A/N: So, this is basically Hinny angst with a generous dose of Romione fluff. It's five chapters total and I hope you enjoy it! Poor Harry can never catch a break, can he?

Chapter 1

The world has certainly tipped on its axis, or I've entered some sort of alternate universe, or perhaps everything that happened at Hogwarts two months ago has just had that drastic a butterfly effect on the world, but I don't understand anything anymore. For the first time in history, Ron and Hermione - Ron and Hermione - are the uncomplicated ones, and Ginny and I are a mess. Actually, I don't think there is a Ginny and I anymore. Even when I broke up with her last year, it wasn't because I didn't love her, it was because I did. And she kissed me in her room last year, but maybe that was only because she knew I was about to embark on a mission for my death.

But I'm still alive, and she's the only one who's not impressed. And after so many years of people being amazed at my very existence, and hearing things like "you look like your father but you have your mother's eyes" (which is just painful to hear because it reminds me that I never really knew them), all I ever wanted was for people to leave me the hell alone. But that didn't apply to Ginny.

Still, I got out of the Burrow as fast as I could. Grimmauld Place was a wreck, but I spent my days fixing it up, throwing away the heads of dead house-elves, setting the Black family tapestry ablaze, that sort of thing. Once Ron returned from his sojourn to Australia with Hermione, he joined me in living here. He claims it's because he wants his privacy with Hermione, but I'm sure it's also because his parents, as well-intended and big-hearted as they are, were positively smothering him.

In any case, it's nice not living alone. Since we're both in training to become Aurors at the Ministry, it's like being at Hogwarts all over again. I eat all my meals with him, we attend classes together, we sit around and study in the evenings. And we actually do study now, and Hermione still insists on helping us even though she's not training to be an Auror.

Well, really she just helps Ron, which is fine because her method, while it delivers results, is a bit unconventional and truly only properly suited to Ron anyway. She's got his coursebook in her lap and right now she's quizzing him on the recipes for certain potions, and every time he gets an answer right she kisses him. It's incredibly effective. If she'd done this at Hogwarts, I'm sure his grades would have been as good as hers.

"Veritaserum," she states in her best prefect voice. "Give me the three most crucial ingredients."

They're sitting so closely on the sofa that I'm certain he can just cheat and read the answers, but then I remember that she charms the book so only she can read it when they do this.

"One ounce of Mandrake leaves," he says, never breaking eye contact. "Three ounces of powdered arrowroot, and twelve dead brown recluse spiders."

"Correct," she smiles, leaning over to kiss him.

"Wait, that was technically three answers, don't I get two more?"

I do my best to bury my face in my own coursebook as he puts a hand on her face and kisses her twice more.

"How long does it need to brew?"

"Three weeks, five days, and… seven hours," Ron ventures.

"Correct." She kisses him again. "And which ingredient is added first?"

"The Mandrake leaves," he recites, "one by one, waiting for each to dissolve before adding the next."

"Very good, Ron," says Hermione, genuinely impressed. She slides her legs over his lap and brings her lips to his again. "So then, what's two plus two?"

"What? Four," he chuckles. She kisses him, her hand twisting in the collar of his shirt.

"What's my middle name?"

"Jean." This time when they kiss, there's an actual string of spit that lingers between them as they separate. They are my best friends and the closest thing I have to a family, but they are disgusting sometimes.

"And what color is the sky?"

"We live in London, it's grey."

The book, forgotten, tumbles to the floor as they move to kiss again. Part of me wants to sarcastically interject that none of this will be on our exam on Monday, but they're snogging in earnest now. With a heavy groan, I rise from my armchair and plod toward the stairs. As much as they drove me up the wall with their will-they, won't-they thing, and as much as I'm happy for them, I think I'm glad they weren't officially together until now. I can't imagine having dealt with this in the Gryffindor common room.

My whole life, I decide as I walk into my bedroom, is one big lesson in being careful what you wish for. I was desperate for a family, and when I finally learned I had a godfather, I had about two years to appreciate the meager time I could spend with him before he was murdered in front of me. I wanted the world to just get over me already, and Ginny did just that. I wanted Ron and Hermione to get their shit together, so they kissed for the first time in the midst of an active battle. And they basically haven't stopped kissing since.

I lie in bed, book propped open on my stomach, and attempt to work. Unfortunately, I lack the very unique motivation that Ron has, though I desperately wish I did. Oh, not with Hermione; I wasn't lying to Ron when I said that I love her like a sister. I just miss Ginny. I miss playing Quidditch with her, I miss the walks we used to take around Hogwarts, I miss taking the mickey out of Ron with her, I just miss her. I'm just pathetic.

Ron's pathetic too, so at least I'm not alone in being a lovesick sap. The way he looks at Hermione, it's like he thinks she hung the moon. But he gets to act on it, he has it reciprocated, he's allowed to tell her he loves her and kiss her and be happy. I just have to camp out here, in my dead godfather's room, and study potions and antidotes and defensive spells, and do my best not to think about Ginny. A fool's errand, because once you tell yourself not to think about something, you undoubtedly think about it more.

So since nobody's willing to kiss me every time I answer a question correctly while studying, I reward myself with Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. These were fun when I was eleven, but not so much on the edge of eighteen. Now they're just annoying, and sticky, and each one is a gamble and when I bite into an onion-flavored one, I decide to head into the kitchen in search of real sustenance. To get to the kitchen, however, I have to go past the sitting room.

"Oh, Ron, right there," comes Hermione's breathy moan, though thanks to the positioning of the sofa, I see nothing. "Oh, God, yes."

Rolling my eyes so hard that it strains them, I stomp back up the stairs, my appetite effectively ruined. Fine, I think in annoyance. Shag on the furniture. Shag on the furniture that I so painstakingly cleaned in the early weeks following the war and Ginny's rejection and their departure to Australia to fetch Hermione's parents. Just take all my hard work and exchange bodily fluids upon it, that's brilliant. Although, I must admit that Sirius would be thrilled to have a blood traitor and a Muggleborn defiling his family's home. Closing the door to my room, I cast Muffliato on myself in case they decide to get really loud and turn back to my coursebook.

I must fall asleep at some point though, because I have no idea how much time has passed when my bedroom door swings open. Ron's standing there, and his mouth is moving, but I realize I'm still under a muffling charm and grab my wand to undo the spell.

"Sorry, what?" I say, interrupting his stream of words.

"Oh, erm, Hermione and I were getting hungry, so we thought we'd take a break from studying and get something to eat, do you want to go with us?"

"You didn't get enough of a study break already?" I ask, deadpan and meeting his gaze.

Ron's face turns pink and his eyes dart around the room as though he's suddenly rendered very shy by my observation. "So do you want to go with us, or…?"

"Sure," I say, standing up and assessing my attire. My shirt is a bit wrinkled, but I doubt we're going to a five-star restaurant. "You at least cleaned the sofa, right?"

"Yeah, Hermione did a spell," he says, turning even redder. "Sorry."

He doesn't have to be sorry, I feel like telling him as we walk down the stairs. Of course I'd prefer they didn't shag in the middle of the sitting room without bothering to use magic to hide themselves, but he shouldn't feel guilty about wanting to be close to her like that. I know it's not just physical, I know they're in love. Just because my love life has gone down the toilet doesn't mean I begrudge them their happiness.

An hour later, we're all sitting in a nearby Muggle pub, picking at the remains of our fish and chips and drinking cider. It helps to get out of the house and go somewhere that isn't the Ministry or Diagon Alley, not least because I'm constantly photographed everywhere I go. Rita Skeeter still loves speculating about my personal life, and she currently believes that Ron, Hermione and I are embroiled in an acrimonious love triangle. I don't think she believes it's possible for a man and a woman to just be friends.

"So have you talked to Ginny recently?" asks Hermione in a casual, conversational tone. Great. We were all having a nice time and then she goes and brings up the one person I don't want to talk about.

"When exactly would I have talked to her?" I fire back a bit more forcefully than planned. "She doesn't really want to talk to me anyway."

"I know you miss her, Harry."

"Let's not talk about this," I request. "I'm sure Ron doesn't want to hear about it."

"I don't mind," he offers up. "You know I've never had a problem with it, not that my opinion would have mattered to you lot anyway."

His opinion actually had mattered to me quite a bit during sixth year, paralyzing me with the fear of my best mate punching me in the nose. But then, right around the time Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup and Ginny came sprinting across the common room, it stopped mattering. All that mattered was her, that look in her eyes, her hair streaming out behind her and the overwhelming sense that I would regret it forever if I didn't go for it. And even if Ron had hurled the trophy at my head, it would have been worth it.

"Tomorrow's Sunday dinner at the Burrow," Hermione says. "You should join us."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I tell her. I haven't seen Ginny in weeks, and now they expect me to sit down to dinner with her family like everything's normal? Has Hermione finally lost it?

"No, mate, you should come," says Ron around a sip of cider. "I bet my parents would like seeing you."

Not that he means it to be, but it's a total guilt trip. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have done so much for me over the years that all the gold in my vault at Gringotts couldn't begin to repay them. And what have I done? Broken their daughter's heart? Brought their son with me on a death mission? Been the catalyst for a battle that resulted in the death of one of their other sons? No, I don't think I deserve to eat Molly Weasley's cooking.

"I'll think about it," I finally say, even though I know I'm not going. Maybe I'll eat a Puking Pastille to get out of it. Maybe I'll fall down the stairs and break a limb, or just put on my Invisibility Cloak and hide until they give up and leave without me.

Nah, I can't do that. They'd both see right through it (not the Cloak, obviously, just the feeble attempts at avoidance). I just don't think I can go back there quite yet.

Hermione has been spending most weekend nights here, so when we get back from the pub, Ron pulls her wordlessly upstairs to his room. I hurry to my own room just long enough to snag my coursebook before returning to the kitchen to make tea. It's easier to study in here, anyway. The wooden chairs at the table make me want to focus rather than take a nap. For a few hours, anyway, I manage to do some good, solid revision. It turns out that it's much easier to focus on schoolwork when there isn't the threat of the darkest wizard in existence hanging over me every second.

At approximately eleven at night, the brightest witch of her age comes strolling into the kitchen wearing her boyfriend's bathrobe. The garment utterly dwarfs her, the sleeves hanging down over her hands.

"Harry!" she exclaims, jumping about a foot when she sees me. "I didn't know you were down here."

"Yeah, just me, don't worry."

Fetching a glass from the cupboard, Hermione fills it with water from the sink. She uses one hand to hold the neck of the robe together as she turns to face me.

"I'm really sorry about earlier," she starts in with a pained expression, "I know that must be so awkward-"

"Don't be," I say. "It's no big deal."

"I just feel bad, I mean, we should probably exercise a bit more self-control." Well, probably, I mentally agree, though I know she's not just talking about their little afternoon romp in the sitting room. She's talking about the little things, the hand-holding, the kissing in reward for studying game, the times when she falls asleep with her head in his lap. And she shouldn't feel bad about wanting to be affectionate with him. They spent years holding back from one another, I don't want them doing it now because of me.

"No, it's fine," I tell her. "You're my best friends, I want you to be happy. And I mean, I remember what it's like to… to be all blissed out on someone like that."

"Oh, Harry, come to dinner tomorrow!" Hermione cries, flinging herself into the chair across from me. "What's the worst that happens?"

"The worst? That she completely ignores me." I'd rather she use her signature Bat-Bogey Hex, or call me a prat and punch me in the bollocks, because then I would at least know she still cares. Indifference would be the worst thing.

"Well, logically, I don't think that will happen, Ginny's got a bit of a temper."

"Thanks. That makes me feel loads better."

"I know she misses you, she's just hurt right now." Hermione gives a little tug on the neck of her/Ron's robe, obviously self-conscious about her attire.

"Shouldn't you get back upstairs? Won't he wonder where you are?"

"No, he's asleep," she dismisses that notion. "Maybe if you just talk to her-"

"I have!" I shoot back. "Of course I have, but she doesn't want to hear it, she keeps telling me that I think everything should happen on my terms and I'm a selfish arsehole. She thinks I chucked her because I got bored or something-"

"No, she doesn't," Hermione asserts confidently. "She knows why you did it, but it's not that easy to dive into something with someone unless you know they won't hurt you again." She's obviously speaking from experience. "For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing."

"See, I don't know if I did," I confess. "I don't know what I was thinking. Even if she wasn't my girlfriend, she was still part of the biggest blood traitor family around, and I mean, for all we knew, Snape could have gone to Voldemort at any time and told him about me and Ginny, he was our teacher all year, I just…" Dropping my head in my hands, I grab two fistfuls of my already-messy hair. "I was just trying to protect her, but I fucked it all up. Did you know she was the last thing I thought about when I went to go sacrifice myself? And that I spent all last year watching her dot on the Marauder's Map?"

"Harry," Hermione says gently, placing a hand on my arm so that I release my hair. "You should tell her all of this, but more than that… you have to show her."

"Show her."

"Yes," insists Hermione. "You know, Ron and I, we were right on the verge of something… but then he left. And it took me a long time to trust him again - I mean, really trust him not to do anything like that ever again, and he must have apologized to me about a thousand times but that wasn't what did it."

I can tell she doesn't like talking about this, and neither do I. Our months on the run were rarely, if ever, enjoyable, but the weeks Ron was gone - five or so, they all bled together - were hands down the worst. Hermione and I were miserable, and we reminded each other of Ron so we only interacted when absolutely necessary. But she's discussing it now, so that means that it matters.

"So what did he do?"

"Well, it wasn't one thing, it was everything," she says. "Just the things he did day in and day out, little things that he did not expecting anything in return… one day I realized that he was always going to be there for me and I didn't have to be afraid anymore."

"So…" I haven't had a heart-to-heart with Hermione like this possibly ever. "So you're saying Ginny's afraid?"

"Yes! She loves you - oh, don't look at me like that, she does - and she needs to know you're not going anywhere. And you can show her that you're not, and you can start by going to dinner tomorrow." Hermione nods decisively like she knows she has just proven her point.

"I said I would think about it."

"But you were lying." Finishing off her glass of water, she stands on bare feet. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

"You started this conversation," I remind her, smiling in spite of myself.

"Yes, well, you needed to hear it."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

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