Hermione Down Under

Chapter 6 STALKING AT THE STATION

"Sullivan Sheep Station," announced the motorcoach driver, and Hermione and Ron got up from their seats. It was very fortunate that the Station lay on a motorcoach route, since neither of them knew how to drive a Muggle car. Ron had said he could learn, having flown a car to Hogwarts, but Hermione remembered how he had ended up crashing into the Whomping Willow, and insisted on taking the coach.

They had used up much of a day in Brisbane improving their guises. Hermione had realized that the lack of luggage made them look suspicious, so they had bought a pair of suitcases for show. She had also reluctantly gone to a hairdresser's, and had them cut off much of her hair and style the rest into a pageboy cut. She had nearly cried as she watched her locks fall around her,

Ron was easier to disguise: she just used a repetition of the spell from their invasion of Gringotts, getting rid of the freckles and the attention-getting red hair. Part of her was jealous that Ron didn't have to make a permanent, drastic change. Yes, her hair would grow back, but it would take a while. She hoped that she could find a hair-grow charm when they got back to England.

There was a long driveway from the highway to what was presumably the central building of the complex. In England a farm of this size would probably be an old manor, such as the one the Malfoys lived in. Here in Australia it was more like a successful business.

In the surrounding fields Hermione saw sheep grazing and, in one field, horses. Some workers were starting to herd flocks together, because it was getting toward sundown. It might have looked pretty under other circumstances, but Hermione was not looking for prettiness; she was looking for her parents. She looked intently at every human figure she saw in the fields. She wanted to finish their work and get out of Australia before either the police or the mystery witch caught up with them.

At the main building Hermione found the main office, mainly a more expansive version of the "front desk" they had encountered in hotels. She did most of the talking, afraid that Ron might give himself away through his lack of acquaintance with Muggle customs. Meanwhile she tried to spot as many people around the office. Her parents were not in that group, either.

Could they simply ask if a couple called the Wilkinses worked here? But Hermione could not think of a pretext at the moment, and of course if asked her parents would not know a bride named Helen Walker – or a girl named Hermione Granger.

While they were processing paperwork, Hermione "drifted" over to look at a map of the property. Her heart sank. The station covered several square kilometres! Not surprising in a country with this much empty land, but her parents could be anywhere on the map! How could she possible cover so much territory?

On a horse, of course.

"I'd like to go riding tomorrow," she spoke up.

"Certainly, Mrs. Walker. We can have a mount ready for you at the stables at 9:00. Any preference in horses?"

"No." Hermione wasn't interested in the horse per se; it was a means to an end.

"And you, sir?"

"I don't know how to ride horses," Ron said sheepishly.

"Many visitors don't when they get here; we can arrange lessons if you like."

"Okay."

"We'll reserve two horses, and a trainer."

So they would be separated tomorrow. Hermione hoped that, if Ron encountered her parents, he would be able to recognize them. He had met them once several years ago, when they brought Hermione to Diagon Alley – such an innocent time, it seemed in retrospect, even though she had been paralyzed by a basilisk later that year. She had also shown Ron photographs that she had salvaged from her house in England.

With the work finished, the clerk directed them to a dining room in back. Everybody sat at a long table, something Hermione and Ron were quite accustomed to at Hogwarts. But the atmosphere was different, because the pair had much to hide, and were careful participating in conversation. Fortunately the talk was dominated by an American visitor, a middle-aged woman named Barbara Agon, who kept yakking about how Americans did things better. Nobody paid much attention to the quiet English couple.

The parents were not among the serving staff.

After supper one of the employees guided them to the "bunkhouse". They had a small room, austerely furnished in comparison to the hotels, as might be expected in an institution whose guests prided themselves on "roughing it". There was a small table, and a wardrobe. No plumbing; the loo and baths were shared facilities, down the hall.

And one bed.

"Um," said Hermione.

"Maybe we can ask for an extra cot," suggested Ron.

"We're supposed to be newlyweds, Ron! They'll think we've had a spat." She stared at the bed again. "We'll just have to share. I trust you not to take advantage of me, Ron."

"I won't. But it's going to feel bloody awkward, lying beside a girl."

"I can put up a shield charm. Put some imaginary distance between us, at least." Harry had offered to do that, and she had turned down the suggestion, with fateful consequences. But she didn't want to share that detail with Ron.

A couple of hours later Hermione, carefully covered in T-shirt and jeans rather than usual pyjamas, climbed into bed next to Ron, suppressing feelings of deja vu. She tried to get her mind off the immediate situation by focussing on the mission, and then found that almost as depressing.

"I'm scared, Ron."

"Of me?"

"No, of course not. Of me and what I've done. My parents don't seem to be on the clerical staff. Suppose I suppressed memories of skills they could have used to get good jobs? Suppose they've had to shovel horse dung for months, or something else equally nasty? What if they hate me once I've restored their memories and they remember what I've done?"

"Hermione, there wasn't any other way to do it. You needed to get your parents out of England for their safety, and they wouldn't leave without you. Stop flogging yourself about how you worked it, and concentrate on solving the problem."

"I suppose so. I'm glad you're with me, Ron. I don't think I could face this alone."

"Me? I haven't contributed anything so far. Just followed you around and let you do all the thinking. And tomorrow I'm going to have to make a fool of myself, riding an animal with no magic to help."

"Just be there for me now, please."

"I can't be much more there than I am now, can I?" asked Ron lightly.

On impulse, Hermione turned to kiss her loyal friend on the cheek, but the Shield Charm was in the way, and she bumped her nose on her own force field. Fortunately Ron didn't notice the gesture.

The next morning, the staff took the guests down to the stables. Ron was not looking happy: for the next few hours he would be taking riding lessons, a chore that he was not particularly interested in, and would be stuck with Muggles without a wand or a Hermione to rescue him from social gaffes. They were joined by the loud Mrs. Agon, and by a new guest who had just arrived that morning, who gave her name as Mrs. Arwen. She didn't seem to "get" the dude ranch style: she was wearing a bland pants suit topped by a huge Mexican-style sombrero. Yet when they got inside the stables, she looked over the horses discerningly and eventually picked what one of the stablehands declared the best mount. Hermione fidgeted. To her the horse was just a convenience to get her around the property quickly, yet there seemed to be a general expectation that the three women would stay together. She wondered how to get rid of the other two without arousing suspicion.

Fortunately an opportunity presented itself. As the three women rode clear of the stable and the neighbouring sheepcote, Mrs. Agon admired the view. "It looks like we have wide open spaces to ride in." Hermione expected her to add that spaces were wider and opener in the States, but she didn't. "How about we have a race?"

"I would prefer not to," opined Hermione.

Mrs. Agon turned in her saddle to stare at Hermione's form. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

"What? No, I'm – just now married." She had been about to say "not".

The other laughed. "Marriage and pregnancy aren't particularly related nowadays."

"I'll race you," said Mrs. Arwen suddenly.

That got the American's attention off of Hermione. All the girl had to do was chant "Get ready, get set, go!" for them, and they were off, and Hermione was finally alone with her horse. She turned her mount's head toward a cluster of buildings nearly half a mile away. Could her parents be working there?

At one point she turned her head and spotted the two racers. To her surprise, Mrs. Arwen was riding like the wind, leaving Mrs. Agon far beyond. It wasn't that the American lady was a poor rider, but that the quiet newcomer was a superlative one.

Hermione turned her attention back to her mission. The cluster of buildings turned out to be for storing seeds for the coming spring; few people were there, and none of them her parents. She rode to a second area where some workers were clustered on horseback, but they warned her not to get in the way of farm business. Once she satisfied herself that none of them were her Mum and Dad, she apologized and rode away.

As the morning progressed, Hermione was getting frustrated, and her legs were starting to tire of their position astride the horse. What was worse, she felt a need to visit a loo. Reluctantly she turned back toward the stables.

There are far less people around now; presumably the workers had all distributed to their duties and the guests were enjoying the wide open spaces. There was one middle-aged woman in jeans, unloading a cart and carrying a bag of tools toward a shed attached to one end of the stables. Just before she went inside, Hermione got a look at her face.

MUM!

Hermione hopped off her horse and ran toward the shed without even trying to secure the animal. She drew her wand from her hidden jeans pocket, and charged through the door.

Mum stared at her. "Who are you? I'm sorry, but you can't come in here, this is for station business—"

Hermione had known that her mother would not recognize her, but the sheer incomprehension on her mother's familiar face rattled her. Steeling her nerves, she raised her wand to cast the crucial spell.

TO BE CONTINUED

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I described Hermione's interest in horses in an earlier story, HERMIONE ON HOLIDAY)