A/N: Just wrote this one recently, since what I had written all those months (years) ago seemed too abrupt of an ending.


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - Waiting

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Hermione sat in the library with her map of Australia spread on the table. She had scoured Sydney last year. The suburbs would be next.

She put her head in her hands and gazed out the window. Younger students sprawled over the front lawn and by the lake. Their studies would start in earnest the closer it came to exam time. Hermione would rather be out there than staring at the whole of Australia, wondering which few kilometres she should cover during her next visit.

Wendell and Monica Wilkins could be anywhere. They could have forgone a house phone. Ditched Crookshanks. Found an apartment then picked up and moved again leaving no trail for Hermione to follow. They could be divorced.

Hermione shook her head. Her Obliviate wouldn't remove their feelings for one another.

Before she departed for Australia the first time, she had researched every reversal charm she knew, and Minerva had contacted the Healers at St. Mungo's on her behalf. It was tricky, but doable. She just had to find them.

The most recent letter from Kingsley had been stuffed in her satchel. The gist of it was, she was doing well enough in the polls, despite never having campaigned herself. They would begin that in earnest when she returned from Australia.

Of course, there was the customary 'take as much time as you need,' but that really didn't mean much. Harry was eager to begin and wanted Hermione with him. Hermione was terrified. Reporters barely scratched the surface of her life when Harry and Viktor had been in the Triwizard Tournament, and it was a bloody awful experience. Running for office would open the door to everything. She was only shielded from constant hounding when she was inside the castle. (The walls wouldn't stop the owls and requests for interviews, but those were given a polite shut down and not an awkward, in-person 'no'.)

Had she imagined a life politicking? No. had she ever envisioned a Ministry of Magic? Not hardly. But now she was—hopefully—going to work for it, make some changes. Help creatures like Firenze control his own destiny, find more elves who wanted to be like Dobby but were too afraid, and work to change the perception of werewolves.

It was all very exciting and incredibly nauseating. But she could do it. If she could teach Seamus and Neville to defend the castle against a madman, and keep herself and her friends alive these past seven years, she could tackle this.

She looked at the map.

She sighed.

The glaring failure, her missing parents, did not offer back up to her confidence. Frankly, she did not want to return to England, have reporters shouting about her hypocrisy for the Prophet's pages—you want to give creatures their rights, but you take away basic choice from your parents?

She wouldn't want to return without her parents anyway.

It weighed heavy on her, the impossibly large continent to search, the people waiting on her to start their careers, to start her own career. She was unsure of what to do next.

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Albus, Minerva, Septima, Fleur and Aurora stood on the other side of the table. They looked over Severus's figures and agreed he had replicated the dust. The pages on pages of scrawls from various teachers and students proved the dust to the left was perfectly chiral.

"So we slap it on and we're fixed?" Aurora asked, dubious and already looking like she didn't believe it.

Severus shook his head. Crossing his arms, he frowned at the workstation. "The composition is correct, but we have no way of knowing what sorts of incantations were placed upon the powder before administration."

The women looked to Albus. He stroked his beard.

"I am not aware either. It was simply given to me."

Septima rolled her eyes as she took off her glasses to clean them. "I suppose we are stuck this way indefinitely. We have done all we can without the creator."

Aurora drummed her short nails on the table. "I will find who did this and they will have an earful. If not more."

"The purpose of this potion is to heal the body, by regression? I would've never thought of such a thing," Minerva said.

"It is odd, but that is what has been promised to me," Albus confirmed.

It sounded like a Luna Lovegood theory, to Severus, but the girl would've owned up to it as soon as she realized more than the intended patient had been affected.

Once news that the Hogwarts staff had suddenly lost a few wrinkles hit the papers, Poppy was given leave to ask around the Healer's circle. No one there had offered any help, only requests to be put in touch with the creator when they found him or her.

Severus figured they'd be out of a job if the creator went public. And he had ruled out the other Potions Masters in the U.K., since they'd all sent letters inquiring and offering theories (knowing Severus was not one to share his work before publication, but they could usually get the equivalent of 'one blink for yes and two for no' out of him).

Perhaps a wizard from another country, then.

Severus put both hands on the desk and hung his head. They were stuck like this. He would have to accept it.

He had had worse spells and curses placed upon him. This one had no adverse side effects aside from making him look like a young fool. And the hormones. And the memory loss there for a tick.

Was he to re-do these eighteen years he had suddenly regained? He feared it would not be as easy as reliving a few weeks as a child.

Albus said, "I am due to receive another transfusion at the end of the month. I assume you all will return to normal before then." It didn't sound like he had wanted to divulge that information.

"That will be fine by me," Aurora said. She and Septima left the lab, huffy about the whole affair.

Minerva scolded the headmaster as they departed next. "You might've mentioned it sooner, Albus, we've been working ourselves ragged."

Albus replied with some such excuse Severus didn't care to hear. He screwed the lid on both jars, one with purple powder, the other with a muddy orange. He carefully labelled them and set them in the back of his storage room. They were resigned to wait, all other resources exhausted.

Severus was not one to sit idly. Well, he hadn't been, before this affliction. He supposed he could take life a bit slower. There were no forthcoming wars, no one to spy on. Only his life to live.

He returned to his workstation and sat on the stool. He didn't know how to live a life like others did. His little row with Aurora had made that quite clear. And his hasty departure from the Three Broomsticks.

He rather regretted leaving like a ponce but leaving was the right thing to do. He had not been in his right mind for all these months. He had no business having feelings for Hermione, and even less business encouraging the same feelings in her.

But more importantly, he would not like it when the curse wore off and whatever feelings Hermione had disappeared. Or, even worse to imagine, he stopped feeling the same way and she did not.

Severus stood from the stool and didn't feel the click in his knee, or the pinched nerve in his shoulder.

He didn't know what he would do when he found out who did this to him, either.