Harry x Ginny

The years passed in a blur of love, laughter, and change. Ginny's career at The Daily Prophet flourished, her Quidditch columns becoming some of the most anticipated articles in the paper. She traveled for matches, interviewed legendary players, and wrote with the same fire she once played with. There were moments she missed being on the pitch—the thrill of chasing the Quaffle, the rush of victory—but she had found a new way to stay connected to the game she loved.

Harry's career as an Auror kept him busy, but he never let it take away from their family. There were late-night missions, long days of training recruits, and the ever-present weight of responsibility, but Ginny knew he wouldn't trade it for anything. He was doing what he had always wanted—helping make the world safer. And no matter how exhausted he was at the end of the day, he always came home with a tired but genuine smile, pulling her close as if she was the one thing in the world that kept him grounded.

Their home, a warm and inviting house filled with memories, grew louder with time. Three children—James, Albus, and Lily—filled their days with chaos and joy. Ginny found herself juggling Quidditch reports with bedtime stories, match analyses with scraped knees and flying lessons. James was wild and fearless, always getting into trouble but charming his way out of it. Albus was quieter, thoughtful, and curious, clinging to his father's every word. Lily, the youngest, had a spark that reminded Ginny of herself—a fire that refused to be dimmed.

Life was messy, beautiful, and wonderfully unpredictable.

There were hard times too—days when the weight of expectations felt too heavy, when Ginny wondered if she was balancing everything right, when the memories of war still crept into their dreams. Harry had nightmares sometimes, waking in the dead of night with his breathing ragged and his forehead damp with sweat. Ginny never pushed him to talk if he didn't want to. She simply held him, whispered reassurances, and let him find his way back to the present.

Through it all, they had each other.

One evening, as they sat in their garden, watching the golden hues of sunset paint the sky, Ginny sighed in contentment. The air was filled with the distant laughter of their children playing, the warm scent of summer lingering around them.

"We did alright, didn't we?" she murmured, her hand resting over Harry's.

He turned to her, squeezing her fingers. His green eyes—older, wiser, but still so full of love—met hers, and he smiled. "More than alright."

Ginny leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder as the sky darkened above them. They had been through so much—fought battles, built a life, raised a family. Their journey hadn't been perfect—there had been struggles, doubts, and losses. But through it all, they had each other.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.