and a slim scroll of parchment. Narcissa read the words aloud.

‘Who comes with summer to this earth,
And owes to June his hour of birth,
With ring of moonstone on his hand
Can health, wealth, and long life command.

From one mother to another, in hope for our children,

Andromeda.’

‘Evanesco!’ screamed Bellatrix furiously, Vanishing both ring and note.

Draco screwed up his face and burst into tears, howling at the top of his lungs.

He suddenly stopped, took a deep breath, and strained until his face was beetroot before again squealing.

‘What is that awful smell?’ asked Bellatrix.

Draco was snotty and he stank. Bellatrix dropped him.

[hestiajones]

Name: hestiajones
House: Hufflepuff! BADGERS FTWWWWW.
Title: What Goes Around Sometimes Doesn't Come Around
Wordcount: 490
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd yr; None
A/N: Hope it fits the prompt!

“Is everything ready?” I ask Ginny.

“Yep,” she says. “Cake. Candles. Food. Drinks. Music… Yep.”

I nod, then go out and start the car. I’m on my way to my cousin’s flat. Dudley moved into a nearby town a few weeks ago. Though he never explained his reasons, I know why. Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon died last year in a car accident. I don’t have the heart to say, “Well, that’s poetic justice for you.” I know what it’s like to not have parents, and I don’t think I ever was the type to say such things.

The door opens after the fifth bell. He’s unshaved and in his pyjamas. “Harry?”

“It’s 3’o clock in the afternoon,” I remark.

“I know.”

“Get dressed. We’re going to my place.”

“Why?” he asks, surprised.

“Have you forg-?”

I pause. What’s the point of a surprise if you’re going to spoil it anyway?

“Ginny fancied a dinner.”

After a solemn nod, he goes inside. When we are in the car, accompanied by a silence that is strangely comfortable, I muse over the irony of things again. Dudley seems to have forgotten his birthday. It was the only thing he ever remembered as a kid. But the man who’s sitting next to me, absent-mindedly rubbing the huge moonstone embedded in his ring with the tip of his forefinger – he doesn’t remind of that boy who used to get excited about the 5th of June from January 1st.

We don’t talk even when we walk up the house. When I open the front door and let him enter, I feel odd. I’m doing something which, fifteen years ago, I wouldn’t have imagined I’d do.

“Happy birthday!” shouts Ginny, along with James, Al and Lily.

Dudley’s mouth falls open, as the kids run to him and pulls him towards the kitchen, where the cake is waiting. He follows them without a word.

“He looks bad,” whispers Ginny.

“He’ll come around,” I whisper back. Kissing her cheek, I tell her, “Thanks Ginny.”

She kisses me back.

When we enter the kitchen, Dudley has a shiny paper hat on his head. It looks out of place, considering he has the physique of a heavyweight boxer, which he actually is, but he’s smiling.

After the children have been shepherded upstairs by Ginny, we sit on the lawn, a drink in our hands.

“You liked the present?” I ask him.

“Yeah.”

“Great. I didn’t know if they were useless, or something you needed.”

“They’re great quality,” he replies. “Never seen gloves like them before.”

Probably because they’re made by Nimbus and not a Muggle manufacturer, I think, although I don’t tell him. A few moments pass before he speaks up again.

“Thanks, Harry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t deserve it after … after…”

“It’s all right, Big D,” I say, because I don’t really need to hear it, and he doesn’t really need to say it. “It’s all right.”

[Northumbrian]

Name: Northumbrian
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Key to the Door
Wordcount: 150+150+200=500
Ratings/Warnings: 1st/2nd years, none
A/N: These scenes (or something vaguely like them) will appear in the sequel to the sequel to Aurors and Schoolgirls. So, not soon!
Dudley's twenty-first, and everyone's in a daze.



‘No, Mum!’

‘But, Dudley, darling…’

‘No!’

‘Please?’

’Compromise, Dud.’

‘Is there someone with you, Dudley?’

‘A maximum of a hundred guests, right Mum?’

‘I asked you if someone was with you.’

‘It’s my twenty-first, you can’t just tell me who you’re inviting. I’ll make a deal, I’ll have fifty invitations, and you can have fifty invitations.’

‘Will you be inviting your student friends, Dudley?’

‘Of course I will.’

‘I suppose that will be all right, provided that they aren’t too scruffy. But, Dudley, you aren’t thinking of inviting…’

‘I am.’

‘But…’

‘He’s my cousin, your nephew. We know if he’s alive, because Hestia told us, but we haven’t seen him since… He’s my only relative..’

‘There’s Auntie Marjorie…’

‘You hate her, Mum, she’s horrible to you. Look, I’ve got to go, bye.’ Dudley hung up the phone.

‘Yer ganna have to tell her about us sometime, you know,’ said Daisy.

~*~

Petunia watched the train slow to a standstill.

‘She sounded so common on the telephone, Vernon, what will we do?’

‘You’ll think of something, Petunia.’

‘It’s ridiculous, simply arriving on the day of his party, [i]with a girlfriend[i]. Where did we go wrong?’

‘He knows what he wants, Petunia. He’s strong willed, in charge, a chip off the old block.’

‘Here’s the train! Oh, Vernon, we haven’t seen him since Christmas. There he is! Oh, Vernon, he’s so scruffy. That must be her fault; she’s a bad influence on him.’

Dudley’s blonde hair was shaggy unkempt. He carried a bulging rucksack and was holding hands with a skinny girl with low-slung jeans, a bare and pierced midriff, and spiky dyed-blond hair.

‘Hello, Mum, hi Dad. This is my girlfriend, Daisy Milburn.’ He smiled happily.

‘Hello Mr and Mrs Dursley, nice ter meetcha, just call me Daze.’

Petunia shuddered. Disaster loomed.

~*~

‘Happy Birthday, Dudley, you’re as handsome as ever. But what’s that? And who is this person.’ Marjorie Dursley glared in distaste at the skinny blonde girl in the short black dress.

‘This is my girlfriend, Daisy, Aunt Marge, and this ring is my twenty-first present from her. It’s a moonstone, my birthstone. It apparently brings good fortune, promotes inspiration and brings success in love and business matters.’

‘Birthstone? What a lot of superstitious nonsense, Dudley,’ said Marjorie Dursley disapprovingly. ‘I blame university. You should have gone to Reading, like your father, but no, Newcastle! You hang around with students and hippies. And even socialists, I expect!’ Marjorie glared at Daisy.

‘Really Dudley, it’s a horrible place, coal mines and shipyards and workmen. You should come home.’

‘Yer know nowt,’ Daisy interjected.

‘You shouldn’t interrupt your betters, girl.’

‘I don’t,’ said Daisy. Dudley laughed, Marjorie was still processing Daisy’s comment when two smartly dressed young couples entered the hall.

‘Here’s Harry and Ginny, Dud,’ said Daisy waving excitedly at the quartet. ‘I haven’t seen them since Easter, when they accepted the invitation. That must be Ginny’s brother, and his girlfriend.

‘The Potter boy!’ Marjorie’s moustache bristled and her face turned puce.

[lttlebird]

Name:littlebird/lttlebird
House: Gryffindor
Title: Better Things
Wordcount: 500
Ratings/Warnings: None
A/N: Thank you, Crayola, for giving your crayons such fanciful names....

******

I clack into the lounge in my shortest, tightest sundress, grab the remote from the arm of the sofa, and push the button. The telly goes black and I move in front of it, bending to pat Dudley’s feet off the coffee table, pretending that I don’t see him gaping at my rear while I busy myself with the magazines and Ruthie’s colouring book.

“Blimey,” I hear from behind.

“Happy birthday, Big Man,” I say over my shoulder. “Now, round up your daughter. It’s time.”

***

In the car, speeding along at 72 miles per hour, listening as Ruthie sings nonsense with the radio, I roll my lips together and watch Dudley’s hands on the wheel. At ten and two, the scars across his knuckles turn white, then pink, then white. I reach over and pat his chest gently, telling him to sit up, he’s slouching. He straightens, but when next I look over, he’s slumped, again.

“They’ll have to learn to live with it,” I say.

He shakes his head. “In sixteen years, they never learned to live with it, Siobhan. It won’t be any different for her.”

I turn in my seat and look at our daughter. Ruthie’s podgy, little hand bears down hard with Hot Magenta, darkly filling the black outline of a seashell. Above her fingers, Magic Mint swirls away of its own accord, colouring her cloudless, psychedelic sky.

She has the same blonde hair and brown eyes she had before all these strange things began, the same doe lashes that cast shadows on her cheeks in the sun. I have a hard time imagining anyone rejecting this child for something she didn‘t choose, but if anyone could be so small and stupid, it would be his parents.

I rest my wrist on Dudley’s shoulder and let my fingertips lay against his neck. His head sinks back, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

***

Old Pet is a sliver in the doorway. She heaves herself against Dudley and then pulls away, her fingers sliding against those pearls she wears, eyeing me like I’m some half-chewed vermin that was hoiked up on her spotless doorstep.

She says, “Come give Grand-mummy a kiss, darling,” then closes in on Ruthie with that plastic, cat face she’s stitched and peeled herself into. Ruthie wraps one arm around her neck, then melds to Dudley’s leg, terrified. I can’t blame her. The woman looks as if she might grab her up by the neck with her teeth and hide her behind the boiler.

The promise of chocolate, however, overcomes all fear, and Ruthie scampers inside, leaving Dudley stooped, staring after her. I take his hand and squeeze.

He says, “I used to live for my birthday-the presents, the cake.”

I lift my hand, the compact perfection of the crayon box inside. “You’ve better things to live for now, yeah?”

He breathes deep. His spine straightens. His shoulders roll back.

“Yeah,” he smiles, taking the box from me. “I do."

[wendelin the wierd]

Name: Wendelin
House: Gryffindor
Title: The Guilty Ones
Wordcount: 498
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-4th years
A/N: Inappropriate italicisation for emphasis.





Once a year, his moonstone pendant glows. Once a year, he allows himself to reflect.

The pendant is a Portkey, and he soon feels the familiar tug on his navel. It’s been a tradition since his eighteenth birthday to come to the Hog’s Head and drown his war memories in alcohol. There are times in his life when even he can’t figure himself out, when he realises that he’s finally gone around the bend. This is not one of them. He knows exactly why he comes to this bar every year.

Because there is no excuse. And there is no forgiveness.

He feels a weight on the barstool beside him, realises who it is before he turns...

“Draco Malfoy.”

There’s a short silence after that. Till the air is clogged up with the weight of the words he can’t say. I’m sorry! he screams in his mind, I didn’t know, I was only a stupid kid, I’m sorry. I hate myself, I wish I would DIE, and somewhere inside his head he is throwing himself against a wall, bruising himself over and over and over.

Instead he says, “What do you want, Potter?”

“One butterbeer please,“ Harry says to the bartender before turning to face him. “What is a Malfoy doing in the Hog’s Head?”

“It’s my birthday, Potter. Can’t you see that me and this crowd, “here he gestures his hands expansively to the empty pub, “are having ourselves a celebration?”

Harry’s green eyes flash with something close to pity and the sight makes Draco’s skin want to crawl.

“Sod off, Potter. Leave me in peace.”

“Right,” Harry nods, before taking a swig from his glass, “Right, but Malfoy…”

Draco feels sick. He knows what Harry wants to bring up now, perfectly remembers the last time the two of them were alone together. The showdown in a tiled bathroom six years ago, when his blood had run across the marble and Potter’s horror struck face stood above his. But he doesn’t want this to come up again, doesn’t want Potter to apologise.

“Drop it, Potter.”

“No, Malfoy. You must know I had no idea what that curse did. If I could take it back, I would. I am so very-“

“Drop it,” Draco says harshly, “Apology accepted, Potter. Is that what you want to hear?”

He stares at Draco for a second before sighing and leaving. “Happy birthday, Malfoy,” he mutters as he passes.

“I’m sorry too,” Draco whispers to the empty pub, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” till he’s practically screaming and his throat his raw and his mind is choked with the apologies he’ll never be able to say, because he’s still too much of a coward.

There is no excuse. And there is no forgiveness.

Thirty years later. He’s here in this pub. And everyone who could possibly celebrate the day with him is either locked up or dead. So he just wipes his mouth and signals the dodgy bartender for another glass.

[TM_WandStick]

Name: TM_WandStick
House: Gryffindor
Title: The Carousel Ride
Wordcount: 497
Ratings/Warnings: 1st/2nd Yrs - none
A/N: Harry's with Mrs. Figg, of course.

---

“Smile, Dudley!”

I blinked at the flash of a camera eagerly wielded by a tall horse of a woman behind the gate. Of course, she wasn’t taking my photograph. She, and the exceptionally wide man beside her, were only interested in one of the small boys who was riding my carousel. Well, maybe small was the wrong word. He hadn’t even been able to heave himself up onto his chosen horse without my help. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid so fat, and I’ve seen a lot of kids.

I retreated to my little booth, stuck my key into the box, and pulled the lever. The familiar tune started up as the carousel slowly began to turn, the horses moving up and down in a jovial manner. As the fat boy came around again, the horse woman squealed his name and raised her camera, taking more pictures than any of the other parents combined. I was used to this – there was always at least one overzealous couple at my carousel every day. Usually, the enthusiasm died down a bit by the end of the ride. This couple, however, were an exception. Every time, without fail, the horse woman would squeal and click her camera like mad. The funny thing was the kid never seemed to get tired of it. He looked like he expected the attention.

Towards the end of the ride, however, the boy started to look queasy. When the carousel finally ground to a halt, he was downright green. I grimaced, anticipating what would happen next. Sure enough, when I lugged the kid down, he promptly vomited all over my shoes.

“Dudley!” The horse woman nearly hurdled the gate in her desperation to reach her son, and her husband followed faster than I would have imagined. They jostled me out of the way, not even glancing in my direction as they crowded around him.

“Dudley, sweetums, are you okay? Oh, Vernon, maybe we shouldn’t have let him eat that last burger.”

The horse woman laid a hand on the boy’s forehead as he started to wail.

“Oh, Dudley, dearie, maybe we should go home - ?”

“No!” the boy shrieked suddenly. “I don’t wanna go home!” His fist shot out at his mother and grabbed her necklace, yanking it so hard that the clasp snapped. Small white pearls rolled everywhere, mixing with the vomit to form a strange conglomeration of gleaming white and vile green.

“Okay, we don’t have to go,” the woman replied in a soothing voice, apparently unconcerned that her son had just assaulted her. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? And then maybe we can get you an ice-cream, how does that sound?”

The boy sniffed loudly, considering the offer.

“Okay,” he said finally. I watched the family leave in amazement, having not once acknowledged the puddle of vomit that I was still standing in.

I may be just a carousel operator, but I know a spoiled brat when I see one.

[ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor]

Name: ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Silver and Old
Word count: 500
Ratings/Warnings: 1st/2nd Years — Mild Profanity
A/N: Since I ran out of word count, I’d like to explain ‘Roger Dodger, It’s a Codger’. Using ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ and ‘Happy Birthday to You’ seem a bit too Muggle for a pure-blood family, so I decided to make up a new song. I’d give you the lyrics, except then I’d have to write them. So, I’ll just leave you with the information that it somewhat follows the tune of ‘Polly Wolly Doodle’.

* * *

“Come on, Dad. You know she’s put a lot of work into this.” Scorpius looked expectantly at his father, who was lounging in his study with a large glass of brandy.

Raising a brow, Draco said, “You’re rubbish at keeping secrets, considering it was supposed to be a surprise party.” He took a long drink. “I’m not interested.”

The frustration on Scorpius’s face was obvious. “Come off it. You know nothing happens in this house that you’re not aware of. You just don’t want to go.”

With a chortle, Draco retorted, “Damned right, I don’t. Since when is getting old an accomplishment? ‘Oh, look, I didn’t die this year! Let’s throw a party!’” Draining his glass, he added, “Spare me.”

“Dad, you’re only turning sixty. You’re hardly on death’s doorstep.”

Snorting, Draco replied, “When you have to pick your balls up off the floor in the morning, feel free to get back to me on that. Now get out.” To punctuate his point, Draco turned his chair around toward the window behind him and propped his feet on the sill. He hoped that the matter was closed.

Alas, he was to have no such luck. Scorpius rounded the desk and shoved Draco’s feet back on the floor. “You’re going. Mum said so.”

“Since when did you take orders from women?” Draco mumbled.

Smiling wryly, Scorpius said, “Mum’s a hell of a lot scarier than you, and you’ve always told me to pick my battles.”

It was increasingly clear that Scorpius wasn’t going to give up, and Draco reckoned that the sooner he went, the sooner the whole ordeal would be over. Groaning in annoyance, he set down his empty glass and followed his son downstairs where Astoria’s ‘surprise’ party was to take place. Sure enough, several of Draco’s acquaintances and business associates were gathered, milling about the formal dining room.

Once they saw him, they began a half-hearted and discordant round of ‘Roger Dodger, It’s a Codger!’, and Draco immediately wanted to leave. The last thing he was in the mood for was being serenaded by a song specifically written to make fun of aging people.

Scorpius must have sensed his urge to bolt, as a hand clamped down hard on his bicep. “Just deal with it, Dad,” he said through clenched teeth and a pasted on grin.

But Draco’s resolve to do that was severely tested when Astoria gave him a showy hug and a peck on the cheek. “Happy birthday, dear.”

“Yeah, cheers,” Draco groaned. Looking around, he wondered, “Where’s the food?”

Astoria gestured toward one of the servers, who came over immediately. However, the contents of the tray were enough to make Draco lose his appetite. He took one of the proffered hors d’oeuvres and frowned heavily. It was a cucumber sandwich, held together by a toothpick with a moonstone topper. Looking at it in pure loathing, both because he hated cucumber and the idea of birthstone toothpicks, all Draco could say was, “You cannot be serious.”