firecracker ???

King's Cross was bustling as always, but there was a different sort of magic in the air today. The kind that didn't come from wands, but from something deeper—something quiet and golden, like nostalgia come alive.

The entire family had come to see them off.

And in the center of it all, grinning like the world belonged to him— stood Harry Potter.

Harry James Potter, now in his thirties, leaned casually against a luggage trolley with his arms folded and a crooked grin that hadn't faded with time. Still handsome, still maddening. Black button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow. His scar had long since faded into silence, but the spark in his eyes had never gone quiet.

He still thought of them sometimes — Ron, Hermione, the Burrow, the red warmth of it all.

He loved them, he still did. But life had shifted.

Lyra, Draco, Sirius, and their family had shown him something else — how loyalty could be sharp, not soft. Not sacrificing.

The kind of loyalty that didn't demand deaths to prove itself.

The kind that could call checkmate without losing a single piece.

They hadn't grown up beside him, but they had stood with him through the darkest part of his life. Ironically, it was the Blacks — the so-called dark side — who pulled him into the light.

He hadn't meant to choose. But in the end, this was where he'd landed.

Now, the Black–Malfoy–Potter family stood together like a constellation—polished, pressed, a little too dramatic for their own good.

Lucius, in tailored robes, stood beside Narcissa, both looking timeless and regal as ever. She held Lyra's hand and brushed a strand of hair from her daughter's face.

"You look well," she said.

"It's the lack of war," Lyra replied dryly.

Lucius laughed softly and then gave Harry a long look. "Thank you," he said, simply. No speeches. Just that and the warmth in his eyes.

Harry inclined his head. "Always."

Draco stood beside Pansy— finally, after eight years of pretending they weren't in love. They still bickered constantly but he'd long since stopped pretending he didn't want her beside him for everything. When it had happened, Lyra had been ecstatic with Pansy matching her glee. She was thrilled that one of her best friends was now a sister for life. Draco and Harry had only been mildly concerned they were the ones who had gotten married instead.

Sirius and Regulus stood near the luggage, arguing over Sirius's inability to stay civilised in a public space. Bellatrix hovered beside Lyra, making funny faces at the children. It was chaos. It was routine.

It was family.

"We have ten minutes," Harry said, checking his watch. "That's barely enough time for a heartfelt goodbye and seventeen kisses from your mother."

Lyra rolled her eyes.

James Sirius Black stood beside her, taller than he had any right to be, his white-blond hair tousled like he hadn't combed it on purpose, his tie already half-untucked. He had her posture, Harry's eyes, and all of Sirius Black's ability to cause chaos with a single expression.

"Go on then," Harry muttered. "Run off. Abandon us. Leave your poor parents behind to rot."

"You said you were going to have champagne the moment we left."

"That's not the point."

"I don't want to go," James muttered.

"You say that every year," Lyra replied, adjusting his collar for the fifth time.