A/N: I decided to post this today as a birthday present from me to you in a rather Hobbitsy fashion. Who knows, maybe there will be a Draco chapter in it for you today, too.

The response to this story has already been stunning, so thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed.

Hermione

The winter sun in Stratton, Western Australia was a bit too bright for Hermione's taste.

After two days on a Muggle bus and two additional days of slightly illegal research involving a Confundus and property ownership records, Hermione stood in front of a single storey home with a red-brick façade and bricked driveway in the suburb twenty-five kilometres from the Perth central business district. It was an unreasonable distance to live from a family-owned business, but Hermione had a feeling there was a reason. No. She knew there was reason. After all, she'd only manipulated eighteen years' worth of memories and implanted new identities. Somewhere in her parents' minds, they must have remembered that the name 'Stratton' had significance. It was, after all, her mother's maiden name.

Hermione fingered a folded parchment in her jeans pocket as she stalled on the pavement. Looking at it would do no good, but the temptation to take out the Tracking Parchment, a Weasley Wizard Wheezes product the twins had developed with Remus Lupin, was overwhelming. The parchment wouldn't show her the layout of any home into which she hadn't been invited, and only tracked persons with magical signatures. To keep her mind from becoming idle with worry, Hermione spent part of her bus ride brainstorming modifications that could track Muggles. Perhaps if she knew the name of the person she was about to meet, it would be less scary.

She shook her head at her own foolishness. Knowing the Muggle's name wouldn't make this visit easier. It wasn't going to get easier until she faced her fears and learned for certain what happened to her parents. Adjusting the strap of her satchel against her shoulder, Hermione strode up to the front door with more confidence than she felt. Biting back hesitation and fear, she rang the doorbell. A scuffle could be heard inside the door, followed by the insistent mewling of a cat. Or multiple cats, Hermione wasn't sure.

The door opened a few inches and Hermione saw bright green eyes surrounded by tawny fur near the bottom of the door. A foot appeared in front of the cat's face and pushed it back. "Back! Simba, I will lock you in the toilet."

The cat must have taken the threat seriously because it disappeared from view and the door opened fully. A waif of a woman several inches shorter than Hermione with black hair that curled around her jaw stood in the entry. A patterned shawl covered her shoulders as she looked cold. Hermione picked at her own thin t-shirt, wondering how on earth this woman was chilly when it was seventeen degrees outside. This woman would never survive winter in Scotland.

"Can I help you?"

Hermione opened her mouth but no sound came out. She swallowed and tried again. Stick to the plan, Hermione. "Hi. I—er, I'm looking for Wendell and Monica Wilkins," she squeaked.

The woman's beady brown eyes narrowed. "The Wilkinses no longer live here."

"Oh," Hermione breathed, feigning surprise. "Well, er, do you know where they might have moved to?" She mentally berated herself for the utter lack of subtlety, but subterfuge was never one of her skills. She knew a formerly-Imperiused Gringotts goblin who could testify to that fact.

Thin fingers tapped on the doorframe as the woman evaluated Hermione. She broke eye contact to look outside and then jutted her head back. "Come on in. You're letting the heat out."

"Oh—I don't—"

"I'm not going to bite." The woman stood back from the door and waved Hermione in. "I need a second opinion on this spiced tea my Emmeline sent me from Guangzhou."

Hermione awkwardly followed the woman into a handsome kitchen, where a kettle sat on the stovetop. The woman prowled through the cupboards before pulling out a tin and two teacups. Hermione stiffly sat down at the cluttered dining table.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Her—er—Penelope." If Death Eaters had in fact found her parents, she did not need anyone to hear that Hermione Granger had come looking for them.

The tawny cat leapt lightly onto the dining table and weaved around boxes to sniff at Hermione's fingers. The other woman bobbed her head and hummed. "Delightful to meet you, Penelope. May I call you Penny?"

"Er—yes?" Hermione was completely baffled by this odd woman, who was now steeping the spiced tea. The cat lost interest in Hermione's hand and scratched his jaw on a box.

"Delightful," she said again. Silence settled over them and Hermione twisted her hands on the strap of her bag until the woman handed her a cup. "Try it first and then let me know if it needs milk or sugar."

Hermione sipped the hot tea and felt the spices clear her nasal passages. She coughed and set the cup down. "It's delicious," she said with a half-hidden grimace. The cat walked over to the abandoned teacup and sniffed before recoiling. He sat down several inches away and stared at Hermione.

The other woman closed her eyes as she savoured the tea. "It's a bit strong. Would do marvellous things for a headcold, but for now I think it could use a splash of milk. Do you agree, Penny?"

"I—sure. Yes." What had Hermione gotten herself in to? "Er—what's your name?"

"Hmm? Oh, Drusilla Binghampton. Please call me Dru." Dru retrieved the milk and doctored her tea before passing it to Hermione. They both took a long second taste of the drink before adding more milk. "This is awfully strong, isn't it?" Hermione gave a nervous laugh but said nothing. Dru set her cup on the wooden dining table and smiled. "Alright, Miss Penny. I can tell by your accent you're not from around here. Taking a holiday with some friends, perhaps?"

"Oh—er—no. I just completed my Diplôme de Pâtisserie and had an interest in working abroad, so a mutual friend suggested I get in touch with the Wilkinses to see if they might have a job for me." She rushed through her cover story and hoped the inquisitive woman bought it. The cat was still staring in a way that reminded Hermione of Crookshanks trying to determine if someone was trustworthy. The feline didn't look part-Kneazle, but he was certainly clever enough to be. Hermione felt the parchment again in her jeans and wished she had taken it out before. She hadn't considered the fact that Dru might be a witch.

Well, at least the fact that she could tell a lie meant the tea hadn't been laced with Veritaserum. That was something.

Thin fingers lightly drummed against the porcelain cup in front of Dru. "You flew nine-thousand miles on the word of a mutual friend?"

Hermione flushed red and tried to play it off as an over-eager, naïve mistake. "I was just so excited for the opportunity and I've never been to Australia before—" which was an outright lie, but at this point, who was counting? "—so I decided I'd rather talk to them in person and it was a grand opportunity to travel halfway across the world, but when I got to the bakery, it was gone, so I asked my friend and he gave me this address."

Dru's sharp eyes told Hermione she wasn't buying the story in the slightest. "Your 'friend' has obviously been out of touch with Wendell and Monica for quite some time." She sighed and gave Hermione a pitying look. "You really flew nine-thousand miles by yourself hoping for a job at a family-owned bakery after graduating an actual culinary programme?" Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Dru shook her head with a subtle twitch of her lips. "You're an optimistic one." She took another sip of tea while evaluating Hermione over the rim of her cup. It took all of Hermione's resolve not to squirm.

Finally, Dru must have decided she trusted Hermione, regardless if she did or didn't believe the story. "I only met the Wilkinses a year ago, when they first decided to sell the house. Emmeline, my partner, she met Monica a few months after they moved here. I know the rent for the store was set to increase in October, and it was already expensive. Plus Monica hated the weather. She said it was too hot in the summers, so they moved back to Europe last spring."

Hermione didn't know whether to be relieved that her parents moved of their own will, or distraught that they moved back home. "Did they go back to the UK?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

Dru shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of. Monica went on and on about wanting to have a decent winter. I think they went to France initially, but I can't tell you much after that."

"A decent winter?" Hermione echoed. Her mother loved snow, she knew that much. Would have they moved to the Alps? All in all, there were few places in France that got cold enough for snow. Unless... "You wouldn't happen to know which province they moved to?"

Dru raised a thin black eyebrow. "Why is it so important for you to track these folks down?"

"I—" Hermione didn't have a pre-planned response for that question. "I just—"

"Never mind." Dru waved a dismissive hand. "I can't tell you much anyway, except Monica mentioned going to see a doctor in Bordeaux the last time we spoke."

Bordeaux. There was a town on the border of two provinces, halfway between Bordeaux and Toulouse. If Hermione remembered correctly from her childhood, it was the only town in either province that ever saw significant amounts of snow. They had visited it a few times, twice before she turned eleven, and once more after she started at Hogwarts. That's where they had to be, or it was at least where they had gone next.

Hermione stood and pretended to be disappointed by the lack of information. "Ah, well, thank you for your time anyway."

The woman shrugged and motioned for Hermione to wait. She padded over to the counter where the tin of tea still sat. "Here." Dru handed the tin to Hermione. "I'm not too taken with this one."

"You don't have to—"

"If you manage to find Wendell and Monica, just tell them it's a gift from Emmeline. Emmy was always bringing them things like that."

Hermione accepted the tin and tucked it into her already full satchel. "Thank you," she said graciously, and gave a not-so-subtle look at the door.

Dru took the hint with grace and headed for the door. The cat jumped off the table to follow the two women, keeping close to Hermione's ankles.

"Now, now, Simba. You're staying with me." Dru swept the cat up from the floor and opened the door. "Penny, I wish you luck. It was delightful to meet you."

"Thank you," Hermione said again. "It was lovely to meet you as well." She gave a half-curtsy on her way outside. By the time she reached the pavement, Hermione had decided to book the next available flight to Bordeaux or Toulouse, whichever was cheaper.

As she wandered off and began contemplating how she was going to hire a car once in France, she never turned around to see Dru leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. The woman turned to her tawny cat and scratched his ear. "Shall we go ring Monica and tell her that her daughter is on her way home?" The cat purred and nudged against her hand. "I quite agree. Best leave it a mutual surprise."

And she shut the door without giving further thought to the odd girl who lied about trying to find her parents.