Nineteen Years Later.

The cold night’s air begins to increase in strength as he forces his tall form against it, the clicking of his heels against the cobbled street echo in the stiffening silence. He continues to the end of the street, the sound of his heart pulsing violently in his ears, increasing as he draws closer to his destination. Turning the corner, he spots it, the old war memorial shifting magnificently in shape and size. His speed begins to increase until it can only be called a sprint, and stops dead before the figures.

“Hello, again.” His whisper echoes into the darkness around him, his glistening green eyes staring up at the statues towering over him. He reaches out his right hand and brushes it against the cold metal of his mothers, a smile playing on his increasingly purple lips. He takes in every detail, as he had done every year since the end of his turmoil.

Footsteps from behind him made him jump a little, but his gaze never left the statue. He was used to doing this alone, but not this time. Three repetitive gasps echo from behind him, and the forms of three children stare vulnerably up at the statue, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Is this it?” A nervously high-pitched whisper escapes from the lips of the youngest child, her flame red hair slightly brushing against her shoulders as it bounces along with each of her steps as she edges slightly closer to the figures.

“Of course it is! Why else would we be standing here?” Replies the oldest, his face uncannily mirroring that of his fathers.

“James, give it a rest.” A tall, red-headed figure emerged swiftly from the shadows, her hand outstretched towards that of her husbands. She lovingly cups her hand within his, their fingers intertwining automatically.

“Harry?” She squeezes his hand gently, and he turns to her. A loving smile spreads across his face as droplets of salty liquid begins to fall from his closed eyelids, and he turns to his right, his eyes lowering to the mid-height child beside him. He bends to the ground, his left knee resting upon the cold, hard floor.

“Is that really them?” Albus whispers into the ear of his smiling father. Harry nods and watches as Albus’ eyes widen with fascination. He takes a few steps forward, his small frame quivering as he concentrates more on the statue than his stepping. His eyes roll over the gold metal of the figures, and he takes in the main features; the messy golden hair of his grandfather, the soft, flowing hair of his grandmother, and finally, the peaceful baby within their arms.

He takes another step forward, and lifts his hand towards the statue, mimicking the actions of his father. He brushes his fingers against the metal, and pulls away. Shoving his hand back into his pocket, he pulls out a bunch of red roses, and places them at the foot of the statue. Turning, he smiles to his parents, and falls to the floor, pulling his jacket so to sit on it.

His siblings copy him, Lily settling down between her two brothers, and they watch. Not for anything in particular, just for the sake of watching.

“Accio, blanket.” Ginny’s voice echoes through the night, and a light whoosh is heard in the distance. A piece of fabric edges sharply around the corner of the nearby house, landing spectacularly on the three children and wrapping them tightly.

“Let’s go.” Harry whispers, pulling Ginny away from the statue, and towards a large gate. They settle themselves on a nearby bench, Harry’s arms wrapping tightly around Ginny’s waist.

“See, I told you this was a good idea.” She teased, her head falling onto Harry’s shoulder as he sighed, his chest heaving sporadically with every motion.

“Okay, you win.” Harry sighs, and they both laugh, the sound warming the air around them.

“I miss them, Ginny.” He whispers reluctantly. “All of them. Mum. Dad. Fred. Sirius. They died, because of me.” Ginny pulled him protectively, forcing him to look at her.

“It was not your fault. It was never your fault.” Her whispers grew in volume and confidence as Harry watched her form straighten. “They died with the bravery, the courage, with the decency that Voldemort would never have had. They died for us.”

An echo of voices from the bottom of the street had them all jumping from their spots, Lily running wildly and colliding with Ginny’s leg. The voices grew louder, and the words become coherent in the night.

“What do you think you are doing?” Spoke a strong voice. “I expect this behaviour from Hugo, but not you, no, you’re supposed to be the adult, Ronald, start acting like it!” A bushy haired female spun around the corner of the nearest house, almost colliding head first with...

“Ginny!” She squealed, pulling her close for a hug. “Harry!” She continued, moving from one person to the next. Close behind her came Rose, her tallish frame wandering towards James, pulling a pack of Wizard Cards from her pocket. Albus followed them to the bench. Around the corner came Hugo, a scared look on his face as Ron chased him around the empty street. Lily followed them, squealing excitedly every time Ron decided to change direction.

“Happy anniversary,” Hermione chirped, pulling a card from the messenger bag strapped to her side.

“Thank you,” smiled Ginny, her cheeks visibly glowing red, even beneath the dark sky. Hermione wandered off towards Rose, and left Harry and Ginny to open the card.

In many years to come, may hope and happiness surround you, and love guide your way. May peace become the prospect of your lives, and the past just fade away. Remember all your loved ones, and forget about the bad. Hold close the things most dear to you, and remember, don’t be sad.

“Aww,” Ginny smiles, her eyes darting back across the words.

“Whoever taught her poetry needs shooting.” Laughs Harry, his eyes watching as his friends and family gather around him.

“This really is it, isn’t it?” He sighs, pulling Ginny closer to him, as smiles appear on the faces around them. “All is well.”