Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any relation to its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction.

Rating: T for violence, innuendo and swearing.


The heavy wooden door of the small Australian pub swung open, and three sweaty teenagers stepped into the cool, air-conditioned room. The shortest of the three, a girl with untamable bushy hair and brown eyes, was fanning her neck with an open hand and heading over to a table alongside a tall, gangly redhead with a long nose and freckles to spare. The two sat down next to each other at a table for four, both basking in the remedy of the pub's air conditioning.

Hermione placed her arm around Ron and soothingly massaged his shoulder. He looked murky and ill, almost dead; his teeth had darkened to a waxy color and were coated in salivary slime, his hair was an unusually drab shade of red, and his fingernails were bruised and slightly crusted with blood. He had clearly just undergone a transformation, and none too cleanly.

Before long, the bespectacled boy with jet-black hair that had entered the pub with them returned with three Muggle beers and placed them down the battered wooden table before taking his seat. Ron took one and inspected the label.

"Gruberhof?" he asked, confused.

"Yeah, it's a Muggle beer. I've ordered some hamburgers too."

Ron's stomach growled hungrily at the mention of food. Harry turned to Hermione with a slight frown.

"How are we going to find your parents?"

"I know the pseudonyms they've gone under," replied Hermione, beaming with excitement. "I created them."

A young waitress approached with a tray of burgers and fries. Harry thanked her and received a nervous smile before she turned to Ron who had already made short work of most of his fries. He looked up at her and offered a sheepish grin, and her eyes widened a bit before she trotted off hurriedly.

Ron looked around at the two sniggering teenagers near him, his brows tensed in confusion.

"What have I done?"

"Your teeth, Wolf-Man," chuckled Harry.

"Oh," mumbled Ron with a frown.

"By the way, Ron, Kingsley's told me that I ought to finish my seventh year at Hogwarts before starting Auror training, and he said to tell you the same," mentioned Harry before taking a bite into his burger, prompting a response.

"Haven't you learned enough?" asked Ron. He then took a swig of beer, and spit it out onto the table, groaning, "Agh, that's disgusting!"

"He said we'd need it," replied Harry, ignoring the outburst, as Ron hastened to coat the spill with napkins.

"McGonagall mentioned that all seventh-year students of the previous year will be allowed to re-take their seventh year," said Hermione while nibbling on a fry.

"Don't want to go back," blurted Ron. Hermione perked up.

"Why not?"

"Feel like I've got nothing to learn."

"The Minister for Magic says differently!"

"Oh, right, now that he's the Minister for Magic—" began Ron defiantly, but Hermione cast him a scathing look, as if his questioning the prestige of the position was a crime against nature.

"Things are different now—Kingsley is an excellent minister, and he'll be the one helping you into Auror camp, so you'd best take his advice."

"She's got a point," observed Harry. "Besides, could you two stand to be apart for ten months?"

Ron scoffed at Harry's sly smirk. "Ginny's going too, you know."

"Then it's settled," decided Hermione. "It'll be nice to have one more peaceful year."

"Definitely," agreed Harry, chomping down on the last bite of his burger.

The television set hanging in the corner of the bar caught Harry's attention, and he pointed it out to Ron and Hermione. It displayed a boxing match between a particularly burly fighter with pasty white skin and blue gloves and a slightly smaller, but more muscular man with red gloves. Not two seconds after they'd started watching, the big blue-gloved boxer delivered a powerful uppercut that sent the other to the floor. He did not get up.

"Nice one!" cheered Ron.

"Such a barbaric sport," said Hermione with a scowl. Harry and Ron shared a look and grinned; they'd seen Hermione throw more punches than anyone they knew.

"Cleaned his clock," cheered Ron.

Harry's eyes widened and he gripped Ron's elbow. They had just caught a glimpse of the winner's face.

"Oi!" exclaimed Harry. "That's Dudley!"

"Right-o," grumbled an unkempt man from a stool at the bar. "That's Dudley Dursley. Major sensation."

"At least he's not working at Grunnings," mumbled Harry as he, Ron, and Hermione paid for their meal and walked out into the sweltering heat.

Hermione led them to her parents' address in no time, and they soon arrived at a simple and handsome house with a neatly kept garden. The suburban area reminded Harry unpleasantly of Little Whinging, as each house and yard was a near clone of the one beside it. Hermione and Harry had no trouble dressing in Muggle clothing, and Ron was catching on, but wasn't quite there, with his white button-up shirt hanging over green camouflage pants that bunched up at his heels where they were tucked into his brown boots.

When they arrived at the door, Hermione stepped forward and turned to the two boys, clearing her throat as if about to establish ground rules.

"Alright," she began. "Hopefully, they'll be set back to how they were last year. I've told them all about you two, so they know of our exploits—well, I guess you could say an abridged version that glosses over the more life-threatening bits—with the exception of last year, obviously."

"So they won't know I saved your life?" Ron asked. "Because that might be an important thing for them to bear in mind when you're telling them you're going out with a werewolf!"

"Oh, they do, they know all about you. The good and the bad. Now," she continued, as Ron gulped, obviously contemplating the 'bad.' "Harry, you are not to make jokes about Ron and I. Ron, please keep your hands to yourself until I've told them we're together."

Ron's ears had caught fire, and Harry sniggered lightly. But, all intentions to be as horrible as possible disappeared from Harry's mind when he looked back at Hermione; tears were spilling down her cheeks fully now. Ron immediately broke Hermione's hands-off policy and wrapped an arm around her.

"Don't cry, Hermione, you're bringing them back," he said. "It's okay, they've made it, they're safe, and they'll be happy the fight's over."

Harry thought Ron was being very comforting, but then Hermione burst into heavy sobs and buried her face into Ron's shirt. Harry patted her back awkwardly as she murmured something that was muffled by Ron's chest.

"It's just..." she said heavily as she pulled away. "I just—they didn't even know—they wouldn't have ever known, if something had happened to me, I'd have taken myself from them! How could I?"

"That didn't happen," said Harry, as Ron held her still. "A lot of horrible things happened in the war, but we made it, and your parents are alive and well—they're doing very well, actually, judging by this beautiful house."

Hermione sniffed, gathering up her nerves, and turned back to face the house.

"Thank you," she said. "And if you don't mind, please keep the use of magic to a minimum."

At that, she turned and approached Wendell and Monica Wilkins' door and rang the bell. Harry and Ron followed. A middle-aged man opened the door and observed the three teenagers' awkward smiles with a frown.

"Hello," said the man, clearly confused. "Can I help you?"

"Finite Incantatem!"

Immediately after being struck by Hermione's spell, the man's expression of confusion vanished. The sudden change reminded Harry of Ron drinking the Love Potion antidote and suddenly realizing that he wasn't in love with Romilda Vane. The man's gaze shifted from Hermione, to Ron, to Harry.

"Oh, hello, Hermione—and you're Harry and Ron, aren't you?" said the man kindly. "My, it's broiling out here, do come inside."

Hermione sniffed, trying to hold back her tears, but soon motioned for Harry and Ron to follow her. Inside, the walls were a calm taupe, and there was no shortage of shiny, reflective polished wood. Not only were the three teenagers scanning the brilliant home, but its owner was as well. Mr. Granger was looking around as if he had never seen the interior of the house in which he had lived for the past year.

"Where am I?" asked Mr. Granger before he turned to Hermione. "Hermione, dear?"

"It's m-magic stuff, Dad," said Hermione. "I'll explain when Mum is here, if you'll just call her—but don't use her name, say 'Monica.'"

Mr. Granger was taken aback by Hermione's instructions, but seemed to respect that it had something to do with magic he didn't understand and shouted his wife's false name. Mr. Granger's voice echoed through the halls of his large house, and moments later a slim woman with a bushy head of hair walked in. Harry and Ron stood quietly as Hermione finally smiled.

"What is it, dear? Who are—"

With another wave of Hermione's wand and utterance of the spellbreaking incantation, Mrs. Granger's awareness was triggered and she greeted the three brightly before beginning to ask questions similar to her husband's.

"Perhaps we'd better sit down for this one," suggested Harry, and they found their way to a vast living room that extended to an open kitchen and a fireplace on the other end, with sliding glass doors leading to a patio in the garden outside. "Oh, I'll make tea."

Harry stepped into the kitchen area to do so while Ron and Hermione settled down with Mr. and Mrs. Granger on the soft cream-colored armchairs that surrounded the coffee table by the fireplace.

"One year ago, the second Wizard War began with the death of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore," explained Hermione, determined to stop her flow of tears. "And I—"

"No!" breathed Mr. Granger. "Albus is dead?"

"Yes."

"But he was supposed to be the strongest wizard on the planet!" said Mr. Granger, looking to his wife in shock, then back to Hermione. "I trusted him with your safety, even with that Valdemar character running around!"

"Voldemort," corrected Ron promptly. He had been flexing his readiness to speak the Dark Lord's name ever since he witnessed Voldemort's death.

"He was the most powerful wizard of his time," assured Hermione. "Perhaps of all time."

"But he lost?"

"No, he didn't lose..."

"But he was killed!"

"He was only human," said Harry as he returned with a tray of teacups and an ornate sky blue teapot with golden flower designs. "It's because Voldemort sealed his soul within seven objects so that he would stay alive even if his body died—"

"And Albus did the same?" asked Mrs. Granger hopefully. "Then he isn't really dead?"

"No, he's —" Harry sighed. "He's gone."

"The objects that contained the pieces of Voldemort's soul are called Horcruxes," continued Hermione. "These Horcruxes became evil with the presence of his soul, and contained powerful curses. One of the objects happened to be a legendary ring that was said to be able to resurrect the dead."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger leaned in, their interest clearly piqued, as Hermione continued.

"When Dumbledore was young, well, something happened—"

"His boyfriend killed his sister," blurted Ron before taking a sip of tea.

"Ron, that's just a theory," said Hermione exasperatedly. "For all we know, they were just friends."

"I say they were on," said Harry. "And why shouldn't he be gay, he's never had a wife..."

"I think the important part is that his sister was killed," snapped Hermione, inciting a guilty look from Harry and Ron.

"Right," continued Harry. "He wore the ring to try and bring his sister back, but Voldemort's curse harmed him. He didn't have much more time left, so he designed his own death to ingratiate his spy, Professor Snape, with Voldemort. The plan was a success, and Snape was able to help us defeat him."

"Us?" asked Mrs. Granger. "You three?"

"Yes, Dumbledore trusted us, and us alone, with the task. Few knew of how to destroy him, or even that it was possible."

"This is where you come in," said Hermione nervously, preparing for the worst. "Shortly before embarking on the quest to collect the pieces of Voldemort's soul, I modified your memories and sent you here. We're in Australia, where you've been living under the pseudonyms Wendell and Monica Wilkins for the past year, as Harry, Ron, and I fought in the war."

Mr. and Mrs. Granger weren't outraged or furious, but shocked. Mr. Granger sputtered a response as he tried to digest the information.

"Please," urged Hermione. "I only did it to keep you safe! You know what we've done thusfar at Hogwarts—we've sort of become 'the trio,' and as such, we were at the top of Voldemort's hit list! I had to protect you in case his followers came after you... Harry, Ron, and I went from camp to camp, constantly on the go, scavenging food and fending for ourselves as we searched for the Horcruxes. We finally defeated him two months ago, and the world is safe."

"Hermione, I—" began Mr. Granger, but he simply stopped mid-sentence, appearing gobsmacked. "Wait, did you say you went camping, alone, with two teenage boys, for an entire year—"

"So, you three saved the world!" breathed Mrs. Granger. Mr. Granger huffed.

"We had a lot of help," said Harry. "The whole wizarding world was fighting—we were simply the three carrying out Dumbledore's mission to destroy Voldemort."

"Hermione, I—" began Mr. Granger again, but he hesitated, trying to think of what to say. He finally settled on "I'm proud of you."

Hermione beamed for a second before Mr. Granger's smile faded.

"But really!" he snarled. "Giving us amnesia and flying us off to bloody Australia to live under the hot sun with the spiders—"

"Spiders?" demanded Ron.

"Yes, Australia is known for its deadly spiders."

"You might have mentioned that, Hermione!" barked Ron. Hermione shrank a bit in her seat.

"We were in a war!" pleaded Hermione. "I wanted you as far away from the danger as possible!"

"It's alright, dear," said Mrs. Granger calmly. Hermione appreciated her composure.

"IT IS NOT ALRIGHT!" barked Mr. Granger. "Our seventeen-year-old daughter did not need to risk her life in some Wizarding war! I don't care if Albus thought so—he was barking mad if he did!"

"It sounds like she was needed," said Mrs. Granger quickly, perhaps noticing the never-insult-Albus-Dumbledore-in-front-of-me look on Harry's face. "So, is everything safe now? Can we return to England?"

"Sort of in a rebuilding state," said Ron as Mr. Granger seemed to calm down. He went back to narrowing his eyes at Hermione over the issue of Australian spiders as she smiled at him apologetically. "But yeah, things are a lot better."

"I'll stay here with you for a while, but I've got to return to the Burrow soon," said Hermione to her parents. "I've got to go back to Hogwarts over the school year as well."

"Alright," Mr. Granger agreed reluctantly.

"Brilliant!" chimed Harry. "By the way, Ron and Hermione had a snog during the final battle, which was the apex of many, many years of romantic tension, and now they're blissfully together."

Harry said this in a hurry then began to sip his tea innocently, his eyes darting from Ron and Hermione to the Grangers.

"Harry!" groaned Ron, as Hermione suddenly became very interested in one of the legs of the coffee table, her cheeks nearly as red as Ron's ears. Ron turned to offer Hermione's parents a weak smile, but soon realized it was a mistake.

"My god, boy, what's happened to your teeth?" asked Mr. Granger. "Do wizards have no regard for dental hygiene?"

Mr. Granger was rapped lightly on the shoulder by Mrs. Granger as Ron looked to the floor.

"It's no surprise, really, is it? She wrote to us about his saving her life and the school several times," said Mrs. Granger to her husband, who was looking mildly irked. "Hermione and I have discussed it—girl talk, you know."

Mr. Granger was eyeing Ron skeptically, while Mrs. Granger wore a warm smile. Hermione was concentrating on the ground, and Ron was shifting uncomfortably. Harry hid his grin behind his teacup as a few moments' silence passed.

"This one's got better teeth," concluded Mr. Granger, pointing to Harry, who gave a winning smile.

"Dad, Ron's teeth are fine," said Hermione exasperatedly.

"Fine—I've seen more white in the inside of a coffin—"

"When were you inside a coffin?" asked Mrs. Granger.

"What's that accent, anyway?" continued Mr. Granger. "It's almost Cockney..."

"Don't you dare make presumptions of Ron's intelligence," said Hermione; she had attempted to sound affronted but couldn't hide her teary smile. Harry suspected this was a discussion she had envisioned having with her parents long before fighting in the war. "I'll have you know Ron could play chess on a Rubik's cube and succeed at both," she affirmed.

Ron blinked in confusion, unsure of what a 'Rubik's cube' was, but remained silent.

"He's a werewolf," Hermione mentioned, while Ron looked up, gauging their reactions.

"Is that bad?"

"Well, it's the reason his teeth are like that. He's just transformed the other night, and he's always looking a bit—er—messy, let's say, after a transformation. His teeth will be back to normal in a day or two."

"So, a werewolf curse is actually just a dental issue?"

"No," replied Hermione with a chuckle, dismissing the notion with a wave of her hand. "He transforms into a wolf once per month, on the night of the full moon, but as long as we give him Wolfsbane Potion he remains tame, so it's harmless. Not terribly convenient, but harmless."

"So," began Mr. Granger, staring off into space. "I've been living in Australia this past year with magical amnesia while my daughter risked her life in a war with the world at stake, and now she's going out with her friend Ron, who is a werewolf."

"Correct."

"So, will my grandchildren be werewolves too, then?" Mr. Granger asked smoothly.

Harry widened his eyes, Ron gulped nervously, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at her father. Harry struggled to contain his laughter while Hermione turned to Ron and they shared a significant look. Hermione turned to face her father, determination in her eyes.

"No, they'll only be cursed with bright red hair and freckles," stated Hermione calmly. "And I'll not answer any more questions about Ron."

The trio spent the night giving Mr. and Mrs. Granger the detailed story of the final year of the war. Surprisingly, Harry had no difficulties retelling the tale, no matter how tragic it was, and had a habit of smacking his knee in a manner that reminded Ron and Hermione of Sirius. Nothing seemed to get Harry down after all traces of Voldemort's soul were removed from him.

"And then the little son of a Flobberworm decides to strip to his knickers and hop into the frozen lake with a bloody Horcrux around his neck!" said Ron hysterically.

At this point, drinks had been shared between the Grangers and the trio, and the Grangers were immersed in the story.

"No!" said Mr. Granger.

"You think that's funny?" said Harry. "Wait 'till you hear what happens next."

"Harry!" warned Ron. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"What did happen next?" she asked. Her tone told them they were already under suspicion.

"Not something I want to say here," said Ron. "I mean, I can't relive it, it's too painful."

"Bollocks!" chuckled Harry. "You just don't want to because—"

"Silencio," interrupted Ron with a small wave of his wand. Harry huffed silently. "Well it's been a lovely time, Mr. Granger, Mrs. Granger. We'd best be off. See you soon, Hermione."

Ron grabbed Harry and Disapparated before Hermione could protest.