31 December 2049

Harry felt the familiar warmth of the Leaky Cauldron wash over him, thawing his cold, rigid body, as he walked slowly into the swarming pub, a small smile already spreading across his face. Perhaps it was the memories of previous New Year's Eves, spent in the very same comfortable room. Perhaps it was knowing that, yet again, he was going to celebrate the start of a New Year with those he loved most. Or perhaps it was simply the relaxed, cozy atmosphere of the pub. He didn't quite know for certain what it was, but in that moment, Harry suddenly and inexplicably felt like the happiest man alive.

A smaller, warmer hand slipped into his. It was evident from the way the smaller hand fit perfectly into Harry's that it belonged there—that the hands were of one mind, one soul, and one heart. Harry beamed down at his wife, and Ginny squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek, leaning against his shoulder, as she lead him past rows and rows of crowded tables.

Together, they made their way towards the smallest, snuggest booth in the far back corner of the room, where a group of nine was already seated, laughing together. Heads rested on shoulders, legs across laps…and with a fierce rush of affection, Harry was drawn towards them, feeling his heart swell larger and larger as their familiar faces grew nearer and nearer…Ron's freckles…Hermione's smile…Neville's grin…Luna's eyes…Hannah…Dean…Lavender…Parvati…Seamus…

"Harry!" Seamus had gotten unsteadily to his feet, arms outstretched. Grinning, he stumbled tipsily towards Harry, a glass of Firewhisky dangling from his left hand, and then pulled Harry into a tight hug, clapping his back. "Happy New Year, mate!"

"Happy New Year, you two!"

"Harry! Ginny!"

"C'mon, Harry, have a drink!"

One by one, all nine of the adults got to their feet, greeting Harry warmly. Laughing and chatting, they led him back towards the little booth, tucking him precisely in between Ron and Hermione.

And so, they sat together, reliving old moments, retelling old jokes, laughing until their sides ached—until they couldn't remember what they were laughing about. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter that they were all seventy, flecks of grey extremely apparent in all of their hair. It didn't matter that they were all parents and grandparents. It didn't matter that they were all battle heroes, renowned across the Wizarding world, each carrying scars of war.

Because tonight, they were young. Tonight, they were together. Tonight, they burned brighter than the sun.