Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. If it were, I'd be rich.

A/N: This story borrows a few elements from Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows, but for the most part is heavily AU, especially in regards to the epilogue.

A/N (09/2017): It's been a while hasn't it? I originally posted this story about six years ago and even though I'm pretty happy with it, I realize twenty-two years passing isn't a very reasonable timeframe for this story. I think I picked that number because I liked the alliteration. It works much better if it's three or four years.

One

It had been twenty-two years since the war had ended, Voldemort was dead and buried; the world had finally emerged from the darkness that had covered it for nearly thirty years. Harry Potter was still stuck in this darkness. Even though he was no longer haunted by Voldemort and his followers, he had never been able to find the happiness that so many had promised he would find after the fulfillment of the prophecy.

"Pass the potatoes, wouldn't you, Harry?"

He passed the potatoes to Hermione, not acknowledging her thanks. His friends were used to this. He had chosen to ignore the fact that everyone was trying to express their gratitude towards him for saving them from the Dark Lord, instead choosing to act like it was an everyday occurrence for somebody to defeat the most malevolent and powerful wizard in several centuries and why can't everyone just get on with their lives already? And they had, for the most part. The problem was Harry Potter had no life to return to.

"So, mate, how do you think the Arrows are going to do this year?"

He had tried playing Quidditch for several years after Voldemort's demise. He had proved exceptionally good at it, leading the Appleby Arrows to three league titles in the seven years he had played for them. Quidditch had been ruined by an adoring public. Harry often said that being forced to suffer through fan adoration was akin to being subjected to a street full of Dementors.

"Their seeker is rubbish, of course." He said with a small smile.

"Better than the Cannons, anyway," Ron grumbled.

"Not exactly a tall order, that," Fred commented from Ron's other side.

They were all at the monthly Weasley gathering, Harry and Hermione included, of course. The family had drifted after the war, no one seeing anyone else for at least a year or two, and in Charlie's case, seven. The deaths of Percy and Bill had hit the family hard, and with the general weariness that set in after the war, everyone went their separate ways. Ron and Hermione had left Harry behind when they decided to take a trip around the world at twenty, and had come back married to different people a year and a half later. Hermione met her husband in a magical library at the Vatican. Ron met his wife in a pub in Bristol.

It was with their return that Molly put her foot down. With everyone now back on English soil—with the exception of Charlie, who no one could track down—they were going to be a family again; the monthly dinners were born.

"How's work coming along, Harry?" asked Molly.

Harry, to the surprise of everyone, including himself, had decided to pursue a career in Healing after his sudden retirement from Quidditch. Ron had thought he was insane for giving up Quidditch, but Hermione had been supportive. Everyone else was bemused by his decision, but it made sense to him. He had seen enough pain in his life—some of it caused by himself, much of it caused by others—and decided he wanted to try and ease some of that pain

"That's nice, dear," Molly vaguely answered to Harry's explanation of a new spell to heal heart damage he had invented with a co-worker. He knew she didn't really understand what he was telling her, but he knew she enjoyed listening to him talk about it all the same.

"Now answer me this," she said, her careworn face breaking into a smile, "are we going to be meeting the future Mrs. Potter soon?"

Harry had forgotten about the latest article in Witch Weekly. He had been Britain's most eligible bachelor for nineteen years running, with no end in sight. It seemed the magazine had made it their mission to irritate Harry by bringing out an article every now and then speculating on his personal life.

"Um, no, Molly," he said, trying to control a stammer threatening to take control, "I haven't found her yet."

She put a hand on his arm. "You'll find the right person eventually. It wouldn't be right for you to end up alone after all you've been through."

His smile was one tinged with sadness. He often felt like giving up all hope on ever finding a wife. Every relationship he had been in, and there was no shortage of them to pick from, had either ended with her crumbling under the pressure of dating Harry Potter, or with complaints of his emotional distance, baggage, and whatever it was women usually said when things weren't working out. Truth be told, he did have someone in mind, looking down the table, trying to catch a glimpse of her.

A ringing sound interrupted his thoughts. Arthur was trying to get the attention of the table by tapping his fork against his glass. This alone caused a silence to descend around the table. Arthur trying to get the attention of everyone was highly unusual.

"Alright, um…" he cleared his throat. "Ginny has something she'd like to say."

She blushed as she rose, tucking some of the hair that fell in front of her face behind her ear. "I'm getting married," she said, simply. She looked around the table, finally making eye contact with Harry. He stared into her caramel-colored eyes, and not breaking her gaze, stood up and began to applaud, the rest of the Weasley family following suit. Molly couldn't contain her excitement, rushing around the table to embrace her daughter.

Harry, standing on the periphery of the coalescence of Weasleys, turned around and made his way slowly towards the gate, wanting to apparate out of there before he would be missed. Hermione met his eyes before he disappeared, the only one there who would know why Harry was not pleased with this news. Nodding to her, he turned on the spot, the last thing in his vision a blur of red.

He, Hermione, and Ron had disappeared from the very same spot on the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding.

A blur of red was the last thing he saw.

Three days later, Hermione appeared on his doorstep.

"How are you, Harry?" she asked, as he poured her a cup of tea.

"Fine."

"You haven't been to work in three days, Harry."

"So? I'm entitled to take a little time off now and then. Merlin knows I get more than enough vacation days."

"You never take time off of work."

"Neither do you."

"This isn't about me."

Harry sighed, pushing his hair back on his head. "So I was a little upset by the news on Saturday. You, of all people, should understand why."

"If you just told Ginny how you feel…"

Harry stood, angrily pacing in front of Hermione. "She'd what? Throw away everything just because of me? It's been over twenty years Hermione, I think it's a little late for talking."

"What are you going to do then?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? If you're really sure how you feel about her, then you have to do something. You're forty years old, Harry. You don't want to grow old alone."

He stopped by the window, taking in the view of downtown London provided by his townhouse. The grey, chilly day outside perfectly mirrored his thoughts.

"Maybe I'm supposed to, Hermione. When was the last time a figurehead for the Light lived a quiet life in the country with a wife and a couple of kids? Maybe this is just another part of Dumbledore's legacy passed down to me."

Hermione came to stand beside Harry at the window, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry…"

"Did I tell you that McGonagall visited me last week, offering me the Dark Arts job next term?" Harry said, changing the subject. "Apparently Kingsley is thinking about running for Minister again and doesn't want to commit for another year."

"That sounds like a wonderful opportunity," Hermione said, after taking a moment to collect her thoughts. "But you'd be shutting yourself away at Hogwarts for ten months a year."

"That's why I'm thinking about taking it," Harry replied, turning to face Hermione, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes dull. "It'd probably be best for everyone."

Hermione threw up her hands and balled them into fists at her hip, glaring at him. "Damn it, Harry, this is ridiculous. Shutting yourself away at Hogwarts would help no one, much less you. Stop being such a bitch and do something."

Harry's eyes widened at this. "But Hermione…"

"No, Harry, but nothing. Whatever happened to the stubborn young man who defeated Voldemort? You can kill the greatest dark wizard in centuries, but you can't tell someone how you feel about them?"

"It's not like that, Hermione."

"Then why don't you tell me what it like, because from what I can tell, all I see is you, wanting to shut yourself away from everyone again."

"The Weasleys have made it all quite clear they don't want Ginny and I involved. Something about not wanting to subject her to what being my wife would entail."

He stopped, looking at Hermione, his arms open in a gesture of supplication. Instead of receiving some sort of comfort from Hermione, it was just the opposite. She slapped him. Not expecting this, he stumbled back against the wall, sliding to the floor. She crouched down to look him in the eyes, sticking a finger in his face in the process.

"Now you listen here, Harry Potter. I know damn well that the only thing between you and Ginny is yourself. If you want to figure out someway to at least let Ginny know how you feel, I'll help you. But if you don't, then I don't know what's going to happen, because I sure know I don't want to be around your miserable self once Ginny is out of your reach."

Grabbing her purse off of the coffee table, she walked out the door without another word, a loud crack in the hallway signaling her departure. He picked himself up off the wall, waving his wand at the forgotten tea to warm it up. He sat on the couch, sipping tea, and trying to get his thoughts under control. Hermione was right. It wasn't the Weasleys who had stopped Harry from trying to get together with Ginny. They had vacillated on the issue, but had never really said anything for or against a relationship between the two of them. In fact, once they got over their shock, he was sure Molly and Arthur would be ecstatic.

It was the Weasley brothers, especially Ron, who worried Harry. Accepting him as their brother meant it was up to him to protect Ginny, an opinion held most strongly by Ron, as he was the closest in age to their sister. Harry couldn't blame them when they thought that being with him would hurt Ginny, as he didn't want to subject her to what being his wife would entail either. But he could not silence his traitorous heart.

"I can't be involved with you anymore. We've got to stop seeing each other. We can't be together."

As Harry all too painfully discovered, those few weeks had indeed been out of somebody else's life.

It had been a month since that fateful day, and as the monthly dinner neared, Harry found himself looking for a way out of attending. Hermione had let him know, in no small part, that she would be very displeased with him if he began avoiding the Weasley family, just because he was a coward. Harry had not been happy to hear that from someone who was supposed to be sympathetic to his cause, and it was for that reason he found himself trying to look extra impressive on this particular Saturday morning.

"Fucking hair, never…lies…flat…" Each word was punctuated with a violent downward stroke of a comb through his unruly map. All this violent combing did was make his scalp hurt, making his already foul mood even more foul. "How are you going to impress her if you can't even get your hair to lie flat, Potter?"

It had been a few years since Harry had tried to impress a woman. The last real relationship he had had was three years ago, but she had ended it due to accusations of "aloofness" and "general disregard for her wellbeing." After this catastrophe, Harry had realized there was only one woman out there for him, but something had always prevented him from taking that next step with her.

He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother's shoulder. There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk.

Those hours, days, and years never came.

"Damn it, Harry, why did you come at all if you're going to just hide in the kitchen the whole time?" Hermione said to him, as she found him trying to look inconspicuous inside of the Burrow.

"Because I was afraid you'd curse me if I didn't."

"If you don't come out of here and talk to someone, I may still curse you." She glared at him. "Don't tempt me, Harry."

A reluctant Harry—hair still all over the place—emerged from the kitchen a while later, following in Hermione's wake. Ignoring Hermione's frown, he quickly made his way over to the buffet table, where Ron, Fred, and George were discussing the current state of their joke shop.

"Why it's our illustrious investor, come to grace us with his presence!" said George, by way of greeting.

Harry rolled his eyes. "How are things down at the shop? I haven't had a chance to glance through this quarter's statements yet."

"Business is booming, as usual," said Fred. "We're thinking about expanding into clothing. Have you seen some of the t-shirts Muggles wear? If we can take the same idea, but adapt the style, slogans, and images into something friendly to the Wizarding public…"

"Galleons," supplied Ron.

"Lots of Galleons," added Fred.

"Loads and loads of Galleons," finished George.

Harry laughed. "I understand, guys."

A nervous looking man approached the four of them. He was about average height, with close-cropped brown hair, brown eyes, and a slightly stocky build. His face was of the type that a person first meeting him would swore they know somebody just like him and perhaps they had already met you look so familiar.

"Jordan! How wonderful to see you again!" said Fred, wrapping an arm around the man, who looked like wanted to be anywhere but there. "The fellow who is planning on stealing our ickle Gin-Gin away from all of us."

He extricated himself from Fred's grasp, adjusting his thick plastic glasses as he did so. He looked around the group, noticing Harry for the first time. "Blimey! You're Harry Potter. Ginny said you were a friend of the family, but I don't believe we've had a chance to meet yet." He extended his hand. "Jordan Parker."

Harry shook it. "Harry Potter."

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Potter. Of course, I had grown up knowing all about you, and then when you defeated the Dark Lord…" Harry put up a hand to stop his gushing.

"That was quite a few years ago, Mr. Parker, and you may understand why I may be reluctant to speak about the topic." Harry said, curtly. "But thank you, all the same.

"Of course, Mr. Potter, of course. And you can call me Jordan."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Jordan stared expectantly at Harry, waiting for a reciprocating response. Seeing nothing and wanting to escape the awkward silence which had settled over the group, he made his escape, Harry watching him all the way. Once Jordan was out of earshot, the three Weasley brothers started laughing.

"I'll keep that in mind," intoned Fred. "Brilliant, Harry."

Harry smiled ruefully. "Can't let him get too comfortable before the wedding, now can we?"

"Of course not," said Ron. "If he expects to marry our sister, he needs to know what he's dealing with."

As they all murmured in agreement, Harry couldn't help but notice Ron's inclusion of Harry when he said Ginny was their sister. Growing uncomfortable, he began to make his excuses.

"Well I should really get back," said Harry, over their protests. "I had forgotten about this when I agreed to pick up another healer's shift a few weeks ago. I'll just say goodbye to your parents and head out of here."

He turned around, finding himself face-to-face with Hermione.

"So what did you think of, Jordan?" she asked, with an overly casual air.

"He seems like a nice bloke," responded Harry. "Maybe a bit bland, but as long as he makes Ginny happy, that's all that matters." He looked over at the two of them. They were talking to Arthur and Molly; Jordan appeared to have told a delightful joke that had them all laughing at the boring little man's amazing wit how he wanted to take his neck…

Hermione's voice distracted him from his thoughts. "You're a horrible liar, Harry. Which is why I also know you don't have to work tonight, either."

"Do so." He responded, childishly.

"You need to tell her how you feel. You may be too late, but do you really want to go the rest of your life knowing you may have missed your best chance at happiness?"

"My happiness doesn't matter. I defeated a Dark Lord to save the Wizarding World and make sure everyone else could find happiness after those dark days. If everyone else is safe happy, I'm happy."

Hermione was taken aback at this. She had unshed tears in her eyes. "Oh, Harry…"

Harry ran his hands through his hair. "I'm tired, Hermione. I just want to say my goodbyes and go home."

"This isn't over, Harry."

Ignoring her, he walked over to Ginny and her parents, arranging his face into a careful expression of neutrality.

"The food was wonderful as usual, Molly, but I'm afraid I unthinkingly picked up another healer's shift last month and need to get back home and get ready for work."

"Oh, Harry, isn't that a shame," she said, wrapping him in a hug. "You take care of yourself, now, and we'll see you next month. Make sure you don't have to work."

He shook hands with Arthur and turning to Ginny and Jordan, he steeled himself for what he was about to say.

"I know I was lost in the shuffle last month so I didn't get to say this then, but congratulations you two. I know you'll make each other very happy. Ginny and her wand will make sure of that." They all laughed at that. He shook Jordan's hand, and turning to Ginny only hesitated slightly before giving her a warm hug. "I'm really happy for you, Gin." He said quietly, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek.

He gave them one last parting wave, and ignoring the odd look on Ginny's face, apparated back to his lonely flat.

He had just sold the house he bought in the country after signing his first contract with the Arrows. Hermione stood next to him at the front gate, the two of them looking up at the house for the last time.

"Why'd you sell it, Harry?"

"I have no one to share it with."

"Harry!" said the voice from the fireplace. "Harry! I know you're in there. Let me through."

Harry sighed. Momentarily considering letting the person in the fireplace, who sounded suspiciously like Hermione, sit there.

"Hermione."

"Let me in, Harry."

"I don't know," he said. "I think we can talk just fine with you in there and me out here."

"Harry…"

"Fine, fine." With a flick of his wand, Hermione was standing on the carpet in front of the fireplace, covered head to foot in soot.

"You know," she said, as she waved her wand around herself, cleaning away the soot. "I really hate you sometimes."

Harry smiled at her, waggling his eyebrows in the process. Hermione sighed, but couldn't stop a small grin from gracing her face. She walked over to the couch, while Harry went to the kitchen, grabbing a kettle and a couple of mugs. He set the tea things down on the table and settle down into the chair across from Hermione, regarding her carefully.

"Have you talked to Ginny yet?" she said without preamble.

"No," he said, pouring himself a mug of tea.

"Why not?"

"I have no intention of doing so."

"Harry, I know you don't want to upset their relationship, but what about yours? How are you going to be able to carry on a friendship with her, and not resent Jordan, if you harbor this unrequited love for the rest of your life?"

"I told you, Hermione, if Ginny is happy, then I'm happy. All I want is for her to be happy." He looked away from Hermione and at the mantle over the fireplace. There were only a few photos there: one of his parents, another of him with Ron and Hermione. But it was the third one which captured his gaze. It was of him and Ginny during their sixth year, looking at each other under a tree by the lake. He usually put it away when he knew somebody would be over, but he hadn't been expecting Hermione's arrival.

Hermione noted his gaze, and crossed the room over to the fireplace, picking up the photo.

"Harry…"

"That was almost twenty-five years ago. It doesn't matter anymore."

"It apparently matters to you. Quite a bit I'd say." She set the photo down, turning to look at him.

"It was just never the right time, you know?" he said, a far away look in his eyes. "Everything after the war was such a mess and I only saw her a few times over the course of about five years and by the time I started to see her regularly again something always seemed to get in the way: her family, relationships, my own fear of rejection. There was always a reason to not say something."

Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder, Harry resting his hand on top of hers. They stood that way for a few moments, Harry taking what little solace he could in the fact that he still had a friend like her.

"You need to say something, Harry."

He sighed. "I know. But how?"

"Just tell her how you feel. It's been twenty plus years, I'm sure you have some idea of what you want to say."

"But what if she rejects me?"

"I hate to say it, Harry," she said, crossing over to the fireplace and throwing in some floo powder. "But you have nobody to blame but yourself."

She was gone in a rush of green flames, leaving Harry alone with only his thoughts and cold tea for company.

He had been twenty-eight, drunk and depressed. He had just retired from professional Quidditch, and not knowing what to do now, drank himself into a stupor. He found himself on Ginny's doorstep. She answered her door, wearing pajamas and a dressing gown.

"Harry? What are you doing out there?" she said, hair tousled with sleep. "It's nearly one-thirty."

He looked around quizzically. "Out where? I'm right here?"

She laughed. He loved that laugh. "Harry, are you drunk?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Maybe."

She sighed, exasperatedly. "Come inside."

He followed her inside, it was the first time he had been to her London apartment. It was small, but very neatly kept.

"I'm afraid I don't have a guest room, but the couch isn't half-bad. But I suspect you won't care too much tonight."

"Ginny," he started, suddenly feeling clearheaded, "I want to tell you something."

"Now, Harry?" she laughed, pulling him over to the couch. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait until morning."

When he awoke the next morning, she was already gone.

"Ginny."

She opened the door. "Harry? What are you doing out there?"

He adjusted his glasses. "Could I come in? There's something I want to talk about."

She let him into her apartment, this one being quite a bit more spacious than the one he had visited twelve years ago. He hadn't visited her at home since. The living room consisted of leather furniture spaced around Muggle appliances. It was on one of the leather chairs he took a seat.

"I take it Jordan is a Muggle-born? I don't think I've even seen a TV and home theatre system in a wizard's home otherwise."

"Yep," she said, from the kitchen. "He also has a fetish for leather, as you can tell by the chair you're sitting in." She handed him a glass of water as she returned from the kitchen, taking a seat in the chair next to his. He looked at her; she didn't look a day over twenty-five. Her long, red hair was pulled back into a bun, framing her soft features and warm brown eyes. The splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose that Harry had found so irresistible as a sixteen year old were still there after all these years.

"It must be pretty important for you to come talk with me here." She laughed. "I didn't think you even knew where I lived."

He laughed uneasily. "I had to get your address from Hermione."

"So, what are you here for? Can't imagine you'd try and track me down if you just wanted to talk about Quidditch."

"Look, there's no easy way to put this, so I'll cut straight to the point." He paused, unsure how to continue. Ginny looked expectantly at him.

"I love you."

Ginny stared at him. "Well, Harry, I love you too. You're practically a brother to…"

"No, I mean I love you."

The glass fell from Ginny's hands, its contents forgotten. Harry watched the storm gather on her beautiful face.

"You have some nerve," she said finally, a dangerous undertone in her voice.

"Ginny, I know I should have said something years ago, but…I mean…better late than never, eh?"

"No. Not better late than never. Never would have been much better."

"I know you're getting married in a few months, but I had to say something."

Ginny stood up, walking down one of the hallways. Harry sat there waiting anxiously, hoping she hadn't gone to get her wand or something heavy to throw at him.

"Here," she said, handing him something. "Now get out."

He unfolded the piece of paper. It was the same picture of them that had resided on his mantle for the past twenty-two years.

"Ginny…"

"I said get out."

"Can't we at least talk about this?" he asked, gazing at the picture of the two of them.

"The time for talking is over, Harry. If you wanted to talk about this, you should have said something a decade ago. Or at more than a few months before my wedding!"

"I'm sorry, Ginny."

She looked at him, arms crossed, face stony. He walked towards the door, head down. Not paying attention, he ran into something in the hallway.

"Harry!" said a someone, not something. "So good to see you!"

Harry shook his hand. "Nice to see you too, Jordan, but I was just leaving. I really must get back."

"That's a shame. Perhaps you could come over for dinner sometime?"

Harry glanced back at Ginny, wincing at the look on her face. "Maybe."

He walked out the door, hearing the quiet murmur of voices on the other side. He still had the picture Ginny had given him clutched in his hand. He looked at it, feeling himself transported back to that warm summer day before everything went so completely wrong. A single tear leaked out of his tightly shut eyes, landing on the picture. He took a deep breath and touched his wand to the picture, watching it burn. He was gone before the ashes hit the ground.

A/N2: There you have it, I hope you enjoyed reading it. I'm actually unsure, at the moment, as to whether I'm going to write a second part. I have some ideas (hopefully good ones) for a second chapter, but I also kind of like ending it on this bittersweet and sort of unhappy note.