Wake up, your dreams have come undone
The nightmares plague us until the morning comes
All is said and done, but ghosts still haunt us in the sun
Valiant Hearts - "Medusa"
Harry ignored Kreature when he popped in to great his master.
"Just, go help out at Hogwarts," Harry ordered tiredly. "I can take care of myself here." Kreature disapproved but didn't argue, popping away as quickly as he'd come.
Harry dragged his bag up the staircase to the room that had been Sirius'.
"MUDBLOOD! FILTHY MONGREL IN MY HOUSE! HOW DARE YOU DEFILE THE HALLS OF THE MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF-"
"Oh, shove it up your arse, Walburga!", Harry growled, spelling the curtains around the portrait closed, though muffled noises continued to sound from behind the heavy drapes.
Opening Sirius' door, he found it almost exactly the way that he'd left it, only dustier.
Sighing, Harry dropped his bag at the foot of the bed and stripped down to his underwear. A bottle of Dreamless Sleep still lay in the bedside drawer and Harry gulped it down before crawling under the dusty covers.
His last conscious thought was that he hoped he could sleep away the next few months.
They blinked, squinting into the sunlight of a late autumn morning in Canberra.
"Good Morning!" chirped a young attendant of indeterminate gender as they stepped off the platform, handing over their portkey. "Would you like an energy elexir? They're complimentary."
Ron was reaching for the bottles on the hovering tray before they had finished speaking. "God yeah, we need it."
The attendant only smiled pleasantly. "I'd recon so! Bit late in London ain't it?"
Ron shrugged, "Nearly bedtime, yeah. Been a long day."
Before the attendant could continue their pleasantries, Hermione cut in with "What's the quickest way to Darwin?"
The attendant blinked, pushing whispy blond bangs out of their eyes. "Wellll... you could get a portkey, but domestic portkeys are pretty expensive. You've not been to Australia before? Best get a bus then. Not sure when the bus North leaves though, but I can point you to the depot."
And with that, they were off, map in their hands that their attendant had helpfully procured for them, bracing themselves against the chill, glad they'd worn their jackets. It had been about 22 degrees in Devon that afternoon, but it was all a blur since then. He remembered it being a bit chillier in the London evening, but to be honest he couldn't say if their mindfullness had extended farther than that. He for one, had completely forgotten about the seasonal difference in Australia, and kind of thought it'd be hot all year round. He'd been expecting to be sweating his socks off, not wrapping himself tighter at the 10 degree temperature drop.
He didn't really think Hermione was thinking too clearly herself.
Now that the funeral was finally over (and Ron supressed the rush of emotion that thought produced), Hermione was her usual singleminded hurricane. With so much on her mind though, and with helping his mum and Harry and researching the magic to undo her obliviation, he himself had done a lot of the packing and preparation for this trip. Thankfully their money went farther here and they could afford to buy whatever they hadn't planned for, and for the room and food they had anticipated.
Ron had thought, originally, that they'd be staying with her parents for the summer. Hermione wasn't so sure, though. To begin with, she didn't know if their house allowed for guests and didn't want to impose. In the second place, she didn't even know if her parents would want her there, after all they'd been through. After what Hermione had done to them.
Ron wanted to be optimistic; surely they would understand that she had done what she had done to protect them?
It turned out they'd had just enough time to get a bagel sandwich before the bus left for the Northern Territories.
The first thing was, it wasn't actually a bus. Or, well it was a bus, but not one like they'd had the UK. It ran underground for starters, like the "Tube", only the whole road was underground, which Ron thought was right creepy in his opinion. It was also shaped a bit like a horse drawn carriage, but with better wheels and a more aerodynamic shape. Like someone had thought to build an automobile before autos were made. It was also a lot bigger on the inside.
"It's actually very interesting," Hermione was saying, a little manically, but Ron would forgive her nerves, "Britain used to have carriages like these. Or, kind of like these. With wizard space on the inside for large families or public transit, but the outside would just be a regular sized carriage. But now Britain has chosen to blend in with the Muggle world and go with a typical Muggle-style long bus and Muggle-sized automobiles for those who have them, like your family. But the upper classes still have these ultra large interior luxury carriages. We saw them at the Yule ball, you remember? Viktor showed me the inside of one. It was very comfortable."
"So why'd Australia decide not to keep up with the times?" Ron started, then "Wait, Viktor showed you the inside of his carriage?!"
Hermione actually rolled her eyes. "Yes, he showed me the inside of his carriage. And he took my virginity. It's not a secret. I thought you knew? Although to be honest, I only slept with him because I had a crush on you and you were utterly useless and Viktor made me feel better." She smiled softly at the memory, and Ron felt his face flush with shame and a bit of anger. He really didn't need to hear this. "Besides, are you going to try to tell me you and Lavender never had sex when you were dating? Because she told us otherwise. To hear her tell it, you were Eros himself," Hermione scoffed, "I think I preferred my first time. A little awkward, but Viktor definitely knew what he was doing."
"Can we not talk about your past sex life?!" Ron cut in desperately.
"Oh, Honestly, Ron!"
The bus didn't quite have compartments, but it was arranged like a series of little sitting rooms with two sofas and a table in the middle, all back to back on either side down the line. At the end of the line was a door for a water closet and a tiny kitchenette with a drinks cooler and a selection of edibles that you presumably served yourself. Ron was a bit glad they'd splurged for the sandwiches.
They sat themselves somwhere in the middle, though it was eerie that there were no windows (although on second thought, it would be creepier to look out and see nothing but dark tunnel all the way through). It felt a bit like a long waiting room. Like they were at hospital waiting for the mediwitch to come tell them whether or not they had parents.
Speaking of.
"Are you all right?" he asked gently, taking Hermione's small, soft hand in his.
Hermione shrugged. "As all right as I can be. I'm nervous but... How are you?"
It was Ron's turn to shrug. He sighed, "Same, I s'pect. All right as I can be. It's like, now that the Funeral's done, the hard part's over, y'know? Not like I'm done mourning. I don't think I'll ever be done with that. Definitely not George or Mum. But like, the funeral was a bit like a plaster over an open wound. It's not healed and done with, but it can start now. So mostly, I think I'm relieved. And tired. Emotionally like."
Hermione nodded in understanding and sympathy. She'd been with them the whole time, she must have felt the same as he did. Maybe to a lesser degree, but Hermione was as much a part of the family as Harry was; she spent just as much time there. Which was to say, Fred was very much like her older brother, too. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Fred had belonged to other people as well, but it wasn't hard when you looked at the grief on Hermione's face, or the haunted guilt on Harry's, too much like George's. It made it easier to remember that there were other people in his life who missesd him now, not just the family.
The ride to the Northern Territories took two hours, then another forty minutes as the bus made several stops at local depots before finally pulling into Darwin. Shouldering their bags, they stepped up out of the tunnel and into the bus depot.
It was bright and airy like the one in Canberra, but the light was different. The sea-breeze carried a different scent.
"Excuse me," Hermione asked the consierge, a bored looking brunet about their age, "can you tell us how to get to the Muggle streets?"
The boy blinked at their accents but nodded, pulling out a piece of official looking stationary. "Yeah, just head out and hang a left on Water Way til it crosses at Gum Stop then turn right. It's a dead end so you'll wanna go all the way, then right between The End, that's a restaurant, and the Tip Toe, that's a shoemaker's there's an alleyway. It looks real narrow and you can't hardly see the other side, but you could fit a car through if you wanted, and it comes out right quick onto West Lane." As he was speaking, drew a map of their directions and handed it to Hermione.
Thanking the boy, they went on their way, first trying to find Water Way. The rest of the instructions were fairly clear and the wizarding district of the city was fairly small so it didn't take them long to find the alleyway leading out to West Lane. Ron felt a little nervous that there wasn't a more secure barrier between the wizard and muggle streets, but he supposed the alley was far too small and too dark to be anywhere someone would want to be. He hard'y though it looked big enough to fit a full sized person through. Maybe a kid, or Harry in a pinch, but he and Hermione and their bags? Not likely. Definitely not a car.
"Oh please, Ronald," Hermione said, exasperated, "It's only an illusion."
True enough, when they actually went to walk through it, it opened into a wider lane, and you could drive through it if you wanted. They came out quickly on the other side and Ron jumped when a car sped past them. They were well and truly back in the Muggle world, now.
There were no taxis to hail, but Hermione actually had prepared for this eventuality, digging in her rucksack for a prepaid "Mobile Phone" (he didn't know why it was called that. It didn't move at all). Browsing through whateve internal mechanism controlled the device, she held it to her ear and waited.
"Hello!" she said suddenly and Ron watched her, fascinated by how the machine was able to allow two people to speak over long distances, without the use of a floo. He listened as she rattled off her parents' address, something she must have memorised long ago, then stepped around to find the address of their current location.
"About five minutes," she said when she'd "Hung Up" (hung up where, he wanted to know).
"Too bad you can't just hold out your wand, like the Knight Bus," Ron mused, and Hermione hummed in reluctant agreement. Normally she was very defensive of the relative luxury and techonlogical advancement of the Muggle world in comparison to the Wizard one, but really, you just can't beat the convenience of magic.
Five (eight) minutes later they were climbing into the back seat of a yellow car. Hermione's knee jiggled and her fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh. Ron placed his hand over hers, holding her still and she squeezed.
"I'm scared," she confessed.
"I know."
All too soon, they were pulling to a stop in front of a pleasant looking yellow bungalow, a white Toyota in the drive way, though it was nearly 11 on a Monday morning.
Hermione was nearly vibrating in her skin as they walked to the front door and rang the bell.
A tiny, dark skinned child swung the door open enthusiastically.
"Hi!" the child squeaked.
"Um, hello," Hermione said, visibly confused."
"So sorry about that!" called a man's voice as he approached, distinctly British. "Hugo! What have we told you about answering the door?" he turned to look at them and Ron could see it in his face, in his skin tone and hair, that this must be Hermione's father. "Hello, can we help you?"
"Um," Hermione said again, "Um, my name is Hermione Granger. This is Ronald Weasley. Would it be possible to talk to you and your... and your wife in private? Please." The man stared at them curiously but obviously deemed them nonthreatening and stepped aside to allow them entrance.
"Mon! We have guests!"
A woman who must have been Hermione's mother walked into the room, tall dark skin like the little boy but with her hair shorn close and short.
"Hello," said the woman curiously.
"Hello," Hermione greeted her mother. "Look," she said, all in a rush, "this is going to be hard to explain, so just let me do this first."
Before either of her parents could ask what she meant, Hermione had whipped out her wand. "Finite incantatum!"
She had explained on the bus ride that she hadn't actually obliviated her parents, merely modified their memories. It was her belief that if she stopped the magic that was still working on them, that they would remember what she had made them forget. The spell made them pause, eyes glazed. Little Hugo looked on concerned whimpering when his parents didn't move for several seconds.
Finally, they blinked rapidly, clearing their minds. "What...?" said Hermione's mother.
"What did you do?!" her father roared, fear and anger exploding from him. "What was that?!"
"It was magic!" Hermione explained, her eyes tearing up as her voice broke. "I'm so sorry! I took away your memories and sent you here. I just wanted you to be safe!"
"What are you talking about?!" screamed the woman, shielding the boy from them. "Who are you?"
Oh.
Oh, hell.