Chapter Text
Harry had no idea what time it was. This wasn’t technically a new feeling. They weren’t exactly keeping a schedule while they were hunting horcruxes. They’d lost track of enough time they hadn’t know it was Christmas. Time had been meaningless, but a hyper awareness of not staying in one place for too long had reset their internal clocks. That clock was slowly winding down. He liked that he could lay in his bed and not care where he was, where they were going next, and when they would go. He listened to the quiet of the morning. He couldn’t hear Hermione, he knew she was there in her bed next to his. Mostly because he knew he’d sense if she wasn’t.
He worried she was taking on too much. Ron’s jealousy wasn’t her fault. If she broke up with him or stayed with him, he’d make her feel bad. Harry loved Ron like a brother, but Ron had a tendency to create the events that would lead to his worst fears. His insecurities were a monster he’d have control one day or be consumed by a miserable, lonely life. Harry didn’t want Hermione to go down with that ship. Even if he didn’t have romantic feelings for her, he wouldn’t want that for her as a friend.
Rolling over he saw her curled up under a pile of blankets. She had mentioned several times how much she liked the plush comforter. He was already making a mental note to find out where the hotel got them from. Seeing her happy. Taking care of her for once appeared to be a goal he had.
A rustling at the door had Harry sitting up quickly, pulling his wand out. Hermione’s eyes snapped open. “Messages,” he said, nodding toward the envelopes that had been pushed under their door.
This had Hermione sitting up. “Do you think Ron got the letter already?”
Harry had no idea. They hadn’t asked how international mail was delivered. They should have thought of it. At least to know how long they should agonize. Rolling out of bed, he walked over and saw two messages. They were both addressed to Hermione. He gathered them up and handed them to her. “Neither one looks like Ron’s handwriting,” he said and turned toward the bar to make some tea. He didn’t want to hover.
“Oh! Victor found us,” she said excitedly. She’d been worried about his safety.
Harry felt a small pang of irrational jealousy rise up and he pushed it away immediately. Krum wasn’t a threat to him. Not when it came to a romantic relationship with Hermione. He wasn’t about to go down the path that caused Ron so much grief.
“He’s in Australia,” she announced reading the letter to herself. “He’s a quidditch recruiter. On no!” she gasped, covered her mouth.
Concerned Harry brought her a cup of tea, set it down on the nightstand and sat in front of her. “What happened?”
“He was detained at the wedding and was questioned by death eaters. They crushed his wand hand and he can’t play quidditch anymore.”
“That’s terrible,” Harry said, feeling responsible. “Why did they single him out?”
Hermione’s eyes continued to fly back and forth as she read. “He fought back. Injured a few of them.”
“They knew who he was?”
“I don’t think it mattered. His ministry negotiated his return. It's just now he's been able allowed to communicate with anyone. He asked Fleur where to find us. He wants to know if we want VIP tickets to the Australian National Game tomorrow. They’re playing the Bulgarian Team in a special exposition game,” she finished the letter, and set it down.
Harry nearly blurted out his desire to go before realizing she might not want to spend the evening watching a match. “How long is he in the country? We can meet somewhere where you can catch up.”
“Harry,” she complained. “You know you want to go to the match. And a VIP box. We have to go.”
“Are you sure you want to go? There will be loads of people there and we won’t know how long the match could take,” he started cautiously. He appreciated that she was trying to support them doing something he would enjoy. That didn’t mean she had really thought about how she might react in that environment. Harry was becoming more aware of the trauma they were both carrying. Being in a large crowd of yelling fans in a very public venue might not be the best way to reintegrate.
Hermione reached out for him, her hand settling on the bed an inch from him. “We’ll be in the VIP box,” she repeated. Now it sounded like she was reminding herself of that detail. “We can’t stay isolated forever. Maybe we can get there early. Beat the crowds.”
The more she spoke, the more excited Harry got about the prospect of attending a real Quidditch match. And with two national teams. It would be like a mini World Cup. “If you’re sure?” He gave her one more chance to change her mind.
She nodded. “Harry, I’m sure.”
His mind was already racing. He had to find his Chuddley Cannons’ jersey in Hermione’s bag. And they’d need to get there early enough to get some omnioculars. The VIP boxes were great when the game play was high over the field, but it could be hard to see the action away from the hoops. He smiled. “Let Krum know then. I’ll ask the concierge about travel. Who’s the other letter from?”
Hermione set the letter from Victor aside and then her face fell.
“Who’s it from?” he repeated, looking at the handwriting again. He was sure it wasn’t Ron’s. Though it did look strangely familiar.
“It’s from my mum,” she said quietly, turning it over in her hand.
Harry held his breath for her. He wasn’t sure if he should step aside to give her privacy or stay next to her to support her. When she didn’t hesitate to open it, he assumed that meant she didn’t mind that he stayed close. He watched her face closely, looking for signs of bad news. Her brow furrowed slightly as she processed the words on the paper.
“They want us to come for dinner,” she started to explain.
That sounded like a good sign. She was conflicted about something.
“They think they want to stay in Australia. But they don’t want to stay as Monica and Wendell. They want to know if we can make that possible,” she said, and looked up.
The reality of that request seemed complicated. Harry tried to think about all the details that would need to be changed. People who knew Monica and Wendell would need to believe they were always Anna and David Granger. Harry had no idea if that was a simple spell or a series of individual spells. What if they missed someone? They’d have to make sure everyone who worked at the clinic and everyone who were patients of the Wilkins would need to be tracked down. Changing their identities and having them start over on the other side of the world was one thing. This felt like an entire operation that required the ministries from both Australia and Britain to pull off. “We can ask Minister Shacklebolt if that’s even possible. We can get some answers before we see them again.”
“Why don’t they want to return to England?” she asked, her voice cracking.
His heart broke for her. He understood she was viewing it as rejection of her offer to help them return to their old life. There were times when Hermione got a solution to a problem so thoroughly ingrained that offering an alternative solution was met with disbelief. It didn’t seem like it was time to worry. Yet. “We’ll talk to them. Maybe they’re really happy here and they know you can visit anytime.”
“Maybe,” she agreed quietly. “Let’s talk to Mira before we go to Kingsley. This would affect Australian citizens more than anyone else.”
“Okay. That’s good. I’ll ask her for a meeting and if you want to respond to your parents and Krum?”
Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself. Holding the letters in her hand, she threw the blankets aside. She looked like she wanted to say something but stopped herself and stood.
“What is it?” Harry asked, her back was turned toward him.
“I just… I want a day where nothing is hard. I know that sounds silly. I thought when the fighting was over we’d be able to… breathe.”
A spark of guilt hit Harry. She wasn’t in a rush to come to Australia. If he hadn’t pushed the issue, they could have had time to themselves without pressures or difficult discussions. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
Finally, she turned. She was shaking her head. “Oh no. Harry, no. I don’t mean this is your fault. You were right. This wasn’t going to get easier.”
“But we didn’t have to make it hard right away,” he pushed back, walked around the bed to stand in front of her. He ran his hands up and down her arms, trying to comfort her. He didn’t know what else to do.
“They deserve answers. And I need to do everything I can to give them what they need. I’ll send the letters.”
“I’ll use the switchboard to see if Mira can meet with us.”
They both stood facing each other for a few moments before finally turning to get on with their tasks. Harry found his coat and dug in the pocket for the information Mira had given them when they arrived. He hoped the Granger’s request would be feasible, but he worried that dinner would be difficult regardless.
~~/~~
The quiet cul-de-sac looked looked like a postcard. The rows of houses were lined up perfectly along the sides and around the bend at the end. Yards were landscaped. Trees had a sense of ordered disorder. Hermione stood at the entrance to her parents' neighborhood and wondered what drew them to that spot. It was a little… too perfect. They had liked the character of their older home in England. Even if it had some drafts and uneven floors. It was unique. And theirs. These houses. They looked new. And they were all similar. It would be easy to mistake someone else’s house for theirs if they weren’t looking at the numbers. It was odd.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.
Hermione shook it off, took his hand and walked into the community. Maybe it was the people that made this home. “This doesn’t look like a place they’d live.”
Harry looked around them, look in the houses and the yards for himself. “It kinda looks like a place the Dursley’s would live.”
“Exactly,” she said and then regretted how that sounded. She covered her mouth with her free hand. “I didn’t mean… It’s not that this is bad…”
He waved her off. “I get it. Privet drive always felt fake. Except when I was sent to stay with Mrs. Figg.”
“Everything around here feels new compared to home. But I guess everything here is new compared to home,” she realized. The colonization of the country had its own dark history and it wasn’t until gold was discovered in Western Australia that the city really took off. “It’s hard to imagine a place where the oldest buildings are less than two hundred years old.” It wasn’t just London she was comparing the history to, it was the centuries of history of magical knowledge she had. A city that was established in the 19th century was an oddity in her mind.
They walked past a few houses. Hermione counted down the numbers. Each house bringing them closer. A small bit of dread grew in the pit of her stomach. She really had no idea what her parents were thinking or feeling. Had they returned to their home and realized everything that had been taken away? By their daughter? They had more than twenty-four hours to process. That was enough time for hurt to turn to anger. They might even think they wanted to stay in Australia to keep their distance from her. All the worst case scenarios played out in her mind. Each one more catastrophic than the last. Then they were there. Standing in front of the paved walkway to the Wilkins’ home. A one-story townhome like all the others with an attached garage, cream color siding, and a red roof. There was a great big picture window in the front. A small bed of flowers surrounding the front of the house.
“It’s nice,” Harry offered.
“Yeah,” she agreed. It just wasn’t home. There was movement near the window. Not wanting her parents to think she didn’t want to see them, she started toward the door. It opened before she and Harry reached it.
“Hermione! Harry! Come in. Come in,” her dad said enthusiastically. It felt a little too enthusiastic. But she could just be catastrophizing.
Harry handed her mother a small brown bag. “We stopped in Canberra this morning,” he explained. “There was a pastry shop that had some neenish tarts and raspberry lamingtons.”
“Two of my favorites,” Anna said, taking the desserts and motioning them inside to a sitting room with the big picture window. “I made tea.”
“Tea would be great,” Hermione said, wondering if she should have initiated a hug or if she should worry that they didn’t. They just saw each other yesterday. Sitting on a small sofa, she tried to stop her mind from racing.
Harry sat next to her, his shoulder brushing up against hers. Her dad took a chair across from them. “The neighborhood seems quiet.”
Hermione was grateful for the small talk and for Harry taking the initiative like he had with the pastries.
“It is,” David agreed. “We like that it’s a cul-de-sac. There’s no through traffic.”
Her mum re-entered with a tea service and set it down on the coffee table between the sofa and the chairs. It was clearly a room meant to entertain guests. There was no television, just plenty of seating and a small radio.
“You went all the way to Canberra this morning?” her mother asked as she poured the tea into cups, handed one to her dad and took one for herself before sitting in the chair next to him.
Harry mirrored her actions. He grabbed a cup for Hermione and passed it over and then took the last one for himself. “There’s a floo network where we’re staying. It was a quick trip,” he explained.
“Ah. Right,” her mother said. They had traveled once or twice that way to get to Diagon Alley. Hermione remembered her dad found the process fascinating while her mother wasn’t fond of the mess but appreciated the convenience. “Were you sight seeing?”
Hermione shifted in her seat and took a sip of tea to give her time to formulate her words. “No. The offices for the ICW are there. We met with a representative to see if they could coordinate with the Australian Ministry of Magic to accommodate your request.”
The room went silent. So much for small talk. It was clear no one had been planning to jump into the deep end right from the start of the visit. Her dad finally leaned forward. “We just want to know if it’s an option. We’ve started to make a life here. Meaningful work, great colleagues. And we know how easy it is for you to travel.”
“The thought of packing up and moving is a lot to consider right now,” her mother added.
“There are magical moving services,” Hermione explained. “If you’re worried about the logistics…”
Anna and David shared a knowingly look. Her dad nodded. “Hermione. We’re not sure we have a life back in England. We’ve been gone for a year. What do our friends think of us? We just disappeared and didn’t stay in touch? And we’d have to reestablish our practice. Get new clients. Our old clients will have found new dentists by now.”
Each word spoken felt like a new weight added to Hermione’s guilt. “If that could be fixed. Would you want to go back?” she asked, stopping short of calling England home.
Her parents shared a look. They’d had that conversation already. “Hermione,” her dad started quietly. “After everything. All the stress of the danger to you because of us—”
Hermione put her hand up to stop him. She thought she’d convinced them in park they weren't to blame.
“What’s on your arm?” her mother asked.
The change in subject didn’t allow for Hermione’s brain to catch up. She lowered her hand and turned her arm over to find out what her mother had seen, worried it was some spider. It wasn’t. It was the scar. The cream had done its job the best it could. The bleeding had stopped, the edges weren't inflamed. The word was still there.
“Who did this to you?” Anna continued, taking her daughter’s hand and pulled it toward her to look. “Did they do this to everyone? With parents like us?”
“No. Mum. No,” Hermione answered. She didn’t know how to explain the wound. It wasn’t a topic she wanted to share with anyone, least of all her parents who were still blaming themselves for being muggles. It was Hermione’s turn to look at Harry for help. There was a pain in his eyes too. He felt just as responsible for what Bellatrix had done to her. “The person who did this to me did it because she was evil. That’s the reason. I’m proud I’m your daughter. I don’t want you to think you have to stay here for me.” She took her arm back and pulled her sleeve down, bunching the end in her fist.
Anna appeared to understand Hermione wasn’t ready to say more and did her best to respect that decision. “The truth is, we like it here. We like our work. We even like this neighborhood. If you can believe it.”
Finally a small smile tugged at Hermione’s mouth. “Actually. I was surprised to picked this house. It’s so…”
“Ordinary?” her mother supplied.
“New,” Hermione offered. “It’s just that you liked our house so much.”
“I did. I do. But this community here is special. We have weekend barbecues. The whole cul-de-sac is full of games and food. There’s even a football team that your dad plays on. Life is different here. We want to stay. But now that I remember who I am, I don’t want to pretend to be someone else.”
Hermione pulled out a card from her back jeans pocket and handed it to her mother. “The Australian Ministry will help. They need to alter the memories of everyone you have long term relationships with and will give you rings to wear that are enchanted to cover acquaintances or patients the first time you interact. They’ll need a list of people and will need to explain the process and timeline. But they’re going to help you.”
Anna turned the card over and read the information before handing it to David. “Is there a chance the magic can go wrong?”
“No,” Hermione answered quickly. “These are witches and wizards who fix magical exposure to muggles every day. This is routine. The biggest trouble will be making sure you’ve thought of everyone. Once that’s done, we can talk to Kingsley and ask if they can change the memories of your friends in England. If you want. It’s simple enough to make them believe you’ve been in touch this entire time.”
“That… that sounds amazing,” her dad said, clearly surprised by how easy the process sounded. “We’d like to visit and it would be nice not worrying about running into someone who thinks we abandoned… er… left them.”
The change in wording had Hermione sitting a little straighter. Did they think she abandoned them? “Is that how you feel? Like I abandoned you?”
There was silence for a moment. “Of course not,” her dad continued. “It was a poor choice of words.”
The answer didn’t come quickly enough. Giving her his real opinion on the matter.
“We understand, Hermione. We do,” Anna chimed in. “We’re just… we’re doing the best we can.”
They weren’t fighting, but Hermione feared someone was going to say something they would regret. She couldn’t blame them for feeling hurt over her actions. In fact, she expected more anger from them when she reversed the memory charm. There had to be a better time to have these conversations. “I know you are. Let the ministry help you fix this. I’ll support you however I can.”
Both David and Anna leaned back. It was as if the energy had been sucked from the room. No one was happy about the hurt and uncertainty. There just wasn’t a clear path out of the mess. Time was likely the only way through.
“Why don’t we show you around the house?” her dad offered. “I’ve been working on a small garden. We can eat dinner on the patio.”
The abrupt change in subject was desperately welcome. Hermione nodded and stood. “I’d love to see your garden,” she said. Harry stood next to her and she took his hand in hers. She was sure he was desperate to find a way to help her. Just being there was what she needed, and she was determined to tell him that when she got the chance.