There's a new cultivar of rose in honour of each of their children in the garden, and Neville and Ginny love to sit there together as often as they can, even now that it's so quiet.
"That was a lovely day," Ginny said, as Neville handed her a glass of wine before joining her in the swing.
"It certainly was. I can't believe Jocelyn made master in under seven years!"
Ginny set her glass aside. "I can't believe our youngest is settling down into a career."
"You feeling nostalgic?" Neville asked, wrapping an arm around her.
Ginny snuggled against him and pushed off with her foot, setting them to rocking.
"Yeah, that's us, love, an old married couple, content to rock ourselves after a long day."
Ginny cleared her throat. "We're in our fifties. That isn't too old to—you don't feel old, do you?"
"Is something wrong?"
Ginny stopped the swing and turned to him. "Not if you don't feel old."
His eyes widening, Neville replied, "Are you . . . ?"
Ginny smiled, tentatively; Neville seized her up into an embrace and launched to his feet, swinging her around.
"I'm so relieved!" Ginny said, as he set her down. "I thought you might—"
"Ginny," Neville interrupted her, grinning. "I'm never going to be too old to develop a new rose for this garden!"