A/N: "Amazing support from last chapter, and a lot of new followers this week! Welcome!" – E
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oOoOoOo
Unlike the World Cup, where the portkeys had been random objects and trash so muggles wouldn't pick them up, the International Travel Offices had large, brass rings hanging upon the wall. Most had Property of the British Wizarding Government engraved upon them, but other countries were represented too, each with a small tag attached, the time and destination stamped in neat script. In the breeze of the fan overhead, they swayed in a sea of fluttering movement.
Ron adjusted the heavy rucksack on his shoulder as they awaited their turn. "Why couldn't we use your beaded bag like we did last year?"
"Those sort of space-expansion spells aren't allowed with standard international travel. Too many possibilities for smuggling, I think."
"Afraid we'll bring back some kangaroos and koalas?"
Hermione smiled. "Yes, exactly."
Ron chuckled, and as the line moved forward again he pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. Normally Hermione hated such displays of affection in public—she was tired of their new relationship being in all the gossip papers—but now, as they waited for their portkey to Australia, she was happy to have Ron at her side.
At one minute until nine, they were called forward and handed a ring to hold between them. "Please make certain your bags are sealed and secure. Wide stance, if you will—that's right—aaaaand twenty seconds to go." And after twenty seconds and a wink from Ron, Hermione felt the familiar pull right behind her navel. The air was squeezed, her breath drawn from her lungs, and in an instant she was traveling tens of thousands of miles. A moment later her feet hit the ground.
"Nine AM from London!" called a voice, the accent thick. "Welcome to Sydney. Please step to the side!"
Regaining her balance, Hermione looked around as Ron handed the Australian wizard the brass ring. The room had high ceilings and tall windows that faced out to the nearby bay. Glancing at the view, she was instantly aware of the time change. The sun, which had recently risen in England, was low upon the horizon here, the skies orange and yellow.
After a quick study of a map, Hermione and Ron moved out of the government building and into the crowds. Like London, the wizarding parts of Sydney were concealed amongst the muggle neighborhoods. Hidden away within the historic Rocks District, they walked along a busy pedestrian street full of wizarding shops and restaurants to the inn that she'd booked their first night with.
"I think we'll need to stay at least one night here before meeting up with my parents," she explained to Ron as they were shown a quiet room overlooking a small courtyard. "Returning their memories may be a bit of a shock, so I don't want to overwhelm them by barging in with luggage too."
They moved back down to the lobby. "Dinner?" suggested Ron.
Hermione laughed. "You're hungry?"
"You aren't?"
Smiling, she took his hand. "How about a walk to the bay first? I've never seen the Pacific Ocean before."
They strolled through the city, stopping at various tourist stops, both muggle and wizarding. Early evening had the streets full of people returning home from work or on their way to dinner, and Hermione found the energy of the city agreeable. They came to the small, rocky beach along the bay. Ron rolled up his jeans and waded in, but as it was only just spring here, the water was too cold for Hermione.
Specific reasons brought her to Australia, but as she walked along the beach, seeing a completely new part of the world, she couldn't help smiling. There was a freshness to the unfamiliarity of the space. There was no taint of the war here, and as she looked upon the faces of the people she passed, their eyes moved quickly from her own, unaware that the famous Hermione Granger walked amongst them. She really needed this, she realized, this distraction, this escape.
"I think I like Sydney," she said as Ron walked back, banging his sneakers together to knock the sand off.
He nodded. "Me too. Are your parents by the beach?"
"Yeah, in a suburban neighborhood to the south." Hermione looked back towards the city. "I think we should walk along that way, through the muggle neighborhoods, then come back around."
"Whatever you want—I'll follow you anywhere."
Hermione ignored his cheek, but couldn't help smiling. Both Ron and Harry had offered to come along, and even though it was strange not having Harry here, Hermione couldn't deny how nice it was just to have this time alone with Ron. She took his hand as they continued along the beach.
They played the tourist for a while longer, but soon night fell, stores closed, and Hermione's stomach was rumbling alongside Ron's. They returned to the wizarding streets and the small restaurant connected to their hotel. The pub was loud and rowdy when they walked in. A large crowd had gathered to celebrate after a local quidditch game, and Hermione only managed to get a small table by the window as a couple was leaving. Ron moved to the bar, and she read over some of the brochures they'd picked up at the portkey offices.
"They didn't have Butterbeer," he said, returning with two glasses. "But the bartender suggested a couple muggle beers instead."
"That's fine—listen to this," she read aloud. "'While English magical tradition still dictate a lot of the laws and practices, especially in the muggle cities of Sydney, Canberra, and Melbourne, a large seat of power is from the wizarding city of Uluṟu-Kata Tjuṯa in the Northern Territory. The underground city within the sandstone monolith is currently home to approximately 25,000 wizards. Concealed from muggle sight by ancient magic from over 10,000 years ago, it is the only city that is on the Wizarding Register of Ancient Magical Wonders'—isn't that interesting?"
Hermione took a tentative sip of her beer. The drink was much stronger than Butterbeer, but good. Soon their dinner arrived, and they ate and watched the crowds with interest. A chorus of singing broke out at the bar as the quidditch team continued their celebrating.
The night moved on, the bar emptying as it drew closer to midnight, but with the time change it felt only like mid-afternoon for them. She'd brought a vial of dreamless sleep potion to help acclimate them, but as Ron moved closer, pulling her lips to his, sleep was the last thing on her mind. He kissed her passionately, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth and familiarity of his mouth. The room seemed to fade, the two drinks she'd had adding a weightlessness to his embrace as Ron held her tightly.
They'd kissed for the first time at the battle of Hogwarts, and in the last months they'd been together, their physical intimacy hadn't advanced much beyond that. But now, perhaps that they were so far from their real lives, or because Ron held onto her as if he feared she would suddenly fall off the edge of the world, Hermione knew she wanted more. She needed more.
"Please, let's go."
Her breath was still trapped in his mouth, and Ron practically knocked the table to the floor as he jumped to his feet. Their tab was quickly paid, and he held her hand as they moved up the stairs back to their hotel room. A few drunk patrons cat-called at their obvious rush up the stairs, but for the first time in a while, Hermione didn't care what people thought. This strange place was her escape from all of that, Ron's embrace her refuge.
oOo
"These are the memory spells you used?" The healer at St Mungos had asked at their meeting earlier that week, surprise lining his face. "All of them?"
"I wanted to be thorough," she answered. "Do you think it's too much?"
"Well," he sighed. "If you are the one to reverse the spells too, it may be possible. That connection does help, and, after all, you are the brightest witch of the age." He smiled at her, and Hermione returned the expression feebly. The Healer looked back at the list, turning it over and reading the other side, too. "Still… there's no denying it may be enormously difficult."
That difficulty held upon that morning like a dark omen as deep, grey clouds covered the city above them. Hermione and Ron awoke in one another's arms, and there was the temptation to go back to sleep or continue what they'd started the night before. But Hermione knew she couldn't let herself get distracted. This escape from her life in London was much needed, but the reason she was here in the first place was for her life in London.
"Do you have everything you need?" asked Ron, packing his rucksack.
"I have the spell sheets, yes," she tied her shoes, "but I'm wondering I should have gone over it again last night."
"You'll be fine," he walked over and rubbed her shoulders, "you've practiced a lot over the last week."
Hermione nodded. After a quick breakfast in bed, they set out. The streets were full of morning commuters, and after double-checking a map and with the hotel, Hermione and Ron apparated south to the neighborhood of Clovelly. They appeared next to a muggle bowling club and a small, cliff side beach with a view of the ocean. The wind was faster here, the familiar smell of salt in the air.
There were muggles out and about, and Hermione and Ron appeared as just another couple taking a morning walk. It was a short distance from the beach to a quiet street lined with houses, and, checking the numbers, Hermione soon spotted the one they were looking for. It was a single story structure, smaller than the house she'd grown up in, however, the garden was thriving, and Hermione was happy to see some of her mother's favorite plants amongst the local fauna.
Making certain that no one was around, she pulled out her wand, and performed a simple detection spell. "Two people inside. Good." Then they turned and moved up the walk. Approaching the front door, Hermione felt a wave of nerves and anticipation. It'd been over a year since she'd seen them—so much had happened— but she'd missed them. She'd missed them so much. Hermione rang the bell.
A few moments passed, and then Monica Wilkins, previously known as Moira Granger, opened the door. The first thing Hermione noticed was that her mother had cut her hair, it was now shoulder-length, and that she was tan and dressed more casually than usual. And yet even with these changes, the face, the posture, the energy was all the same. Hermione's heart sang with happiness.
Monica Wilkins smiled at them, but the smile fell slightly when Hermione didn't say anything. "May I help you?"
"Yes!" Hermione squeaked, regaining her composure. "I—I'm from the British Department of Ex-patriot Connections and Relations. I see you've been here for over a year now, from London. I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions about your experience so far?"
The lie was practiced and quick, and Hermione delivered it with her warmest, most-sincere smile. Her mother seemed surprised at first but then opened the door further, welcoming them inside. Relieved she didn't have to use force, Hermione went first, Ron following.
The house was clean and efficient, and she was pleased to see all the familiar signs of her parents influence around her. Modern artwork was upon the walls—Hermione recognized her mother's favorites—and from the other room she could hear the sound of a cricket game on the television. "Hey Mon," called a familiar voice from the kitchen. "Who's at the door?" Hermione's excitement grew as they followed her into the kitchen, and she smiled upon seeing her father at the table. He hadn't changed much, perhaps a little more weight around his stomach, and he had his morning paper and coffee in hand as always.
"Surveyors," said her mother. "From the Department of Ex-patriot… I'm sorry, Ex-patriot—"
"Ex-patriot Connections and Relations, ma'am," Hermione pulled out her wand. "And I do apologize for interrupting your breakfast—Pausacorpus stupefindo!"
The television continued on, but her parents froze, vacant and still, mannequins in their own home. For a moment, Hermione stood unmoving also. Watching them, she was suddenly aware of her own heartbeat, the pull of each second as the clock ticked. But the moment didn't last, and Hermione moved forward as Ron looked around the kitchen with interest.
"Nice house," he said.
Hermione nodded. "Here, let's lead them back to the living room. They'll be more comfortable there."
So much had been done in the last few weeks, the trip to Australia planned, the meeting with the memory expert, but those had been simple, tangible actions. All that remained now was the memories. Ron moved her parents to the couch, leading them almost like sleepwalkers, as Hermione prepared herself.
Basic memory alteration was a simple concept, however, the scale of what she had done was enormously complex. Hermione hadn't performed just one memory spell on her parents, rather she had combined about a dozen spells together—unraveling the life they had known and then weaving their future from the scraps. And now she had to reverse it. Hermione pulled out a piece of parchment listing all the spells she needed to perform, and then sat upon the coffee table in front of her parents.
Like the first time around, she started with her mother.
The spells were both similar and different as Hermione carefully unworked her previous effort. Her words were clear and crafted, the wand movement practiced and perfect. She had created a false identity for her parents, drawing upon their previous life, and she didn't need to erase their new memories, just uncover what was hidden below. It was a long and tedious process, and the series of spells took almost half an hour to perform. Hermione's wand arm was sore by the end of it, her mouth dry and tongue tied. With the spell finally coming to an end, she finished and lowered her wand.
"Now what?" asked Ron, who had waited quietly and patiently as Hermione worked. "Revive her?"
Hermione nodded, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans. "Yeah, specific details may take time to settle, but… but I should be able to tell right away if it's worked." She cleared her throat. "Ennervate."
Monica Wilkins blinked, her eyes taking a moment to refocus as she looked around the room in confusion. Hermione expected her to be dazed and disoriented after such spells, but her mother almost seemed drunk as she swayed slightly upon the couch.
"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked.
"I—I'm sorry, I must have drifted off," she looked between Ron and Hermione, frowning. "What… what were we talking about?"
"I just have a few questions, if you don't mind." Hermione started slowly, gently. "Where did you live before you moved to Australia?"
"…London."
"Good," Hermione smiled. "Very good. What could you tell me about that?"
"…We decided to move to Australia."
"Any reason for the move?"
"…Well, we always wanted to live here, and one day we just decided to move."
"Why?"
"…It was important we leave London."
"Why was it important?"
Her mother paused. "I'm… I'm not sure."
"Try to remember."
"It doesn't really matter, does it? We needed to start a new life in Australia, so we did. You understand?"
Her mother smiled at this, but an uneasiness crept into the room also. Hermione could feel Ron's eyes upon her, concerned, and her own stomach churned. "Yes," she nodded, "Yes, I suppose so… what is your full name, please?"
"My name? It's, uh," she closed her eyes, "I'm sorry—Monica, Monica Wilkins."
"Not Moira Granger?"
"Granger? No," she shook her head, "no, I don't think so."
Monica Wilkins looked around her living room with a strange, airy curiosity. Leaning back, Hermione took a deep breath, trying to fight the anxiety that was growing within her.
"Hermione?" started Ron.
"I—I was afraid someone would question them about their past life in London, so I made Australia and the drive to come here a really strong motivator." She rubbed her eyes. Perhaps too strong a motivator. "I think a lot of the memories are there, but she's deflecting them. I'm… I'm going to have to be more forceful."
Hermione raised her wand again. "Imperious!"
The dreamlike expression crossed her mother's face, her eyes softening as she smiled. Tell me about your life before Australia, Hermione pushed the thoughts into the woman's mind, tell me about London and Moira Granger.
"London? It's a very busy city. A lot of people live in London."
Yes, but what about when you lived there.
"The public transportation is nice—"
Do you know Moira Granger?
"—but the crowds can sometimes be a bit much."
Tell me about Moira Granger!
"M—Moira Granger?" A pained expression crossed her mother's face. "I don't know—"
Yes, you do! Moira Granger! Tell me!
Hermione pushed her thoughts, but there was a barrier, a resistance. She pressed against it, testing it, and she could almost feel her mother's mind creaking and groaning under the stress. TELL ME! Monica Wilkins put her hand to her head, her fingers pressing into her temples, her mind trying to fight against the invasion. Hermione pushed harder. MOIRA GRANGER! But the only thing that came out of her mother were the tears that suddenly prickled the corners of her eyes.
Ron reached out, taking Hermione's hand. "Stop."
"I know she's in there!"
"No, you said it yourself, it may take a while. Let's... Let's take a break."
Watching her mother, the tears and confusion upon the familiar face, Hermione nodded. No, Ron was right. She released the imperious curse and then paused her mother's actions again, returning her to the mannequin state. Outside was the soft hum and buzz of suburbia, but inside it was painfully quiet. Turning from them, Hermione took a few unstable steps back to the kitchen. Gripping the cool marble countertops, she took several deep breaths. Shakes threatened to overwhelm her.
"Sit down, Hermione. Take a deep breath. Relax—"
"I can't relax!" she snapped. "I just—I mean—"
Ron crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. "It's going to be okay. You can fix this. I know you can."
She nodded.
"Take some time. I'll make us a pot of tea."
Ron led her to the table and her notes, then began to search the kitchen for a kettle. Hermione closed her eyes, her mind moving over and over what had just happened. Yes, it may not work on the first try, but there were other ways to fix it. Still, a dark part of her rebelled at this logic. Practice and planning was one thing, but Hermione understood that these early results, her mother's strong resistance to what she was doing, was a very bad sign.
Ron set a cup of tea on the table next to her, waiting patiently as Hermione pulled out her notes and began to read again. She went back over everything and practiced, reorganizing the spells and figuring out a different approach. Hermione had built up a wall around her parents, protecting them, but had she forgotten to build a door for herself? No. This was just another thing to fix, another exam to ace, and another battle to fight.
Hermione worked for about an hour but eventually came to a point where she realized any further delay was merely stalling. Finishing the last of her cold tea, Hermione returned to the living room and moved to her father instead. With a deep breath, she raised her wand and began again.
Her words were clear and crafted, the wand movement practiced and perfect. This time she worked the spells differently, focusing on the walls that hid rather than on what was hidden. This time the spells took nearly an hour to perform, her arm aching, her nerves strained. And with the last effort in place, dread and anxiety filled her. She revived her father. Like her mother before, he came into focus, but he was different, disconnected.
"What is your full name, please?"
"…Wendel Wilkins."
Her heart sank at his simple and direct reply.
"Not Peter Granger?"
"Who?"
No, it wasn't over yet. Hermione tried different angles, asked different questions, and pushed different spells. She asked about college and then his professional life, but he deflected. She asked about his favorite restaurants and opinions on his favorite cricket and football teams, but there was nothing. She tried the Imperious Curse, but the barrier rose again. And as Hermione worked, looking into the dark brown eyes of her father, the same pair she had inherited, desperation came forward.
"Do… do you have any children?" she asked, tears collecting in the back of her throat.
"No, we were never able to conceive."
"Do you know the name Hermione Granger?"
"No," he shook his head. "I've never heard of her."
And he never would. He would never know Hermione Granger. He would never know about the little girl who'd inherited his hair and his sense of humor. He would never know about the girl he'd taught to read and helped with homework. And he would never know about the girl who'd fought against Voldemort and saved the world, the brightest witch of the age, the know-it-all, whose spells were so good, so exact, so perfect, she'd completely erased her parents' memory.
Her hands were sweating, her wand slick under her fingers as Hermione once again paused her parents motions. Wendell and Monica Wilkins sat before her on the couch, unmoving, unseeing their only daughter before them. She lowered her wand. That was it. There were no other spells she could try. The heartbreak finally taking over and crashing through, Hermione stood and rushed from the room, ripping the front door open.
"Hermione!" Ron called.
She crossed the front garden, tears choking as the terrible, terrible weight began to grow within her. Above her, the grayness was building, the strange weather and unfamiliar setting disorienting. She'd failed them! No, it wasn't even that simple—she'd destroyed them! These facts, these failures, loomed over her. The reality couldn't be ignored and Hermione broke down, her whole body shaking as the sobs wretched from her.
"Hermione!"
She turned to Ron. "It's—it's not fair!"
Heartbreak was in his eyes as he stepped towards her. "I know. I'm so sorry."
She squeezed her eyes shut, her breath ragged, her hands fisted in her hair. No, it just wasn't fair! Everything had drawn to a close, the horcruxs destroyed, and Voldemort finally gone. That's what they'd fought for, wasn't it? Besides, they'd won! People had jumped and cheered for them when it was all over, for all they had done, but those actions and praises were so meaningless! Hermione would trade every proposed statue of her, every First Class Order of Merlin, just for her father to remember her name.
"I should have never moved them! I should have never touched their minds!"
"But the Death Eaters may have found them if you hadn't. You saved them."
"So what—"
"Hermione—"
"If I'm the hero that saved them, then why amI the onebeing punished!?"
She pulled at her hair. So much had happened in the last year, but, god, what was the point of it all? What was the point of the running and hiding, the searching and fighting? She sobbed, the pain and heartache wrenching from her chest.
"We fixed it! We were the ones who stopped him!" she cried. "It's finally over, but—but I'm left with nothing!"
Ron pulled her into his arms. "Oh, Hermione! I'm so sorry!"
"I left them! I abandoned them!" she cried against his chest. "It's all my fault—!"
"Don't say that—!"
Pain like she'd never known coursed through her,the tears almost suffocating. How had it all gotten so out of hand? Air came to her through dry ragged sobs. Suddenly she was on the dragon again, the wind whipping around her, and then she was falling, falling, falling. Her legs gave out, and she slid to the ground, breaking apart in Ron's arms.
"God, I wish I'd never gotten that letter!"
"I know—"
"I wish I'd never gone to that stupid school!
"I know—"
"I just—I just want my daddy!"
"I know—"
"It's not fair!"
"I know," Ron whispered, holding onto her so tightly as the world crashed around her. "I know… I know…"
oOoOoOo
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A/N: "Huge moment! Feel free to review and let me know your thoughts!" – E
