A/N: Well, I've been avoiding my Rose/Scorpius murder mystery, Never Simple, because no one is reviewing, and that's what I said I'd do. But I got an idea for a series of one-shots set during the war, focusing on the romances that somehow still managed to flourish. Shall we start with the two we were rooting for ever since she blushed and ran away from him in the second book?

Ginny stared out the window of the Burrow, watching the snowflakes without really seeing them. It fit her mood, of course, the dreary day that had just dawned. Gray skies, snow that wasn't sticking and was simply turning to slush, and a kind of chilly and sticky feeling to the air- it was all around gloomy.

She wished that she knew where he was- she daren't even think his name, with the taboos and listening ears. She believed with every fiber of her being that if she just knew where he was, then she'd be able to deal with the thought of him wandering along out there without her. She had to believe it.

At least she knew he was alive- if he wasn't, the Death Eaters would have being crowing about it from every street corner. Draco-Fucking-Malfoy would have been dancing a jig atop the Astronomy Tower. The benefit of that would be that she would have the chance to push him off…

Ginny missed him. She really missed him. She missed his slightly crooked glasses and messy hair, and those beautiful green eyes she'd once compared to a toad… Even the thought of seeing him lying there in the hallway with a dwarf on his chest couldn't bring a smile- it was tarnished by the thought of the person who'd been controlling her that year, and how his cronies were tracking her love down.

Yes, love. She hadn't told him yet- maybe she'd never get the chance- but she could tell herself. She was in love with Har- she broke herself off. She wouldn't risk his safety, as paranoid as it was to think they were listening to her thoughts. But just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean you might not be right, she thought fiercely, hugging the blanket tighter about her shoulders. And he depended on her, on all of them, to stay strong.

The fate of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may fall on his shoulders, but he couldn't possibly fight an army of Death Eaters on his own. That's why Dumbledore's Army was still an unseen but loudly heard force in the halls of Hogwarts.

She stretched wearily, dropping the blanket down onto her bed and stood. It was late enough now her mum would be starting breakfast. And insomnia may have her staring out the windows as dawn broke, but it also had her up early enough to be helpful. Anywhere she could lend a little extra strength, she would.

Because that's what he needed her to do.

Harry stared at the map, at the empty halls of Hogwarts, and felt like his heart might break. It had been a small connection, a tentative one at best, but seeing Ginny's name (and dot) moving around on the map had been something. It had let him know something about how she was.

He was sure she was fine. He glanced at the sun that had barely risen above the horizon, and imagined her tucked snugly in her bed, long red hair spread across her pillow and a serene look on her beautiful face. She would get up in a few hours and go down to a wonderful smelling breakfast her mum had already cooked, laugh at her brothers- what ones of them were there, who knew how many that would be with the Order almost certainly working around the clock- and not think of him once.

He missed her, but it was better this way. He believed that, he honestly did; Voldemort could use her against him, as he had before. And then she'd only been his best friend's gullible little sister… No, he simply could not allow it to be known that he loved… liked… cared for Ginny.

He probably loved her, he mused with a broken sigh. But he didn't have much to compare it to, really. Cho certainly hadn't counted, and the crush he'd had on a girl when he was ten and still went to a Muggle school definitely hadn't either. He might ask Hermione, sometime, but she always seemed to roll her eyes and call him an idiot when he asked her for advice on girls, so it didn't seem likely.

Besides, as much as he wanted it to be, it wasn't really a priority… except when he had the watch in the early morning, and Ron was gone, and he was feeling depressed and downtrodden and in desperate need to see her face…

Okay, so he almost certainly was in love with her.

"Mischief managed," Harry murmured, tapping the map and folding it back into his pocket. Time to stop staring moodily into the forest and try to get something done.