Title:The Path Not Taken
Rating: T
Category: Harry Potter
Genre: Angst
Pairing: Harry/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 1315
Summary: Harry is lost. Hermione helps him find his way again. A "missing moment" (maybe...just maybe) from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
Author's Notes: Most of you probably know that I am a die-hard H/G shipper, fully on board with OBHWF to boot. I wrote this story just for a friend on LJ who loves nothing better than to needle me about how it should have been H/Hr rather than H/G. I told him to give me an H/Hr prompt and I'd see what I could do. This is the result, taking into account that fact that Jo recently indicated in an interview with Melissa Anelli that "it could have gone that way." This is unbetaed, and I don't have my copy of HPatDH handy...I think my husband took it with him to work this week, so if I've made any glaring canon errors, just point 'em out and I'll try to fix them.

The days had all begun to run into each other. They rose in the morning, ate a meager meal, cleared out their campsite and apparated away. In the evenings they unpacked, ate another meal that Harry never bothered to taste, and either listened to the wireless or went straight to bed, where she cried and he ached as he listened to her. They were like two empty shells being pushed along by the tide of circumstance. Harry knew she expected more from him, but he had lost his way.

He'd never asked to be the chosen one, never wanted to be a hero. He would have traded places with Ron in a heartbeat. Ron didn't have a Dark Lord who wanted him dead. Ron had a family waiting to welcome him home. Ron had a girl who loved him, and nothing was standing in the way of their being together, only he was too stupid to see it.

He couldn't stand hearing her cry anymore. He sat up and crawled over to her side of the tent and placed a hand on her shoulder. She stilled at once. Harry didn't know what to do. He was rubbish with girls, even one that was his best friend. Should he move his hand? Should he hold her?

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered finally. She turned to face him, and Harry was glad for the darkness...glad he didn't have to see her tears on her face, glad she couldn't see the misery on his.

"Why?" she asked. She sounded as lost as he felt.

He wasn't sure if she was asking why he was apologizing, or if her question meant more than that. Either way, he had no idea where to begin. He was sorry for dragging her into this mess. He was sorry he hadn't been able to convince Ron to stay. Most of all...

"I'm sorry I've let you down."

At that, she cried harder. His heart breaking, Harry arranged his body so that he was lying next to her, with her head pillowed on his shoulder and her arm curled around his waist. Gently, he smoothed her bushy hair out of the way so that it didn't tickle his nose. She felt different in his arms than Ginny, and her hair smelled more of citrus than of flowers. He only wished she wasn't crying.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He felt her shake her head.

"You haven't let me down, Harry," she said.

"Haven't I? Maybe Trelawney got it wrong after all. Maybe that stupid prophecy was about Neville all along."

Her shoulders began to shake again, and Harry wanted to kick himself until he realized her tears had dissolved into laughter.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Neville? Harry, you can't be serious."

"But I am. Neville was born at the end of July. He fit the conditions for the prophecy, too," he insisted.

Hermione rolled slightly away from him and glanced up. "You never actually told me what it said."

"'Course I did. Last year, remember?"

"No, you just said it looked like you had to be the one to finish off Voldemort. You didn't say why."

Harry realized that was what she'd been asking all along. Why...why was this happening? Why did it have to be him?

"Tell me," she commanded softly. "Tell me the whole thing. I think I have the right to hear it."

Harry closed his eyes as he began to recite.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ...."

Harry felt a shudder run along her body.

"Oh...." she said. Then she reached up to brush his hair out of his face, revealing the lightning bolt scar. He flinched as she touched her fingertip to it and said, "Of course it's about you, Harry."

"But why? Why me?" he asked angrily. "There's nothing special about me. I don't have any secret power. I'm not Superman."

"I don't think that prophecy means you have to be Superman," Hermione said slowly, considering her words carefully. "And there is something special about you, Harry. People are drawn to you. Neville wouldn't have been able to convince a room full of students to rebel against Umbridge. He wouldn't have been able to learn the Patronus charm in 3rd year, either, or hold his own against Deatheaters and Dementors."

Harry was silent for a moment. Then he asked, "What if it's because of Voldemort that I was able to do all of those things? What if...when he marked me...he left a bit of his magic in me?"

Hermione seemed taken aback by the suggestion. She bit her lip in concentration and said, finally, "It doesn't change the fact that you are the one he marked, Harry. "

"It also doesn't change the fact that I couldn't have done any of those things without you," he said quietly. Her fingers tightened into him, then, and Harry felt a wave of warmth radiating from them into his body, as if she were lending him her own strength, and a part of him surged to life, overriding his will and exerting its own directives over his limbs. The hand that had been stroking her hair flattened itself against her back, pulling her closer while one of his knees nudged itself between her two.

"Hermione...?" he rasped breathlessly, half afraid, half hopeful. He was so tired of being alone.

She shook her head, eyes wide and fixed on his, her fear mirroring his own. Then her brows furrowed in determination. Her hand slid up his chest until it cupped his face, pulling it down towards her own until his lips met hers. His arm tightened around her as he explored the sweet recesses of her mouth, which tasted faintly of cinnamon. He clung to her desperately, riding out the maelstrom of emotions that swept through him: joy, anger, sorrow, guilt, each struggling for dominance as his heart warred with his mind, the image of red hair imposing itself over curly brown behind his closed eyes. At last, a sweet kind of peace stole over him as she threaded her fingers into his hair, then she tugged at him until he broke the kiss. Her dark eyes seemed black and unfathomable as she gazed up at him.

"It would be so easy," she whispered. "I love you. I always have."

"I know," he said huskily. "Me, too."

"And it would make sense," she added petulantly, thumping her head against his chest in frustration. He smoothed her hair again and kissed the top of her head before resting his chin against it, sighing.

"Maybe that's just it. Maybe it's not supposed to make sense," he said. He thought of the girl he'd left behind, and he realized he'd left a part of his heart with her, just as Ron had taken a part of Hermione's with him when he left. They'd both been left broken and aching. As sweet as it was to hold her against him, he knew as well as she that it was a temporary fix.

They were quiet for a while in each other's arms until she said, "You couldn't have done those things without him, either."

He nodded. "We'll get him back. And we'll figure a way out of this mess, Hermione, I swear."

"I know, Harry. I have faith in you. We both do."

When dawn came once more, Harry no longer felt so empty inside. When breakfast was over and their gear was packed away, she reached for his hand and squeezed. Together they apparated away, ready to face another day.