Birthday

Breathing in the bitterly cold air, Harry felt as though he was freezing from the inside out. Without hesitation, he cast a protective energy spell on himself. A flash of light washed over his body, granting him an exceptionally high resistance to ice. Taking out his wand, he continued deeper into the stone-paved corridor.

Thick layers of frost covered the walls on both sides, and massive icicles stretched from the ceiling all the way to the ground, reflecting a silvery-white glow under the light of his Lumos spell.

Every few meters, there was a large torch bracketed to the wall. However, the flames had long since died out, leaving only cold, dry wood and iron frames that would stick to one's skin if touched carelessly.

After following the winding corridor for about five minutes, Harry came to a halt. A massive ice door blocked his path.

As if sensing his presence, the deep blue door slowly creaked open, revealing a vast hall. A warm gust of air rushed out, dispelling the corridor's chill.

Stepping inside, Harry found himself in a grand chamber.

At the center of the hall stood a massive, exquisitely crafted table surrounded by a dozen plush armchairs that looked irresistibly comfortable.

To the left of the table, rows upon rows of transparent bookshelves, seemingly carved from crystal, stretched across the wall. Thousands of books lined the shelves, radiating a faint magical aura. To the right, a long stone workbench was neatly arranged with various instruments and tools. Scanning the assortment, Harry was disappointed to find that he only recognized a few cauldrons and a brass balance scale.

The hall was comfortably warm, reminiscent of the gentle sunshine of April. The lighting was soft and abundant, diffused through the ice above, casting a serene white glow throughout the space.

Harry didn't fully understand the magic that defied physical laws, but the sheer density of magical energy here left him in awe—it was on par with the Room of Requirement.

As he wandered about, touching and inspecting various items, he stumbled upon some peculiar decorations—one of which was the faceless Sphinx that had belonged to his great-grandfather, Henry.

It was a perfectly scaled-down Sphinx, possessing the vulture wings of a griffon and the hyena-like body of a beast. Its paws and pincers added to its eerie appearance, while a gigantic, humanoid head crowned its crouched form. Atop its head sat an ominous triple crown, yet its face was entirely featureless.

When he had first observed this strange gray-white sculpture through a portrait, Harry had suspected it was far from ordinary. But the moment he cast Identify on it, his expression darkened.

Statue of the Lord of the Desert

Legendary

Gaze of the Faceless God: Due to your attempt to identify this item, you have attracted the attention of the Faceless God.

Await the Stars' Alignment: When the stars return to their rightful places, chaos will rise from the depths, and the Great One shall awaken. The bearer of this statue will then enter the true world.

This unassuming little pendant had now linked him to some powerful entity lurking in the distant void of space. As a mark left by its presence in this world, the statue could not be erased.

"Bloody hell..." Harry muttered, suddenly feeling as if the object in his hand had become scorching hot.

His first instinct was to fling it far, far away. But he hesitated—what if that made things worse? The Identify results clearly stated he had already drawn the attention of this Faceless God. Who knew how it would react if he carelessly discarded its artifact? Keeping it wasn't exactly reassuring either… Just one glance at Await the Stars' Alignment was enough to tell him that holding onto this thing would undoubtedly lead to trouble.

After much internal debate, Harry ultimately decided to wear the necklace. Throwing it away was almost certain to backfire, but keeping it—so long as the stars weren't aligned—probably wouldn't cause any immediate harm.

--

On his first night, Harry spent a sleepless, anxious evening curled up on the sofa in the living room.

On the second night, since his newly ordered bed had yet to arrive, he settled for laying blankets on the floor in his bedroom. As for the crib? He had tossed it straight into the basement.

On the third day, realizing nothing disastrous had happened, he finally relaxed and went out to pay his water, electricity, and phone bills. Unfortunately, the various bureaucratic procedures took so long that he didn't return home until dusk, utterly exhausted.

On the fourth day, he spent the entire day inside a brass wardrobe.

On the fifth day, his new push-button telephone and bed frame were finally delivered to Godric's Hollow. As he wrestled with the various bed components, a rather elderly owl crash-landed onto his third-floor balcony.

Deciphering the chaotic handwriting, he managed to make out that Ron had invited him to the Burrow. Harry quickly penned a reply and, to make future communication easier, also asked Ron for his family's telephone number.

On the sixth day, Hermione sent him a letter as well. After some thought, Harry included his own phone number in his response and inquired about hers. That very evening, Hermione called.

On the seventh day, as Harry was busy clearing out the overgrown garden, Errol—the same battered owl—once again plummeted at his feet.

Curious why Ron hadn't just called him, Harry opened the letter.

Harry, what exactly is a telephone? I asked my dad, and he said it's some kind of rune-based invention that Muggles use for long-distance communication. Is that true? —Ron

Harry seriously considered mailing Ron a children's edition of Ten Thousand Whys—a simplified version, of course.

Meanwhile, over on Privet Drive, a small creature with bat-like ears and bulging eyes, clad in what looked like a pillowcase, continued his grand mission of protecting Harry Potter.

And just like that, July 31st arrived.

--

That morning, after getting dressed, Harry stepped into the living room, planning to head to the village shop for the week's groceries. But before he could leave, the fireplace suddenly erupted with bright green flames, flaring up to the height of a person.

Then—"BANG!"—a familiar figure tumbled out of the flames, covered in soot.

A second person followed. Then a third. Then a fourth. The fireplace continued belching out people like an old car struggling to start. "BANG!" "BANG!" "BANG!"

By the time the seventh person had landed, the emerald flames finally died down.

"Ron? George? Fred? Mrs. Weasley? And... um, you are?"

"Harry, hello! I'm Arthur Weasley, Ron's father," the second man to emerge stepped forward with a warm smile, extending his hand. He wore a green suit and had a slightly balding head, though the remaining hair was just as red as his children's.

"I've heard quite a lot about you from Ron these past weeks," Mr. Weasley said as he firmly shook Harry's hand. Behind him, a small red-haired girl peeked out shyly, half-hiding behind her father, her eyes filled with curiosity as she looked at Harry.

"This is my daughter, Ginny," Mr. Weasley said, ruffling her hair affectionately.

"She's been so excited about coming to your birthday party," George added with a grin, waggling his eyebrows. "She absolutely idolizes you!"

Harry glanced at the shy little girl peeking at him from behind her father. Scratching his head, he bent down slightly, resting his hands on his knees, and gave her a warm smile.

"Nice to meet you, Ginny~"

The little girl immediately shrank further behind her father. After a long pause, she finally responded in a soft, timid voice, "H-Hello, Ha…Harry."

"But come to think of it, isn't this your parents' house?" Mr. Weasley looked around the somewhat familiar living room. "I remember when James and Lily got married, Molly and I brought Charlie and the others over to see their new home. Bill and the rest were just little kids back then… It's hard to believe so many years have passed."

"Mr. Weasley, you knew my parents?"

"Of course we did," Mrs. Weasley—dressed just like an ordinary Muggle—somehow produced a feather duster out of nowhere and began dusting off the soot from the Floo travel. "Arthur and I were a few years ahead of them in school, but Lily was a potions prodigy, and James—well, he was an absolutely brilliant Chaser. The whole school knew their names."

Leaving George and the others in the house, the Weasley couple accompanied Harry to the village shop to buy ingredients for the day's meals. To keep the others entertained, Harry thoughtfully turned on the television before heading out.

As they walked, Mr. Weasley curiously observed the Muggles around them. Earlier, at Harry's house, he had already been thrilled by the television and push-button telephone, bombarding Harry with an endless stream of questions.

Harry had assumed Mr. Weasley's excitement was just a passing thing—but apparently, he had underestimated him. Even outside, he was still gawking at everything like an eager child. Thankfully, Mr. Weasley knew better than to openly act strangely in front of Muggles, or Harry would have had a real headache on his hands.

After picking up the groceries, Harry instinctively reached for his wallet to pay. However, Mr. Weasley insisted that since they had come to celebrate Harry's birthday, they couldn't let him spend his own money. But watching Mr. Weasley struggle, sweating profusely as he tried to calculate the exact amount to pay, Harry couldn't help but sigh.

Along the way, Harry had learned that Mr. Weasley had a decent understanding of British Muggle currency. But… who would have thought that a full-grown wizard would get stuck figuring out how to make exact change for £90.34?

Unable to bear it any longer, Harry stepped forward and whispered in Mr. Weasley's ear, "One fifty-pound note, two twenties, one twenty-pence coin, one ten-pence, and two two-pence coins."

With the groceries in hand, Harry led the Weasleys back home—only to find five heads curiously circling the television, inspecting it from every angle.

When they saw the three return, Ron immediately bounded up to Harry in excitement.

"Harry! The people in that metal box can move and talk, but… why don't they ever respond to us?"

Harry: ".................. So that's what you've been trying to figure out?"

Mrs. Weasley firmly took charge of the kitchen, while Mr. Weasley looked at Harry expectantly, eager for a tour of the house. Unable to refuse, Harry led the six of them around.

"Harry, you're saying… this little blue thing can let people talk to each other instantly, even if they're far away?" Mr. Weasley gawked at the strange object with two cords trailing from it. Then, eyes sparkling with excitement, he asked, "Can you teach us how to use it?"

"Well, it's not that compli—"

Before Harry could finish, the phone rang.

It's probably Hermione, he thought. After all, the only people who had his home number were Hermione and Ron. It's not like British Telecom would be calling to test the line, right?

Under the Weasleys' fascinated gazes, Harry picked up the receiver.

"Hello, who's this?"

"Harry? It's Hermione! My gift is probably still on its way, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday!"

Hermione's voice came through the phone loud and clear. Ron, who had overheard, widened his eyes in shock.

Hermione's house was over a hundred miles away! Even the fastest owl would take almost a full day to make the round trip. But this thing—this 'telephone'—had done it instantly?!

After chatting with Hermione for a bit, Harry looked at the Weasleys, who were practically radiating curiosity. With a grin, he held out the receiver.

"Want to experience Muggle technology firsthand?"

Ron was the first to snatch it up. Imitating Harry, he held it to his ear and stammered, "H-Hermione… H-Hi there!"

"Ron?" Hermione's puzzled voice came through the earpiece. "Are you at Harry's house?"

Ron fumbled to fix the receiver, which he had been holding the wrong way. "Not just me—my parents, Fred, George, and my sister Ginny—we're all here to celebrate Harry's birthday."

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione said. "If I didn't have studying to do, I would have asked my parents to bring me over, too."

"Studying?!" Ron's voice shot up two octaves. "But—it's summer break!"

"Precisely! That's why I need to get a head start on our second-year coursework." Hermione's response was perfectly logical.

Ron didn't understand.

But Ron was deeply, profoundly shaken.

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