Little Swimmers
A multi-chaptered somewhat bawdy (aren't they all?) eventual Harmony fic by canoncansodoff
A/N: I was originally planning on this being a five chapter story, with each chapter 15k-20k words long. But after a lot of constructive criticism from readers who needed to re-read an entire story each time that I updated because those updates were too few and too far between, I've decided to make a new year's resolution to post more often, even if it means shorter chapters. Of course, this runs the risk of generating the counter-criticism that each shorter chapter doesn't advance the story very much. But I'm going to run that risk, at least for now, and for this story. Readers are free to chime in with their own opinions.
Thanks to the Aussies who chimed in with their reviews, and especially to my new pen-pal and fellow fanfic author from South Australia, who has volunteered quite a bit of his time to provide constructive comments that have improved both the initial chapter and my knowledge of Australia. Apologies to the dinky-di multi-generational Aussie reviewer who thought that it was bloody hilarious that a Yank would have the cojones to set a story in Melbourne without ever having been there (or in Oz, for that matter). I sincerely hope that he sleeps better at night, now that I've corrected my grievous error and revised the labeling of his home airport's main runway as "16," rather than "17." Close circuit to Mawsel (who has turned off my ability to directly respond to his review)…there was no reason to tell my readers that you locals call your airport "Tulla." The official airport name isn't Tulla, the story characters who flew into that airport wouldn't have known it by that name, and those locals that they interacted with would have had no reason to correct their ignorance. Keep it up, and I'll bring back that Healer from Sydney and have her start ripping on your city. Lord knows that there are folks in NSW who think that there's plenty of good reasons to do so! Cheers, Mate!
Finally, this un- beta'd chapter is one extended scene that goes back over a bit of timeline and a single paragraph from the previous chapter. You should be able to see where the overlap lines up.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
oo00OO00oo
Chapter 2: The Rear Bench Seat
Flinders Gate Carpark
Flinders Street, Melbourne
Hermione was quick to notice the way that Harry's eyes shifted down the rows and aisles of parked cars as he reflexively performed perimeter threat assessments within the carpark. She also picked up on her father's deviation from the Queen's English when he pointed down one specific row towards his new Audi. Reaching out to give her friend's hand a reassuring squeeze while she engaged in some good-natured teasing, she addressed both situations contemporaneously.
"Really, Daddy…calling it a sedan, rather than a saloon?" she asked. "Sounds as if you've spent the past twelve months in the States, rather than Down Under."
"It's what they're called here, Dear," Hermione's mum explained. "Just like we'll be sharing the road with trucks and station wagons, rather than lorries and estate cars."
"But it's not like they totally tossed proper English into the rubbish bin," her father added, as he led the way towards their car.
"Garbage bin, Dear," said Emily.
"Yes, yes…garbage bin…at least it's not garbage can," Roger replied, using his version of a nasally American accent. "And it might be a sedan, but it still has a proper bonnet and boot."
To punctuate that comparison, Hermione's father reached into his trouser pocket and pushed two of the three buttons on his Audi's key fob. He was hoping to show off a bit of "Muggle magic" by remotely unlocking the car and popping open the boot lid.
The sedan's "chirp chirp" response, unfortunately, produced more of a reaction than he might have liked.
"Harry!"
Roger spun at the sound of his daughter's shout, and watched most of her disappear behind her black-haired friend, who had drawn out his wand and stepped protectively in front of her. Making his own instant threat assessment, Hermione's father slowly drew his hand out of his trouser pocket and held out his car key.
"It's just the remote control, Son," Roger said slowly and evenly.
Harry's wand was dropping and his cheeks were reddening even before the older man had completed his explanation.
"Sorry," the teenager replied, as his wand disappeared back up into his hidden wrist holster. "I'm still a bit…jittery."
"We're all still a bit jittery," said Hermione, as she stepped out from behind Harry and slipped her hand around his waist. "It's been a really long trip."
"And a really long year," Ron agreed, as he tossed his rucksack into the Audi's boot.
"A few months longer for some than for others," Harry thought, as food and the Forest of Dean sprang to mind. But he didn't voice those slightly snippy thoughts, as Hermione and he followed Ron's lead and slipped off their rucksacks.
Mrs. Granger insisted that the red-haired teenager sit in the front passenger seat, since he had the longest legs. Harry didn't notice a shortage of leg room once he climbed onto the luxury sedan's rear bench seat (especially when compared to what they had endured in Air India's economy section), but he wasn't going to argue the point if it allowed him to sit next to Hermione and maintain some comforting points of body contact.
The teen-aged wizard smiled when Mrs. Granger walked around to the other side of the car and pushed her daughter into the center spot. From the way that she had slipped her hand behind her daughter's back and pulled her into a side-by-side embrace, it seemed as if Hermione's mum was interested in that same kind of body contacting comfort. The wide smile on the teen-aged witch's face as she melted into both points of physical contact made the sentiment unanimous (at the same time that Roger's and Ron's focus on securing a seat belt made the sentiment unobserved).
As Roger backed out of the parking spot, his wife raised her voice from the rear bench seat and asked, "Mid-day traffic and no great rush, what do you say we rat run it home?"
Emily's husband looked up at the rear view mirror and chuckled.
"My wife, the social deviant," he teased. "Clogging the local roads and annoying the local citizenry just to avoid the toll road and save a bit of cash?"
"We can hardly show them the city from inside the Burnley Tunnel," Emily noted.
"Yes, Dear," Roger said in a sing-song voice.
His wide-eyed front seat passenger asked, "There are tunnels big enough to drive cars through?"
"Of course there are, Ronald," Hermione sighed with exasperation. "Just as there are Muggle-built tunnels large enough for the Hogwarts Express to pass through. You have been on board that train at least a few times, haven't you?"
"Oh, right...I forgot."
Roger chuckled at his passenger's question as he pulled up to the car park's exit and paid the appropriate fee. He asked, "I don't suppose you get to travel much by automobile in your world?"
"Nah, I've been in cars before," Ron replied. "I've even driven one."
"I don't think that flying cars count," Harry quipped. "And do you really want to brag about driving your dad's car, given how that trip ended?"
"Well how else were we supposed to get to Hogwarts that year?" Ron asked defensively.
Hermione sighed. "Aside from notifying the authorities, or your parents, and traveling to Hogsmeade or the Headmaster's Office using the floo?"
"Yeah, yeah…easy to say that now," Ron replied. "Harry didn't seem to have a better idea at the time."
The other teen-aged wizard in the car snorted. "True enough, although if I remember correctly, you weren't much interested in considering any alternatives."
Now driving out on the street, Roger asked, "This was the start of your second year, when that Dobby character was causing mischief, right?"
The question sucked the playful mood that had been building within the car straight out the exhaust. Roger looked at the stone-faced somber expressions on the three teens and asked, "What's wrong? That was in one of Hermione's letters, wasn't it?"
His daughter's eyes began to tear up as she reached to cover the fading scar mark that Bellatrix's torturing had left on her arm.
"Dobby was…he was one of the heroes that didn't survive the War," she explained. "He rescued us from captivity, right while I was being…"
"He saved all of us," Harry interjected, as he wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulder and pulled her towards him. "That noble little guy, with his noble mischief…dropping chandeliers down onto the heads of wicked witches, and stepping in front of thrown knives…"
"I'm so sorry," said Roger. "I didn't know…didn't mean to bring up…"
"No, it's not your fault," said Harry. "It's part of what happened this past year…and you've a right to know." He then turned towards Hermione and whispered, "Right?"
The teen-aged witch worried her lower lip with her teeth, but eventually nodded.
"Yes, Mum and Dad…you do deserve to hear the whole story," she stated. "I'm just afraid about how angry you'll be when that whole story requires me to revise some of the earlier chapters, when I wasn't being completely..."
"Truthful?" her mother asked.
"Well, I was going to say 'candid,' but that works just as well," Hermione admitted.
"I think that we knew more than you think we knew," Emily said, giving her daughter's arm a reassuring squeeze. "Most parents do."
"Which means that if we're going to be angry with anyone about those revisions, it'll be with ourselves," Roger added. "I mean…what kind of parents were we? Allowing you to return to that school, year after year, knowing how dangerous the place was. Allowing you to return to that country last year, knowing how dangerous the place had become…"
Glancing up towards the front seats, Harry became concerned with both the agitated expression on Roger's face, and his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.
"It's going to be a very long story, I'm afraid," he said. "Too long to do it justice while we're in the car… unless you live in some far-off suburb?"
"No, we're actually pretty close in," Roger replied. "We would have missed you at the train station, had we'd rented a house any further out."
"Ah, well then," said Harry. "As I suspect that you'll want a drink in your hand as the story is told, and since the laws about drinking and driving here aren't likely to be that different than England's…"
"They aren't," Roger agreed. "And there just so happens to be a very nice bottle of Australian sparkling wine at home that has been waiting for Hermione's return to be uncorked…we can start in on the whiskey and the story telling after that." He thought for a moment, then jokingly asked, "You two boys are both eighteen, right?"
"I am, but Harry isn't," Ron was quick to reply.
"For another four whole weeks," the teenager in question whined.
"Ah, well then...under the local laws, we're supposed to obtain parental consent before serving alcohol in our home to their under-aged children, but…"
"Daddy…." Hermione growled.
"Oh please, I did say, 'but'," Roger whined. "As in…but in this case the local laws can sod off."
Harry shook his head. "You don't have to…"
"Yes he does," Hermione replied. "Statute of Secrecy be damned, I'll curse the first person who says that you shouldn't be treated as an adult."
"Language, Hermione," her mother admonished.
Ron barked out a laugh, noting, "That's usually her line."
Hermione's mum shook her head. "Well, I'm in agreement with there being no more story telling until we're home…I'm supposed to be pointing out the local sites as justification for avoiding that seven dollar toll, right? So, kids…that was the Yarra River that we just crossed, and to your left is the Royal Botanical Gardens. We're presently traveling south on St. Kilda Road towards, appropriately enough, St. Kilda, which is famous for its beach. St. Kilda used to be the most fashionable suburb in Melbourne with fashionable people living in huge Victorian mansions, before it became all dodgy with hippies and drug-users and prostitutes…something wrong, Dear?"
Harry shook his head and held up his hands.
"No Ma'am, that was very informative," he replied, trying to clamp down on his grin. "I just realized that there must be an inherited component to your daughter's ability to talk in whole pages without breathing."
"Harry!" Hermione whined, as everyone else in the car laughed at his joke.
"So, we're heading towards a famous beach, Mrs. Granger?" Harry asked.
"Yes, St Kilda's foreshore is very popular," Hermione's mum replied. "It's certainly not the cleanest or prettiest beach that we've visited during our stay, but given how close in it is…"
"So it's not exactly a deserted beach?" Harry asked.
Emily shook her head. "My heavens, no…not even now, when it's the Winter. You won't see many swimmers or sunbathers, of course, but you'll still find plenty of people walking up and down the esplanade."
"That's too bad," said Harry. "Still, it sounds like it's worth a visit."
"There are bound to be plenty of deserted beaches in Australia," said Roger. "Given the fact that it is…you know…surrounded by oceans?"
"That's good to know," said Harry.
It was at this point during the ride that the teen-aged wizard leaned towards his best friend's ear and whispered a reminder that she was obligated to pay off a lost bet. Ron just happened to be looking back towards the rear bench seat as Hermione replied, "Lucky me" and kissed Harry on the cheek. Harry spotted his male friend's scowl, then looked out the car window and pointed.
"Hey, Ron, look…there's a Nando's," he stated, as the car turned off St. Kilda Road and headed east. "Mr. Granger, would you mind if we stopped for some take-away? Ron really likes their peri peri sauce."
"Are you boys hungry?" Emily asked.
"They shouldn't be," Hermione countered. "They just ate some take-away at the airport."
"But that was a couple of hours ago, and it's gotta be close to breakfast back home. So if my stomach's still on England's time…" Ron reasoned.
"No worries," Roger said, as he navigated the car towards a parking spot. "Do you need some cash?"
"No, I've got it…we'll be right back," said Harry, as Ron and he stepped out of the car.
"Sorry, about that," said Hermione. "I hope you don't think Harry was being rude."
"Well, it did seem a bit strange," her mother noted. "While we certainly weren't planning on company today, it's not as if the kitchen cupboards are bare."
"He asked Daddy to stop for our benefit," Hermione replied. "The easiest way to distract Ron is with food, and it does give the three of us a chance to talk privately before we arrive home."
"So are we going to talk privately about why Ron needed to be distracted from the fact that you just kissed Harry on the cheek?" Emily teased.
"No, that's not what we're going to talk about."
"And you're certain that your stomach isn't still on England time, Hermione?" her mother asked playfully.
"No, it certainly isn't."
"But you were rather fond of the peri peri sauce yourself, if I remember correctly," her father noted.
Hermione sighed. "I guess I'll have to take your word for it."
"Oh, that's right…you must not remember," her mother said.
"Not entirely, it seems," said Hermione, as he looked out the different car windows. "While I called it intuition, I was certain that we needed to fly into Melbourne to start our search. And now that we are here and we've found you…we're not that far from the house, are? And it's just off this commercial street?"
"Not bad…we're actually about five kilometers from home," Roger replied. "And it is just off this street, although the street name changes."
Hermione shook her head. "Everything is sitting so annoyingly on the edge of my brain," she complained. "Like a bad case of déjà vu, although…is it really déjà vu if you just can't remember seeing it?"
"I think it counts," her mother said, patting her knee supportively. "If it helps, you helped pick out this part of Melbourne for us."
"Really? The part of Melbourne with the dodgy prostitutes and drug users?"
"St Kilda isn't nearly as bad as your mother described it," Roger said with a smile. "You liked it because there are more magic-friendly shops and people here than in other parts of the city…something about the odd bit of magic not being as noticeable amongst all of those hippies and prostitutes and drug users."
"I was talking more about its reputation from the Sixties," Emily said defensively. "Besides, there is a big difference between St. Kilda and where we live in Malvern."
"Only to a degree…especially when compared with the outer suburbs," Roger countered.
"So you picked out a place to live just for me, even though you knew I wasn't going to be living here?" Hermione asked.
"It wasn't just for you," Emily replied.
"What about Lauriston?" her husband asked.
Emily shook her head and said, "Never mind."
"What?" Hermione asked.
"We're going to drive by a private all-girls day school called Lauriston Academy," said Roger. "It's only a few blocks from the house that we've been renting…would have been an easy walk for you."
"It's one of the best secondary schools for young women in Australia," her mother noted. "Especially when those young women are also young witches."
Hermione frowned. "Were we really working under the assumption that I wasn't going to return to England?"
Her mother sighed. "Let's just say that we argued to at least leave that option open…at least at first."
The Muggleborn witch looked down at her lap and rubbed her closed eyelids with her fingers.
"I can't believe that I was so stupid," she muttered.
Hermione's mum cocked her head to the side.
"You regret going back to England?" she asked.
"No, it's not that," Hermione said. "I can't believe that I was stupid enough to believe the cock-and-bull story that Moody and I came up with to replace the...how long was I actually here?"
"A little more than three weeks," her mother replied.
"Alright then...all that time last year," Hermione said. "I mean, if you just stop and think about it…of course I could have altered your memories enough for you to forget that you had a daughter, and make you think that your names were Monica and Wendell Wilkins, but…"
"Oh, Hermione!" Emily whispered, as she pulled her daughter into her hug. The older woman wiped a tear from her own eye and said, "No story telling until we're home, right?"
"Yes, I know…but really?" Hermione asked. "I would have also needed to have forged your passports, and figured out your bank accounts, and convinced Nancy at the surgery that you'd just run off without even saying good bye and given her notice on your behalf, and anticipated a hundred different bits of back story that you would have needed to live here under assumed names that you didn't realize were assumed…"
"It's not your fault, Dear," her mother said.
"It's certainly my fault that I considered the cover story good enough not to at least question it in my mind," Hermione countered.
"Maybe not questioning the murkier parts of the altered memory was part of the magic that was placed on you?" her father asked.
Hermione lifted her head and opened her eyes.
"A compulsion charm tied into the main memory alteration? Could be," she decided. "Who knows? I might have even suggested it to Mad-Eye beforehand..."
"They're out," Emily noted, pointing towards the front door of the restaurant.
Roger turned the key and fired up the car's ignition, only to frown when Harry and Ron walked away from the parked car with their take-away bags in hand.
"Now where are they off to?" he asked.
Hermione tilted her head as her two friends disappeared behind a building corner.
"Knowing Ron?" she asked. "They're probably searching for a safe place to pop to, so that he can get back here on his own."
"Doing that apparating thing?"
"Yeah."
"Hmmmph," said Roger, as he turned the car back off. Then he turned his head back towards his daughter and asked, "So really, Hermione…Wendell?"
The teen-aged witch couldn't help but laugh at her father's hurt expression.
"I actually did rationalize out that part of the altered memory," she stated. "Wendell is derived from the Germanic term for traveling. It seemed appropriate."
"And Monica, then?" her mother asked.
"Haven't a clue," Hermione admitted. "And I spent more time than I should have this past year trying to figure that out for myself. Maybe it was Mad-Eye's mum's name, or something?"
"Monica Moody," Emily said. "Well, you magical types do love your alliteration, don't you?"
Hermione's mother frowned when she spotted something close to hurt within her daughter's eyes.
"What's wrong, Sweetheart?" she asked. "Was it something I said?"
"No," Hermione quickly replied. "I mean…yes, but I'm certain you didn't mean anything by it…"
"What's that, dear?"
"You just distanced yourself from me, when you lumped me in with 'you magical types'."
"Oh, sorry," her mom said. "You're right that I didn't…it's just that the two worlds are so different and separate…you've said so many times yourself, Dear."
"That is the case, at least in Britain," Hermione replied. "But it's supposed to be different here…a 'One House' place where magicals all non-magicals live side-by-side…a place where young witches can learn magic at day schools and still live at home with her parents…"
Her father chuckled. "Yes, all-girl day schools where they wouldn't have met their male best friends."
"Speaking of which," her mother said, "Is there anything that you want to tell us about Harry or Ron while they're not here?"
Hermione thought for a moment, and then nodded.
"It's only been a few weeks since the Final Battle," she stated. "Harry lost his owl Hedwig, and Dobby, and his last link to his parents…Ron lost one of his older brothers. Traumatic stuff, and we're all still recovering physically and emotionally, but Harry…he's had it the worst."
"So… his reaction to the car chirping?" her father asked.
"Pretty much an everyday occurrence," Hermione admitted. "It's so hard…I want to be there for him, and it seems to help…it's hard to let him out of my sight, whether it's going off for take-away, or sleeping in a separate bedroom…"
"Has he gotten any professional help?" Emily asked.
Hermione shook her head. "He's got some potions to help with the physical healing, and sleeping potions to stop at least some of the nightmares, but…nothing like post-traumatic counseling, if that's what you're asking."
"Do you think that would help?"
"Absolutely," Hermione replied. "He should have had that kind of professional help all along, but stupid witches and wizards, thinking that all you need is a potion or two to set things right, and expecting Harry to live up to everyone else's expectations…or to go along with everyone's expectations for him, for that matter."
"How is that?"
Hermione snorted. "You know how they say that war is hell? Well, I would have gladly traded the last two weeks of 'peace' staying with Ron's family, in exchange for an extra two weeks of war."
"Something we should know about that?" asked Emily.
"Yes, but there's no time for full explanations," Hermione replied. "The most important thing is to try to keep calm, for Harry's sake. And that might require you to step in if I get too bossy. Or to keep Ron at a distance, for that matter…the fact is, neither of us really wanted him to come on this trip."
"Why's that, Dear?"
"Because Ron has an uncanny ability to set me off, which in turn sets Harry off," Hermione replied. "And because we're both sick of Ron complaining all the time, and because I don't think that Ron wanted to come with us in the first place."
"Well why is he here, then?" her father asked.
"Honestly? I think his mum decided that Ron should chaperone the two of us, once she failed to convince Harry that he didn't need to chaperone me, which came right after Ron failed to convince me that I really didn't need to rush to retrieve my parents in the first place."
"What's that, again?" Roger asked sharply.
"Sorry…I shouldn't have said that," Hermione replied. "Look, it's only been a few weeks, and emotions were running high all around…I'm sure that I'll even eventually come to regret some of the things that I said to Molly before we left. I just want to spend some time reconnecting with the both of you, and to figure out what happened to my memories, and maybe for some healing to take place, and for Harry and me to start to figure out where to go from here, without everyone thinking they already know what's best for us."
"Right, then," her father decided. "So try to keep things low key, keep the car chirps to a minimum, and no dispensing of career or relationship advice over the next few days."
Hermione frowned. "When did I say anything about relationship advice?"
Her mother smiled, and pulled her daughter into another side-hug as Ron and Harry reappeared and walked back towards the car.
"You actually had quite a lot to say about those two boys and your relationships last year," Emily stated. "And from that talk about deserted beaches, and the rear bench seat flirty whispering about lost bets that need to be paid off on deserted beaches? It gives your mother ideas…and a fair bit of hope!"
Hermione's cheeks flushed red at her mother's comment, enough for Harry to quietly ask if something was wrong once he climbed back onto the rear bench seat with his bag of take-away. The teen-aged witch shook her head, and quietly replied that her mother had just asked embarrassing questions about sanitary products and monthlies in front of her father.
The fact that Hermione felt comfortable enough to use that as an excuse, combined with the fact that Harry didn't flinch or giggle when that excuse was provided, gave Hermione's mother one more reason to hope that her daughter was smart enough to make the right relationship decisions without any unsolicited advice.