Oh gosh darlings, I know it's been forever but you'll just have to bear with me. This is a new little fic -- I'm sure it will be AU once book 7 comes out (WHO'S EXCITED? I AM!), but I felt like brushing up on my fanfic writing again. It's been oh so long. I think all of my other stories might be on hiatus indefinitely (sorry!), but I'm kind of liking this one. Read and enjoy!

It's not fair, Harry thought as he clenched his fists together, watching as she waltzed in on the arm of some other bloke, vibrant and lovely in pale green dress robes and a messy up do. The boy hero vanquished the Dark Lord, achieved international wizarding fame, became head of the Auror training program and still didn't get the girl. It just wasn't bloody fair.

It had been five years. Five years since he had defeated Voldemort (an arduous and grim affair he didn't want to go into – not that he hadn't told the story to every bloody media outlet in the wizarding world, not to mention all those writers who hounded him for an exclusive interview so they could write some simpering biography). It had been five years since Severus Snape had thrown himself in front of Harry to save his life. Harry still regretted saying and thinking all those nasty things about Snape while he was still at Hogwarts, but what could he do now? At least the man had died a hero, his name finally cleared. It had been five years since Ron kissed a shocked Hermione on the battlefield and yelled that if they came out of this alive, he was going to marry her someday.

And it had been five years since Ginny Weasley had spoken to him out of anything other than courtesy. For some reason, things had gotten… well, awkward between them after that whole sixth year fiasco. And they had never gotten the same again. Sure, they said hi when they saw each other, and he generally asked her a few questions about work and her life. But for the most part, Ginny Weasley (who worked for a wizarding media firm) remained polite but distant.

It had been almost unbearable for the first year after Voldemort had been defeated – once they weren't working together on the battlefield anymore, it seemed like they had nothing to say to each other. Ginny would stand there and stare at him, as if expecting him to say something, and Harry would duck out of the room in order to hide his reddened cheeks. Once, four years ago, she had cornered him at the Weasley family Christmas party.

"Well," she had stated, hands on her hips. "Don't you think you have something to say to me?"

And Harry, who had just defeated the Dark Lord had been too much of a coward to actually say what he wanted to say, which was something along the vein of, "Yes, Ginny. I'm sorry I've been a prat and I'm utterly in love with you. Please tell me you'll spend the rest of your life with me."

Instead, he had stood there with his hands in his pocket and stared at his toes. His mouth felt dry.

Ginny's voice had softened, almost to a pleading tone. "Won't you even look at me, Harry? Can't you say… I don't know, something? Anything?"

When he couldn't, she had merely sighed, kissed him on the cheek and left the room. At the time, Harry had thought that this was a good sign, that once he got his act together and could utter more than three words around Ginny, she would still be there waiting for him. It had never occurred to him that the kiss on the cheek had been her way of letting go of him.

Anyways, needless to say, Harry was still utterly in love with Ginny and had no way of telling her. Heck, he had no way of telling her what he thought of the latest Daily Prophet headline, much less actually sitting down and having a prolonged conversation with her.

So here he was at some Ministry gala, expected to speak in front of the wizarding world's finest. The fantastic thing about saving the world was that he was invited to all of these events for free. And since his old classmates and friends had all been instrumental in the downfall of the Dark Lord as well, they all got in too. All the balls and galas were like school reunions, except with champagne and fancy hors d'ouvres instead of flat soda and stale biscuits. So all in all, it was a good deal. The only catch was that as THE savior of the wizarding world, he was always invited to be the keynote speaker. And it was just in bad taste to decline, so he always said yes. The problem was that Harry was running out of things to say.

I mean, come on. It had been five bloody years. How many times could he talk about the strength of the wizarding community and how they were going to rebuild for future generations? It was just getting ridiculous.

"Hi there Harry," Lavender Brown came up to him, glittering like an over-glorified disco ball. She had her hair piled atop her head in some curly, stiff confection and wore a gold robe that hugged her body like a second layer of cells. Rumor was that she was trying to seduce her way through every single young male war hero, and Harry had a sickening feeling that he was next. Her attempt to seduce Ron had proven to be utterly disastrous, life-threatening even. Hermione had effectively hexed her into the next week and threatened to destroy her perfectly made-up face next if she so much as looked at Ron. Needless to say, Lavender gave up preying on Ron fairly quickly.

"Er, hi Lavender," Harry replied, and she batted her eyelashes appreciatively. He had to concede that she was rather pretty, but not quite his type. As far as he was concerned, he only had one type, and she was currently across the room, playfully punching the arm of some dashing blond bloke.

Merlin, life was unfair.

"…So I was thinking that we absolutely do not see each other enough, Harry, and that's simply such a shame. I mean, we attended school for a whole seven years together, and so we have this bond, you know? Perhaps we could get together sometime for dinner? Or lunch? Or maybe coffee? What do you say, Harry?"

It was then that he realized that he'd been gazing across the room while Lavender prattled on about… well, whatever she was prattling on about. He turned back to Lavender, who had her head tilted in the expectant look of a Labrador retriever.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Well," Lavender said, twisting her hip up on one side and resting a hand on it seductively. "I was just wondering if perhaps you wanted to. Go. Out. Sometime?"

She asked it just like that, with the unnecessary pauses between each word.

"Erm. Maybe," Harry responded, because he could never say no. Why couldn't he say no? It wasn't that hard. "Just… send me an owl, I suppose. Look, Lav. I've got to go. I think I just saw Hermione and Ron walk in. It was nice talking to you though."

At the mention of Hermione, Lavender turned red and quickly disappeared into the crowd, presumably to go hide in the loo. Harry chuckled to himself. He had to hand it to Hermione – she was downright scary when she was protecting her interests. And her fiancé definitely counted as one of her interests.

Ron and Hermione were indeed making their way into the ballroom, bickering over something from the looks of it. Harry grinned and wove through the crowd towards them.

"-Well if you weren't such bloody perfectionist all the time-"

"Ron, it's our wedding! Don't you want it to be perfect? All I'm saying is that there is a very distinct different in presentation when you have twenty dozen flowers rather than twenty five. Twenty-five says that you're garish, tacky. Twenty is luxurious without being over the top."

Harry shook his head. The wedding was in eight months and already they were arguing about flowers, of all things. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like in the months to come. He made a mental note to stay out of Hermione's way while she was wedding planning.

Ron caught sight of Harry and beamed at him.

"Hullo there, mate! Fancy seeing you here," he said, clapping Harry on the back. "Hermione and I have just been talking about wedding arrangements and what not… It's more of a headache than I thought it would be."

"That's because you never think," Hermione muttered darkly under her breath.

Harry smiled wryly. "I could hear you two from across the room," he told them. "Remind me to confiscate Hermione's wand before the wedding date. I have a feeling she'll end up murdering either the caterer or you, and I would hate to lose either a good meal or my best mate."

"Thanks," Ron rolled his eyes. He craned his neck to scan the room, and suddenly squinted as his mouth settled into a perplexed frown. "Hey, is that Ginny over there being escorted out by Ministry security?"

Both Harry and Hermione whipped around to look in the direction that Ron was staring in. Actually, about half the room had ceased their conversations and was intently watching the scene unfold.

…Merlin. That was Ginny, kicking and arguing and generally making a big fuss. And that… well that was the bloke she had come with. He was currently on the floor, one hand over his eye, the other pointing at her accusingly.

So Harry had been wrong. That hadn't been a friendly punch after all. Knowing Ginny, the bloke was probably going to end up with a black eye.

"What's she done now?" Ron moaned miserably. "And in public too! Mum's going to kill her… Mum's going to kill me if she gets kicked out and there's a line in the paper somewhere, I know it."

Hermione grabbed at Harry's arm. "Come on, Harry. You're the keynote speaker, aren't you? Can't you talk them into letting her stay? Just tell them… well tell them she'll behave."

Harry sighed. He had known that this would happen. It's not that he didn't want to help Ginny; rather, he would do almost anything for her. Sometimes, he lay awake at night and played this game with himself. He'd envision exactly what ludicrous things he'd do for Ginny if she ever asked him to do so. Dress up as a clown? Sure, just toss him a rubber nose. Jump in front of a train? If she were in danger of breaking even a nail, of course he would. Pose nude in one of the ad campaigns she set up? Well… that one was debatable.

Saving Ginny in his fantasy world was all fine and dandy, but it was different in real life. First of all, he'd probably have to talk to her, and though he loved being around her, Harry felt as though he became an awkward 14-year-old again every time he tried to say something to her. The last time he had visited the Weasley household, she had asked, "All right, Harry?" and he had promptly dribbled a mouthful of milk over the front of his shirt. It was just humiliating.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione urged, breaking into his reverie, already pushing through the crowd with Ron in tow.

"I'm coming," Harry said, and steeled himself for whatever was about to come.

It's been quite a while since I've written fanfic, so I don't know if I want to get into it again. Tell me if this is worth continuing (even if it becomes AU after book 7)! I don't want to waste time on something no one wants to read, haha.