Hogwarts: Ancient Runes Assignment 10 - Write about someone planning to go on a long journey. Alt: write about time-travel. (Prompt used: Hermione Granger)

WC: 1,083

And this is officially the first fic I have written for two months! I am still trying to get back into the groove of writing, and I'm at a bit of a road block... but words can't describe how happy I am to be writing again in this community. I'm so glad to be back and to be writing for Hogwarts assignments again :)


Monica Wilkens knelt on the floor by her unpacked suitcase, her hands clutching the edges of her favorite shirt.

From the bathroom, Wendell was describing the places they would visit when they arrived - Port Arthur, the Melbourne Cricket Ground, Uluru - but excited as she was about Australia, Monica could not focus on her husband's chatter.

Something felt off, and it wasn't just the spontaneity of this milestone in her and Wendell's life. They had sometimes mentioned moving out of the United Kingdom - had speculated about Australia a couple of times - but had never really believed that they would ever pack their bags up and just leave. And if they'd thought of it, she would not have pictured the move so spontaneous, with no other reason than that they wanted to.

"Dear?" Wendell stuck his head into their bedroom. "There's nothing we need to pack in the furthest room down, is there?"

"No," she said absentmindedly, folding up her shirt. "There's only that old bed for guests, right?"

"Ah! The guest room that never housed any guests." Wendell smiled; Monica could feel it without even looking at him. "I'll check it anyway. Oh, and remember, we're meeting with the realtor at six." His whistling faded as he sauntered down the hallway.

Monica placed the shirt into the suitcase. It somehow felt foreboding for her as she shut the case and pulled the zipper around; and when she saw that she had forgotten to pack one of her shirts, she eagerly opened the suitcase again.

It was completely irrational, but she felt better seeing the case open - as if it was not finalized that they were leaving yet.

As she folded the last shirt over her arm, a small pink stain on the fabric caught her eye. She lifted the shirt and squinted at the smeared pink mark. It looked like ink or marker.

Shivers ran up her arms, and her hands shook slightly. Monica couldn't tear her eyes away from the stain; she felt drawn to it somehow, as she held her breath, for a moment, she thought she could feel tiny arms wrapping around her waist. She thought she could sense the small pressure of an ink-stained finger onto her back... but the image disappeared as quickly as it had come and she found herself out of breath and clutching the shirt to her chest.

"Monica?" called Wendell from down the hallway. "Look at this here!"

Clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle her sudden gasps, Monica gulped and said, "Yes, dear. In - in a moment."

She spent a few more uneasy moments staring at the blue stain, trying to revive the memory she had with this shirt, but with no avail. Indeed, by the time she placed it atop the rest of the clothes in the suitcase, Monica had forgotten what the memory even was.

But still, with only the sound of the zipper closing the suitcase filling the room, Monica felt inexpressibly wrong, and she did not know why.


In the room two doors down, Wendell Wilkins was also kneeling on the floor. His fingers traced the side of the wooden nightstand, and dust came off onto his finger.

To his left was a box he had found in the closet which was filled with old holiday decorations for Christmas, Halloween, and Easter. He had opened it and found a picture of him and Monica when they were younger and still dressed for Halloween. This photo was now lying on the dusty old bed sheets.

Wendell cleared his throat and stood. The breeze from the open window felt nice, and he smiled at the pink-colored walls, briefly wondering why he hadn't set up his office here instead of the room downstairs. He felt a strange, intrinsic attachment to this relatively small space.

He heard footsteps down the hall, and seconds later, Monica appeared at the door. "What is it?"

He noted that her face seemed a bit pale. "You know those decorations we lost? Turns out they were in here all along."

Monica blinked at him then looked down at the box. She stared uncomprehendingly at the old pumpkin banner for so long that Wendell wondered if she even remembered the decorations, until she suddenly broke into a smile.

"Oh, yes," his wife said in relief. "The lost decorations."

Wendell nodded, and watched as Monica lifted her eyes to the room itself, taking in the princess pink walls, the dusty table, the little star lamp, the bookcases that lined an entire wall.

"I had forgotten about everything in here," she marveled, and stepped towards the bookcase. Her hand reached out to touch the spines of the books. "All my favorite childhood books… Here's where they went."

Wendell sat on the bed, sending puffs of dust into the air. "It's a quaint room, don't you think?"

"I rather like it."

"Yes," he nodded emphatically. "I was just thinking it has a lovely view too."

Monica's fingers had frozen on their path down the line of books, and she didn't reply.

"Dear?"

Monica cleared her throat and spun around. "Yes. Sorry. It's just that - this book -"

"Which one?" asked Wendell, letting out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding.

She shook her head and moved from the bookcase to his side. "No. It's nothing. Here, we'd better get ready. It's nearly 5:30, and we're meeting him across town, aren't we?"

Wendell stared into Monica's brown eyes. It was very peculiar, but he thought he could see them getting… cloudy. As if they were fogging up like his glasses did when he was warm.

And then just like that, he couldn't see it anymore, no matter how he stared at her eyes. Wendell, perplexed, thought to himself that he must be getting more and more insane as he grew older.

"Yes, of course," he said quickly. He stood and pecked Monica's cheek. "Just think. In one week, we'll be in Australia. It will be our dream."

"Our dream," Monica repeated before smiling widely. "And in just one week!" She found his hand and squeezed it. "Come on, let's go." They left the room with their arms around each other.

The door closed behind them on the princess pink walls. The bed, the scratched nightstand, the empty hangers in the closet, the stars on the walls, the beloved bookcase that housed Monica's lost The Winter's Tale - all of it remained just as their loving owner had left it two weeks ago.