A/N – Ok this is the second last chapter guys! Enjoy! Don't forget to leave a review, please. It only takes a second but leaves me ridiculously happy.

Dumbledore POV

We travel back to London on the train, it's late now, her parents will be wondering where she is. I look at her, she's pale and wan. Her hair is in a bushy mess around her head and she looks as if she hasn't slept in a week. I wish I could keep an eye on her, but it's just so hectic in the run up to school, I have to return to the castle in August for a meeting with Fudge and the Board of Management, Lucius Malfoy, not what I need now.

Harry is starting school this year. I've had Minevra keep an eye on him, he seems to be coping well, as well as one can under the roof of the Durselys. From what I've heard, he's the image of his father but with his mothers eyes. Hagrid is planning to visit him soon, I know, I'll be glad when I have him safely in the castle. He's too precious, too valuable, a vital piece in the war against Voldemort, which is by no means over, we've just called a ceasefire. Not for a while though, not yet, hopefully many years from now. All this plays on my mind, the thoughts landing in my brain like raindrops, a rhythm to match the trains steady hum on the track.

Even when I drop Hermione off, I'm worried. I can't stop thinking about her. Her parents are not the comforting type, from what I've heard and seen they've been useless. They understand the bond Rowan and Hermione shared. Twins themselves are unusual,different. They'll always have each other, look out for one another, it's inevitable, that's the way it is with twins. Magical twins are something else. They are smarter, stronger, braver than others. Mostly Gryffindor, I muse to myself. Magical twins are extremely unusual, rare, to be prized. They often are telepathic from birth or can apparate at a very young age. The Weasely twins, Fred and George, they can tell what the other is thinking, they've always been able too. They're inseperable, trying to… it would be like trying to separate Gurdyroots and leeches eyes… impossible.

Now that Rowanis gone, it's so easy to see the effects it has had on her, the nightmares, strong emotions, uncontrollable magic that's much stronger than it should be. She snapped one of those silver rods, I saw her do it. She looked astonished for a moment but then threw it to the ground. It's beyond normal grief, something else entirely.

I saw into her head using Legilimency, though she would have hated me for it, I saw the love she had for Rowan, I saw their secret use of the 'powers' as they called them and I saw the guilt she feels. She blames herself completely, rather like I blamed myself when Ariana died, thatwas different of course, that was my fault, all my fault… I still think about that day, the awful day when Gellert turned on me. I knew, I knew he was twisted, evil but I chose to ignore it for 'the greater good'. My sister is dead, most likely killed at my hand, with my wand. Aberforth will never forgive me and rightly so. It's impossible to see past these simple facts to whatever greater good this supposedly is. I kept my nose crooked to remind me of that, I could have straightened it easily enough. I've never been strong enough to watch that day in Pensieve, I have the memory bottled, labeled neatly, I've poured it into the bowl, but I've never been able to force my head down into the memory. I'm not as strong as Hermione.

Hermione POV

So follows the most interesting weeks of my relatively short, yet pain filled life. I read my new textbooks, forcing myself to denounce science, physics and mathematics and learn about the world that has been hidden from me, from Muggles in general. I devour the knowledge, at first reluctant to accept what is clearly true. "Magic is real" I have to whisper to myself regularly. "Magic is real." I pinch myself, but thankfully, do not awake from a strange, complicated dream. I read about goblin battles in A History of Magic, of plants with strange properties in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and pore over the pages of The Standard Book of Spells, the simplest of spells astounding at enthralling me. Next year I will learn how to levitate objects, next year I will learn how to make a pineapple tap dance across a table, next year I will be a witch. All the pictures move in these books, I sit and watch them for hours on end. My old books that I spend the night reading are pointless and dull now. Knights wielding toothpick sized swords dash across the pages, I see plants grow form seedlings to enormous purple carnivorous flowers in seconds. I love the books, they're amazing, I've already read all of them at least three times.

My wand, I haven't really touched yet. It's too painful, the irony is laughably unfair, the one wand that had to chose me. Sometimes I glare at it, sitting in the trunk Dumbledore gave me, as if I can make it feel remorse for picking me. I miss Rowan more than ever, he would have loved magic, more than I do, I think. I've fallen for this new world that Dumbledore has let me believe I can be a part of, but Rowan, he would have bought every book in Flourish and Blotts he would have wanted to know everything. I can picture him flitting about Diagon Alley, diving into shops and stalls calling out "Hermione, come see! LOOK what I've found!" The Rowan shaped hole is still there, though it's easier to live with. It's as if I've gotten a puppy and it's just been house trained. Despite how I felt coming out of the Pensieve, it was amazing to see him again, to see him teasing me. I wish I could live in that moment forever, being perpetually teased, being called Mione for the rest of eternity. But as Dumbledore said I can't. I've got to move on, and the magical world seems like the best place to move to. I'm counting the days to September 1st when I'm getting the Hogwarts Express out of this sea of memories I've been drowning in for so long.