A/N:- I am a horrible person...so sorry for the delay guys! 3
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER, MONICA AND WENDELL WILKINS OR HERMIONE...MAYBE JUST HER HAIR (sporting the very same look right now!)

She didn't know if she could stand just sitting there for another moment. She never was very patient, it was the reason why she had thrown herself into her Hogwarts books and read them weeks before starting her first year, she couldn't wait to go into a world that might finally except her, that would make her feel like she belonged that she fully emerged herself into understanding it fully as if she had been there all along.

Her parents were never fond of their only daughter going off into a world they simply would never understand, no matter how much information Hermione would divulge to them they would never truly comprehend. She had always been weary about what she told her parents, but they always knew she was hiding something from them, by her fifth year it all became too much when they told her she wasn't to return to Hogwarts, and that she either stay home, or tell them exactly what was going on.

But right now she wasn't really sure what to tell them, their flight time of approximately 24 hours and 45 minutes, didn't seem long enough for her to decide how to explain everything. She had read and re read her notebook until she could recite it and even then she continued to read until Ron had snatched it away, claiming she was over obsessing.

She had tried and failed to sleep, slightly worried that she would disturb the other passengers when she awoke screaming to yet another nightmare. Her thoughts turned to her family at The Burrow; she wondered what they were doing, how Lee and George would be coping at the shop, if Mrs Weasley was doing better that day, or whether Harry had told Ginny he didn't plan on going back to school, she knew that both he and Ron weren't returning, she was simply playing ignorant for when they finally admitted their plans.

Hermione shifted in her seat slightly, it felt like forever ago when she was boarding the aircraft, greeted by the smiling air hostess who showed them their seats, but a quick look at her watch showed they had only been in the air for six hours. Eighteen hours to go. Eighteen long hours to allow her worries, excuses and explanations to swirl around her already filled head. She almost pulled out her wand when she felt someone grasp her hand and pull her inwards before she realised it was Ron. It was the one thing Ron had asked if they could keep on their personage. The thought of being without her wand made her feel naked and unprotected. She awkwardly rested her head on Ron's chest as he wrapped his arm around her, resting his hand on her waist. Feeling slightly more relaxed than before she closed her eyes in an attempt to sleep.

It was a usual Sunday morning for Wendell and Monica Wilkins; they started their day by enjoying a spot of breakfast on the veranda before beginning the stocks, takings and ordering for the next week to keep their floristry business afloat. It had been almost a year since they moved to Australia, they had finally achieved their dream and sometimes Monica would wonder what kept them from moving, after all those years in London, she and her husband had found a place they felt peaceful and comfortable in. To be truthful Monica couldn't really remember her life in England, all she could really recall was how stressful their life had been, they never really stopped and slowed down, so when Wendell suggested they sell up and take the risk, Monica didn't even hesitate to say yes, since they neither had children nor any other close family, there was nothing to stay for.

Monica could hear her husband pottering around in the office, since she had already completed the orders, she had gone to make a mid morning cup of tea while Wendell continued with the stocks and takings. She never would understand why they had set up a floristry, she always thought she would become dentist or someone in the medical profession; they barely had flowers or plants in their home, even when they were located in London. She always supposed it was dated back to when she used to join her Grandfather and father in the garden or local allotments and watch them discussing the latest plant which had flowered, the new ones they had planted or the roses which without fail would bloom every year. Wendell seemed to be practically green fingered, although she wasn't really sure where he got it from; he grew up in the centre of London where gardens were scarce.

She sat there content, knowing she was going have to move eventually, they had flowers to tend to, and a large order to prepare for an early pick up the following day. They always had Sunday as their day off, it allowed them to enjoy some time together without having to run a business at the same time, the only downfall was that the shop still needed tending too.

Their shop did a steady business, located just outside the city centre, sitting on the edge of bay Port Phillip, it attracted the local business men who would stop by to purchase some flowers for their wives or girlfriends, the large businesses in the city centre would often place large orders for corporate events and tourists would stop by.

"Wendell, if we want to get to the shop before lunch we better get a move on." She called to her husband. She knew he had to give him some warning, he was such a perfectionist, he could spend all day in the office sorting the takings, down to the final penny.

It was simple twenty minute walk from their small house to the shop, but today Monica felt like there was something odd about their journey. They often walked as parking was limited, it allowed them to get some fresh air and the weather was never a problem. They could walk it with their eyes closed, but today both Monica and Wendell were on edge. It felt like they were being watched or followed.

The shop seemed to be as they left it the day before, but it didn't seem to ease the niggling feeling. They set to work, Monica starting on the order that was being pick up the next morning and Wendell begun watering the rest of the flowers. The day seemed to be going rather smoothly, there was nothing unusual to account for, that was until two people walked through the door.

Monica could have swore she had locked the door and that the 'closed' sign was displayed. They looked as if they were in their teenage years, maybe early twenties, both were extremely thin, the ill looking girl, clung onto the red headed boy, who seemed to be supporting her. They were both covered in numerous bruises and cuts. The red headed boy had strange spiral scars that went from his wrist to the top of his arm, hiding under his short sleeves. The girl was holding a small notebook and what Monica could only describe as a bizarre looking stick.

Monica felt nothing for them.

She didn't say anything, she was wondering how the youngsters had gotten in and why they were here. It wasn't until Wendell came into the room that she was brought to her senses.

"I'm sorry, we're clos-", Monica started to speak, but the end of her sentence was abruptly cut off when her world went black.