Disclaimer: Let's see — for starters, I'm not the richest woman in the United Kingdom. Also, Harry and Hermione didn't end up together. I'm guessing that means Harry et al. still belong to Jo Rowling, who is almost always right in her storytelling choices.

Author's Note: I am a bad, bad writer. I forget to respond to reviews, and I've put all my writing energy into blogging for the past several years instead of fanfic. But last night, a small army of plot bunnies invaded my head after I watched the Forest of Dean scenes in Deathly Hallows Part 1. They refused to leave until I wrote this.

The title takes itself from the opening/closing lines of Dashboard Confessional's "Vindicated". I didn't intend this to be a songfic at all, but in hindsight, it might as well be. The song definitely expresses the feelings I was going for:

Hope

Dangles on a string

Like slow-spinning redemption

Winding in and winding out

The shine of it has caught my eye

. . . .

Slight hope

Dangles on a string

Like slow-spinning redemption...

This is Harry's POV, after Hermione goes inside the tent in the Forest of Dean. The bits in italics are his memories. As the entirety of the story is Harry's internal thoughts, it never actually strays into AU, just my interpretation of the scene.

And remember, just because it's all happening in Harry's head, why should that mean it isn't real? :)

Slight Hope

"Maybe we should just stay here, Harry. Grow old."

As soon as he sent Hermione back into the tent to rest he sat down, the words running on an endless loop in Harry Potter's head.

The ground was hard and it was below freezing outside. The remnants of his broken wand, the twin to his mortal enemy's, dug into his hand as he clutched it like a talisman. But the loss of the wand and its useful connection to Voldemort never entered his mind. Nor was there a thought of Godric's Hollow or the horrors it held for him, either those faded with time or fresh and raw. It didn't even matter that he had finally discovered who Grindelwald was, and was to Dumbledore. He wasn't analyzing any of the things he knew he should be thinking about.

Because the entirety of his mind was occupied with Hermione's words and the glimmer of hope they offered. The hope that frightened him as much as it tempted him.

"Did she really mean it?" he thought to himself. "Could I just let go of this stupid destiny that I never wanted, and all the responsibilities that come with it?"

He almost smiled to himself. It sounded corny even in his own mind, but he'd give up being "The Chosen One" in a heartbeat if he could be the one Hermione chose.

He had never considered it to be a real possibility before. There were so many reasons why not. Not that he hadn't caught on that Hermione was a girl, and a beautiful one. Well before Ron had, in point of fact. He let snippets of memories flow through his mind.

Third year, holding onto Hermione, wishing he could protect her from the sound of Macnair's axe falling onto Buckbeak...

Hermione in her dress robes at the Yule Ball, so beautiful it nearly hurt to look at her...

Blushing at her words in response to his worries over being a bad kisser, "Of course you're not..."

Just a few months ago, launching himself at her and Ron after they arrived at the Burrow, not caring that he was interrupting their embrace as long as he could feel that she was real. And alive...

Dancing with her in the tent, praying she wouldn't pull away, but knowing she would...

She did. Of course, she did. He shouldn't even be considering this. It was utterly mad. He'd always known that Hermione wasn't his, never could be. She belonged to Ron, didn't she? He had never really dared to admit it was something he even wanted, and he wouldn't take her from Ron even if he could. He wasn't supposed to want it. It wasn't his damn destiny.

But Ron had left them. Ron was the one who turned his back. He understood Ron walking away from him; he'd certainly done it before, and why wouldn't anyone in their right mind? But how could Ron — could anyone — walk away from Hermione? No matter how much he'd missed his family.

The Weasleys. Harry supposed he should be thinking about Ginny right now, about ending this madness and going home to her. But his relationship with Ginny had never been real. It was his last effort at grasping on to a normal life that wasn't his to live. She was pretty, and full of life, and he had truly cared for her. But in the end, he had walked away from Ginny and taken Hermione on this ridiculous quest.

Because Hermione was the one he couldn't go on without.

Because Hermione was the only one who had always seen Harry, and never "The Boy Who Lived".

Because Hermione had never, ever walked away from him.

His life had always been one of sacrifice, usually at the hands of others. Voldemort had taken his parents, his godfather, Hedwig, even Harry's own blood. Dumbledore had decided Harry must give up a happy childhood for a humble one. Snape had stolen his most private memories under the guise of helping him.

Hell, even Molly Weasley, the only mother he'd ever known, had decided that it was for the best that Hermione be paired off with Ron while Harry would be with Ginny. One big, happy Weasley family. Although he was pretty sure that he was headed toward ultimate sacrifice himself anyway if he kept after the Horcruxes, no matter what Dumbledore had said. Or had been careful not to say, now he thought about it.

"Neither can live while the other survives."

Did he owe them any more, though? No one had ever asked if he wanted a capital-D Destiny. And what had the wizarding world ever done for him, really? Most of them just wanted to use him for some purpose or other. But not her. Never her.

Maybe, just this one time, he could do what he wanted. He could take instead of giving. He could find a happily-ever-after he'd never believed he deserved. One he'd certainly never imagined, living in a magical tent, eating god-awful meals, receiving terrible haircuts. And being happier than he'd ever dared dream.

On the one hand, it seemed so ridiculous. After everything, he couldn't just... stop. Could he? And even if he could, it's not like she really meant it. Well, she certainly didn't mean it that way. It was just idle talk, born of hopelessness.

Wasn't it?

But he was so cold. And so tired. And just a few feet away, inside that tent, was the bravest, funniest, most brilliant, most beautiful woman in the world. How could he live the rest of his life, however short it might be, wondering — when all he need do was ask if she was serious?

He shifted, preparing to stand. It was now or never.

And then he saw the silver doe.

The End

If anyone is still interested, the plot bunnies have been harassing me about Hermione's POV. Or maybe they just don't want me to wait three years before I write another fic. What do y'all think?