Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing. NO-THING. Except the story…and Lily, Andrew, and the twins…and some professors…and that nifty new Evening Prophet headline…but other than that I own NOTHING.

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Previously: He glanced at the back page, and saw a small article that made him choke on his pumpkin juice in shock. "Harry, what is it?" Lupin asked. Harry laid the newspaper on the table for Lupin to read: "Minister's Daughter and St. Mungo's Healer Start Family"

.x. Having Heart Is Full Of Pain .x.

All My Fears And All Your Lies

Harry was still numb with shock as he sat in McGonagall's office that night. Ginny was starting a family now… If there had been any chance, albeit small or unlikely, that she would choose him over Neville, it was surely gone now. The baby meant that Ginny was gone forever… It was truly time to give up hope.

"Potter, pay attention!" McGonagall barked, bringing him back to earth. Inwardly, he groaned. He would rather have been anywhere but in the office then. After plenty of awkward questioning about he and Gabrielle's relationship, the two women had moved on to the subject that all men dreaded being brought up:

Periods.

He had no idea how it had come up. It seemed like in the blink of an eye they had gone from discussing Harry's apparent commitment issues to things like cycles and PMS cravings and tampons vs. pads—it was all too much for a man to handle.

"Can we please discuss something else?" he asked loudly, but McGonagall ignored him. Finally, what seemed like ages later, she dismissed them.

"Next week then, same time."

And so the weeks passed. Each session was as tedious and unpleasant as the one before it, but, as the holidays loomed nearer, Harry did have one consolation: he had been invited to spend the holiday break at Ron and Hermione's house. Their last meeting was the night before they left for Christmas break. Gabrielle had just finished explaining the concept of 'snowballing' to him (indeed, Harry had vowed never to eat a Hostess Snow Ball ever again) when McGonagall informed them that, come the new term, they need not meet again. As Gabrielle told her how much she would miss their discussions, Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had never endured anything more awkward in his life.

After the session ended, Harry went to Lupin's office—they had agreed to exchange gifts before they left, as they would not see each other again until Christmas dinner at the Burrow. As he walked down the corridor, he could see the full moon silhouetted against the inky sky, reminding him of a question that had been brewing in the back of his mind since he first found out that Lupin was teaching here.

"Hello, Harry," Lupin said cheerfully as he opened the door, letting him inside.

"Professor Lupin, I have a question," Harry said carefully.

"Ask away."

"Well…I was wondering, sir, how you got a job here. I mean, aren't all of the parents still going to be concerned about your being a werewolf?"

At this, Lupin did something Harry had not expected—he gave a small chuckle.

"What's so funny, sir?"

"Your friend Hermione created a cure for werewolf bites a couple of years back, one that could be taken even decades after the attack. She won an Order of Merlin for it, first class, I believe. Anyways, I think you'll find werewolves very hard to come by these days."

Harry was silent for a moment. "I've really missed a lot, haven't I?" he said sadly.

"Tons. Which is why I made you this." Lupin pulled out a large, square book. "Merry Christmas."

Harry opened the first page: it was a scrapbook. There were pictures of his mother and father while they had been expecting, of him as a baby; pictures of him with Ron and Hermione or the House Quidditch team—even the newspaper clippings from Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing and the Triwizard Tournament were in it. He flipped back further, and saw pictures he had never seen before. There were Daily Prophet articles, photos from weddings, baby pictures, all from the past ten years. He was speechless. "I…thank you," he finally said.

He gave Lupin his gift, the compete works of Shakespeare (he had informed Harry earlier in the year that the bard was his favorite author), and then headed to bed in a melancholy state. As he lay there, he began to wonder if he truly knew anyone anymore…

"Just tonight, let's let it be the way it would have been…"

"…I've changed a lot since the last time I saw you…"

"Did…did I ever tell you I love you?"

"…you're not mine anymore…"

You idiot…

You idiot…

You IDIOT…

Nothing good ever happens when you let the interests rip apart the understood…

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The next morning, he found himself being ushered into an apartment by a beaming Ron and Hermione.

"The children are at the Burrow until tomorrow morning," Hermione explained. "Oh, it's so good to see you again! How is teaching? How are things with Gabrielle?"

"Hermione, you'll never give him a chance to answer at the rate you're going," Ron chuckled.

"I'm fine," Harry said, knowing well that this was not the truth. "Teaching is fine. Gabrielle is…bearable."

"Excellent," she said brightly. "Well, I'll have Ron show you to your room and then you can get yourself settled, alright?" She gave him a warm hug.

Ron reached for Harry's bags.

"Come on," he said, "it's down this hallway." Ron led him down to the very end—Harry's room was the last on the right. "Just ignore that," he told Harry, inclining his head towards the door across from his—the muffled sound of sobbing was coming from inside. "She's still really torn up…" Harry nodded without the slightest idea about who 'she' was or what she found so upsetting.

"Right."

"Alright, well, just take your time, I suppose…" Ron said before closing the door behind him.

Harry was quick to unpack, however. There was so much he wanted to ask Ron and Hermione—especially Hermione, as he needed to know more about Ginny.

This plan was thwarted, though, when he walked out and saw a bleary-eyed Ginny sitting on the couch next to Hermione.

"Hi, Ginny," he said quietly, wondering how she would react.

She nodded in acknowledgement and gave him a small wave in response.

"So, how are you guys?"

"We're fine," Hermione said, though she had put a comforting hand on Ginny's back—the second of the two seemed to be biting back tears.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you what you do for a living, I don't know."

"Ron took over the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts position, and I taught at Beauxbatons for a few years, but after we had Andrew, I quit and started inventing."

"You invented a cure for werewolf bites."

"Bit of a fluke, really," she said, but he could see her blushing in pride all the same. "Bill and I were experimenting.

After an hour or so, Ron headed off to work and Ginny muttered something in Hermione's ear and went back to her room. Harry waited until he heard the door close.

"Why didn't you tell me Ginny was going to be here?" he asked her.

"I thought I told Ron to mention it to you," she said. "He must have forgotten. I'm sorry Harry—I know that must have been a horrible shock."

He sank back down into the couch. Why did everything in his life have to be so complicated? Because you had to leave, he thought bitterly.

"Is…is she the one who keeps crying?"

"Yes, the poor thing."

"Why, what happened?"

"No one's told you?" Harry shook his head. "Harry…Neville kicked her out of the house."

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"Ginny?" Harry was leaning against the frame of her door, listening for some sound from inside. "It's me, Harry. Can I come in?"

He heard a sniffle, and he took it as a 'yes'.

When he opened the door, his first impression was that a tornado must have whipped through the room—clothes were strewn about the floor, books laid open and unorganized, the lights were off and the curtains had been drawn. Surveying the mess, he was strongly reminded of the apathetic behavioral patterns he had taken on the summer after Sirius had died.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She gave a small sob.

"No, I wouldn't expect you to be…" He paused: what on earth was he doing? They were getting nowhere. "Er, well, just checking on you, you know, talk to you, er, later, then."

"I told him," she said quietly as he placed his hand on the doorknob. "About us. I told him that I'm having…a little stranger…"

Harry looked at her. "How could he not know? It was in the papers and everything…"

"A little too much of a stranger," she said in a strangled voice.

Harry blanched as she threw her arms around him and began to sob into his shoulder. He felt his throat clenching—there was no conceivable way he could escape the wrath of the Weasley clan now. He placed a hand on the small of her back, cradling her—it seemed like the only decent thing to do.

When she pulled away, he could see her more clearly. Even in her despair, she was beautiful. It was the kind of tragic beauty, the kind you can only see when a person's heart is truly broken, when they have lost everything but must still persevere. He supposed that Ginny's beauty had been the tragic since his disappearance. He could see it in her eyes, a haunted shadow. She was paler than he remembered, but it suited her well. Without registering the action, he put a hand on her cheek. You are the only thing that makes me want to live at all, he thought as he felt his head bending down. He felt their noses touch. He could kiss her right now, and she would be his…

He pulled away. She looked up at him. There was a mixture of sadness and defeat in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Gin," he said quietly. "I have to go…"

He didn't look back at her as he entered his own room. He heard Hermione's voice call his name, but he ignored it. The tears were hot in the corners of his eyes; he tried to hold them back, but to no avail. He slumped against the wall, his head in his hands. "Just breathe," he whispered to himself, "just breathe…"

A/N: So there it is. Hope you enjoyed, R&R, blah blah blah you get the picture. Please note that all flames will be used to warm my beta, who we suspect is a devil and gets awfully cold sometimes...READ THE PREQUEL TO THIS, "COME ON, SWEET CATASTROPHE", LOCATED ON MY AUTHOR PAGE! :N/A