The first time he had seen her fly, he had only been twelve years old, and she was only eleven, but he still remembered. He remembered the way that he had marveled at how well she had swooped past Fred and George, and scored expertly on Ron. Fred and George had both mutually insisted that they hadn't been paying attention and it was beginner's luck, and Ron kept demanding a replay, but Ginny had only grinned and flown to collect the Quaffle.
Back then he couldn't really imagine why he couldn't get the picture of her flying red hair out his head. Or the picture of her grin of triumph as she had thrown her head back and laughed when she had scored.
The first time he had ever thought about her, thought about her as a person, and not just a number in the Weasley family, was when she was lost somewhere down in the Chamber of Secrets, and he knew she might be dead.
He had been scared then. Truly, truly scared. Not just of dying himself, though the basilisk and Tom were both horrifying. He had been scared that she would die. That she was dead.
And when he had dragged her out, crying and fully alive, he could not have been more relieved.
The first time she had ever disappointed him, was when he thought that maybe he would go to the Yule Ball with her. He was fourteen now, and she was thirteen and awkward, but still Ginny. He didn't have a date, and he was sure- positive even that she wouldn't, because she was a third-year.
But she was Ginny Weasley, so of course, she was going with Neville Longbottom. He remembered seeing her in robes that were three sizes too big, and decades old in fashion. Ron had said something about them once belonging to their mum.
He still thought she looked pretty.
The first time he had a real conversation with her was the summer before he went to Hogwarts for his fifth year. They were both staying at old Grimmauld Place, and had been scrubbing down the baseboard in an ancient dining hall that nobody used anymore.
Harry had remembered something he had heard Fred and George talking about earlier. " Ginny-"
She had started slightly, and looked at him, her blue eyes wide, red hair pulled back neatly, a few curls escaping. She didn't blush when she looked at him anymore, and he wondered why. " Yeah?"
" Where did you learn to do a Bat-Bogey Hex?"
Then she had grinned, white teeth against pink lips. " Well, when you have older brothers like Fred and George, it's nice to have something to use against them. I picked it up in a book, and made Hermione help me learn it. She would know tons if she really put her mind to it, but she likes to learn how to do other spells. As if hexes aren't more useful than charms." She rolled her eyes, and Harry had smiled.
The first time she had taken his breath away completely was after that detention, and after the Quidditch game, and she had run up to him, in front of the whole Common Room and snogged him soundly- It had been ruddy amazing. One of the best kisses of his life.
When she had seen the scars on his hand from Umbridge's detentions, and had stroked them for a moment, before bringing his hand up to her face and gently kissing it.
The first time he made her truly laugh, their first trip together, the time when they told Mrs. Weasley they were officially dating, Hogsmeade days, Quidditch games, nights in the Common Room studying-
The time when he had broken her heart. After Dumbledore's funeral when they had been standing together . . . He remembered feeling his own heart wrench when she had told him that it was right that they split. That he had a mission. He could still remember the set look on her face.
The late nights when he stayed up, watching the Maurader's Map with bleary eyes, and clenched fists. Watched her creep around Hogwarts. Watched her in the DA meetings. Watched her in the basements of Hogwarts surrounded by the little dots that said Alecto Carrow and Vincent Crabbe, and knew exactly what was going on. The terror and fear and sick numbness from those nights . . .? He remembered that.
Watching her help younger students evacuate from the castle.
The heart-stopping moment when the green bolt of light from Bellatrix Lestrange's wand nearly killed her.
Their first kiss after the Battle of Hogwarts when she had tears running down her face, and they both had ash and blood on their clothes. They had kissed then, and it had been desperate and needy and fiery and not nearly as romantic as you might think, because they had both lost so, so much. But they hadn't lost each other.
The moment when he had looked up to see the bride in white coming towards him. To see her smirk, and her smile, and hear her laugh on that beautiful, best of days.
The first time he heard James' cry and held him in his arms. Ginny's sigh of relief, as the baby suckled at her breast. It was hard to believe that the mild-mannered, loving woman in the bed had been screaming bloody murder and curses at anybody who stepped near her an hour ago.
The firsts with Albus and Lily.
The first time they were together as a family.
Their relationship was a whole lot of firsts. A whole lot of middles too, just like any relationship, but Harry refused to believe there would ever be a last.
He had believed there would be no last kiss, though there was one. One September afternoon, when she was sick and dying, her fiery spirit not yet gone, and he had gently laid a kiss against her wrinkled lips, and felt her smile beneath him.
He had believed that there would be no last broom ride together, though there was, on a warm August, when they had both landed breathless, both old, both still young at heart. They had given up playing Quidditch together years ago after it became to strenuous, but they always took midnight rides. Before she got sick.
There would be no ending. Though there is one to every great love story. And there's was by far one of the greatest.
He, the Boy Who Lived, famous, and handsome, with those green eyes and black hair and determination. She, the world-famous Chaser, the only Weasley girl, Ginny, with her flaming hair, and her flaming spirit, and her easy laugh and easy scowl. They had been perfect.
They argued and fought and she had hexed him on multiple occasions, but that's what made them perfect. Because every time they fell apart, they fell back together, and that is what love truly is.
James Sirius Potter looked up from his father's pensieve, and smiled a bittersweet smile. It had been a month since his father had died, two since his mother had. He himself was already old by anybody's standards though he doubted he would be gone so fast.
Forty-five with greying hair, and two crazy children, who he always said took after his wife.
He had found the pensieve while he was cleaning out his father's office, still untouched from his auror days. All those memories . . . His mother, young and beautiful, spirited, he had felt his father's love for her in those memories.
But now they were both gone, and it was time to move on. But James' didn't empty the pensieve. Not yet. Instead he gathered them with his wand and deposited them in a glass vial, which he set carefully on the desk.
Their love story wasn't over yet. And it never would be. He would make sure of that.