A/N: Epilogue time, guys! Hopefully you enjoy this quick last chapter, and do comment your thoughts. Also, look out for the next chapter of HHr Hogwarts Detective Agency, and another new fic coming on the horizon, hehe.
Epilogue
"You don't have to help, you know," Hermione said for what felt like the millionth time that day. Not because she didn't want or appreciate Harry's help, but because she didn't deserve it. She was, after all, picking up the pieces of the mess that she had made before the last year of the battle against Voldemort.
She'd always been taught, by her mother and father, that one should clean up their own messes in life. That one should take responsibility, and accountability, over their life and mistakes.
And Hermione was doing just that after the battle against Voldemort had been won by the side of the light.
A battle that Harry had, thankfully, won. Along with the rest of those that fought, of course. Some of whom were still alive. Some of whom had died. All of whom were dear to Hermione, having shared in an experience that welded hearts together in a manner nothing else quite could.
Hermione pushed away those memories, though, because they wouldn't do her any good now, a few months after the war had ended, when she was attempting to connect with her parents once more, standing outside their home with Harry beside her, holding her hand and spreading warmth to every other part of her body.
Her first attempt at mending her relationship with her parents…well, that hadn't gone well.
Not well at all.
After reversing the memory-removing spell and telling them that she had (temporarily) altered their memories and sent them off to a new life in Australia, they had rightfully blown up at her. Not in the shouting and screaming sense, since her parents had never been the type to behave like that.
No, it was worse, because they looked so utterly defeated and disappointed in her.
Hermione couldn't blame them either—she'd feel that same anger and sorrow if her daughter had done it without asking.
"A violation of our privacy, Hermione," her father had exclaimed, eyebrows furrowed in both confusion and well-contained rage, but rage nonetheless. "And about a hundred other laws in the process, probably. This…it's unacceptable."
Hermione, that time, hadn't taken responsibility or accountability like her parents had taught her.
Rather, she just ran out and apparated back to England, back to her childhood home that was as empty as her heart felt.
She hadn't intended to bring Harry along to the well-kept suburban home on the outskirts of Sydney, perfect for two dentists in the twilight of their careers. She'd only meant to confide in him as a friend—a boyfriend, to be exact—to get his advice on how she should approach mending her relationship with her parents.
"Why don't I just come with you?" he had suggested. "As moral support, you know."
And Hermione found herself falling for him all over again.
Fast forward to now. Suburbs of Sydney. Crisp summer air (Australian weather patterns appeared starkly different to Britain's) that tickled Hermione's throat as she breathed. Harry's warmth flowing through their connected hands. Light breeze tugging her forwards, towards the home.
As they entered the front gate, Hermione noticed how the flowers in the front garden were maintained to her mother's typical perfection. The array of colours were lined up in an order the meaning of which Hermione wasn't privy to, poetic like something out of a Shakespeare play.
The windows sparkled as they neared, and Harry never let his grip on her hand slacken. Not one bit.
He sparkled, his eyes and face and ever so slight smile, far more than the house. As though the home's shine was a mere reflection of his own, as though he was the sun with everything in Hermione's life the moon.
The driveway was maintained as much as the flowers, and a car sat in front of the house, though Hermione's nerves made it so she didn't even notice the manufacturer or make, details she once would've latched onto. Instead, her and Harry, hands connected, trod to the front door across soft gravel.
Then, Harry reached out and pressed the doorbell.
Without even a thought.
"What are you doing?" Hermione whispered at him.
But Harry only replied with that lopsided grin of his. And then, "You would've spent years waiting here to press that button and you know it."
Hermione did know it. Sometimes, it was better to bite the bullet than wait and get bitten.
In any case, Hermione heard shuffling from inside, likely her mother bustling through the corridor to reach the front door.
And every molecule in Hermione's body tensed all at once. Every regret and every ounce of guilt filling every pore on her skin. And her body froze, mind rigid, legs and torso unable to even flinch or feel the wind.
Everything stilled, apart from her fingers. The fingers connected to Harry's own. And the warmth he provided, as her sun, defibrillated the rest of her body.
And Hermione felt at ease once more.
Her mother opened the door.
And their eyes met.
"Oh, it's you, Hermione," her mother drawled, the bags under her eyes hinting at a tiredness that spread to her voice. "Didn't I tell you not to—"
"Hi there, I'm Harry," Harry said, in the most cheesy, god-awfully cheerful voice Hermione had ever heard from him.
"Who might this be?" her mother asked. Her eyes passed over their hands, connected. "A boyfriend?"
Hermione nodded.
"Well, it matters little. I told you previously, Hermione, that your father and I wanted nothing to do with you after you essentially raped our minds of all that we loved."
"I didn't want to do it," Hermione snapped. Like a coil inside her finally broke.
"And now you're raising your voice at me."
"There's a reason for everything," Harry said. "It's a long, long story, and probably not the best to speak about magic out here. Mind if we come inside…just for a chat, and nothing else, I swear. Scout's honour."
Hermione's mother sighed, those weathered eyes moving from Hermione to Harry, then back to her, before she sighed again.
"Fine, you best come inside then," she said.
Harry moved first, Hermione close behind. And though Hermione was entering the most picturesque home in Sydney it seemed, her eyes only found Harry Potter.
His determination and strength and resilience in that moment…it made Hermione think that the sun's light could reach even the darkest of pits. Made her think that anything was possible.
And truly, with Harry by her side, anything was.
Convincing Hermione's mother had been rather easy, in Harry's opinion. He had dealt with people like Mr and Mrs Dursley his entire life, so a closed-off parent was practically nothing. It did help that he barely had to talk, just sit beside Hermione and hold her hand and channel some warmth between them as they sat in the living room, windows streaming in Australian hues whilst the tense atmosphere surrounded them.
But, after explaining her reasoning in detail, and after Harry expressed how truly dangerous the war was and all the friends they had lost, Hermione's mother embraced Hermione tight and they hugged it out for what seemed like minutes, pouring their love for each other into a touch Harry had never experienced, could never experience, because he was an orphan.
Harry, not one used to such displays of affection, had stepped out to give the mother and daughter time to themselves. Stepped out into the hallway and sighed, because Hermione had managed to reconcile with her mother, and it felt like a weight was lifted off Harry's shoulders.
Before another weight attached itself right away.
Because he came face to face with Hermione's father, who had come down the stairs with a hand on the bannister and was staring at Harry like he'd grown a third head and fourth arm and—
"The hell are you?" her father said.
He looked far older than Harry remembered from the second year trip to Diagon Alley, but retained that similar sloped nose and brown eye colour that Hermione clearly inherited. His hair, however, was beyond grey, more ashen, and his eyes were wide with murder.
"Hermione's boyfriend," Harry announced. Proudly.
Hermione's father twitched his eye, for a second, before sighing. That murder, rather thankfully, vanished. "Never been one to lose me head," he said. "Best explain what the hell's going on. I'm assuming the crying and all that is Hermione and Helen?"
Assuming Helen was the name of Hermione's mother, Harry nodded. Their sniffling slowly flowed through the door behind Harry. Mother and daughter bonding whilst Harry awkwardly met her father for the first time.
"Is there somewhere we can sit?" Harry asked, glancing down the hallway where he could, just about, glimpse a garden entrance with light beyond. "Might be best if I explained everything."
"Might be for the best," Hermione's father said with a nod, before leading Harry through the house and to the garden.
A very awkward conversation then ensued whilst they sat on a sturdy wooden bench. But thankfully, by the end of it, the airs were cleared and the sun's sparkle could fully be felt. And when Hermione saw her father again, those tears sprung up and she embraced him tightly, all whilst Harry watched with a reserved smile—a smile reserved for them.
The attic was stuffy more than anything, dust rolling around with every breath thicker than the air of the Sahara. Little slants of light slipped through a small window against the ceiling, which allowed Harry and Hermione to traverse creaking floorboards to retrieve what they needed.
Helen and Nathaniel—Hermione's father—had made the decision after a week of deliberation to relocate back to London, where they had spent their entire lives, with the Sydney suburbs returning to a vacation spot.
"This stuff is heavy, Harry," Hermione said, looking back at him with the cardboard box in her hands.
They could've just spelled everything across, but there was something valuable in doing physical work that Harry couldn't place.
Regardless, Harry gave Hermione a kiss, before swivelling his arms around her to snatch the box out of her hands.
Released the kiss.
"Hey, that's not fair!"
"All's fair in love and war."
Harry didn't look back to see Hermione's pout. Instead, he walked ahead with the box, intending to plonk it into the massive magical bag Hermione had spelled. Helen and Nathaniel had been halfway on to throwing everything away—because you couldn't exactly whisk your large belongings to the UK from Australia.
But magic existed, and magic was…well, magical, and for that reason such things were possible.
"Amazing," Nathaniel had said when they explained the process.
"It truly is, dear, isn't it?" Helen said. "Hermione is blessed, and so is Harry."
After finding out about Harry's story, Helen and Nathaniel viewed him with pity more than anything, and welcomed him within the fold of their family. It was awkward at first, since Harry had never felt such affection directed his way.
But…maybe accepting their affection, and accepting himself as who he was instead of a combination of all his mistakes…maybe that was the key to moving on from everything.
A thump alerted his attention away from his thoughts. The box he'd been holding had fallen, and a book slipped out, face up. Harry picked the book up, dusted off the cover, and read the title in the slivers of light flowing down from above.
Computing Principles, Volume One, First Edition
But on the cover was something far more interesting. A few binary codes were etched into the background, slightly faded yet readable, with one of them spelling out that same binary code Harry had glimpsed in his wand holster when Voldemort fired the killing curse.
01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101
And that binary code converted into the text 'love'. It was right there, on the cover, and right there, on Harry's wrist the entire time—Hermione's love.
"This is where it started from, eh," Harry muttered, holding the book up to the light.
Hermione, from behind him, must've glimpsed it, because she then said, "That's where everything started from, Harry. The whole idea of binary code—two of something to represent one thing. Two ways of battling—wands and knives. Two wands in the wand holster. Two sides to the war—dark and light. Brains and brawns—research and fighting, both equally important. It all started…started from here. That is the duality of everything, I suppose."
"God, I love you," Harry said, clutching the book tighter.
"It's nice that you love God," Hermione muttered. "What about me, though?"
Harry tucked the book into the box, then the box into the magical bag, then swivelled himself around once more. Smile wide, yet light, light faint yet vibrant. The duality of everything spoke out to him, Hermione's words coming back as they shared a deep kiss.
Two of something to represent one thing.
And, well, the two of them were more than enough to represent their love. For now, and forever.
A/N: So glad that I managed to finish this and mark it as complete. Hope you all enjoyed the journey. I know I did whilst writing, for sure!
From here, the next step is getting the next chapter of HHr Hogwarts Detective Agency out, and thereafter uploading the first chapter of a brand new story. And this one will be intriguing, as it'll explore a side of Harry that I haven't really written about in my stories. So I can't wait!
Comment/review if you can. I love reading what people think and responding to you guys!
In any case, till the next one!