All is well - A Hinny fanfiction

Chapter 1

Wordcount: 2576.

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Harry James Potter lay on his old four-poster bed in the Gryffindor dormitory. It had been a hectic day, to say the least. Fatigue kept creeping at the edge of his awareness but the events of that evening had yet to sink in, and so his emerald green eyes scanned the ceiling as if waiting for a stimulant to move him from his reverie. Beside him, in his own bed, lay Ron Weasley, his best friend, snoring his troubles away. Harry felt a pang of regret when he thought that his friend had lost as much, if not more than him that night. He didn't have any family left to lose, really, but his friend had stuck by him all those years and what had that got him? A dead brother and countless nightmare-worthy experiences. A particularly loud snort from his red-headed mate jerked his eyes from the ceiling beams. Lifting his glasses off his face, Harry rubbed his eyes and sat up straight.

A dazzling sun was weaving its way through the silk curtains of the window. Upon further inspection of the empty bedroom, he noticed small piles of clothes scattered across the floor. He was surprised to see Dean's West Ham poster hanging lopsidedly from above one of the beds. Pieces of parchment lay on two of the nightstands, and on the last of these Harry could see the outline of a tall lanky redhead, snoring and drooling onto his pillow. The sight made him smile despite himself. Maybe he was overreacting?

He was not sure how long he sat there watching his friend sleep, pondering on bigger questions that, surprisingly, had just started creeping into his mind. How could the Weasleys ever forgive him? Would they resent him, just as much as he resented himself now? Would Ginny even want to look at him? The last one of these made his insides turn. He couldn't such a fate would be possible. He knew everyone had been quite adamant on congratulating him mere hours ago, but he figured that had been the adrenaline of the darkest wizard of all time finally succumbing to his greatest fear: death. As he sat, blinking away stray tears, both fresh and old, he heard a faint knock on the door,

"Come in," he muttered, without even glancing at who came in afterward. Soft steps broke the otherwise quiet atmosphere, if you didn't take Ron's overt display of fatigue into account.

He felt the pressure of someone sitting beside him on his bed and smelled that flowery scent that never failed to make his stomach do summersaults. At least she could approach him without launching herself at him.

"I figured you'd be moping here," the voice of Ginny came from somewhere to his left. He heard himself snort in response and closed his eyes for a second, blinking back further tears from being shed.

When he turned in her direction, he saw for the first time in a long time, the face of the most beautiful witch he'd ever seen. He was probably somewhat biased, but this didn't make it any less true. With a lurch, he noticed her freckled cheeks covered in a mixture of tear tracks, grime, and blood. Her chocolate eyes did not betray the smile that was etched on her lips. Harry sighed and said,

"Who said I was moping?" he thought he heard a faint chuckle, though he couldn't be certain.

"I do," said Ginny, her eyes scanning his features as though to make sure he was in his best health, with a stare worthy of the daughter of Molly Weasley.

"What are you doing here anyway?" he said lamely. His eyes, on the other hand, did betray his intentions and a faint glistening could be seen at the edge of them. Ginny's features contorted in a face that clearly said why do you think?

"What do you mean, what am I doing here?" She sounded hurt, but given the circumstances in which they found themselves, he didn't blame her, "I'm checking up on our saviour, can't I do that?" Ginny said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder as if she was testing the waters of a rather tumultuous sea.