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.

This was Harry's favorite birthday tradition.

Every year on his birthday, the three people he loved most in the whole world burst into his bedroom at midnight, and the lot of them would sit about and talk until the wee hours of the morning. James would reminisce about how tiny Harry had been as a baby and how scared he was the first time he held his son in his arms. Uncle Padfoot would recite the dramatic retelling of the trip to the hospital and Uncle Moony would praise Harry's growth and learning that had occurred over the past year and how he couldn't believe how much Harry had grown since the last time they'd all gathered about his room to celebrate like this...

 Harry's favorite night of the year - not because he was particularly a narcissist or anything like that, but it was the one night of the year that all three of them allowed themselves to talk freely about Harry's mother. And Harry loved hearing about his mum.

James listened to Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony's stories and reminiscing, smiling nearly as widely as Harry was himself, his eyes closed with contentment and a smirking laugh at all the right places throughout the tales. By the end, he would have a hint of tears in his eyes and he would squeeze Harry's shoulder and look him right in the eyes, stare into the bright green irises that Harry knew he'd inherited from Lily Potter and - this was Harry's favorite part - he'd say, "She loved us so much, Harry - so, so much - as much as I love you and a thousand times more, your Mummy did."

Then they'd all fall asleep - usually Uncle Padfoot would return to dog form and Uncle Moony would collapse across the foot of the bed, curled up and using the dog as a pillow - and James would simply drift off, his cheek resting against Harry's head, hugging his boy close to his chest and Harry would lay awake, listening to the sound of his father's heartbeat... steady and deep in his chest, a comforting thumping that Harry's own heart would synchronize with.

But you are not eleven every day and eleven, in the wizarding world, is a very different sort of birthday and for that reason the traditions were all different this year and although it started out the same sort of way - with the confetti popper and the battle royale to get into the room first, the black shaggy dog leaping up and licking his face - the conversation was different this year.

"Gods alive, Harry, you're eleven!" James sighed as he sank into position against Harry's pillow and Harry threw himself into James's side like usual. "Eleven years old! Where in the hell has the time gone off to?"

"Flown," Uncle Moony said in agreement.

Uncle Padfoot's tail wagged eagerly.

James grinned, "Speaking of things that fly..." He drew his wand from the wrist of his pyjama sleeve where he somehow always kept it out of sight but easily accessible. With a flick, the window opened up and a warm breeze came in, fluttering the curtains, and carrying on it a big brown owl with long feathers that stuck up over his eyes like ornate eyebrows. The owl clucked his beak and landed on the headboard, striking out his leg. A letter hung from it, a thick envelope sealed with a dark purple wax circle pressed with the familiar coat of arms.

Harry could hardly breathe. 

"Poor thing's been waiting all day to deliver that," Uncle Moony said, smiling as Harry untied the envelope from the bird's leg and James reached into his pocket, giving the bird a big fat owl treat and putting a gold galleon into the pouch that hung about the owl's neck. "Seems the Deputy Headmistress was a bit eager sending the letter out," he added with a smirk.

Uncle Padfoot barked in agreement.

James's upperlip caught up on his tooth, which stuck out a bit funny on the left side. It was the crooked smile that Harry tried so hard to replicate, which was hard to do without the tooth to snag his lip on. "Go on and open it, Harry," James said gently, watching Harry hold the envelope in his palms with utter reverence.

Harry nodded, the weight of the significance of the moment fell upon his shoulders as he stared down at the addressing, which was written in a vibrant green ink. 

Harry Potter

Third Bedroom on the RightPotter Cottage, Kirkyard LaneGodric's Hollow, England

Harry turned it over and slid his thumb under the seal, lifting the wax seal carefully, and opening up the envelope flap, withdrawing the letter from inside and shaking out the parchments folded within. The envelope was thick with enclosed documents, two of which were standard and three of which were not.

The first was on a heavy parchment.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL
OF WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock,Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. 

Your sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Harry grinned. "I've been accepted to Hogwarts," he said proudly.

"Of course you have!" James said with excitement and he squeezed Harry's shoulder, eyes sparkling. "Of course you were."

Uncle Moony was near to tears with pride.

Harry looked briefly at the list of things he would need.

"We'll go tomorrow and get your things at Diagon Alley," James said.

Harry nodded and tucked the letter and the list into the envelope again, turning to the three additional enclosures that were non-standard additions. First was a folded parchment that matched the letter of acceptance. Minerva McGonagall's handwriting was diagonal across the sheet.

Happy Birthday, Harry.

It is my great honor that I have been given the chance to write this letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. I have looked forward to the day that I got to send this to you. I sincerely look forward to having another Potter in these halls again. They have missed your family's presence here greatly. Although your grandfather and father have made great impressions on this school, leaving you with rather high expectations to fulfill, it is my most sincere belief that you will exceed each and every one. After all, they say that the third time is a charm and you, Harry, are the third Potter boy that will walk these halls by my side. I look forward to your arrival more than it is proper to convey. Come to my office upon your first opportunity for tea and biscuits.

With love, Auntie M.

Harry smiled and looked up at James, "Auntie Minnie's excited for me to come to school."

"Knew it," said Uncle Padfoot, who had, at some point while he was reading, turned back into a man. He lay draped over Harry's legs and Moony's lap, lounging about like a dog ought to do. "Minnie never could resist a Marauder!"

The next non-standard enclosure was a postcard with a big picture of a dragon with a big cone-shaped birthday hat on the front. The dragon was breathing fire on a very large chocolate birthday cake. Harry turned it over to see Rubeus Hagrid's messy scrawl.

HAPPY BIRTHDAE HARRY POTTER - HOPING TO SEE YOU ABOUT THE GROUNDS SOON ENOUGH. LOVE, HAGRID.

Harry laughed and handed the card about so his Dad and Uncles could see the funny picture on the front. 

Last, but not least by any means, was a form already signed by the headmaster, giving Harry special permission to bring his own broomstick to school. A small square of hot pink paper had been spellotaped to the front of the form, which read:

Happy Birthday. Since your father will insist - I have gone ahead and saved us all the trouble of his inquiry! Looking forward to your arrival. Albus Dumbledore.

James laughed upon seeing the note attached and grinned as Harry handed the letter to Uncle Moony to look over. "I swear, it's as though the man can read minds," James chuckled.

Uncle Padfoot craned his neck to see the letter, then laughed and said, "Nice one, James."

"I didn't even ask him yet but once," James laughed. "Alright, maybe twice, but honestly, just the three times."

Uncle Moony shook his head, "Poor man was probably buried in owls." He handed the form back to Harry.

Harry carefully tucked it and the other two pieces back into the envelope.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any for you to get this, then --" James said and he waved his wand, "Accio present!" 

There was a pause and then a long, skinny box wrapped in red and gold striped paper came into the room. Sirius grinned and sat up, watching eagerly as the box landed on Harry's lap and James beamed, his face practically glowing with excitement.

"No way!" Harry gasped, already knowing precisely what would be in the box, his hands shaking with excitement as he tore the paper away. "No way!"

"Happy Birthday, Harry," James said warmly as the box of the Numbus 2000 was revealed.

"Top of the line, that is," Sirius said in a reverent whisper. "Same one that Oliver Kent flies on the Chudley Cannons."

James nodded, "It's true, it is."

Harry was ripping open the box and he pulled it out - the finest broomstick Quality Quidditch Supplies had to offer on the coming term. He and James had stood admiring the broomstick in the window less than a week ago, when it had first come in. They'd gone the morning of it's official release date just to see the broom and, apparently thought Harry, that must have been when James had filled in the order form for this very one on his lap now.

"Wow," Harry whispered, grinning at the broom.

"We'll go out and give her a go first thing in the morning," James promised.

Harry nodded, excited.

Then came the tradition, but it was different, too, because instead of talking about when Harry had been born, Harry's three favorite people talked about their own times on broomsticks back in the days when they'd been at Hogwarts School together, and James shared story after story of Lily's days on the Gryffindor quidditch team. "Best Chaser on the team, apart from myself, of course," James bragged, grinning, eyes misty.

"And there's the ego," muttered Uncle Moony, rolling his eyes.

"It's too big to be lost for long," Uncle Padfoot smirked.

James laughed, "Well, I mean, I was captain for a reason." He paused, "Did I ever tell you how I was Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team?" he asked Harry.

"No, never," Harry quipped and both his Uncles laughed uproariously.

James flushed and said, "Well, suffice it to say that quidditch is in your blood, Harry."

They talked long into the night until, just as tradition prescribed, they fell asleep one-by-one, though this time it was James who stayed awake after everyone else had fallen asleep, even Harry having drifted off listening to stories about Lily sinking the quaffle through the rings on the pitch at Hogwarts. James lay, hugging his son, staring up at the ceiling. He turned his head, looking over at the envelope from Hogwarts on the nightstand, the moonlight coming through the window catching the green ink on the front of it, making it glisten brightly.

James sighed heavily, turning his eyes back to the ceiling.

"What am I gonna do with myself when he's gone off to school, Evans?" he whispered into the dark, "He's the only bit of you I've got left."