Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort and his servant, Professor Quirrell and stopped them from obtaining the sorcerer's stone when he was 11. He had saved the school from Tom Riddle and the Basilisk that lurked in the Chamber of Secrets. He had saved both himself and his godfather from hundreds of dementors. He defeated Voldemort- the real, true, in the flesh Voldemort- in his fourth year, barely escaping with his life. He rid the school of Umbridge and stopped Voldemort from getting the prophecy (though that was putting fifth year lightly). He helped assist Dumbledore in his work to find horcruxes, and then, in seventh year, he defeated Voldemort, watched his body drop, lifeless and human, to the ground, watched his Death Eaters and his power over the Wizarding World scatter and crumble. But none of those victories made his feel anything close to the amount of joy and happiness he was feeling now. Because Ginny Weasley- Ginny Weasley, Merlin was she beautiful- was laying in his bed next to him, her red hair sprawled across her pillow, her normally fiery features soft and- dare he say it?- vulnerable looking. It was almost impossible to believe that this girl was the shy young thing that couldn't even look at Harry when he first met her; that she had once merely been Ron's sister, and nothing more.
Ginny shifted in her sleep, and she pressed herself further into Harry's chest. He grinned uncontrollably. Harry had always been lucky- he knew his. What else do you call someone who had escaped death eight times, and on one occasion had actually died, but came back to life due to some unholy dark magic. No, Harry knew he was lucky, but he didn't know how he ever became lucky enough to have Ginny Weasley- perfect, perfect Ginny- agree to spend the night with him, he'll, go out with him even. She was perfection, her skin dotted with perfectly imperfect freckles, her long red hair in tangles from flying around on her broom, and, if they were opened her chestnut eyes would have shined with intensity the way the sun shined in the sky. Yes, Ginny was pure perfection, and could settle for anyone.
And yet, she chose him. Not Dean Thomas, not Michael Corner, no, Ginny chose him. She chose Harry. And not for his fame or his money, no. She chose him because she loves him- hard scenes the day hey met all those years ago, when he knew nothing, nothing, of what lied ahead.
Harry smiled once more at Ginny's sleeping form- her pure, perfect, beautiful sleeping self- and bent down, quietly and calmly kissing her forehead. Sure, she might be sleeping, but he put everything into that little forehead kiss: every thought he had about her, about how he knew she was too good for him, about how devastated, how ruined he would be if he ever lost her.
Ginny didn't reply -"and why would she?" he thought. "She's sleeping."- but she did smile, smile that perfectly perfect smile of hers and- even though the didn't know it was possible- snuggled closer to him, so close Harry could swear she would be able to feel his rapidly beating heart and wake up.
But she didn't, so he smiled, and wrapped his arm around her, keeping her safe, keeping her there. Because God knows he wouldn't be sleeping tonight if she wasn't there, wasn't there so he could feel his arm slowly rising and lowering with each of her breaths, if she wasn't there to suck all the cold out of his body, if she wasn't there just to be there. And so he slept. And he thanked his lucky stars that he'd ever heard of the Weasley family, ever heard Ginny's shrill sobs at not being able to go to Hogwarts with her brothers.
A/N: Okay, so this is really short. I mean it's only like six hundred words but I really wanted to get something short and sweet out for hinny, because damn are these two my otp (especially the way blvnk-art draws them. Honestly it's so cute). A new chapter for The New Kid is in the works, but it will probably be a while because I accidentally started it two different times so I have to figure out how to combine/what's better/all that jazz.