The Only Real Thing In The World: HINNY ONE SHOTS

You left me

It had been three weeks since the Battle. Three weeks since the death of Tom Riddle, the second most powerful wizard in the world and the least human. Three weeks since so many had laid down their lives to defend Hogwarts and protect The Boy Who Lived, it's Savior. Three weeks since Harry Potter had come out of hiding and reunited with the family he held dear.

Well… that's where things got tricky. Let's rewind a bit, shall we?

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had welcomed him like a son, that was no surprise. Even when Harry protested that he was responsible for their true flesh and blood's death, every member of the Weasley clan had shouted him down. Even Percy. Even George.

Fred's body had been transfigured into a firework, a very complex bit of magic that all six of the remaining siblings took part in. When it was shot into the sky, it spelled out, "May you always have a laugh in your heart." They toasted to his rich, if short, life, and told stories of his antics rather than mourn his tragic passing. Everyone agreed it was how he'd have wanted it.

Harry'd been invited (more like demanded) to return to the Burrow after the memorial service was held for the 50-odd people who'd fallen at Hogwarts and all the rest who had given their lives so Voldemort could be brought down. Everyone, family members, strangers, wished to grieve with the Chosen One, the Savior. He'd found each name read aloud added to his immense sorrow, and he'd given his sympathies to anyone who asked.

He'd insisted Snape (Professor Snape, his internal voice chimed) be given an honorable mention and the portrait he rightfully deserved, citing a last act of valor that contributed heavily to the end of the War. Though many had been skeptical, no one challenged him.

Kingsley, acting Minister, had visited them several times with news and, shockingly enough, to ask for advice. Harry had once again been adamant, telling Kingsley that there needed to be a major overhaul of the Ministry. None of those mindless drones simply obeying orders, there needed to be morality and backbone instilled in each and every one of them. Voldemort was not the first Dark wizard and he wouldn't be the last. Constant vigilance.

There was a fleet of wizards and goblins and house elves undertaking the massive reconstruction of Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall had not allowed the trio to participate. She'd stated, "I expect the three of you have quite a lot to be getting on with. Your lives, for instance." Ron, it seemed, had taken her advice deeply to heart, as he'd finally asked Hermione to be his girlfriend which, to no one's surprise but his own, she said yes to most vehemently. The two had happily bid their friends and family goodbye and promptly hopped a portkey to Australia to find Hermione's parents.

Yes, all was well it seemed. Except…

Harry hadn't spoken to Ginny. Not for three whole weeks. Practically not for a whole year.

Though it could not be said he wasn't trying. He'd been attempting to corner her nearly every day. She was avoiding him, and doing a damn good job of it too. After he had come close a couple of times, she fell into a nearly unbreakable pattern. Every morning after breakfast, Ginny would excuse herself and disappear. Then, right before dinner, she would arrive as if her vanishing act was perfectly acceptable. She'd eat, and head straight to her room where she would turn on the Weird Sisters and could easily feign deafness at his incessant knocking. He'd inquired to everyone where she was going, and while they were all sympathetic to his plight, her daily excursions were a mystery to everyone.

Finally Harry had the solution. Here we are again, all caught up to date, exactly three weeks since the Battle. That morning he stuffed the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket, and ate his breakfast quickly (a difficult feat when Molly was constantly refilling the plate). He slipped away, hid outside the door to the kitchen, and waited. When Ginny stepped out, he followed, maintaining a discrete distance behind her. He was puzzled when she left the property but made no move to disapparate. Nor did she take the path to Ottery St. Catchpole or Luna's house. Instead she walked to one of the more distant but uninhabited hills. Here he stopped, watching her silhouette as she settled herself on the grass. He pulled off the Cloak and strode to meet her.