That year, Harry and Neville celebrated their birthdays together. The Leaky Cauldron was packed; every seat, counter, and potted plant was taken. At 11:59 PM, Ron raised his butterbeer, joined by forty others in the crowd. “To the new king of Gryffindor!” He slapped Neville’s shoulder, and the brass crown slipped off the grinning birthday man’s head slightly. The announcement had arrived yesterday: Neville was the new Gryffindor Head of House.
The mechanical dragon on the clock pendulum roared, signaling midnight. Ginny pushed Harry up onto the raised hearth, next to Neville. Dean and Seamus was hoisting a goalpost-sized treacle tart through the crowd as Neville raised a new toast. “And to Harry! Still saving the world!”
Harry protested the statement, but no one heard him over the cheers. Ron handed him a new mug. “Just take it, mate. Honestly, youngest Head Auror in Ministry history. I reckon you’re doomed to make the rest of us look bad.”