“Seventeen, eh!" said Hagrid as he accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from Fred.
"Six years to the day we met, Harry, d’yeh remember it?"
"Vaguely," said Harry, grinning up at him. "Didn’t you smash down the front door, give Dudley a pig’s tail, and tell me I was a wizard?"
"I forge’ the details," Hagrid chortled.”
"Vaguely," said Harry, grinning up at him. "Didn’t you smash down the front door, give Dudley a pig’s tail, and tell me I was a wizard?"
"I forge’ the details," Hagrid chortled.”
It was a different birthday, nothing I had ever lived nor felt whatsoever. I guess I'm used to be woken up by my mother on January 17th. In the morning, she will open the door gently, and say ''Happy Birthday nene'' (how she has been calling me since I was born) as if she were talking to a baby. As she slowly approaches the bed, her tone will turn high.
I will say thank you, and she will lie on bed with me, kissing my cheeks a hundred times, saying how she doesn't want me to get older.