Warning: First attempt at Harry Potter fiction.

Monika Wilkins sat on the couch in their living room, flicking through the pages of the travel guide. Her suitcase was already in the hallway, ready for departure. As she viewed the pictures of their destination, she was brimming with anticipation.

Upstairs, her husband creaked across the old wood planks, bringing his suitcase. Packing had taken them a while; only thanks to Wendell's old giant travel bag had they even managed to fit everything 'absolutely necessary' into their luggage. If past experience was any indication, she thought, half of it would never be used. But, after all, you just never knew what could happen.

Outside, a car horn honked once.

That was their taxi to the airport. She tore her eyes from a fascinating view of the Uluru at sunset and all but jumped up. Soon we'll see it ourselves, she thought, almost giddily. She still wondered why the two of them had waited this long to make this trip.

She stuffed the Pocket Guide to the Australian Outback into her bag pack, intending to read more during the flight. With a last look around the room, she made sure that everything was in order: The curtains were drawn, everything electronic was turned off, and the instructions for the housekeeper lay in plain view on the table. The house was ready for a few months without them. Or maybe a little longer…

Her gaze wandered to the mantelpiece. An unorderly stack of papers filled out most of the space, but that had been the case for as long as she could remember, so she wouldn't bother tidying it up now. Likewise the flower pot and the small photograph beside it. Everything was as orderly as could be.

Something drew her eyes. Monica squinted and took another look at the photograph.

A picture of the two of them on holiday, years ago. It showed them on a beach, with stormy waves in the background. Wendell was lying on his back, in the process of being completely buried in sand. She was kneeling by his legs, enthusiastically showing more onto him. They were both laughing.

Monica Wilkins had seen it a thousand times. It was such a silly image; she didn't even know how they had ended up like that. Yet now, her gaze lingered for longer than usual. Something about it felt strange. No; felt wrong. She frowned. It was as if…

"What are you looking at, darling?"

His voice startled her out of it. She hadn't even heard him come in. Monica blinked twice. "Nothing. It's just…" She took a closer look, but whatever it was she had seen, it was gone now. "Never mind. I'm starting to see things." She turned around to her husband, who already had his jacket on and looked ready to leave. "Do you have everything?"

"I think so." Wendell was looking past her, at the photograph. "It's strange… I was looking at that earlier and I could have sworn something was wrong with it." He scratched his head: "It's silly; that thing has been there for ages and I never noticed anything before."

"You too?" This was strange. Monica shook her head. Maybe she wasn't imagining things. If they were both having that feeling, there had to be a logical explanation. She couldn't help it: despite their tight schedule, her mind instinctively went into research-mode and she stepped closer to the fireplace to inspect the frame more thoroughly: "Is there a crack in the glass? Something weird in the background we didn't see before?"

Wendell stepped beside her, shaking his head: "The weird thing's in the foreground, if you ask me."

"What were we even doing there?"

He coughed: "We were just spending the day at the beach, and for some reason we thought it would be a good idea to turn me into a sand dune, apparently."

Monica made an amused huff: "Why ever it was, you must have deserved it!" she teased him.

He gave a crooked grin. Knowing him, that was probably true. He looked again at his own expression in the picture. A frown appeared on his face: "We were so happy that day; that I know." He reached out and took the photograph from the mantelpiece, studying it closely. "But I don't know why! That is what bothers me! It's like…"

"Like something important you know you've forgotten, but every time you're close to getting it, it slips away." she quietly finished for him.

"Yes, exactly!"

They stared at the strange picture. Their younger selves laughed innocently back at them.

The taxi waiting outside honked twice.

Wendell abruptly turned away, photograph in hand, and sprinted into the hallway. Monica looked after him, not really certain what he was thinking now. The sounds indicated he was rummaging in their luggage: "I know I must have some small space left in here somewhere." she heard his irritated, yet determined murmuring. "I'm taking the stupid thing with us to Australia, until I figure out what's wrong with it!"

A few pieces of clothing landed in the room. She stepped into the hallway, evading a pair of socks, and watched her husband as he tried his best to fit the picture into their luggage.

Normally, Monica would have commented how silly he was behaving. Always needed to know everything, arbitrary details most of the time. But now, silly as it was, she found she agreed with him: She had a feeling like this picture would trouble her the entire journey if they just left it here. She grinned to herself: At least in this case, the two of them were at the same level of silliness for once. Besides, what could it hurt?

Outside their taxi honked again impatiently. The photograph finally disappeared into Wendell's travel bag, and with an effort he closed the zip. With an even bigger effort, he heaved the hopelessly overstuffed thing onto his shoulders. He met her raised eyebrow and gave her another exited grin: "Ready to go!" he announced. Then he opened the door and took the first staggering steps on their slightly delayed holiday. Shaking her head, Monica followed him with their suitcases, watching him sway over their lawn towards a visibly annoyed taxi driver. She couldn't help but huff at the ludicrousness of it all: This certainly was a good start to their trip.

Inside the bag, the suspicious picture lay sandwiched between two thick books. Without anyone seeing, it experienced the smallest of changes: Something appeared on the sand covering the buried man's chest; a rather miniscule detail, almost unnoticeable to the naked eye. Tiny fingerprints, left by invisible hands.

When somebody conjures a Patronus, she thinks of one of her happiest memories. This day at the beach is what Hermione thinks of when she uses the charm, and what causes her Obliviate spell to fade.

…At least in my headcanon, which is about as flawed as anything can be. ;) Hope you enjoyed anyways.