Original Ending

Harry blinked. 'I'm dreaming again.' He glanced around, and his gaze fell on the table in front of him. The spell book was gone. He'd succeeded, it seemed. But he still couldn't be sure. Maybe the book was moved.

He left the office quietly. Living in the altered Hogwarts had made him paranoid.

Harry received a shock as he stepped into the hall. Rather than the silence he'd become accustomed to, students were rushing around quite loudly. They stood in corners, gossiping and laughing. He grinned. And then he ran to Myrtle's bathroom.

The lack of Hermione's body on the floor reassured him. He had fixed everything. It was as it should be.

"Hello, Harry." The soft voice made him spin around.

"Dumbledore." The elderly man nodded, and motioned for Harry to follow him. They walked back to the office. When they were inside, and Harry seated, Dumbledore began to speak.

"I gather that you are feeling most relieved at the moment, am I correct?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly. This couldn't be good.

" And on one hand, you should be. You restored time, the Weasleys are all alive, as are anyone else who was murdered after the Turners' use, and Voldemort will not look to the past as an option any longer. You will also look forward to dreadful predictions regarding your fate in Divination."

"But…"

"Harry, did anything happen between you and…Miss Riddle, after she killed me?"

"You remember that?" Harry asked.

"Surprisingly, yes. Due to a rather interesting side effect of an experiment in my youth, I have full memory of everything from the altered timeline. Which, of course, does not usually occur, except for the one who repairs it."

Harry felt that Dumbledore wasn't telling him something, but he decided not to question it. "Yes, something happened."

"What, Harry?"

"We dueled. And…"

"You were forced to kill her. A most painful and difficult decision, no doubt."

Harry nodded.

"Then it is as I feared."

Harry didn't ask what Dumbledore feared. A sick feeling grew in his stomach, as he realized that he already knew the answer.

"Because it was you who killed her in that alternate timeline, she is dead in this. Actually, she does not exist. I know the why won't matter to you, but-" that was as far as Dumbledore got. Harry leapt from the seating, shouting through his tears that he'd had no choice. How she had been so stupid; why had he had to choose? He hadn't wanted to.

Dumbledore sat there quietly, until Harry had finished. When he sat again, Fawkes fluttered down. He pushed the bird away. "You can't help this time." He looked Dumbledore in the eyes.

"I can't fix it, can I?" he asked the headmaster quietly.

"No, Harry. You can't."

"You said she doesn't exist."

"You and I are the only ones with any memories of her, Harry." Dumbledore withdrew something from his pocket. Two somethings. "Here."

Harry took the wands from him slowly. Both were so familiar now, holly and ebony. Warm and cool. Light and heavy. He went on contrasting the wands in his mind, for he needed to focus on something.

"Did Professor Snape get these?"

"Yes. It was not safe for him bring them to me until now, however."

 Harry thought of something. "Why was I returned to this day, sir? Voldemort used the Turners before school started."

"The spell always returns the user to the same week, the same day, preferably, that the spell was cast."

"Oh." Harry turned to leave.

"Would you like me to send for Sirius?"

"What for? Hermione won't have existed for him." And in a strange way, Harry was grateful for that. No one would need to know what he had done to return their lives to normal.

But it wasn't fair to Hermione. Two people would remember her. Tow people only. And when they died, she would vanish entirely. All she had left behind was a wand. A wand that wasn't truly hers; it had belonged to the girl corrupted by Voldemort. Not the smartest witch Hogwarts ad ever seen. Not his best friend, the bushy-haired girl who had saved his life, argued with Ron, and defended elf rights. But he clutched it tightly anyway. It was all he had of her, save for memories he couldn't share.

"Hey mate!" A familiar redhead made his way through the crowds as Harry emerged from the spiral staircase that led to the office. 'Been waiting for you. What did Dumbledore want?"

Harry said nothing. Ron tried again to make conversation, but Harry's expression made it clear he didn't want talk.

That night, Harry sat staring at the lake. He was exhausted, but he didn't want to sleep. Not yet. He was afraid of what he would dream. Guilt tore at him, and again he reminded himself there had been no alternative. If he had died, nothing would have been fixed. And running wasn't possible in that situation.

Days passed, and his friendships with Ron and other collapsed. He felt no urge to fly or play Quidditch, preferring instead to study in the library. It became his second home. Occasionally, he visited Hedwig, but he did not send letters.

Three months after the death of Hermione, Harry found what he was looking for. He ripped the page from the book, and ran to get supplies. This would be easy. And it would ensure that some portion of Hermione would remain in this world, even after he and Dumbledore were gone.

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Harry sat in front of the cauldron, carefully measuring ingredients. Dragon's blood, beetle eyes, and moth wings. Wood ash and lake water.

Within the hour, his potion was bubbling. All it needed was the wands, and a spell. He lowered the wands in gently, shivering as his fingers released each one into the mix. He silently prayed this wood work.

"Dos peaa unico, bondinus."

He slept beside the cauldron that night. The whole operation required twenty-four hours to be successful, and he would guard it till then.

When the allotted time was up, Harry reached into his cauldron. The brew had melted away, leaving only a wand inside. Just one. Things had gone as planned.

Harry pulled out his new wand, and stared at it. The phoenix feather was still inside; he could tell by the warmth. But  now it was encased in gleaming ebony.

Hermione would've been proud. Despite his claims to be no good at heavy research or difficult spells, he'd done both. And now some part of her would remain, for he doubted that any wand owned by The Boy Who Lived would ever be destroyed if it could be prevented.

He pocketed the wand as he headed back to the castle.

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A/N: Okay, that was the original ending. I tried to make it a little clearer than the way it'd first been written. After all, just because I understood what was going on and why didn't mean everyone else would. So I added a couple details to clarify. The alternate, more cheerful ending will be posted soon.