“Lily.” His voice pulls her from sleep, as it’s done for the last year and a half. “Lily, wake up.”
“Not yet…” She groans, rolling over, and she can practically hear the smirk on his face as he sighs.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, then. Harry, get to work.”
Harry, who, at seven months old, is just starting to crawl places, is set down on the bed and immediately scoots over to Lily’s head. He’s a quick study and a quicker crawler, and before she can open her eyes, he is tugging on her hair.
“Mamamamama”, he says, poking at her cheek, and Lily Potter opens her eyes as the mattress dips slightly, signaling that her other, larger baby has scrambled onto the bed.
“Happy birthday, darling.” James leans in for a kiss and Harry squeals, grabbing his father’s ear just in time to keep him back. A good thing too, because if he’d stayed where he was a second longer, Lily would have knocked him right in the nose with her forehead while trying to get up.
“Please tell me you two didn’t make me breakfast.” James and Harry’s faces contort into the same, terrified expression and Lily is thankful that this is the only expression he’s inherited from James. It makes it easier to find out when they’re messing with her. “You did, didn’t you?”
And this day starts as every other one has for the past six months— with her boys making messes and trying their best to cover them up— but, apparently, her birthday present is that they’re owning up to it.
“Twenty-one’s old.” She murmurs as she sits up, arranging the pillows before pulling Harry into her lap.
“Well, here’s to a hundred.” James says, finally managing to brush his lips across her cheek, and Lily, for once, allows herself to wonder what a hundred will look like.
”