Draco could see the trepidation in Hermione's face as they prepared to leave the hotel. Her memories from the final moments in Australia several years ago remained vague, but there had been limited information in her files. They intended to speak to someone at the hotel where she had stayed the last time to see what they could learn and then visit the community where her parents lived before returning to England.

"Hey," Draco said, casting her a glance. "Whatever happens, I'm here."

Her wide eyes locked on him. "Yeah," she said, blowing out a long breath. Her fingers curled around his elbow like a vice, as though for support.

His heart clenched in his chest. After everything she had already been through, this could potentially be the last major hurdle before she could set aside this chapter of her life.

And while Draco had initially feared she would no longer want him around when her memories returned, he'd been able to lay those fears to rest. If anything, now that they were on completely even footing, Draco felt more connected to her than ever.

He pressed a firm kiss to her lips with a muttered, "You've got this," and pulled them both into Apparition.


Their first two stops proved fruitless, and though Hermione outwardly remained positive, Draco could already see the crack in her confidence. Following several hours spent delicately attempting to glean information from the Muggle doctors who had assisted her immediately after she lost her memory the last time she had been to Brisbane, they were forced to accept that it was a dead end as well.

Too much time had passed, and the only information the doctors had was from their initial assessments.

Despite that the rest of her memories had returned, Hermione still carried a gap in her mind from the point where she sought to leave for Brisbane to track down her parents until the point when she awoke to her new reality.

If Draco didn't know better, he might have suspected foul play―but Huxley had been able to rule that out in their treatment.

He still felt an implicit wariness about what actually did happen. And now that they were on the ground in Australia, confronting the matter, it felt more important than ever.

Their next stop was visiting the nearest magical hospital, where Hermione likely visited in order to inquire about her parents' recovery.

As the day passed and some of their avenues to answers slipped away, Draco could see the tension growing within Hermione. He could only imagine how she felt―so close to the answers she'd sought for so long, but so far nothing.

At last, they came across a healer who remembered the situation, a middle-aged woman named Healer Williams. Although the situation was a little unorthodox, she listened to Hermione's story with a halfway disbelieving smile on her face, then clipped in a thick accent, "Come along, then."

After verifying Hermione's identity, Healer Williams brandished a file. All the while, as Hermione skimmed its contents, the woman kept an eye on her.

"This is all I have regarding your parents' case," Williams said, a little apologetic. "You say you lost your memory entirely?"

Hermione offered a thin smile, already skimming the file. "I'm afraid so. I've managed to recover all of it―except for this." She peered closer at one page before returning the file. "Thanks for the help."

As they walked away, Draco cocked a brow. "I expected you to drill her for more information."

"I might have if I thought she knew anything―but the files were practically bare. Except for one thing."

"Your parents' address or something?" Draco asked. "They obviously don't still live there."

"Not an address," Hermione mused. "But a location all the same. Just a mention―a bus station with public storage."

A slow grin dragged across his face. "You're brilliant."

Although she rolled her eyes in deprecation, a pretty flush coloured her cheeks. "Hold that thought in case we actually find something. I'm starting to think my former self might have had more plans than I originally thought."

Draco had been cautious about saying too much about the fact that she obviously hadn't known her plans in advance, or else the memories were still gone along with the rest of her trip to Australia. But he could see the concern on her face as well as they Apparated to the station in question.

The building was Muggle, which made sense given that according to her report, she'd stayed in a Muggle hotel―and carried Muggle identification.

At last, she released a sigh, her steps slowing. "I keep asking myself―what was I doing? Why did everything play out the way it did?"

"I know." He pulled her hand to his, brushing his lips across her knuckles. "Maybe today is the day you're going to find out."

"And if not?"

Draco could hear the trepidation in her voice; he knew all too well the suppression of hope. "Even if you never find out," he mused quietly, "it doesn't change who you are. The life you live now―and the future that's ahead. The past doesn't define us."

Reading the significance behind his words immediately, she turned doleful eyes on him. "It certainly doesn't."

Wrapping an arm around her smaller form, Draco drew her tight into his chest. For a moment, he allowed himself to indulge in the steady rhythm of her heart before he released her. Her eyes shone with the threat of moisture, something implicit and desperate beneath the veil of her stoicism.

"I have faith," he said, at last. "That you're going to find what you're looking for."

With a shaky exhale, she nodded. "I might need to borrow some of your faith for now."

"You've got it."

He led them into the station, skimming the crowds of people flowing in all directions; Draco could tell by the confusion on Hermione's face that it wasn't what she had anticipated.

"Why do you suppose this place was relevant?" she asked, peering around a large group. "It doesn't seem as if there's anything particularly special about it."

Draco cast her a cautious glance. "No sudden recollections? I can't help but wonder, given you must have had some plans in advance, why none of this is ringing any bells."

"I've thought the same," she returned softly. "Why do I have no memories leading up to everything that must have happened? And..." She trailed off, drifting from his side, and when Draco followed her attention, he spotted a bank of lockers along the far wall. She turned back towards him with wide eyes. "And I fear that something else might have been at play in the moments surrounding my memory loss."

He'd wondered about it so many times before. Whether it might have been more intentional―or whether she had at least suspected what might happen.

He hadn't wanted to suggest it outright, though―especially not when she was still working to recover her memories. But now that the rest had returned but for these, those that remained absent grew more glaring.

Sucking in a deep breath, Hermione made for the lockers, and Draco followed, his fingers itching to draw his wand and cast a few tests. There were too many Muggles around, but even without his wand to detect magic, he could feel it as they grew closer.

A heavy look from Hermione suggested he wasn't the only one.

"Tell me you feel that," she said under her breath, trailing her fingertips along the worn green surfaces of the small square lockers.

"I feel it." Draco squinted, attempting to track the source of the magic. "Warding, concealment, Muggle repelling."

She clasped her hands together, and he noticed her fingers carried a slight tremble. "I don't have a key or anything."

Casting a furtive glance around, Draco shrugged. "If you're careful, no one will notice."

She snorted, with a wry, "Some Auror you are," but almost instantly, the amusement fell from her face as she drifted a little farther over. "I'd recognise my own concealment wards anywhere. I just can't pinpoint the exact locker." Even as she spoke, her fingers froze over a door as innocuous as the rest of them.

919.

"Your birthday," Draco hedged.

Hermione gave a small shrug, smoothing her fingers over the keyhole. "If I wanted to leave a message, it's as good a reason as any." But even so, she let out a shaky breath, rolled out her neck, and turned towards him. "Draco, what if I did this? What if I knew what was going to happen, and I went ahead with it anyway, and―what if something happened that I wanted to forget?"

"Whatever might have happened back then..." he began, shaking his head. "Sure, I guess something could have gone wrong with the spell. The path led back here for a reason. So, even if you wanted to forget back then, it's different now, isn't it?"

Her fingers locked with his, giving his hand a firm squeeze. "Yeah. It's different now."

With bated breath, he watched her. "Open it."

For another long moment, her large, watery eyes focused only on him, and Draco was left to wonder what he had done to deserve her trust. "Thank you for coming with me," she whispered.

Draco pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'll always be here."

"Okay," she said on an exhale, shifting a step closer to the bank of lockers. Surreptitiously drawing her wand, she cast a quick and efficient series of spells to lift the wards, and Draco felt a brief shimmer of magic hanging in the air before it dissipated. Then she cast a simple unlocking charm.

The small door swung open.

But she squeezed her eyes shut, holding tighter to his hand. "I can't do it. You look."

Fighting the urge to snicker at her dramatics and knowing how important it was to her, he reached into the small locker. It was scarcely wider than his hand and only went halfway to his elbow. He sobered when his fingers grazed the contents―three items.

One at a time, he handed them to her.

A small beaded purple bag, a rolled-up letter, and a glass vial filled with shimmering silver liquid.

Hermione stared at the items in her palm, a knit forming between her brows, and for a moment, her chest stopped moving. "Was that it, then?" she asked, staring hard at the small bag.

Draco ducked down to peer into the locker and shrugged. "Unless you managed to conceal something behind the back of it." He dragged his fingers along the back panel. "I can't feel anything―and I can't sense any more magic."

"Neither can I." She closed her fingers around the scroll and the vial, eyes locked on her fist. "This must be it, then. I'd like to take them back to the hotel."

He nodded once. "As you wish."


By the time they were settled back in the hotel room, Hermione had hardly spoken more than three words. The bag was slung over one shoulder and she clutched the two items from the locker between white knuckles, her hand so tight he feared she might shatter the delicate glass.

But she sat against the headboard and folded her legs beneath her cross-legged, then set the vial and letter side by side atop the blankets. She set the bag alongside and toyed with the closure, casting him a glance. "This was my bag―I kept it with me all through the war. It has an Undetectable Extension Charm on it."

Draco pursed his lips as he settled against the footboard. "I really wish you hadn't told me that."

"Why," she breathed, a hint of teasing beneath the word, "are you going to arrest me for illegal magic?"

Unimpressed, he cocked a brow. "Don't test me, or I just might."

For a moment, a spark of amusement danced in her stare, despite the way tension hung in her stance. At last, she shook her head and said, "The contents of this bag saved our lives more than once." Then she slid it open, reaching inside.

She laid out an assortment of items on the bed: books, potions, assorted bits of parchment―and then she sucked in a sharp breath as she brandished a wand. Reverent, she held it between both hands, staring at the intricate vines carved into the wood.

"Your wand," Draco said with a thick swallow.

Nodding once, she breathed, "Yes." She set it on the bed beside the other one she'd purchased in Paris. "I wondered whether I might ever see it again."

Her fingers grazed some of the other materials on the bed, but her gaze slid back to the two other items from the locker―the vial and the letter.

"What do you suppose it says?"

Draco smirked. "There's a simple way of finding out."

She rolled her eyes. "Realistically, I don't know what I'm so hesitant over. I've wondered at what happened for years, but now that the potential answer is right in front of me..."

His amusement dropped off. "I get it."

"Right, then," she said, at last, wringing her hands together. "We haven't a Pensieve, so the letter first."

"The DMLE uses a proprietary Pensieve spell," Draco offered. "For cases like this."

Her mouth fell open. "Why didn't I know that?"

He nudged her knee with his toe. "Because you're not in the DMLE." When she only offered a thin grimace, Draco said, "Hey. It's going to be okay―I promise."

Finally, a true smile spread across her face, and she toyed with the letter. "Okay. You're right. I'm only making this worse on myself."

She unrolled the letter, spreading it open between both hands, and stared, unblinking, as she read. Draco longed desperately to know what it said, but he also recognised how significant the moment was for her, and he didn't want to press.

She sniffled, and he realised her hands were shaking. She shifted back to sit next to him, and, sensing her need for support, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Without looking at him, she opened the letter again so he could see it.

Smoothing a hand up and down her arm, he read, recognising Hermione's clean script in an instant.

Dear Hermione,

If you never read this, it means my gamble didn't pay off. But if you do, I'm sure you have plenty of questions. I'm going to spell this all out in as much detail as I can manage, and hopefully, once you see the memories I've set aside in this vial, everything else will make sense. And, hopefully, you'll understand why I made the decisions I did (you have the same brain, after all―I only don't know how much time will have passed).

As you know, our initial attempts to restore our parents' memories after the war proved futile, and we returned to Hogwarts for eighth year and completed our NEWTs. What you won't realise―because I've removed it from your memory―is that I found something after eighth year and made the decision to act on it, even knowing what might happen.

I don't know whether it paid off. Only you know that.

Draco turned to Hermione, watching a few silent tears streak down her cheeks, but her gaze remained locked on the letter. Pushing back a sudden swell of foreboding, he read on.

The spell isn't light magic―I don't even know exactly how dark in the scheme of things, but dark magic always has a cost. One that I was willing to accept. There was a chance it would restore Wendell and Monica Wilkins back to Richard and Jean Granger as we knew them―but a chance it might not. And, of course... the chance that it might take our memories all the same.

I can only hope, Hermione, if you're reading this, you found an answer. You found yourself again. And maybe, you've even found our parents again―I simply couldn't carry on knowing I hadn't done everything I could.

I did my best to set you up with a contingency as Melody―an alternate life you could live, away from the pain and the tragedy that presently surrounds us back home. But I ran out of time to get the details right―the spell had a limited window, and it has already been so long since the initial memory revision. The longer I waited, the greater the chance this was all in vain. Even now, I fear it was too little too late.

I've left my research in our bag for you, in case you want to see it. It was an imperfect solution to a terrible decision, but the only one I could find at the time—just as we didn't have another option but to cast the spell in the first place. The reversal spell may take time to activate, or it may not work at all, and there's no way for me to know for certain. The timing of it all was imprecise, and even though nothing but disappointment has come of my attempts, there is still this one kernel of hope.

I can feel my memories slipping even as I write this―the worst-case scenario is playing out at this moment. I'm terrified but choosing to have faith. That we might one day overcome this―that you might one day be reunited with our friends and family. But I couldn't not try.

The vial included here contains everything you're presumably missing. I hope it explains what I cannot, as even now, I'm losing track of these thoughts like sand through my fingertips.

I'm frightened, Hermione. I fear that this was all for nought, and you'll never see this.

But if you never get your memories back and you never find this letter, I hope you're living a peaceful, fruitful life, away from the strife and chaos we've endured for so long. I hope the fear and the despair and the nightmares don't still haunt you.

I hope you've found peace. Maybe you've settled into a career; maybe you've met someone.

If you're reading this letter right now... I can only hope you'll forgive me that I made this decision on our behalf. Even knowing what's coming and what will happen now.

It's taking everything in me to cling to this moment, so I don't lose track of why I'm writing this letter in the first place. It's all hazy, and so much of it is already gone. Be well, Hermione.

Best wishes,

Hermione

By the time Draco finished reading the letter, Hermione clung to his hand, wide-eyed. Tears streamed down her face, unchecked, and he removed the letter from her other hand. It bounced back into a scroll, and he set it on the bed, drawing her smaller form into his chest. Her body quaked, wracked with trembling shock, and his heart tightened unbearably.

"I've got you," he murmured into her hair.

Hermione wound her arms around him, fingers trailing idle patterns along his back, and after several long minutes, she withdrew, eyes red but dry. She blew out a breath and rolled the letter back into a careful scroll; drifted her fingers along some of the books; fidgeted with the small vial of all that remained of her missing memories.

"You know," she said, peering at the silvery shimmer within, "I remember how it felt. I came here to Brisbane in between the end of the war and the beginning of eighth year―after things had settled down a little―and in all my research, I found nothing. My attempts at a reversal went nowhere, and every memory restoration charm I could think of resulted in nothing. I spoke to healers and Muggle doctors alike and..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I remember how badly it hurt―how much I feared I might never get my parents back. That the spell I'd cast had caused irreversible damage. And the guilt, Draco. It was unbearable."

He sat in silence, torn between dredging forth a meagre effort at placation and letting her carry on.

She stared again at the memories. "I want to be upset with myself. That a version of me from years ago felt desperate enough to perform dark magic in a feeble hope that it might work, whilst knowing, it could have done this to me as a result. I want to be upset―but I can't. Because I remember how much it hurt, and I know I would have done anything to fix it. Which, evidently, I did."

As she spoke, the words dropped to a whisper; the vial fell from her fingers to land in the blankets below.

Draco pondered the idea for a moment with a grimace. "You did what you thought was right at the time. Merlin knows, if it were my parents and I felt responsible for what had happened, I would have done the same thing. You can't blame yourself for how it all turned out because you couldn't have known."

Still, her gaze remained locked on the vial of memories as though it were a fixation, and her fingers twitched towards it again. "I can only imagine how it must have felt. Alone and afraid, out of options, and knowing that the last possible attempt had failed."

A shudder threatened to race down Draco's spine. "And then to feel your memories begin to vanish."

"Yes," she breathed. "The very essence of yourself, everything you've ever been through or experienced. Everyone you've ever known―gone."

A tense silence hung over them as they both considered her words, and Draco felt a sudden, awful clarity around exactly what she must have gone through to wake up, alone in a strange country with no recollection of anything. Without even knowing what had happened and how she ended up there.

"It makes me realise," she spoke again at last, "how fortunate I am that you found me. I could have carried on forever, believing myself to be someone entirely different than I am. To never again remember magic. And... maybe it would have been better that way. Maybe at the time, I was in such a dark place―haunted by the war, struggling with my parents' situation―that I truly believed it would have been better."

"A fresh start," Draco surmised. "That if you lost your memories entirely, you thought it would be better that way."

"I understand why I thought that way," she mused, picking up the vial again. "Because I still understand even now. Even knowing everything I've been through. Would I have made the same decisions knowing what was to come?" But she only shook her head. "I don't know. I suppose it's impossible to say."

Draco reached for her two wands, laying them both out in front of him for utter lack of a response that felt appropriate. "They're similar."

"They are," she breathed.

They were made of the same wood and almost the same length. "Which will you use now?"

Hermione set the vial down carefully beside the beaded bag and held one wand in each hand. "I don't know yet. A part of me suspects the new wand is more attuned to who I am now than who I was at eleven. But there's a certain nostalgic connection with a first wand, isn't there?"

"Yes."

She set the wands down again and turned to face him, shoulders low. "I can't deny it's a relief to know the truth, although I can't say whether I'm pleased or if this has simply given me more to think on."

"What will you do?" he asked. "With the final memories. You could restore them."

"A part of me wants to throw the vial in the Thames and never deal with it again―but I know myself better than that. I know the curiosity will get the better of me. I imagine I'll watch them, and then I can decide if I want them permanently restored. But I think... I need a bit of time to let this all sink in. To go home and get settled at last."

Technically, they still had another day left in Brisbane before their Portkey was due to return home. Draco could only imagine she was fatigued after the day they'd had. He held her gaze for a prolonged moment, finding the tumult of hopes and expectations mingled with utter exhaustion.

Draco smoothed a hand along her spine and felt some of the tension and chaos seep from her at last. "You can do that. You can put all of this behind you at last and begin to move forward. With some peace."

"Peace," she echoed with a bit of a nervous chuckle as though she didn't recognise the sentiment. "I suppose I can."

One at a time, she packed the books and other materials back into her bag. She set both wands side-by-side on the nightstand and carefully placed the memories alongside.

Then she shifted back into his side, dragging her bent knees into her chest. Quietly, she said, "For so long, this has all been my reality. And now... I don't know where to go next."

Draco couldn't even imagine everything she'd been through. He gave her knee closest to him a squeeze.

"Now... you can do whatever you like. You can settle into the life you might have had all along. Spend time with your old friends and rebuild the friendships you've missed; you can begin your Unspeakable training." Sweeping a hand through his hair, he caught her eye and lowered his voice. "Get to know your parents again, after all, you did to help them. Because whatever happened back then... it ultimately worked out."

"It did," she breathed.

"And maybe, you can take some solace in the fact that it wasn't all for nothing. Sacrificing your own memories—and all the pain and struggle you went through in trying to adjust to a new life―none of it was for nothing."

Her breathing was slow and measured as he spoke as if she were afraid to say too much in return.

"If I'm lucky," Draco went on, "you'll keep me around."

"Of course I'm keeping you around," she scoffed. "You've been here through everything."

He met her eyes, feeling the heavy significance of the statement. "So have you―for me."

When she released a long sigh, cathartic and draining at once, and sank deeper into him, Draco tugged at her curls. For a long moment, he simply basked in her presence. In the fact that, though the answers they found were sobering at best, that they finally knew. That Hermione might finally be able to rest in the knowledge of what had truly happened.

"Now," he said, drifting a hand along her arm, "we finish our time here and go home. And now... you can begin a fresh chapter."


Author's Note: Thanks for reading - I can't believe we're so close to the end. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

If you're on twitter, track me down at indreamsink - I post future fic updates, snippets, headcanons, etc. and it's good fun.

Alpha and beta thanks to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.