(A/N: As I'm finalizing this chapter, I hit 500 collections. So I just wanted to say thank you so much for reading and hope everyone has enjoyed thing's thus far.)
The estate's morning calm had become a familiar rhythm. Light filtered through the tall windows, brushing the walls with a golden warmth. The quiet hum of distant birdsong echoed faintly through the open panes, and the gentle clinking of cutlery filled the space between Ethan and his mother as they ate breakfast.
There was a particular elegance to breakfast at the Wright estate. A pot of perfectly brewed tea sat between them, its surface shimmering faintly with warmth. A plate of buttered toast, poached eggs, and thin slices of honeyed ham were arrayed with the care of a master painter's brushstroke. Chloe Wright was the image of composed serenity, reading over a neatly folded letter in one hand while sipping her tea with the other.
Ethan, however, was only half-focused. He was stirring a small swirl of honey into his tea, watching the gold dissolve into the amber warmth, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.
He was still a little worried about Rita Skeeter, though ever since that first blip on his mother and himself, she hasnt made any jabs at them.
He hoped that small storm would pass and it wasnt currently the calm before it appeared. Could it be that his mother was already fighting against her? He had no idea about his mother's connections in the Ministry, but the thoughts still appeared. Was there something happening and he didnt know of it? Was that why there had been not a single thing about his mother's involvement with the Lockhart trial?
Summer was steadily passing him by. It was quiet, perhaps a little too quiet, but he didn't want to complain. After the trial, the relative stillness of the estate was a welcome thing. No courtrooms, no reporters. Just soft wind and silence. A time to relax and wait until the next school year approaches.
However, even with the trial itself was over, the effects of it were still unfolding. Talk of new legislation, rules, and regulations were being crafted, reviewed, and voted upon by the Ministry to ensure another Lockhart wouldn't appear again.
While still in his thoughts, his mother looked up from one of her many recent letters and causualy mentioned, "Ethan, what would you like to do for your birthday tomorrow?"
He blinked. "…What?"
"Your birthday, " she said with a small smile, setting the letter aside. "Don't tell me your already at that age where birthdays are no longer special? Your only twelve, well, soon to be thirteen."
It was as if she'd brought up some ancient ritual he'd forgotten existed. Ethan stared at her for a second longer than necessary, his mind turning over the word birthday like a foreign concept.
Tomorrow. His birthday. He'd be twelve.
He should have known it was coming, it was close to being a full year since he had been here, but it hadn't really registered. The idea of a party, or even celebrating at all hadn't even crossed his mind.
"I… hadn't thought about it," he admitted, setting down his spoon.
Her smile didn't waver. "Well, I have."
There was no teasing in her tone, no expectation, just a statement of fact. She had thought of it, even if he hadn't.
Ethan leaned back slightly in his chair, looking down at his plate.
Birthdays weren't something he'd really done in a long time. Not in his previous life. They'd become muted, bland affairs after childhood. A text here. A call there. A polite "Happy Birthday" in a group chat. Then it was over. Just another day.
He didn't dislike birthdays, but he never celebrated them much either.
Not unless you were a child.
Not unless you had something to celebrate.
Even so, it wasnt the same birthday as his previous life.
The truth was, the memory of birthdays in his last life had blurred together, gray winter mornings, half-hearted cakes, the hum of the television in the background. When he was younger, there had been a bit of wonder to it, but as the years wore on, that wonder faded. What was there to mark, really? Another year? Another reminder that he was getting older?
Only Christmas had ever truly meant something. Not for the gifts, but for the season. The countdown, the lights, the cold. Winter made everything feel a little more magical, a little more distant from the real world. If there was winter, there was Christmas. That was the rule.
There was no summer holiday, spring, or fall, besides Thanksgiving. And even that felt like a prelude to winter then Christmas.
Halloween was its own thing in his eyes. Different rules and reasons outside of standard holidays.
But a birthday in the wizarding world? What would that entail?
"I don't think I want a party," Ethan said at last. "Not like a proper one, anyway."
His mother didn't seem disappointed. "Then what would you like?"
He thought for a moment. What would he like?
"I wouldn't mind going out to eat," he said slowly. "Just something small. A place I've never been before. Somewhere with good wizaeding world food. And maybe… just do something fun afterwards."
"Fun?" she echoed, her smile returning. "That's quite the mysterious request."
"Well, I don't exactly know what I want to do," he admitted with a shrug.
That was the truth of it. He didn't want presents or decorations or people he barely knew pretending to care. He just wanted… something simple. Something quiet, but different. A moment that marked time, if only for a day. A day he could look back on as a good time.
His mother nodded thoughtfully, lifting her tea again. "Then I'll plan something small. I know a few places you might like. There's a rooftop café in Diagon Alley with a lovely view of the city. And perhaps afterward we could walk through the Curio Halls, there's a new magical oddities exhibit on display."
Ethan looked up at her. "That… sounds nice."
She gave him a knowing look. "I think I can manage one day off from the constant pile of Ministry nonsense."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Even with the press still sniffing around?"
"If Rita Skeeter tries to ruin your birthday, I'll hex her myself, regardless if it wasn't purposefully done."
He chuckled. "You'd be doing the world a favor."
The moment passed, soft and easy, like a breeze. No big plans, no spectacle. Just the promise of a day that would be his. Not one built on obligation or attention, but something quieter, warmer. It was the first birthday in either life that he could remember looking forward to.
And maybe that, in itself, was something to celebrate.