"Is that flammable?"
"We're about to find out."
Harry watched Ginny as she giggled in uncontrolled glee. Through everything they'd seen and done, their partnership was the one positive thing to survive – Harry's only purpose now was to be with her. The flames danced as they spiralled from her wand, flowing relentlessly towards another building and consuming it rapidly. They encapsulated Ginny perfectly, he thought, watching her hair stream out behind her, where it reflected the fire just as the deepest hues of the fire matched her hair. The flames, like Ginny, showed an indomitable strength and that vibrant, yet fragile, energy that he adored.
It hurt, being with Ginny here, even as he simultaneously revelled in it. The defeat of Voldemort had come at too great a cost: he knew, deep down, that the old Ginny would never have wanted to become like this, or approved of it for him. But, he supposed, it was too late to change now. And to see Ginny looking as alive as she did today… well, nothing could match that.