Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been, mistaken as J. K. Rowling. These are her characters entirely. I make no money from their usage, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: An abundance of thanks to ubiquirk and DeeMichelle for beating this into shape, saracen77 for Brit-picking and ozratbag2 for making sure this story stays true to Australia. Ars Alchemica was created by Riley.

The Portkey unceremoniously dumped Hermione behind one of several outbuildings of the Kuranda Railway Station. In the distance, she could hear the gentle rattling of wheels on tracks signalling the arrival of the time-honoured attraction.

Wand drawn close to her body, she cracked open a weary eye—the other still scrunched tight for fear she would be sick—and surveyed the direct area. The high coastal winds washed over her as the oppressive humidity blanketed her skin with a sea of dew, increasing the volume of her already bushy hair. The sun shimmered white hot, filtered by the nearby fan palms of the rainforest village. Satisfied she was in no immediate danger of being discovered, Hermione's shoulders sagged, and her head fell back to rest on the building.

Breathe in. Breathe out, she whispered mentally, her hands cradling her quivering stomach as she fought the urge to draw her knees to her chest and bury her face against them. Just breathe.

Random thoughts flashed through her head, and she grasped at them to anchor herself from the splish-splosh rocking of her belly, anything to keep her from vomiting all over her new summer dress. This was just one of the many summer dresses Ginny insisted she buy for Hermione to accommodate the Queensland weather—and native men, no doubt. It was annoyingly silly, but the only things she could think of at this moment were that dreadful disaster of a shopping trip her ginger-haired friend had deemed a day of blissful frivolity and a recent article in The Lancet about the mechanics of breathing.

Quite ridiculous really, how the traitorous mind works.

Hermione exhaled deeply through her mouth, a slow slide of determined breath, opened her eyes fully and hauled herself off the lush carpet of green covering the ground. She brushed away a few stray blades from her dress and upon further inspection was pleased to find no staining had occurred. Deity forbid she start thinning her burgeoning wardrobe already.

Hermione tucked her walnut wand into the tapa sheath fastened on her thigh before giving it an affectionate pat and smoothing her dress. Deciding she'd look somewhat strange toting a boomerang, she eased the now defunct Portkey into her beaded bag and snapped the clasp to a close.

She walked to the front of the building and sidestepped her way down the hill, all the while giving the appearance that she belonged and nothing was out of the ordinary. Hardly anyone took notice as platforms one and two pulsated with people waiting to board the trains.

Hermione made her way towards the exit and into town, forgoing the one-way courtesy bus in favour of walking. The streets were made up of long languid hills. Her pace was slow but steady as she took in anything and everything.

Each step was filled with people from all over the world drinking in the Aboriginal culture of the Djabugay people, mesmerised by its majesty and charm. The village was a Mecca for every artist type, and gifted artisans and crafts people occupied any available space they could find whether in a quaint shop or open-air market, crowding them 'til they burst with vibrant colours, melodic sounds and delicious smells, right down to the vivid blue on wood 'Welcome to Kuranda' village sign.

Hermione made the three-quarter kilometre jaunt to her parents' home in just shy of an hour. The place they'd bought was beautiful, and their penned descriptions and still photos didn't quite do it justice.

It had a typical Queenslander look to it, complete with louvered windows and perches to ward off heat and flooding. The veranda was peppered with cane furniture and lanterns, and she could easily picture herself lazing about with her feet propped up, a cool drink in hand as she debated with her mother the effects of genetically modified food on teeth whilst her father dozed the afternoon away.

Hermione's grin was wide when she rushed up the steps to knock excitedly on the lemon meringue-coloured door. Right away, her eagerness became nervous panic at what their reaction to finally seeing her in person would be. Her eyes stung with the burn of unshed, guilt-laden tears, and she blinked rapidly to fend them off. What if they haven't forgiven me? What if I can never forgive myself?

Her father interrupted her thoughts by throwing open the door and instantly scooping his wayward daughter into a rib-creaking hug. He whispered words of fatherly affection into her hair, allaying her immediate fears. Her mum was right behind him to assume hugging duty once he relinquished his hold on her, though hers weren't nearly as painful.

Hermione had missed her parents dearly before, during and after the war and was now desperate to make new memories with them to fill the gap of lost time. For so long she had been caught up in the tangled web that was Harry Potter and making the magical world a safe place for her and others like her to exist. She was afraid one more day away from them would mean she'd miss the curve of her parents' cheeks as they slowly lost their supple grace, their chestnut-brown hair entwined with strands of silky grey as gravity and age crept up on them.

Hermione's mum was the first to speak as she ushered her daughter inside. "How's our best girl?"

"Good, tired. Ready for a quick kip once I'm settled."

Hermione's father nodded in agreement; a few winks seemed to be on his agenda, too. "Did you stop to eat in the village on your way in? The food's amazing, and there are so many choices."

"I couldn't be arsed to eat brekkie, not with the time change and heat, but I would love a decent bite later."

Jean Granger huffed and swatted her long-lost daughter on her bottom. "Language, Hermione! Honestly, I shouldn't be surprised at the nasty habits you've no doubt picked up considering all the time you spent with those boys. But still, swearing! You aren't too old to be disciplined, you know."

Hermione snorted, loud and very unladylike, and earned a chortle from her father. "Swearing is just one of the many things I learned from Harry and Ron, Mum. Why, it's practically an art form with the Weasley siblings."

William chose this moment to intervene on his daughter's behalf and herded his wife into the kitchen saying, "Now, now, dear. Our Hermione's only just got here, and already you're starting to hen peck. She's a big girl, Jean."

Hermione looked thankfully to her father's retreating form and headed to the loo before putting away her things and lying down. She was about to pull down her knickers for a pee when the rather outlandish specialty toilet seat caught her attention. Hermione nearly wet herself as she laughed long and hard at the garish aquatic monstrosity.

What could her mother have been thinking? Not only was it a blindingly hideous shade of bluish green, but how was anyone supposed to have a proper sit-down when there were seashells, starfishes and plastic dolphins glued to it? The gaudy picture was only completed by what appeared to be a crappy toilet dolly that fit discreetly over the toilet paper.

Down the hall, she heard her mother squeal with delight that Hermione had found her welcome home present.

Hermione woke from her nap sticky with sweat, the ceiling fan in the room doing little against the humidity. Several Cleansing and Cooling Charms later had her feeling refreshed, invigorated and strangely at ease in her skin. Smoothing down her hair and checking her appearance in a passing mirror, she made her way into the tastefully decorated kitchen where a veritable feast greeted her.

"Hermione, be a dear and pour the Chardy. Your father is garnishing the barramundi now."

Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. The table was lined with richly printed fabrics and delectably exquisite dishes expertly prepared in honour of her homecoming by her loving parents. Hermione couldn't help but wonder what other skills they'd mastered since she'd relocated them here to this tropical utopia. That and what's for pudding, of course.

"Mum, what is all this?"

"We decided to combine lunch and dinner to give you a feel for Kurandan cuisine." Her mum's hand passed over each dish as she named them. "Let's see, there's char-grilled kangaroo sausages—one of your father's favourites—macadamia-crusted barramundi with bush lime and wild berry dipping sauce, mud crab, wattle seed pasta, a chef's salad with lemon myrtle dressing, bush damper with butter and an array of the village's native tropical fruits."

Hermione whistled in appreciation. "Impressive."

"So, daughter of mine, tell me more about what you're doing for work here," her father said as he added a splash of sauce to his sausages for good measure.

After pouring the wine, Hermione sat down to tuck in, providing her father with the requested information in between chews and swallows. "The Magical Tablelands Regional Council contacted the Department of International Magical Cooperation to commission a field study of the didgeridoo and the magic associated with it."

A look of surprise, followed quickly by awe crossed Williams's face. "Really? I'm surprised they'd let you anywhere near a didgeridoo, let alone play one. Well done, you!"

Jean rolled her eyes and muttered what sounded suspiciously like 'men's business' and 'load of bollocks.'

"Specifically, they wanted to know how the Djabugay men use it to alter the makeup of various poisons and venoms, rendering them safe and usable in food and medicine. They chose me to head the research based on my series of Nagini articles in Ars Alchemica."

Jean Granger shuddered at the mention of the serpent's name. "Bloody snake! I don't know what possessed you to study that thing, dead or not."

"Mu-um, language …" Hermione's voice lilted with a singsong quality.

Jean had the decency to appear chastened as William patted Hermione's cheek, face alight with affection. "Tell me you won't have to commute to the government offices every day?"

"No, I will be working out of the Australian Venom Zoo and only travelling north quarterly to present my latest findings. And when I do have to go, my Apparition license has transcontinental permission."

"Wonderful! That will give us plenty of time to chat and show you what we've been getting up to."

Hermione's eyes clouded over, and she worked to keep the foreboding lump from rising in her throat at the reminder of their lengthy separation as she nodded and said, "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

Hermione was by far not a morning person, and the time change was definitely wreaking havoc on her sleep patterns. When she wasn't visiting with her parents or taking in the local tourist attractions, Hermione spent the remainder of the weekend tossing and turning. She would wake at the oddest of times only to relegate herself to listening to the nighttime antics of the local fauna as sleep evaded her. Between the possums using the roof as their own slippery dip, the obnoxious croaking of the cane toads and the torrential sheets of bucketing rain, it was a wonder she managed to rest at all. When the moment came for her to climb out of bed and begin her first day of work, not even the prospect of her parents' delicious breakfast could keep her from being a grumpy monkey.

Suitably showered, dressed and fed, Hermione kissed her parents goodbye and began her walk to work. She arrived at the snake and venom park with little fanfare and was rather pleased that a majority of the village's tourists were still snug in bed. Before making her way up the orchid-lined brick path to the entrance, Hermione ducked behind an enormous staghorn fern to once again cast the necessary spells to ensure her physical comfort and hygiene, adding a Linguistics Charm to the mix so she would have no trouble speaking or understanding any of the dialects she might encounter.

Hermione entered the building at half-seven sharp, and a wiry sort of woman with dark wise eyes intercepted her as she crossed the threshold.

"Ms Granger I presume," she said as she extended her hand.

Hermione accepted the proffered hand and shook it firmly but politely. "Yes, and you must be Anna Eglitis."

"That I am. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to our humble establishment."

"I'd hardly call it humble. You and your team of herpetologists have made great strides in the field, and Professor Cann's work with the amethyst python is legendary."

Anna blushed and waved away the compliment for more important matters. "Let's get you settled, shall we?"

Hermione rubbed her hands together in anticipative glee. "Yes, let's."

Anna gave Hermione a rapid-fire tour of the building with a promise of seeing the grounds later before stopping in front of a closed door labelled Research. "There's a meeting at one o'clock today to introduce you to everyone and outline your project. In the interim, we've procured you a desk in one of your colleague's offices until we can make you a space of your own. I hope you don't mind, Ms Granger."

"Please, call me Hermione. And no, I don't mind at all so long as they are tidy and like to remain on task."

Anna agreed with those sentiments and leaned over to grasp the handle, cracking the door open slightly. "Very well, Hermione, but in turn I must insist you call me Anna. And now, I leave you to get yourself sorted until this afternoon. Please feel free to ring my desk should you need anything."

Hermione said her farewell to Anna and entered the office in search of her desk. Unlike the inside of the building itself, the walls of the office were naked instead of lush with brilliant colours.

Ivory walls, white ceiling and a white lino floor. The streams of light flowing through the open window sharpened its paleness, crowding her and momentarily throwing off her balance. She closed her eyes and leaned against a partition dividing the room to gather her bearings, her back uncharacteristically to the door.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Caught up in controlling her biorhythms and acclimating herself to the blinding blankness of the office, Hermione didn't fully register the click as the handle of the door engaged or the faint whoosh of air as it opened.

"Oh, hullo there. They told me I'd have a new office mate soon, but I didn't realise it would be this week. Had I known, I would've tried harder to make the place presentable." The voice was soft and friendly, chiefly British male with the slightest trace of Aussie inflection.

Not wanting to give the impression she was completely mental on her first day, Hermione stood straight, gathered her wits and whirled around to grace her co-worker with her most winning smile from her arsenal of Gilderoy-esque grins. Her smile immediately faded to open-mouthed, wide-eyed horror as she came face to face with a supposedly dead but very much alive, Cedric Diggory.