(no subject)
Who: maraudingprongs & sonuvasnitch. (Draco Malfoy is also welcome to jump in-- depending upon if his plans to wreak havoc went through or not!)
Where: Their kitchen, at too-early-o'clock.
Style: Third, but can switch if you prefer it.
Status: Closed
Notes: Backdated to the 31st!!! Sob I'm late.
James wet his lips, hands on his hips as he gave a look around the kitchen, checking on his final preparations. He was used to throwing parties, of course; in his opinion, frankly, it wasn't a real bloody party unless he'd had a hand in it. Whether he was the bloke to procure the butterbeer or the charlatan to charm the teacups into reciting pickup lines when pretty girls drank from them, he was absolutely, unequivocally qualified at making sure one and all had a good time.
But this... this was a bit different, wasn't it? A little out of his element, and at the same time, closer to home. This was important, and moreover, this was bloody unusual. Throwing a little soiree for his own son, who'd be turning a second year older than him, thank-you-very-much. And while he'd had every intention of also showing up to Harry's later birthday party, the rather stiff shoulder he'd gotten from his blond, pruney friend was enough to sour the idea a bit. James Potter, usually stalwart in his confidence, had had it shaken a bit. Would Harry really even want him to celebrate his birthday? He barely knew what Harry liked, much less if he'd want someone his junior parading around trying to be his father, making up for lost time and all that. For all he knew, birthdays for Harry might be a time for remembering how his parents weren't there for him, all those years...
Merlin, who'd died and made him Remus? If he got anymore depressing, he'd have to kick himself.
Shaking his head, he went back to checking.
Breakfast? Check. Big heaping plate of french toast, scrambled eggs with far too much cheese, juice, and sausages.
Obnoxious Birthday Banner? Check. It hung over the entrance to the kitchen, and had been enchanted to change colors every once in a while Predictably, it read, 'Happy Birthday, Harry!'
Birthday Cake? Check. It looked a bit lumpy-- he wasn't as talented at baking as he was at playing chaser-- and small, but you really couldn't go wrong with a pumpkin cake with candles that applauded once they were blown out.
Gift? Also check. It sat at the corner of the table, large and wrapped in shiny red.
Right then. Now all he needed was Harry. The rest was done.
Where: Their kitchen, at too-early-o'clock.
Style: Third, but can switch if you prefer it.
Status: Closed
Notes: Backdated to the 31st!!! Sob I'm late.
James wet his lips, hands on his hips as he gave a look around the kitchen, checking on his final preparations. He was used to throwing parties, of course; in his opinion, frankly, it wasn't a real bloody party unless he'd had a hand in it. Whether he was the bloke to procure the butterbeer or the charlatan to charm the teacups into reciting pickup lines when pretty girls drank from them, he was absolutely, unequivocally qualified at making sure one and all had a good time.
But this... this was a bit different, wasn't it? A little out of his element, and at the same time, closer to home. This was important, and moreover, this was bloody unusual. Throwing a little soiree for his own son, who'd be turning a second year older than him, thank-you-very-much. And while he'd had every intention of also showing up to Harry's later birthday party, the rather stiff shoulder he'd gotten from his blond, pruney friend was enough to sour the idea a bit. James Potter, usually stalwart in his confidence, had had it shaken a bit. Would Harry really even want him to celebrate his birthday? He barely knew what Harry liked, much less if he'd want someone his junior parading around trying to be his father, making up for lost time and all that. For all he knew, birthdays for Harry might be a time for remembering how his parents weren't there for him, all those years...
Merlin, who'd died and made him Remus? If he got anymore depressing, he'd have to kick himself.
Shaking his head, he went back to checking.
Breakfast? Check. Big heaping plate of french toast, scrambled eggs with far too much cheese, juice, and sausages.
Obnoxious Birthday Banner? Check. It hung over the entrance to the kitchen, and had been enchanted to change colors every once in a while Predictably, it read, 'Happy Birthday, Harry!'
Birthday Cake? Check. It looked a bit lumpy-- he wasn't as talented at baking as he was at playing chaser-- and small, but you really couldn't go wrong with a pumpkin cake with candles that applauded once they were blown out.
Gift? Also check. It sat at the corner of the table, large and wrapped in shiny red.
Right then. Now all he needed was Harry. The rest was done.