A/N: Ah, so here it is. After years of posting, here is the final outtake of Barriers. Once again, you may recognize an idea or two. This was meant to become a chapter but I took it in a different direction. However, as it contains some of my favorite advice, I decided to keep it & save it for last.

Since this is the last last chapter, I suppose I'm hoping that someone enjoyed reading this & perhaps connected to the story. Most importantly, of course, I would like to thank everyone who read, favorited, & reviewed. Thanks especially to those who took the time to review for more than one chapter. You've kept me going when I thought canon had killed this story. Happy Reading & I hope you'll take the time to read some of the other drivel listed under My Stories in my profile.

Cheers, tea, & treacle tart! Adonis blue.

Building Barriers:

Outtake: Realizations in Truth

"Mother, I'm not a child." Hermione knew that she should control her anger—that she most-likely was acting like a child, but she couldn't help it. Since she had returned home, her anger simmered just below the surface, and Hermione worked hard to keep it from overflowing. Keeping things in was obviously unhealthy, as that's what led to her explosion last night.

"I know that," her mother replied, teetering on the same edge where Hermione was precariously balanced. "You've always been responsible, even when you were a small child, but I'm just reminding you."

I don't need you to remind me, thought Hermione bitterly, but this time she chose to keep her mouth shut. When she did speak, her voice was calm once more, but strangely curt. "I have to do my homework now."

"You have a lot of homework for vacation time."

"I always have homework during vacation." And forcing a smile, Hermione turned and shut the door of her room behind her.

After her mother's footsteps died in the hall, Hermione stood and locked herself in—or rather, locked all others out. Her parents never liked her to lock her door, but she didn't care anymore. What is happening to me? She paced. Why am I still angry? Why am I always angry? I must be overreacting. But still…

I can't stay in this house much longer. Hermione froze in the tracks she was wearing in the floor. Terrified, she slowly lifted her head to glance at herself in the mirror. Immediately she averted her eyes. Hermione wasn't sure she liked what she saw. She wasn't sure that she liked the truth that crept unbidden and unwanted into her thoughts…

For in truth, Hermione didn't understand her parents anymore. She simply couldn't connect with them. And she was now sure her parents didn't and would never again understand her. In truth, I love them. They're my parents; they gave me life.

But, to be perfectly honest, I don't know if I like them.

Was that possible? Was that even allowed? Sure, Harry didn't like his aunt and uncle, but they treated him horribly. Never once had her parents denied her food or locked her up for being magical. Of course, she had never been punished for anything. Always the model daughter, always doing everything right, even punishing herself when she did something wrong (which was hardly ever) before her parents found out about it. She was hardest on herself, but she had to be. You didn't get anywhere in life unless you made the right decisions.

It seemed recently, though, that the "right decisions" were objective. Certainly her parent's ideas differed from hers. So who was right? And what was the right decision there?

"Urgh," Hermione sighed, allowing herself to free-fall onto her bed. All this disorganized thought made her head pound furiously. She didn't like ambiguity. It made thing difficult; it made people difficult, especially understanding them.