Chapter VII

Damage Control

Ron Weasley awoke from his slumber with a start. It was now nearly midnight, and he had dozed off watching television, after Hermione had left to use a "public computer" in order to research more about her wayward parents. He stretched and yawned, and saw that the bed next to his was still empty and undisturbed.

"Can't that woman take just one moment to breathe?" he thought crossly, rolling over in the covers. "I mean, seriously, how much information could she need about her own parents?"

It was then that he heard movement outside of the door of room 213, as someone inserted a key into the door, and swung it open. It was Hermione, and she was bearing a flat square box.

"Oh, you're awake," she said, setting the box on the foot of Ron's bed. "There's something to eat, if you like."

Ron opened the box and discovered that it was a Muggle curiosity known as 'pizza', though he had never tried it. He selected a slice and sampled it. It was a bit cold, but edible nonetheless.

"Any progress?" he asked, taking another bite.

"Well, I've searched the local police and news databases, to see if my parents had made themselves very well known in their time here," said Hermione, setting her beaded bag on the bedside table and collapsing into her bed. "But, it seems that they have managed to keep to themselves, which is good. If they had any sort of notoriety, it would be much harder to bring them home. People would recognize them as the Wilkinses, and that would be a problem."

Ron finished his first slice of pizza, and was about to take another, when there was a knock at the door. Hermione looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table rather crossly.

"Who could that be," she asked, casting Ron a curious glance, as she stood and went to answer the door. A few moments later, there was a shout, a bang, and Ron had leapt out of bed, too. He faced the doorway, to see Hermione standing there, wand in her hand, and an unconscious figure lying in the hall.

"Help me get him in here!" hissed Hermione, tugging at the person's feet. Ron took out his own wand.

"Levicorpus," Ron muttered, and the figure rose from the floor, dangled by its ankles, and drifted eerily into the room, as Hermione shut the door. Ron saw the hood slip off of the person's head, and recognized the pointed face and blonde hair.

"Malfoy?" he said, shocked. "What's he doing here?"

"I have no idea, but I intend to figure out," said Hermione, her voice hard, as she took her own wand and directed a chair in the corner to slide over. They sat Draco Malfoy in the chair, and Hermione produced a length of rope from her wand, which coiled around their prisoner.

"We can't keep him here forever, can we?" asked Ron, pacing a few steps, "I mean, surely if someone comes to clean the room, they'll notice someone tied up."

"I know," said Hermione, fretfully. "But I can't risk him hurting us," She was searching his robes, now, and when she found his wand, she looked at it for a moment. "Strange, this is his wand, but I thought Harry still had it," She handed it to Ron, who did recognize it as the same hawthorn wand that Harry had been using previously. He tossed it onto his bed and watched carefully, as Hermione pointed her wand at Draco and muttered, "Rennervate."

Draco awoke with a start, and began to fight against his bonds, staring up at his captors with fury.

"What are you doing?" he spat, "Untie me this instant!"

"Silencio!" whispered Hermione, and Draco fell silent. "I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here? Why are you following us? I thought I saw you on the street, but I couldn't be sure. What is it you want?"

She removed the Silencing Charm, and Draco looked up at both of them plaintively, before speaking.

"My father sent me," he said, quietly. "He had caught wind that you might be travelling, and he wanted me to find you and 'make them pay', as the tosser had put it. I wasn't going to, of course. The old man is bitter and losing his grip. I wouldn't have come here if he hadn't threatened to disinherit me. I assure you, I'm not here to harm you; I wasn't even sure I would find you." Hermione looked at Ron with concern.

"Do you believe him?" she asked. Ron looked at Malfoy with distaste, and wasn't sure what to believe.

"I know I don't deserve to be trusted," Malfoy continued bitterly. "And, I didn't expect you to exactly welcome me when I showed up at the door, but I had hoped I could have said something before you jinxed me, Granger. Despite everything I've said and done to treat you like owl droppings over the years, I have to admit, you're pretty good."

Hermione was clearly taken aback for a moment. She looked incredulously at the pathetic young man that had taunted her for so long. Had Malfoy, self-anointed purest of purebloods, just paid Hermione a compliment?

"That doesn't prove anything," she said, after a moment. "We still can't be sure you won't try to kill us when you're free. Not that you would get very far." She was sure to put a very cold edge in her voice.

"You have my wand," said Draco. "And, that reminds me; Potter gave it back to me, himself. Not sure why, but I was going to buy a new one, so it's just as well, I suppose. Don't worry; I didn't try anything. Not after what happened to the last one who crossed him."

Ron and Hermione looked at one another quite astonished.

"Look, I came here to apologize," said Malfoy, as he fidgeted in his restraints. "So, I might as well out with it. I'm sorry I helped You-Know-Who; I'm sorry I nearly killed you and Potter. I'm sorry I've been a complete ass over the years, and I'm sorry I didn't treat you fairly, Weasley." He was looking at Ron, now, and this was truly bizarre to him, who was entirely used to the Draco Malfoy that considered him a blood-traitor for consorting with Harry Potter and Muggle-borns.

"I haven't forgotten," Draco continued, "that you and Potter saved me more than once, that night at the castle. I should be dead, but I'm not, thanks to the three of you."

"Don't mention it," said Ron, flatly, and he waved his wand at the ropes that bound Malfoy. They unwound and he was free again. He stood, stretching his hands and looking at the two of them uncertainly.

"Don't take this to mean we're all going to be good friends," said Malfoy. "I can't be sure father will believe me when I get home and tell him that I couldn't find you. I can make it convincing enough, though. He knows that you're pretty good with protective spells," He was looking at Hermione, "In fact, you're pretty good with every spell."

Hermione looked entirely shocked, as she sat on the foot of her bed, looking between Ron and Draco as if she thought she might be dreaming.

"I'll be leaving then," said Draco. "Could I have my wand back?"

Ron snatched the hawthorn wand back off of the bed, and handed it to Malfoy, who stuffed it back into the pocket of his cloak, looking meek and uncertain. Then, without another word, he strode over to the door, and was gone. A few moments of silence passed. Hermione looked at Ron again, and spoke breathlessly.

"I wish I had remembered to use those protective enchantments, this time," she murmured. "It completely slipped my mind. I even forgot about Harry's Sneakoscope. I didn't imagine it would come to that, but I wanted to have it just in case."

Ron didn't say anything, as he put his own wand back in his pocket and dropped onto the bed.

"Well, at least it was a pleasant visit, eh?" he said, smiling half-heartedly. "I mean, Malfoy just said you're 'pretty good', and that's like an admission of deepest affection from him."

Hermione laughed weakly.

"Well, I'll be getting a shower and going to bed," she said, picking up her beaded bag and standing. "I tried my parents from a pay phone while I was out, and there was still no answer. We'll try again tomorrow."

With that, she left, going through another door into the bathroom, and Ron climbed back into bed, flipping on the television. What would be next on this mad little adventure they had gone on?

Harry awoke that morning, still restless, as he considered what he would do on this second day without word from Ron or Hermione. He was worried that they hadn't gotten in touch, but was sure they would be fine. He got dressed, made his bed, made a quick detour to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and made his way to the kitchen for another large portion of breakfast. He noticed that Ginny was lagging behind this morning, and was nearly done his toast and jam, when she descended, looking quite dreamy, her hair still a bit matted.

"Sleep well?" he asked, smiling at her over a cup of tea. She yawned and smiled back.

"Well enough," she said, thickly. "That ghoul is back to putting up a fuss whenever it pleases, now that we've moved him back into the attic. It seems he had gotten used to being Ron."

Harry laughed and took another sip of tea. Ginny took a seat across from him and Mrs. Weasley set a plate of toast in front of her.

"Your father and I are going to be fixing Sirius's old motorbike, later today," said Harry. "You can come along, if you like."

"I suppose that could be a good way to kill time," said Ginny. "But what do we do in the meantime?" She was eyeing her mother very closely, as she bustled off to feed the chickens.

"I'm sure we can find ways to entertain ourselves," said Harry, daring himself not to smile too broadly.

Later that day, the two of them visited Mr. Weasley, who was once more in the shed in the back garden. He was covered in dust, having disassembled a vacuum cleaner, this time.

"Ah, there you are," he said, coughing a bit. "I was just about to come looking for you, but then this amazing contraption caught my interest, and I lost all track of time."

The three of them went down into the village together. This time, Harry wheeled the frame of the motorbike along, deciding that he would take the chance to reassemble it as soon as he had the parts required. They found the machine shop they had visited the day before, and the same Muggle mechanic eyed them as they entered.

"Ah, yes," he said, waving toward Harry. "I have that engine all sorted out for you, then," He disappeared into the back for a moment, and returned bearing the fully assembled engine bock on a small dolly. The three of them, Harry, Mr. Weasley, and the mechanic, took it out to the front of the shop, where Harry had parked the rest of the motorbike. A few moments later, the Muggle had wrenched the bolts that held the engine to the frame, with an electric wrench. Mr. Weasley was undoubtedly fascinated by the process and took the opportunity to watch closely, asking questions when he felt it was appropriate. More than once, the mechanic looked at him rather irritably. Harry took Mr. Weasley aside for a moment.

"If this works," he said, "would it be all right if Ginny and I went for a ride?"

"Oh, of course, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, fondly. "It is to be yours, after all. I would tell you to be careful, but I don't imagine there will be any trouble."

After topping off the fuel and other fluids, the mechanic climbed astride the bike, and kicked it to life. The new engine sputtered a bit and the exhaust pipe belched out a few clouds of thick black smoke. Soon enough, however, the tone of the bike evened out to a low rumble. The mechanic stepped back, wiping his hands on a rag, and looked at Harry, apparently pleased with himself.

"Well, that takes care of it," he said, jovially. "Take good care, lad, and don't go driving into anymore ponds, you hear?"

Harry assured the mechanic that this wouldn't be a problem, before climbing onto the bike himself. He had never actually driven any motorbike, but he knew how to work the throttle and figured the rest would come to him. He looked at Ginny and smiled, as she climbed onto the bike behind him, putting her arms around his waist. They sped off up the lane, with Mr. Weasley waving to them as they went. Once they were out of town, Harry steered the bike into the air, and they were off. They soared over the sweeping hills below, whooping their exhilaration. Harry wasn't sure if he preferred this vehicle to a broom, but he had to admit that there was a certain something about feeling the roar of the engine beneath him. He could understand why Sirius had preferred it. When he thought of Sirius, another thought came to mind.

"Mind if we take a little detour?" Harry asked Ginny, over the sound of the bike. He felt her squeeze him slightly, and took that as permission. He adjusted his heading, and on an impulse, revved the engine before speeding off into the clear blue sky.

At long last, Hermione finally managed to make contact with a Monica Wilkins, the next morning. She introduced herself by name and stated that she was living in the house they had sold when they moved abroad, and found an old pair of socks that must have belonged to one of them. She admitted that it was silly, but she went on to talk about how she had lost many socks, and never had any of them returned, so she imagined it would be nice. Somehow, all of this worked, and they were invited over for tea later that day. Hermione hung up the phone with a look of satisfaction and acute awareness of what this meant.

"I found them," she said, simply. "Now I can bring them home."

Ron was in good spirits as well, as this meant that the waiting would be over, and they would be venturing from room 213, which was starting to feel cramped.

Later that day, Ron and Hermione boarded another Muggle taxi, which took them to a neat suburban neighborhood. As they arrived at their destination, Hermione looked quite anxious. She stepped up to the door and knocked. In a few moments, the door was answered by Monica Wilkins, or Mrs. Granger, looking very much like an older version of her daughter, though her hair was a bit shorter.

"Hello," she said warmly, smiling. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for having us," replied Hermione, courteously.

"Well, please come in! Make yourselves comfortable," said Mrs. Wilkins/Granger, beckoning them inside. As they entered, Ron noticed that their home was quite pleasant and cozy. Unlike Harry's aunt and uncle's home, always been starkly clean and oppressive, this house was cheerful and bright, with potted plants set out around the living area. They went into the sitting room, where a tray set with tea was already waiting. They took their seats as Mrs. Wilkins poured their tea.

"Is Mr. Wilkins home, then?" asked Hermione, casually.

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Wilkins, "He's upstairs cleaning up. He should be joining us shortly," She served tea to the two of them, and took her own, cupping the saucer in her hands and blowing at the steam rising from her cup. Hermione fidgeted slightly, and Ron wondered if Mrs. Wilkin's behavior was reminiscent of her previous identity. Hermione took a sip of her tea and bit her lip slightly.

"I imagine there has to be some reason you made the trip out here," said Mrs. Wilkins, suddenly. "You can't have just decided on a whim to come all the way to Sydney over a pair of socks. Are you newlyweds on honeymoon?"

Ron choked on his own tea, spluttering as Hermione laughed embarrassedly.

"No, we're not married," she said, blushing, "We were just here on holiday."

"Oh, I see," said Mrs. Wilkins, apparently embarrassed as well. "Not meaning to pry, I was merely curious."

The next few moments passed in silence, until Mr. Wilkins joined them. He pecked his wife on the cheek, and took a seat next to her. He was tall, and somewhat balding, but he seemed good natured as he eyed Ron and Hermione over his own tea, which Mrs. Wilkins had already poured for him.

"So, you're the one who bought our old house," he said, "How do you like the place?"

"Oh, it's quite nice," said Hermione, "Peaceful, and more than enough room for myself."

"Yes, it was a shame to sell the place," said Mr. Wilkins, "But, when the missus and I decided to finally go for the move, we knew couldn't keep it. Was your trip over pleasant?"

"Yes," said Hermione, "quite uneventful." She passed a look to Ron that he imagined meant something, but he couldn't be sure what.

"Well, let's see these socks of ours, then," said Mrs. Wilkins. "I still don't know why you took all the trouble to bring them, but I suppose if that's why you're here, we won't keep you waiting."

Hermione set down her tea, and with the slightest of a tremble, she opened her beaded bag. The socks she produced from within were large and gray, and one of them had a hole. She handed them to Mrs. Wilkins. As she and her husband stared at them, their eyes unmistakably went out of focus. Ron looked toward Hermione, who was concentrating hard, soundlessly wording a complex incantation. Once she had finished her spell, the couple who had previously been known as Wendell and Monica Wilkins came out of their trance. They looked at each other, and then at their daughter. Ron could tell they recognized her for who she really was, now.

"Mum?" asked Hermione, breathlessly, "Dad?"

"Hermione," said Mrs. Granger, for she was no longer Monica Wilkins, as she reached forward to touch her daughter's face. Then they were all three hugging each other tightly.

"I'm s-so s-sorry," sobbed Hermione, "I never meant to hurt either of you. I-I just wanted to be s-sure you would be s-safe."

"We know, darling," said Mrs. Granger, softly. "We're just glad to see you again." She kissed her on the head, and then looked toward Ron, beaming.

"Thank you," she said to him, "for keeping her safe."

Ron was dumbstruck, feeling quite out-of-place.

"It was no trouble," he said, valiantly. "She's brilliant, she is. I just got in the way."

"Oh, stop," said Hermione, smiling at him through teary eyes, "He was excellent, and so was Harry. It's over; the fighting is done. We can go home, now."

They all sat there for some time, talking and catching up. Despite being Muggles, the Grangers knew a good deal about the war that had been fought between Voldemort and the Order, apparently afforded by their daughter. Indeed, as Hermione relayed some of the less-frightening details of their quest to defeat Voldemort, Mr. Granger surprised Ron once or twice with a few well-worded questions that even he wouldn't have thought to ask in a similar situation. It was late evening, when they finally decided they would retire for the night. Hermione had been about to call a taxi, to return them to their hotel, when Mrs. Granger insisted that they take the spare bedroom. Ron was glad to be staying somewhere other than room 213, as the sheets had been starched, and made him itch terribly the night before.