Epilogue: September 6, 1998

Aberforth Dumbledore stared up at his clock.

"Almost time, Ariana," he said, placing a hand over his old leather journal. "He should be back very soon."

He'd already set out a tray of bread, cheese, and mead on the coffee table. His foot jumped up and down for the moment he'd waited one hundred years for. Strange it had been so long. He was an old man now. His body ached, especially his joints and head. He'd lived too long.

He picked up the journal under his hand, his fifteenth birthday present from his brother. The edges were blunt and the pages were yellow, but the pencil and ink he'd used in it was still clear. He flipped to a page, studying the drawing of Harry Potter he'd done all those years ago, right on the page with the Grindylows.

He looked up, swearing he'd heard a creak of the stairs.

He set his lips in a firm line just as the door to the sitting room opened.

Harry Potter stood there, wearing his blue Auror robes, but underneath he was still wearing the same shirt and jeans he'd worn when Albus fought him on the walkway at Godric's Hollow.

"Do you remember?" Harry asked.

Aberforth nodded, gesturing to the tray he set out. Harry crossed the room. One hundred years hadn't changed him at all, of course. Aberforth felt envious of that. He'd traveled so far, yet not a line of age etched his face yet.

"I came as soon as work finished," Harry said, tearing the bread apart.

"I thought you would," Aberforth said, leaning forward. "I hope you feel you know my brother much better now. Your disillusions of him in May were ridiculous."

"May?" Harry asked in confusion. "Oh, last year. No, wait, it was four months ago, wasn't it? I'm still 18. Not 19."

Aberforth nodded, reaching for the album that sat on the coffee table by the tray. He gave it to Harry, who seemed perplexed as to why Aberforth was giving it to him. But when he opened it, he smiled. "It's my birthday present from the Flamel's!" he said, flipping through it. "The pictures look so old now."

"They are," Aberforth said.

Harry glanced at Aberforth before looking closely at a page. "Albus never remembered, did he?"

"No," Aberforth confirmed. "Not until the day he died. He came by here that morning to show me this long letter you'd written on his eighteenth birthday. He asked me if it was true, if you really traveled into the past."

"What did you say?" Harry asked. He caught Aberforth's eye.

Aberforth sighed. He never did like to remember the day his brother died. Aberforth was the last Dumbledore now, and even though he'd hated Albus for so many years, he still missed him every day. Albus had looked so weary, old, lost of the energy he always had. Aberforth knew immediately upon seeing him that Albus would die soon.

"I told him it was true. He accepted it without a second thought. He said, 'It's time, Aberforth. I need to retrieve Harry and allow him to finish this war.' He left after that."

Aberforth sighed again, his thoughts turning to the small, dimly lit chamber where Hagrid brought Albus's body. "The last time I saw him he was on a slab."

Harry's face grew pale, but he didn't speak. He closed the album and stood, stepping in front of Ariana's portrait. She smiled kindly at him.

"I wish I could have done something more," Harry said. "I'm sorry I let her die."

"It's not your fault," Aberforth said, joining Harry. He looked up at his sister longingly, then down at the piece of broken glass he still had on his mantel. Right next to it sat a small painting he'd done of Albus.

It wasn't his brother's fault, either. Albus's portrait smiled in the same way as Ariana, his blue eyes twinkling over the half-moon glasses.

"Do you think he forgave me?" Harry asked, solemnly watching Albus's portrait.

The portrait's eyes flickered to Harry, his serene smile never dropped.

Aberforth never answered.

He was sure Harry understood.

AHAHAHA

Harry fell onto an armchair at The Borrow. He'd changed his clothes upstairs and was now staring across the room at books Hermione had left.

Among them was the old copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard. He stood stiffly, finally feeling the wear of traveling into the future. His joints cracked and ached.

He cringed at the bang of pots being smashed together in the kitchen. It was Ron and George's turn to help Mrs. Weasley cook that night. Ron yelled out, "Oi! Watch it!"

"What, little brother? I didn't do anything. You were the one who practically threw the pan across the room."

"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley said.

Harry laughed, thinking of Aberforth and Albus's spats. Strange how one of the greatest wizards who ever lived had the same problem with his little brother as George.

Harry plucked the old Tales book from the stack. He stared at it. He remembered seeing it on Albus's shelf, but it had had white pages and a golden colored cover. Now it was a light brown and the pages were nimble.

"Hi, Harry."

He glanced up at Hermione coming in from the garden. She smiled at him, but then a look of confusion crossed her features.

"What?" Harry asked, wondering if there was something on his face.

"Nothing," Hermione said, stepping up closer to him. "You just look… older. Strange. It's something about your jaw line."

He shrugged, glancing down at the book in his hand. "Can I borrow this?"

"Why?"

"I want to read it."

"You?" Hermione said, laughing. "Read for fun? Will you finally read Hogwarts: A History now?"

He smiled, looking around to see if she had it by. And, strangely, she did. He grabbed it up, staring at the name Bathilda Bagshot. He probably wouldn't read it all. Maybe just the chapter covering the late 1800s.

"Thanks, Hermione."

She continued to stare at him. Harry could feel her eyes on him.

"What?" he asked, glancing up as he settled into the armchair again.

She shook her head, but he caught her faint smile as she went to join George, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen.

He wasn't expecting to find anything as he flipped through the old book of fairy tales. He saw the name Albus Dumbledore written in the front cover, saw the Deathly Hallows sign that Dumbledore had written in over the brother's tale. He read through it, taking in the words that Dumbledore read many times before, the one thing he reveled in for nearly 115 years, something that caused him so much pain and longing his whole life.

Harry closed the book when he finished. He needed to be done with it, needed to forget it. The Dumbledores lived their lives the way they were meant to live them all along.

"Harry," Hermione said, peeking into the sitting room with his new owl, Ariana, on her arm. "You've got a letter."

He suspected it was from Ginny, who had started her last year at Hogwarts. Ariana flew over to him, landing on Hogwarts: A History.

He unraveled the note.

However, it wasn't from Ginny.

The emerald green ink and loopy handwriting was not what he expected at all. In fact, seeing the script make his chest ache. His last letter from Dumbledore.

June 23, 1997

Harry,

It was a great surprise to me to learn the reason why my memories of my seventh year at Hogwarts were lacking.

I've spoken with my brother, who I'm sure you will know by the time you receive this letter. I will ever be thankful to you for being a friend that last year and allowing my fate to run its course.

Be wiser than I was, Harry. You have many more years to live.

Thank you,

Albus

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head and pocketed the parchment, but he made a mental note to put it in his mokeskin pouch later on. "Just a letter. What are Ron and George making?"

"I'm not even sure."

He laughed and followed Hermione into the kitchen. Ron and George fought over who would put out the plates and wash the dishes. Watching them as he sat at the kitchen table, eating hard candies and speaking with Hermione, made him realize he was comfortable in his time.

He was finally back to where he belonged.

But he would never forget his time in the past, nor would he ever tell a soul.

The End

A/N: Whoa. I cannot believe I've actually finished! I've never finished a fan fiction before. And this took three years to write! I began writing this on April 29, 2010, in my freshman year of college. Now it's already been four months since I graduated from college. That's insane.

I know this story isn't perfect. I feel I glazed through some parts and dropped others, and didn't flesh out some characters enough. I may do a rewrite in the future. All I know for sure is that I'm going to do a collection of oneshots called Missed Perceptions as a companion to this.

Thank you all for the support and for reading! I appreciate it so much.