The added half-ounce at the bottom of Harry Potter's robe pocket, amounting to little in itself, weighed heavily on the back of his mind as he watched Ginny Weasley flying a dozen meters overhead. He threw the quaffle high into the air for her and watched her fly speedily towards it, making the catch - inches before the ball hit the ground. Harry was no keeper, so he wasn't much help with goal-scoring practice. He tried, though, because she really loved to train with him. Atrocious to begin, never having handled the quaffle before, he could hardly throw in a straight line to save his life; but as they'd practiced, he'd improved slowly. This throw, though, was not satisfactory for the Harpies' top Chaser. She lobbed the quaffle straight towards Harry's head, narrowly missing, as he managed to catch it before it made contact with his face.

He rolled his eyes as Ginny turned to fly upwards once more. Harry threw the quaffle as hard as he could, her flaming red hair acting as his target. He knew he'd miss, but it was worth a try. It soared much farther than Harry had expected, and Ginny sped off to catch it before it made contact with the wet grass on which he was standing. Watching her fly so magnificently brought back memories of her during real matches with the Harpies, her figure a green-and-gold blur high above the pitch. He always felt a surge of pride when he watched her fly. He even felt a bit envious; sometimes, he wished he'd chosen to play professionally as well, though he never really regretted spending his adult life as an Auror. He liked to imagine the pride in the eyes of McGonagall or his parents every day while at-

The quaffle collided hard with the side of Harry's face.

He nearly fell from his broom in shock, but Ginny flew over swiftly and propped him up, laughing quite hysterically as she did so. She'd hit him on purpose.

"What the bloody hell, Gin?" He muttered, rubbing his head, giving her a glare and shrugging her supporting arm away from his shoulder in a pouty rage. She hovered away a few feet and stuck her tongue out at him. "That really hurt, you know." He pouted; Ginny merely rolled her eyes.

"I got bored of you daydreaming and not Keeping," she shrugged. "If you weren't over here drooling like a stupid git, I wouldn't have hit you." She swooped down to get the quaffle off the ground from where it fell after making contact with Harry's skull. Flying down beside her quickly, he managed to tackle her off of her broom and onto the ground a few inches below.

"That's an illegal move!" she said, in mock-outrage. "You can't knock me off my broo-"

Her sarcastic accusation was cut short by a quick kiss. She screwed up her freckled face and bitterly returned the kiss to his cheek, where a red mark was sure to bruise later in the day.

As his mind wandered back to the thing in his pocket, Harry's heart began to pound once more. Ginny moved as though to stand, but he touched her arm gently, motioning for her to stay seated on the ground with him.

"My robes are getting dirty, Harry." She rolled her eyes at him, obviously finding his ideas very dumb.

"It's... important," He muttered defensively, a lump growing in his throat with every second. His cheeks flushed and his breathing sped up; he seriously wondered to himself if he'd even be able to speak the next few sentences aloud. He was dimly aware that, though he'd expected her to argue and try to stand again, she instead scooted closer to him and sat silently in the muddy earth.

"Me too, actually. I've got something to say." She reached into her pockets and pulled out some sweets - a couple of boxes of chocolate frogs and a licorice wand. She nibbled on the end of the wand, feeding a bite to Harry; this calmed his nerves, but only slightly.

"Well, I, uh... Would you like to go first?" He asked, slightly annoyed that she was ruining his moment. He was truly relieved when she shook her head and waved her hand, motioning that he should continue first. "I, um... Well, I was really wondering if, maybe..." He was awkwardly reminded of his attempts to get Cho Chang alone in his fourth year to ask her to the Yule Ball. Why did those sorts of memories have to crop up so intrusively? This was real… this was Ginny. Not some Hogwarts crush.

His hand fumbled in his pocket to find the small object inside. When his fingers finally united with it, his shaking hands removed it from his robes, clutching it tight like a Snitch caught after a long match. Harry opened his palm to show Ginny the silver ring in his sweating hand. Her eyes opened wide and put her hand to her mouth in a small, uncharacteristic show of shock, before she reigned in herself, eyeing the ring with silent wonder.

"Would you like to, um, marry me?" he asked her, swallowing the lump with great effort and offering a hopeful smile.

"Merlin's beard, Harry... Did you enchant this yourself?" Her eyes were filled, but she dared not let them spill over as she slipped the ring onto her finger. It was simple, mostly silver, but there was a tiny brown quaffle that circled the band, flying through the golden goal hoop on one side.

"Uh, yeah, Hermione helped... well, she did it, actually. I couldn't get it right..." Harry blushed a deep red color, aware that he was rambling. He was not sure what to do now that the hard part was over. He had been planning this for weeks, but he never considered what to do if she never answered the question. But then she smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him the way she had on his seventeenth birthday.

"Of course I will, you prat. Of course I will!" She sat up straight again, looking through his green eyes with her bright brown ones.

"I'm… glad you asked, actually…." She had a casual, knowing sort of smile, and a hint of a laugh in the creases around her lips.

"Oh. Right," Harry muttered guiltily, having entirely forgotten that she had news, as well. "Erm, what was it that you wanted to say?"

She caught him off-guard with another, softer kiss, and for the first time that evening, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye the hand that now had his silver ring firmly upon it, hovering protectively over her stomach. His eyes widen slowly in recognition, the lump in his throat replaced by a knot in his stomach. Her wide, toothy smile caught him off guard as his soon-to-be wife leaned towards him, her lips pressed close to his ear.

"I'm pregnant, Harry Potter."

All in all, Harry thought, there really had never been a better practice session than this one.