Three updates this week-end because it's Easter week-end so I have three days, and because Tuesday's my birthday.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's.

Chapter 10

This Is Where We Belong

17th August, 1998

"I'm going to Australia."

If she had expected Harry to be surprised, or maybe to leap up and say, "Hermione, you can't go now, you're needed here," then she was disappointed. Instead, he glanced up from the newspaper he was reading, pushed his glasses further up his nose, and said:

"For your parents?"

She nodded.

"You don't seem too happy about it," he said, putting the newspaper down and looking more closely at her. "Is everything all right?"

She laughed a little and instantly regretted it. Harry hadn't missed the bitter undertone to her laugh and a shadow passed over his face.

"Stupid question, right?"

"No, no," she said quickly. "I appreciate it. I'm okay," she lied.

"Well, something's up, anyway."

"I..." She hesitated. "It's nothing, really. Just, would you come with me?" Harry didn't reply, and she rushed her next words. "It'll only take a moment – just Apparating there, you know – I don't mean for you to stay during the actual move, because, you know, planes are slow –"

"Okay."

She stared. "Really?"

"Okay," Harry repeated, grinning and pushing his chair back. "Get a bit of fresh air, see kangaroos and great white sharks, and flirt with hot Australian birds – how could I say no?"

The smile he gave her lightened up his face and eased the seemingly permanent crease from his brow. Though nothing except undisturbed sleep could erase the dark circles under his eyes, the way the light danced in his irises as he grinned made him look healthier and happier than he had a minute ago.

"Idiot," she said, swatting him on the arm. "We'll be Apparating directly to my parents' house, so none of that."

"Fine, fine," Harry said, ducking away and laughing. "I meant, how could I say no to my best friend since our first year? Of course I'll come, Hermione – are you leaving right now?"

"Well, that's what I was planning – unless you need some time to prepare or something?"

"I'm thinking a camera could come in handy... I'm joking, Hermione! I'm ready. Um... You didn't ask Ron, right?"

The now-familiar pain jabbed at her insides and she almost winced. Ron. No, she hadn't asked him. She had thought about it, of course – she had wanted him to come. And he had wanted it, too. In the tent, during their hunt, he had woken up to hear her crying, and he had said – he had said...

"They're safe, Hermione. You made the right choice. They're alive and safe and happy, thanks to you, and you'll see them again soon." Then he had added, softly, "I'll come with you."

But of course, now that Fred was dead, the idea of taking another Weasley away from the family, even for just a few days, or even a couple of hours, was impossible. She had barely seen Ron since the Battle, let alone had the chance to speak about her own family.

"No," she said, and the hardness in her tone surprised her. "I mean, no, I didn't," she said, softening her voice. "I didn't think it would be fair."

Harry nodded like he understood. Which was good, because she wasn't sure she did. The silence stretched out until Hermione held out her arm and said:

"Let's go."

Harry winced. "I hate Apparating. And isn't Apparating to a different continent dangerous?"

"It's actually illegal, but trust me on this, Harry," she said, her voice tinted with slight annoyance. "I know what I'm doing."

He smiled at her. It was a wide, genuine smile that she hadn't seen in such a long time that she felt like crying. It was the smile he had given her when they'd first became friends, after winning the battle against that troll in their first year. It was the smile she had seen on his face when he'd won a Quidditch match against Slytherin, when Sirius had wanted him to move in with him, and when he had kissed Ginny for the first time.

"You always do," he said.

He grabbed her hand, squeezed it, and Hermione Disapparated them away.

I know what I'm doing, she had said, but actually she hadn't. She had looked it up in books, and the only major difference she had been able to find between intra-country Apparition and inter-continent Apparition was the level of concentration needed. Horrible Splinchings had happened, but she was confident enough in her abilities. That is, until she felt the familiar tug of Apparition that was suddenly ten times worse than usual.

Through experience, Hermione had learned to be able to breathe during Apparition and usually found the discomfort minimal. But this was something else. It was more uncomfortable, more sickening, and more wild, like being sucked into the smallest football ever and having everyone proceed to toss and kick you about. And it was longer, too; Apparition was usually almost immediate, but this lasted for at least a minute.

When they were finally choked out of the football, Harry staggered forward three steps, doubled over, and threw up in a freshly-trimmed hedge.

"Hermione, this is the last time I'll ever trust you," he managed to say as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ugh."

Hermione was in slightly better shape, but only slightly. Her throat was on fire, as though she'd spent the last minute screaming – which, she realised, was probably what had happened. The nauseous feeling nestled in the pit of her stomach seemed more tenacious than usual, and she was going to give in if it didn't go away quickly.

"Ugh," she agreed, sitting down to calm her dizziness and nausea, her hand automatically rising to her throat. "I think I'm going to throw up."

"Join the club," Harry said. "You've never done this before, have you?"

"Now I have. Any body parts missing?"

"None than I can see, but I think I may have lost ten years of my life. And I'll be flying back with your parents. By plane. Definitely." Harry looked around. "Nice house. Is it your parents'?"

"Yes."

It was a nice house, she supposed, but then, it was a nice neighbourhood. Like all the other houses, it was single-storey, small, and white, with a darker, tiled roof. The door and shutters were painted a sunny yellow. The garden was neat and tidy, with hedges and a fence all around, and Hermione remembered there was a small pool behind the house.

"So, do we knock?" Harry asked, and she realised she had been silent for a long moment.

"We ring, actually," she said, stepping forward to the door.

She stopped with her finger a centimetre from the doorbell and couldn't bring herself to press it. Behind this door were the parents she hadn't seen in months – an entire year, now. Before leaving on her hunt for the Horcruxes with Harry, she had forced them to close their dentist's cabinet, relocated them to a country they had never even thought of visiting, and worst of all, erased all their memories of her and of themselves. But even that could have been forgiven, if she hadn't known she was deliberately going against their wishes.

"No, Hermione," her father had said when she had asked – no, begged – them to go in hiding. "If you feel like you have to leave, then we understand. But your mother and I aren't going anywhere."

"Hermione," Marissa Granger had added, "We have a life here. We have a house, jobs, and a wonderful daughter. This is where we belong."

After two weeks of incessant pleading on her part and unyielding stubbornness on her parents', Hermione had finally drawn her wand and modified her parents' memories.

She would never forget the look on her mother's face when she had realised what her daughter was doing, seconds before she couldn't even remember who she was. It hadn't been surprise, or shock. It had been pure fury. And Hermione didn't want to see that look again.

Suddenly, Harry was behind her, one arm around her waist, the other on her outstretched hand.

"This is what we came for," he said softly. "Let's do it."

And he gently pressed forward, twice in rapid succession. They faintly heard the two trills from behind the door, and Harry backed away and let go of her hand.

"No," she said quickly, lacing her fingers through his. "Stay with me."

And then the door opened.

It was her father, she realised with a mixture of relief and disappointment. She couldn't help but crane her neck to try to spot her mother, but she wasn't there. Cold fear settled in the pit of her stomach; she had never known her mother not to come to the door to answer the doorbell. Her father should have been watching television right now, feet kicked up on the table, and calling out to ask his wife who was at the door.

"Hello," her father said instead, his voice somewhere between confused and cheerful.

He looked good, both happy and healthy, his skin swarthy and tanned, his smile genuine. She could have screamed with joy over this small fact, but she repressed it. Instead, she felt an answering smile spread across her face.

"Hello," she replied. "Mr. Wilkins?"

"Can I do something for you?"

"We'd like to talk to you for a moment, if it's all right," she said. Now came the lie. "We work for a branch of the British Health Services located here in Australia. It's about your mother, Wendy Gran – Wilkins."

Her father frowned, looking concerned. Hermione's grandmother was the sweetest woman ever, but she was nearing eighty years old and she had heart problems. She had also, at least before Hermione left, been in remission after a worrying cancer.

"My mother? Is she all right? Has something happened?"

"It's a little delicate," she lied smoothly. "Maybe we could go inside?"

"Yes, of course," he said, then seemed to rethink it. "If you don't mind my saying so, you look a bit young for this sort of work."

"I'm not a doctor," she said, smiling innocently. "Just a secretary." She handed him a false card that verified her words. "I wasn't able to call you, so I decided to come here directly."

He nodded, his suspicions fading. "Yes, the lines have been down since yesterday. Not that we ever need the phone, but it is a little annoying. Do come in."

He led the way inside, through a narrow corridor and into a small but fresh living room with floor-to-ceiling windows, modern furniture, a sofa, an armchair and a wide television screen. The armchair was occupied by a woman with golden-brown hair who had her head bent over a book.

Her mother.

"Monica," her father said, and Hermione was drawn back to reality by the strange, alien name. "These people are from the British Health Services."

"Monica" looked up and smiled warmly, and Hermione drew in a sharp breath and dimly felt Harry's fingers tighten around hers. Her mother had... changed.

Her hair was slightly longer, or maybe it only seemed that way because she had let it down instead of pinning it up the way she always used to before going to work. Her feet were curled up beneath her on the armchair, something she had never let her daughter do. She wore a loose summer dress that Hermione had never seen before, with a dark red shawl thrown over her shoulders. August was winter in Australia, although it hadn't been all that cold outside.

Beneath the flowery pattern of her dress, the curve of her mother's swelling stomach was more than visible.

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand again, leaned over and whispered, "I think now would be a good moment."

Hermione nodded and, with trembling fingers, drew out her wand, angling it so it was hidden by the potted plant she was standing next to.

"You see," Harry began, "Yesterday, your mother..."

Hermione stopped listening to Harry's on-the-spot lie and focused on the spell. She had to whisper the counter-charm so her parents wouldn't hear and because the non-verbal version wouldn't be powerful enough. The words caught in her throat before she forced them out, then rolled off her tongue with practised ease. Harry stopped mid-sentence as twin expressions of awe, then complete blankness took over Hermione's parents' faces. She reached the end of the spell, sighed, and relaxed her grip on her wand.

Her parents blinked, twice. They looked at each other in confusion. And then:

"HERMIONE!" Lisa Granger shrieked as she threw herself at her daughter.

Harry backed away, letting Hermione's mother draw her into a deep hug. Hermione hesitated, then hugged back.

"Mum," she whispered.

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione," her mother kept repeating. "Oh, how could you?"

She flinched. There it was: the accusation. What she had done... how could it ever be forgiven?

"We've missed you so," her mother said, and when she pulled away, Hermione was shocked to see the tears sliding down her cheeks. "Oh, Hermione!"

"I'm sorry," she said, horrified. Her mother never cried. "I'm so so sorry, and I know you didn't want to, but –"

"But you had to do what you felt was right," her father finished for her.

She turned to him, and was surprised to see he was grinning at her.

"We love you, Hermione," he said, reaching out to push a strand of hair behind her ear. "And you have a lot to explain. But right now – right now I just want to enjoy this moment for as long as I can." He cocked his head. "Since you've come back, I suppose all went well?"

"Not exactly," she admitted. It had been an even rougher ride than what she had been expecting. "But we found what we were looking for, and Voldemort is dead. It was..." She swallowed. "They're calling it the Second Wizarding War."

"Oh, Hermione," her mother said again, like she would never tire of saying her name. "I can't believe you wanted to go through that on your own!"

"I wasn't alone," she said.

"Well, yes, of course not," her father said, nodding at Harry. "But your mother didn't mean it that way."

"I'm sorry," Hermione repeated. "I really am." She looked around. "Have you... Were you at least happy here?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Very. Safe and happy – that was what you wanted, wasn't it? Oh, and we're expecting a baby."

"I saw," she said calmly, because the news was suddenly less shocking now she had her parents back. "What is it? When is it due?"

"It's another girl," her mother said in a suddenly cold tone. "We were thinking of calling her Hermione, you know."

"Oh."

"She should be born mid-October," she went on, her voice and expression softening. "As penitence, I expect you to start thinking of a name." She laughed. A strange expression suddenly crossed her face, and she took Hermione's hand and placed it on her stomach. "Can you feel it?" she whispered.

Yes, Hermione could feel it. She could feel the baby kicking. She could feel the life growing inside her mother's belly. And she wanted only one thing for this little girl, her sister. She wanted her to grow up in a better, safer world.

And she really, really hoped she would be a Muggle.

Major AU here you'll be telling me. But hey, it doesn't exactly disregard the Epilogue, does it? It's definitely not canon, but it works, and I liked it. I honestly started out with no idea about this, but as I was describing Mrs Granger (whom I was tempted to go into great detail about, for some reason), the words "curve" and "swelling stomach" just appeared on the page (screen).

I like it.

Next chapter coming up.