It didn't stop him from feeling like a bad friend, but the guilt had stopped eating at him. He'd known she was... not broken. That wasn't the right word. Cracked, maybe. The fault lines clearly visible in her face and her voice after the final battle. He'd thought that moving in with Draco, that finally being allowed to be with him, fully and openly, and with the (admittedly tentative) support of her best friends would soothe whatever internal battle she had so clearly been fighting. She had, of course, told he and Ron about her secret relationship with Malfoy while they were on the run. It had been what had caused Ron to abandon them for weeks, right before Christmas, in a strange fit of jealousy and (rather understandable) outrage. He himself had struggled with the knowledge, with accepting that she had kept it from them for so long. He hadn't known what to do, what to say to her, after she'd told them her secret. Hadn't spoken to her for days as he'd tried to process it. But then, he'd asked. Had needed to know why, and how. The things she'd told him, the memories she had shared of their time together (thankfully sanitized so as not to forever scar him further), had seeped into his brain and he'd eventually come to accept it. He knew Ron had had a similar (figurative) come to Jesus moment before he'd returned, and again after he'd heard the same stories and memories from Hermione that Harry had, and things had settled between them all.