Author's Note: Welcome back everyone for the final real chapter of this story. There's an epilogue still to go, but then we have reached the end of our journey together. I'm both sad to see it end and proud of this story - and all your support has been a massive contribution to that! For the last time, I want to thank my lovely reviewers, an in particular Mariana Masen for reviewing the previous chapter and singing such sweet praise (I loved the chef's kiss! :)).

Also, don't forget to immediately check out the epilogue after this chapter. It's rather short, so I decided to upload these two together.

Now, about this chapter, I just want to point out that this was always how I meant to end this story. All of your lovely reviews made me seriously doubt whether or not to do it out of fear of disappointing anyone, but I decided to stick with my original ideas. So, here goes nothing!

June 1, 1997
Bath

She wasn't sure what awoke her, but only that when she was awake, she could no longer keep her eyes shut. A quick glance at her digital alarm told her it was near two in the morning, many hours still until her alarm would force her to roll out of bed and get ready for another school week.

The last weeks had passed slowly and exhaustingly, and Sophie found it difficult to invest the time and energy that was needed to finish the year successfully. In truth, she was counting down the weeks until the summer holidays, telling herself that if she just put in these last efforts, she could use the holidays to figure out what to do next.

Ever since returning from Hogwarts, she couldn't help but feel afloat, drifting as different forces in her life – school, parents, friends – took her in one direction or another, but missing any direction or goal of her own. Increasingly often, she found herself wondering if there was any goal to her being here at all anymore.

She gazed up at the ceiling, following the cracks that spread across the plaster, until she suddenly realised that she could see them in much more detail than she was used to. Once this realisation dawned, it was impossible to miss the soft glow that filled her bedroom, and that seemed to be emitted from the full-length mirror that hung on the opposite wall beside her wardrobe. Intrigued, Sophie was hardly aware of moving before she found herself standing in front of it.

Somehow, to her still sleepy brain, the absence of her own mirror image did not appear all that unusual. In fact, for a moment she was not aware of anything awry at all, save for the mystical glow that the looking glass emitted, as she stared into the image of an empty bedroom. Then, only after a nearby church bell chiming the half hour roused her from her daze, did she realise that while the room certainly looked familiar, it was not the room she was standing in.

When she did, it was hard to imagine how she had missed it. What was less obvious to her, however, was why her dream had brought her to her childhood bedroom. Her real childhood. Before she had time to consider this question, the door in the image opened to allow in a woman in her early thirties. As she moved through the room, putting away clothes in different drawers and cabinets, Sophie found her eyes tearing up as she gingerly took in features long forgotten – and unconsciously reached her hand toward the mirror. Towards her mother.

Just then, the door opened again and a young girl came bounding into the room that Sophie recognised as her younger self. The girl, about eight years-old, situated herself on the edge of the bed, seemingly chatting animatedly to her mother who, when finished with her chore, seated herself next to her. As the mother lovingly took to brushing and braiding younger Sophie's hair, all the while still keeping up their steady and enthusiastic conversation, Sophie realised that it couldn't be her with a sinking feeling. In her old life, she had always been withdrawn and distant, even as a young child. As a result, she and her mother had never been particularly close.

Still she stayed and stared, transfixed by the image, so simple yet so full of love that it made her heart ache. She realised that this Sophie, who was like her and yet was nothing like her, must be former Sophie Cornwell. That when she herself landed in this life, Sophie Cornwell must have been sent into hers.

The image in front of her blurred for a moment, like a pool of water that is disturbed. When it cleared again a minute later, young Sophie was back, perhaps a little older and lounging on her bed with a couple of other young girls scattered across the bed and several on mattresses on the floor. They were all laughing at something, and young Sophie threw her pillow at one of the girls on the floor in fake-annoyance. The image blurred and cleared again, this time a bit faster than the first time. Sophie was still on her bed, now clearly several years older, a smartphone held against her ear as she chatted away, staring out of the window and appearing positively lovesick. Another image appeared, Sophie was back on the edge of the bed together with her mother. The latter was holding onto the young girl as her body was wrecked with sobs, stroking through her hair lovingly as she muttered what were probably words of comfort.

The image disappeared again and then… she was looking at herself – or almost. In the background, she could still detect the bedroom that had once been hers but wasn't anymore. The girl who looked back at her wasn't her yet. If she had to guess, this Sophie was a little older than her, and she was reminded of an eighteenth birthday a long time ago. And despite it being her own face looking back, there was the unconscious realisation that it was not herself looking back.

They stared at each other for a long moment and she found herself wondering if the other Sophie, too, had seen flashes of the life that had been taken away from her. And if she did, did she regret the loss? Was she content with what Sophie had done with it? More importantly, was she content herself? More than anything, she felt more than that she really could explain why that they were given a choice.

She could go back. To her parents, who she now knew had never been to blame for the distance in her relationship with them. To her place in a world of smartphones and Internet and Netflix and Spotify. To her old life of normalcy and averageness, but in which she at least knew her place in the world.

Perhaps more important than reasons to go back, the longer she thought about it, the more she found herself struggling to find a reason to stay. After all, she had done what she had come here for, hadn't she? She had helped Draco redeem himself and had consequently helped the Light Side win the war and had saved several lives. And now, no matter how hard she tried, the magical world would forever be out of view. Emma was far away and although she knew she valued Sophie's friendship, she knew the girl would survive without her. On the other hand, her parents would probably be happy to have their real daughter back.

And then of course there was Draco. She would miss him of course – and she dared even allow herself to admit that he would probably miss her too, at least for a time. But, she also knew that he did not need her, not anymore. And if anything, she knew there was a future already written for him, and that it didn't include her. He would be fine.

She took a deep breath, gazing back into the familiar eyes of the other Sophie, and seeing there the same conflicted sentiments echoed that filled her own heart. But they could not remain conflicted forever, could not forever be torn in two. They both realised it. And now, it was time to make a decision.

July 5
London

'This is ridiculous – absolutely ridiculous. You are joking, right?'

'Nope.'

He turned to her, eyebrows scrunched together in scepticism, as he repeated, 'You are seriously telling me… that Muggles… flew to the moon… in that thing?'

She glared at him, then rolled her eyes, 'Yes, that's what I said, wasn't it?'

'But how? It doesn't have any wings.'

'It doesn't need wings to fly.'

'And you are certain your government doesn't have a secret source of magic stored away somewhere?'

'Positively,' she deadpanned, then shrugged, 'Honestly, there's no need to be so disbelieving of the achievements of nonmagical people. We have existed for ages; we have had plenty of time to find ways to make life easier without access to magic. Launching rockets into space is only one example.' And with that, she turned away from the display of the moon landing, ready to finally move on and see some more of the British Museum before lunch.

When she was about six steps away, Draco fell silently into step with her, and she instinctively laced her fingers through his.

As they passed into the Ancient Egypt exhibition and conversation flowed a little easier – this being a topic that Draco could also provide input on from the magical side – Sophie allowed her mind to wander back over the past few weeks.

After the incident with the mirror – she still wasn't quite sure whether it had been a dream or not – several weeks ago, she had made the difficult decision to try harder. To make something of her life. The next morning, she had confronted her parents at breakfast and they had finally unpacked all the sentiments that had muddled their relationship ever since her return. She had missed the first two hours of school that day, but the weight that had been lifted off of her shoulders and of those of her parents was more than worth it.

That afternoon, she had come home to a letter, which her mother informed her through pursed lips had been delivered via owl. It was a short, simple missive from Draco, informing her of his new address which he stated should be findable for the Muggle postman, and – in post scriptum – that she was welcome to visit him the following Saturday, as he did not have any plans yet. She had bitten her lip to hide a smile, and had quickly gone upstairs to pen a reply. In it, she had thanked him for his letter, for giving her the address and for extending the invitation. However, she declined coming to his new residence in London, instead inviting him to come to Bath and have a drink with her at a local pub. She'd gone out immediately to post it. Two days later she received his reply, again per owl. And to her surprise, he had accepted.

After that, they had met up more regularly. In Bath or in London, going to a pub, a restaurant, and even the movies – or simply at home, lounging in either of their bedrooms while they bickered over one thing or another, casually throwing insults at each other every once in a while.

Looking back, Sophie couldn't really say when their friendship had evolved into something more. Somehow from one day to the next, she had found herself reaching out to take his hand to express her joy, to tug him along, or just to feel connected to him – and had found it to feel natural. Kisses followed soon after, again feeling simply like the next logical step on the road that they had been on ever since first meeting each other.

They hadn't made anything official, and she felt like both of them were fine for the time being with just seeing where things would lead. Still, a part of her hoped that they would lead somewhere, and she found herself holding his hand just a little tighter in response.

-xxx-

That evening, they were lounging in Draco's bedroom. After exiting the museum, they had had a simple dinner in the city before strolling back to the townhouse. Narcissa was still out for the evening, and they had spent the remainder of the evening in Draco's room debating Muggle versus magical history accounts of the pharaohs. Darkness had already fallen by the time they finally fell silent, the room now only illuminated by the Lumos Draco had cast some time ago in the absence of a visible moon.

'You remember when you said that Potter wasn't supposed to survive the duel?' Draco said suddenly, and she was so surprised by the rather random change of topic that it took her a moment to remember. The final duel between Voldemort and Harry Potter. Their wands locking in Priori Incantatem. Voldemort being defeated.

She hummed.

'I've been thinking about it – and I think I know why he did.' At his words, she sat up a little straighter, and he smirked at her attentiveness before continuing. 'The Elder Wand's loyalty is transferred through the defeat of a wizard, is it not?'

'Yes.'

'Either through death or defeat in battle?'

'Yes.'

'Snape gained the loyalty of the wand when he killed Dumbledore.

'In Malfoy Manor, I ran into Snape and, still considering him a traitor, Disarmed him. If my logic is correct, that would have transferred the loyalty of the wand from Snape to me, correct?'

'Correct.'

'Well, when I arrived at Hogwarts I didn't see anyone at first, but then caught sight of Potter as he was making for the Forbidden Forest. I called out to him and he, being the tosser that he is, Disarmed me.'

Mind racing, Sophie blew out a breath of air as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. 'So he was the wand's master at the time of the duel after all.'

Draco snorted. 'Lucky bastard.'

They lapsed into silence again after that, and Sophie considered the unquestionable luck that had led Harry Potter to gain the loyalty of the Elder Wand at just the right time. Or perhaps it wasn't luck at all. Perhaps some things were just written in stone and try as she might to change them, they could not be prevented. The Elder Wand may be one of them, as was the death of Dumbledore. Only time could tell how much more of the future she knew would come to pass. Sophie let out a soft sigh, pulling herself up from her sitting position on the floor next to the bed, to retreat for the night towards the guest bedroom.

When she stood, her eye fell on the still form on the bed – and she smiled to herself. Draco was still lying on his side facing her, head propped up on one hand as his wand dangled from the limp fingers of the other. She shook her head, bending down to press a soft kiss to his cheek. After consideration, she also plucked the still-lit wand from his fingers, figuring that the least she could do was take the source of light further away and out of his immediate field of view – and avoid him setting his bedcovers on fire. As she turned toward the night stand to put it away, Sophie for a moment paused as she smiled somewhat self-deprecatingly at the wand – seeing all that it stood for and yet at the same time, a simple, stupid piece of wood. With a sniff and a dramatic wave through the air, she whispered, 'Nox.'

And all went dark.