For the longest time, Harry refused to believe it. After all, this day happened every year. It was as predictable as a Quartz movement, occurring every twelve months - on the dot - at the very end of July. So it shouldn't have come as a surprise to anybody that it was approaching fast, as the Summer drew on. It just didn't make any sense.

After all, they'd never forgotten Harry's birthday before …

But as unthinkable as it was, it appeared that this was precisely what had happened.

It started on Monday morning. Harry was sat reading The Daily Prophet and enjoying his first strong coffee of the day. Hermione was double-checking that their daughter's school bags were properly packed. Sophie had Quidditch practice that day, so she had to have her special dragonhide gloves, while little Celesca had been chosen to help model the school uniform of Ethel Hallow's Witches Preparatory Academy, where she was always one of the best-turned out little witches. Celesca was so excited, so Hermione had charmed some pretty little bows for her to weave into her blonde hair, when the time came for her catwalk début later.

Harry watched it all and marvelled at how fortunate he was. He looked at his beautiful wife, his adorable children - the third of whom burped and babbled away in his high chair as if on cue - even their black-and-white kneazle, Mimi, who was pawing prissily at her little red bowl of milk in the corner of the kitchen. All in all, he had very much won at life in his opinion.

That's when things started to take a turn for the concerning.

Sophie kicked things off, by turning to Harry as she finished her cereal, and addressed her father seriously.

"Now, Daddy, you know how important a day it is on Saturday," she began. "So, I have to ask you a question."

Harry folded his paper and grinned at his eldest girl. What was she going to ask? What sort of present did he want? Would he prefer a new tie or nice pair of cufflinks? What flavour cake should they bake for his party?

But she didn't ask any of those things.

Instead she said, "Can I stay at Alison Longbottom's house? She's asked her Mum and she said it was okay."

Harry frowned at her slightly. "But don't you think that would be a bit inappropriate, considering what day it is? Wouldn't you rather be here with your old Dad?"

"No … should I be?" Sophie queried, puzzled. "What's it got to do with you?"

"Well, I would have thought that was obvious!"

"Really? How has me and Alison buying our first training bras got anything to do with you?"

Harry nearly spat out his mouthful of coffee. "Excuse me? You're doing what?"

"Oh, Daddy, don't be such an old prude," Sophie cooed sympathetically. "It had to happen someday. So Ally and I decided we would do it this Saturday. It's not like there's anything else going on, is there?"

Harry coughed and spluttered and looked at his daughter, who simply fluttered her eyelashes sweetly and innocently back at him. Harry looked to Hermione in a desperate plea for support.

"Er, Mummy, back me up on this will you?" Harry begged. "This sort of thing is far too soon, isn't it?"

"What … boobs and bras?" Hermione replied simply, which caused Celesca to erupt in little giggles at the breakfast table. "Of course not. Sophie is a growing girl. I had my first bra when I was eleven, and our little cherub isn't far off that herself now. I think it's a very grown-up thing to do."

"Grown up! Grown up!" Harry protested lowly. "She's ten! She's just a little girl!"

"And now she needs to start thinking about big girl underwear," Hermione pointed out patiently.

"But … but … bras? Really?"

"Dont worry, Daddy, I don't have any boobies yet … or do I? They might have come today," Celesca began soothingly, only to look down her school blouse to check. "No, I don't. I'll be your bestest daughter now, Daddy. Don't worry about Sophie."

Hermione looked fondly between her youngest girl and her husband, who seemed on the verge of a full emotional collapse.

"I'll always be Daddy's best daughter, because I was here first and I've been doing it longer!" Sophie protested, scowling at her younger sister.

"That just means you've been doing it wrong longer!" Celesca returned smoothly. Then she poked her tongue out at Sophie, as Hermione offset a row with a stern look at both her daughters.

Harry rubbed his chin and the back of his neck, his worry about his forgotten birthday bluntly replaced by this new concern. Blimey, where was the time going? His oldest child was becoming a proto-woman. Harry wanted to stop time for a little bit, just to enjoy her being a child for a few years longer. Maybe Luna knew of something in the Department of Mysteries that could help. He'd have to ask her.

But then Hermione jolted Harry back to the moment, and his previous problem took centre stage again.

"Yes, Soph, you may stay at the Longbottom's," Hermione announced. "Mrs Longbottom and I are going to Sally-Anne's Salon for the day anyway. I need to get my French manicure touched up."

Harry snapped his head to his wife. "You're doing that on Saturday?"

"Yes."

"This Saturday?"

"Yes. Why? Have I forgotten something?"

"I think you might have!" Harry replied in pointed amusement.

Hermione frowned and moved to the calendar on the pinboard near the fridge. She ran her forefinger down across the dates.

"No, I don't think I have, honey. Thursday is Bin Day, Friday is End-of-Year Parent's Evening for Sophie - make sure you aren't working late for that, Harry - then Saturday … nope, nothing happening then."

"It's July the Thirty-First!" Harry cried incredulously.

Hermione scrunched her nose as she thought. Then she lit up and exclaimed, "Oh, of course! How could I have forgotten!?"

"Yes … how could you?" Harry guffawed, relaxing back into his chair.

"I have to take A Brief History of Time back to the library!" Hermione declared. "You know, it wasn't as brief as the title suggests. Thanks for reminding me, sweetheart."

Hermione crossed to Harry and kissed him on the head as he stared at her in disbelief. Before he had time to answer though, Hermione had bundled Sophie and Celesca out of the door, wrestled baby James into his carry-cot and left Harry quite alone wondering what was going on.

Things didn't get much better over the next week. There was no mention of Harry's birthday on Tuesday, and on Wednesday - when Sophie went out to buy a present - it was only a huge box of Chocolate Frogs to give to her favourite teacher at her Parent's Evening. On Thursday, even people at work were talking about their plans for Saturday ... and not one mentioned his birthday as part of them. The England vs Morocco Quidditch match was being played in London, and half the Ministry seemed to be going. Harry, though, couldn't get a ticket.

"Sorry, mate," Neville apologised as Harry went to his office to try and nab a ticket for the match. "I just gave away the last pair to the Malfoys. I cant wait to go, it's going to be some party with all of us there. Anyway, aren't you babysitting on Saturday? Ennie and Hermione are having a spa day, aren't they?"

"Oh yeah," Harry grumbled. "But my Sophie said she's staying with your Ally on Saturday. That means you cant go to the Quidditch."

"Ally and Soph will be fine," Neville beamed. "My Gran will look after them. She's not completely senile just yet!"

Harry frowned at him.

"What is it, mate? You look troubled."

"I am. Do you know what day the thirty-first is?"

"Yeah … it's Saturday."

"And that's it? Nothing else interesting about that date?"

Neville scratched his balding head as he thought. "Nothing springs to mind. But I never was any good at dates … that's why I was so lucky to manage to snag Enola as a wife!"

"Very funny," Harry frowned.

"You look pale, Harry. Why don't you take a half day? Go home and have a lie down. Truly, you don't look well. You seem to be lacking your usual forty-tude."

Harry pinged his eyes to his old friend. "What did you say?"

"I just said you don't look well," Neville replied blandly. "It's not like you. Go on home. I'll go up to your office and tell everyone you've gone."

"Okay. Thanks, Nev. I appreciate that."

"I forty you might," Neville nodded expressionlessly. "Bye, Harry."

And then he swept away. Harry rubbed his aching temples and decided he needed to rest. He was hearing things again. That always meant he wasn't sleeping. He had been working a lot lately, on a special project with Hermione, and he was burning the candle at both ends. Perhaps a few days off was just the tonic.

Especially if even he'd forgotten when his birthday was …

On Saturday, when the un-remember-ed day arrived, Harry woke to a very quiet house. He was immediately concerned, as Celesca was going through a phase of being suspicious about the milkman, who brought them a dozen eggs with their milk delivery every few days. She point-blank refused to believe this was an amicable arrangement, and was led to further dubiousness by events at her last birthday party.

For Hermione had hired an entertainer - Coco the Clown - and part of his act was juggling with eggs. The problem was he was a very clumsy clown, and a very poor juggler, and he dropped an egg, much to the horrified gasps of the assembled party of children. Disaster was averted, however, when the egg bounced. The other children clapped, but Celesca - who had a peculiar relationship with eggs that didn't behave as they were supposed to - was suspicious.

So now, whenever the milkman delivered eggs to the Potter Household, Celesca got up early and snuck downstairs to investigate. Harry was often woken by his daughter's little voice in the kitchen, repeating, "no … no … no …" as she 'tested' every egg for its bounce-ability … and she soon became little 'Celesca Island' at the middle of 'Yolk Lake'…

But today, there was no such smashing sound. In fact, there was no sound at all. Harry was stirred to excitement, wondering if his little family was hiding downstairs and about to give him a surprise birthday breakfast. Yes! That would be it! He'd got them! But he had to play along, like a good Dad. So he dressed quietly, hitched his disappointed face back on and made his way downstairs.

But there was no gaudy banner, no eruption of 'Surprise!' as he entered the kitchen, no pile of presents next to a pile of bacon and sausages (they hadn't had eggs for breakfast in months, obviously). In fact, the house was completely empty.

For the first time, Harry felt mildly concerned. He searched the house for his family, but they weren't in either of Hermione's libraries, nor the living room or the music room. The cellar was empty, the shed bare, even the vast gardens were populated only by pretty plants. There was no sign of either of Harry's pretty girls or his even prettier wife.

Where in the world could they be?

It was as Harry was walking back down the hall that he received his first clue. Little did he know it would be the first of many. He was ambling back towards the kitchen when he saw, right there pinned to the door of the cupboard under the stairs, a letter in heavy parchment … a letter with his name on it, written in emerald green ink!

To Mr H. Potter

C/o his first bedroom (sort of)

Potter Manor

Brecon Valley

South Wales.

Grinning widely, Harry grabbed the letter and tore it open. The letter inside was made of a similarly heavy parchment, but the handwriting was the undoubted neat calligraphy of his playful wife. So Harry read in deep curiosity.

Dear Mr Potter.

I regret to inform you that your beautiful wife and children have been kidnapped by Forty Naughty Fairies, who are threatening to tickle them to death if you cannot solve a very complicated riddle they have posed for you. But - as we know you conquer 'Riddles' for fun - this should be easy for you.

To begin the quest to save your wife, she says you must start at the 'First Date'. Good luck!"

The letter wasn't signed. Harry read it again, trying not to grin too deeply. The First Date, Harry thought. That could only mean one thing.

Harry bounded upstairs to the bedroom he shared with his wife. In his wardrobe, he kept a Memory Chest. He knew Hermione had one too, and inside they stored important tokens of their life and relationship together. It was Harry's idea, and the first thing he put in his was a calendar of the year they'd first started going out. Finding the first date on that would be easy.

"January the first," Harry thought aloud, flicking to the appropriate page. "Obviously the first date … but also when we had our first date!"

Harry traced the date hungrily with his eyes, and remembered how trembly and nervous he'd been that night. But it all worked out perfectly in the end. As Harry looked at the page, he noticed the swirly mist of a memory embedded into the page. Curious, Harry drew his wand and pulled the memory from the calendar. It was Hermione, revolving as if in a music box.

Then she spoke. "Harry - you have to help us! These fairies just love to tickle us! Here is your next clue - if I wanted to make a very big dog sleepy, I'd probably play him Mozart!"

And then the little Hermione vanished as the memory faded. Harry frowned. What on Earth did that mean?

"Big dog? Sleepy? Mozart?" Harry mused. "What does that … oh, hold on? A big dog? Could that be … Fluffy? But what does she mean about Mozart? Oh … of course! Very clever wifey!"

Harry smiled again and reached into a storage trunk on top of the wardrobe. He fished around inside and found one of his first ever presents - a flute whittled for him by Hagrid. He took it out, and gave it a toot, toot.

And a hidden attic door opened in the ceiling.

"My Magic Flute indeed!" Harry chortled.

Then Harry clambered into the attic. The sight he found made him gasp and grin at the same time. A large Devil's Snare was taking up most of the space - probably courtesy of Neville, Harry thought - and wrapped in one of its tendrils was a shining silver key. On a dresser next to it was Hermione's Memory Chest. Harry was filled with a very old memory himself, which broadened his smile as he cast a delicate bluebell flame from his wand.

The plant reared back from the heat and flame, dropping the key, which Harry darted in to catch.

"Still got it!" Harry chuckled to himself, then he opened Hermione's Memory Box.

It was empty, except for a castle from a Wizard's Chess set. A little flag had been erected from its ramparts - half white, half green, with a big red dragon right in the middle of it. Harry smiled fondly at it, guessed at what it meant, then span into an Apparition to the ancient Norman Keep of Cardiff Castle.

Why here? Why was this important? Simple... for it was here seventeen years ago, in this picturesque location, that Harry Potter had asked Hermione Granger to marry him.

Harry almost expected Hermione to be waiting for him, perhaps surrendering on one knee - much as he'd done to her on that wonderful day all those years ago. But all he found was a pumpkin full of sweets. He took one - a sherbet lemon - as he rested on the crumbling battlements to think.

"Okay, so what does this mean?" he pondered, popping the sweet into his mouth. "A pumpkin full of sweets normally means Halloween … hmm, I wonder …"

Harry trotted down the broken staircase, across the old castle to the undercroft, all the while listening to a memory in his head. One where a soon-to-be dead teacher was screaming about a troll … before fainting.

And Harry raced off bravely to save the life of his future wife for the first time.

Well, it was an undercroft rather than a dungeon, but it did have a ladies toilet with an out of order sign on it. Harry chuckled deeply, then pushed the door open.

Inside the bathroom, Harry found a cauldron with two vials of potion next to it. One was black, the other purple. A note - again in Hermione's familiar swirl - read "To go on, to some 'reflection', pick a colour and stir in seven times."

"Very crafty," Harry nodded as he read the note. "Now - which potion did I take? No, wait … it was the fires that were different colours! That was almost a disaster. Now, which one did I go through? It was the black fire … I think. No, of course it was."

Harry took the black potion and tipped it into the cauldron. Then he grabbed the spoon and began to stir. It was hard work, and with each turn the walls of the bathroom began to move as if Harry were turning a giant lever. After seven turns, Harry was faced with seven mirrors, each with a rough engraving over them.

"Ego, Lust, Gluttony, OBHWF, - urgh - Greed, Avarice, Hearts True Desire," Harry read in turn. "I think I'll choose mirror number seven!"

So he did, pushing the mirror like a revolving door and finding himself on the other side.

He was now in a gloomy chamber that didn't seem to go anywhere. On the floor he found one of Celesca's dolls … but it had been altered. Harry barked out a laugh as he saw that the doll had been dressed in Gryffindor robes, adorned with masses of hair and over-sized front teeth. In one hand, a little mirror had been fixed. In the other, was a small note.

"Pipes," Harry read, another memory flaring in his mind. "Ah … okay."

He looked along the walls and found three large waste pipes, each covered by an access hatch. There were clever etchings on them - here a badger, there an eagle, and on the last one - a serpent. Harry shook his head good-naturedly again, before focusing on the serpent and drawing his Parseltongue to the surface.

"Open!" he hissed. The hatch obeyed, and Harry made his way along it.

He was in another dark chamber and as he started to cross it he kicked something on the floor. He had to laugh again. It was a little diary with a hole in it. Harry opened to the first page where, written by Celesca in one of her crayons, were the words,

"Help will always be given to those Potters who ask for it on their birthdays!"

Harry chortled deeply, then called out, "I am Harry Potter, today is my birthday, and I am asking for help to rescue my family from tickling pixies!"

There was a flash of flame above him and Hermione's Phoenix - who was called Solaria and had been Harry's wedding present to her - exploded into the air, swept down, and whisked Harry away in another burst of flame. She deposited him at a dark transport terminal. There, gleaming purple, was the Knight Bus, waiting for him.

"All aboard!" called Teddy Lupin, who was the new conductor. "Hurry, Godfather, I have your ticket right here!"

"And where are we going?" Harry grinned.

"Who can tell?" Teddy winked back.

With a bang they were gone. Ten minutes later and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt outside The Leaky Cauldron. Teddy bowed Harry from the triple-decker and the Knight Bus sped off with another minor explosion. Curious, Harry stepped inside the pub and looked around. It was empty, except for Daphne Greengrass, who ran the place these days.

"Ah, Harry, there you are!" Daphne smiled as Harry walked in. "Your room is all ready for you. Now, you do remember which one, don't you? It isn't safe with all those Dementors and falsely-accused murderers running about everywhere!"

Then it clicked in Harry's brain. The tasks for the Philosopher's Stone … the Chamber of Secrets … this came next in the chronology of his life! So that's what Hermione was doing! He felt a great rush of affection for his wife just then. She was so clever ... it was probably his favourite thing about her. Harry wracked his memory again, straining to remember his room number. Then it came to him.

"Thanks, Daphne, I remember," he grinned at the landlady, before mounting the stairs, questing for the room with the shiny brass number eleven on it.

Once inside room eleven, Harry began the hunt for his next clue. He was loving this game so far. He wondered where Hermione had come up with the idea and what the next clue would be. He tried to remember what had happened in sequence, when he'd first lived these events. Then, as if to jolt his memory, he heard a little me-ow from the bed. He looked over to see Mimi curled up with some kitten treats.

Harry watched her fondly a moment, for she'd been dressed in a fluffy ginger coat. Around her neck was another note, along with a temporary collar bearing the name of her predecessor.

"Aww, poor Crookshanks," Harry grieved, recalling how upset Hermione had been when her old pet had sadly passed away. Harry crossed to his wife's new familiar, and unclipped the note from her collar. "- 'July is lovely weather for an ice cream'-. It certainly is."

Harry licked his lips, and a second later re-materialised outside Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream parlour. The shop was nice and busy, and Harry was sorely tempted by the sight of a banana split at a nearby table, but it was another sight that caught his immediate attention.

For there was old Florean himself, holding Harry's battered old Firebolt.

"This is for you," Florean smiled, handing Harry the racing broom.

"And where am I flying it to?" Harry queried.

"Ah, I believe it is flying you, Mr Potter," Florean quirked.

So Harry flung his leg over the broom and held on tight, as it suddenly took off at speed, quite under its own control. Several minutes of flying later and Harry touched down on the messy, litter-strewn pavement of Grimmauld Place.

"Okay, so this is the Sirius connection," Harry thought aloud, feeling the usual pang at the loss of his Godfather.

He pushed that down and headed up the stairs, to the building that was once the seat of the House of Black, but was long since converted to the British Headquarters of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. A dowdy little elf in a bobble hat and pantaloons bowed Harry through the front door, where he was greeted in the hallway by a sweeping cloud of silver mist, that was distinctly Hermione Potter-shaped. As it twirled and danced towards Harry, it said something to him.

"If only we had more time … if only we had more time …"

Harry grinned back and blew his spectre-wife a kiss, which made her dissipate away. He moved along the hall to the ancient Grandfather clock, which had kept all the time it had ever seen. Harry clicked open the glass covering of the dial and inside found a hippogriff claw and feather, which had been turned into a quill. It sat poised and quivering on a piece of parchment, so Harry drew his wand and set it to motion.

The hippogriff quill began to write something. Harry leaned in to read.

"In this house, my wings will never wither."

"What does that … oh! I get it!" Harry exclaimed, before vaulting up the wide staircase to the attic, where Buckbeak had once lived.

But the attic seemed to be bare, aside from some piles of parchment. Harry was confused, so sat down near the door.

"We saved Buckbeak … rode him together," Harry remembered fondly, his cheeks glowing with lovely emotion. "Then what good thing happened next? Oh! Oh yeah!"

Harry began thumbing energetically through the piles of parchment. On the third pile, about seven sheets down, Harry found what he was looking for.

HOGSMEADE WEEKEND PERMISSION FORM

I, Hermione Jane Potter, do grant Harry Potter my loving permission to visit the village on designated weekends. Should he wish to invite a bookish sort of girl to join him, she definitely would NOT refuse! Xxx

Harry laughed out loud, pocketed the permission slip, and Apparated to the middle of Hogsmeade.

"Okay, now I'm stuck," Harry said to himself. "We never went on a date in school time - more's the pity - so where to start? I must be here for a reason. How did year four start? ... hmm … how did all years start? … or should have started ... maybe that's it!"

So Harry headed to the train station. His luck was in, for sure enough, there on a bench, was an ornamental chalice. Harry looked at it fondly, for on the base Celesca had written - in a wobbly felt-pen scrawl - Try-Wizzerd Cup. Harry thought it insanely cute that his daughter had gotten the spelling wrong. Harry approached the cup, which immediately filled with flames and spat out a single slip of parchment.

Harry jumped up to catch it, reading his own name on one side, just as the cup vocalised it in a deep tone … or, at least, as deep a tone as Sophie could manage. Then Harry heard Hermione's voice, as she said -

"Where's the best place for a few 'rounds' of toast?"

Harry beamed, inwardly and outwardly, before practically sprinting to the grounds of Hogwarts and that well-worn path, which he and his wife had practically made their own over the years.

But where to look next? The Great Lake was, well, great. The next clue could be anywhere. Harry scratched his chin as he thought. Where was special here? The big tree? No, that wasn't so personal to them, the orbital lake path too vague. Then it hit him … there was only one spot Hermione would choose near here, and Harry was at it in a flash.

To the casual onlooker it was an innocuous bush, no different to a dozen others dotted about the shore. But as Harry approached it, he was blessed with two very different memories. The first had him as a thirteen year old, crouching out of sight in an adventure through time. It was here, on this very spot, that he thought he'd seen his father stand, only to realise it was himself ... and that he was able to cast a Patronus powerful enough to scatter a hundred Dementors.

It was also the secluded spot where, on a balmy April night some five years later, he and Hermione would share their first kiss.

It had to be the right spot and, sure enough - hidden beneath the brambles of the bush - was a little Easter egg, in golden foil wrapping. Harry chuckled heartily as he unwrapped it and took the two halves of the egg apart.

"This had better not be full of crumbs or something," Harry spoke crossly. "Or you and I, wifey, will have a serious falling out!"

But Hermione Potter was not a crass and thoughtless wife. Inside the egg, Harry found a tiny rune dictionary. Perplexed, he cast a spell to re-size the book and opened the front page.

"This is the best tool to learn a CERTAIN spell ... especially when threatened by a dragon!"

Harry laughed again and pointed his wand into the air with no direction in mind. "Accio Next Clue!"

Sure enough, something flew at him from beyond the trees. It was a small blue robe, that probably came from another of Celesca's dolls. Harry thought they'd been very pliant to have been sequestered for this game … normally they kicked your ankles if you even tried to move them around from their usual homes in Celesca's bedroom!

The little dress had the next note pinned to it. "Yule never guess where to look next!"

"Hmm ... yule never guess where to look next?" Harry mused. "What does that mean? And the dress … ah, I think I know! I'm getting good at this! You should have worked harder, girls!"

Harry hurried up to the castle itself. It should have been closed up, but the huge front doors were open and waiting for him. Harry moved inside, looking first at the main staircase - and affording himself a sweet moment to remember seeing Hermione looking so pretty there, as she had done all those years ago - before heading into the Great Hall itself.

Waiting just inside the doors, in identical party gowns, were Padma and Parvati Hirani. Parvati stepped forward and smiled warmly at Harry.

"Good afternoon, Harry," she beamed. "Congratulations."

"Finally! Someone remembered!" Harry cried in glee.

Then Padma stepped close to her sister. "Yes, congratulations … on setting up the first Squib-only Quidditch team. Isn't it a-maze-ing how Quidditch can bring people together? Bye, Harry."

Then Padma and Parvati skipped past him and away, ignoring all his calls for them to stop.

"This is getting weird," Harry grumbled. "What now? Okay, lets think. I've found the egg, had the Yule Ball, then it was … the maze! A-maze-ing. Clever girl. Off we go again then!"

Harry happily span around and headed out of the castle and back towards the Quidditch pitch. As he expected, it had been turned into a little labyrinth. Luckily the walls of it were just low enough for Harry to see over. Keen to play his part, though, Harry used his wand to cast the four-point spell, and a directional charm, and - even though it took over an hour this way - Harry eventually found his way to the middle of the maze.

There was a little stone plinth there with a Gryffindor Prefects badge on top. Harry picked up the badge and looked at it, seeing that it had been altered slightly. The large golden 'P' was still there, but instead of the other little letters spelling the word 'prefect' they now spelled 'Potter'. Under that there was a flashing phrase that urged Harry to, 'Press Me'.

So he did … and he couldn't stop the smile that crept onto his face for the next clue.

For the badge had changed to something that Harry had almost forgotten. Instead of reading Potter, it now said - flashing in much the same way as another badge once had -, "Do you remember the first time when a Potter REALLY stunk?"

Harry felt his heart thud pleasantly at the memory. He pointed his wand at the badge, and muttered 'Portus'. A moment later and he was whirled away, re-materialising at a small picnic spot in Abingdon, near Oxford. There was a little picnic bench here, under some towering beech trees, which afforded a lovely view down a wide canal in both directions. It was a pretty spot, but it wasn't the sort of place anyone would think of as monumental or important.

But to Harry Potter it was … for it was here, on this spot, a stone's throw from Hermione's childhood home, that Harry changed their firstborn's dirty nappy for the very first time.

And it really did stink!

Harry laughed deeply at the memory, and the laugh rumbled on as he found, underneath the bench, an unopened nappy waiting for him. Written in yet more felt pen on the cover were the words -

"Are you ready to do that for another one?"

Hermione's words echoed in Harry's mind, as fresh as the day she told him. A second later and Harry was standing on the very spot, on the verandah of their Summer Cabin in Rhossili Bay on the Gower Peninsula. He remembered the moment vividly - he had been flicking through a copy of Witch Weekly, that had an article on baby-changing techniques, when Hermione had pressed his hand to her belly and asked the family-famous question.

Harry Potter didn't cry very often … but he had that night.

He wasn't going to now, though. There must be another clue around here somewhere. For half an hour he hunted around, but there were so many possible places to look, so many great memories that had been made here. Harry tried to pick out one, but where to start?

"Right, we've gone through most of the big, nice events of my life," Harry thought. "So, lets go through what's happened so far."

He started ticking them off on his fingers. Without realising he'd been doing it, Harry noticed that he was counting them. He started again and when he reached his current spot he had counted thirty clues so far. The sun was beginning to drop on the horizon now, and on the wide beach down below a few groups of revellers had lit fires for barbecues. Harry could smell the wafting aroma of slightly burnt sausages, and his eyes fell hungrily on the grill on his own verandah.

"Oh, yeah!" Harry cried out, leaping up. He suddenly remembered his thirtieth birthday, where Neville had told him Enola was pregnant, not a month after Harry and Hermione had announced they were expecting their first baby. They had all come to the Gower to celebrate, and Neville almost set the cabin on fire when he forgot about his burning sausages.

Harry whooped as he opened the grill and found another note inside.

"You are getting very warm now, Harry. Thirty of the Naughty Fairies have run away. There are only 'tent-to-go'."

Harry grinned as he thought he understood, and quickly turned into his latest Apparition. This time he arrived at a private spot in the Forest of Dean, where Harry and Hermione regularly brought their girls for long weekends away. Right there, billowing in the breeze, was their magically-modified tent, red and purple and gold in colour.

Harry hurried inside, thinking maybe his party would be in there. But, alas, it was empty. It looked as if somewhere had been there recently, though, as the large table in the middle was laid out with cards, as if someone had been playing poker. Harry moved close and observed the hands on display, certain they must be the next clue.

"A full house, three of a kind, a king, a queen and three aces?" Harry puzzled as he tried to work it out. And then it came to him. "Hermione must be the queen, and me the king, with the aces as our kids, which also explains the three-of-a-kind. And Hermione always says that since James we have a full set, or ... a full house. Oh … I see ... James!"

Harry's eyes twinkled and his face flushed with warmth as another memory came to his mind … of the night when he and Hermione conceived their son. It had happened right here. Harry hurried over to the king-sized bed in the Parent's Pod at the back of the tent. Harry looked at the bed, wondering where the clue was. Then he thought he got it.

For the pillow wasn't the normal one that should have been there. It was a fluffy child's pillow with a niffler-shaped badge sewn into it. Harry grinned as he looked at it, for this was Sophie's special Money Pillow, one she'd had since she was very little. She called it the Money Pillow because it was the only one that turned her baby teeth into Galleons when she put them under it.

Harry felt a bit guilty as he thought that. For it was his fault that the only time his daughter had failed to turn her fallen-out teeth into money had been when she tried it at Hermione's parent's house - and Harry and Hermione had gotten a little tipsy and did husband-and-wife things - and the tooth was completely forgotten about.

Sophie wasn't too upset, though, as she found two Galleons waiting under her Money Pillow when she returned home the next day.

Harry wondered if he'd have the same sort of luck, and lifted up the pillow. It really was his lucky day, as there, on the back of an old wedding invitation, Celesca had scribbled the latest clue.

"In the place where Mummy and Daddy were altar-ed, you can see the stars."

Harry ran his thumb fondly over his daughter's barely legible scrawl a moment, before leaving the tent, and Apparating away once more. And in the place he arrived now, Harry's heart was positively alive with energy.

For he was standing next to a vast construction - concentric circles of huge silver-blue standing stones, all complete with equally massive lintels. And at the centre was a monolith that was also a ceremonial altar. It might have been what Stonehenge looked like at the time of its inception. Aligned to the stars, open to the magic of the world, sacred to the Goddess Luna, this was the Temple of the Moon.

And it was here that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had become husband and wife.

Harry felt his heart thudding around his chest as he made his way down the aisle once again, fervent with all the same passion he'd felt on that amazing day. He could hear the voices, the cheers, see his beautiful bride standing ready for him. It might have happened yesterday in his mind.

But it was empty now, except for a replica of their wedding cake on the plinth. A slice had been cut for him, so he took a bite.

"Pumpkin sponge … my favourite," Harry swooned as he enjoyed the flavour of the sweet cake in his mouth.

Then he looked down. In a small box next to the cake was a set of golden cufflinks, so joined together to look like interlocked wedding rings. Harry reached for them, reasonably certain about what was going to happen … for the same thing had happened not long after he and Hermione had swapped those fateful 'I do's' about fifteen years ago…

So Harry picked up the cufflinks … which became a Portkey … and took him right to …

His own front door again.

"SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Fireworks went off, party poppers banged, people cheered and whooped and yelled all sorts of Happy Birthday wishes Harry's way. Half the wizarding world seemed to be in his own gardens tonight, which had been decorated with lights and banners, balloons and real fairies. The Longbottoms were there, and Teddy Lupin, and Padma and Parvati waved enthusiastically at him. But Harry only had eyes for a small group of people who were hurrying up to greet him.

"Happy birthday, Daddy!" Celesca squeaked, clutching hard to Harry's thigh as he met them.

"Happy birthday!" cried Sophie, leaning on tip-toe to kiss Harry's cheek, before adding with a laugh, "I wasn't really buying bras, Daddy, I hope you know that!"

Then, finally, Hermione came up and kissed Harry tenderly on the lips, which drew yet more cheers from the crowd. "Happy birthday, honey. How did you like the chase?"

"Chasing you was always worth it!" Harry grinned back. "I'll get you back for that on your birthday, you know!"

"Oh, you really wont!" Hermione laughed confidently. "Come on, the world and his dog is waiting to wish you a happy birthday. Besides, it's not every day you turn forty. Everyone's waiting to see my old man."

"Oi … less of the old!"

Hermione laughed, their children laughed, and Harry finally got his own party started.