Author’s note - most of the characters included in this chapter were created by J.K. Rowling. I’m just taking them for a spin around the block, I’ll put ‘em back, I promise. The ones that I created have been given meaningful names. For those who care about such matters, here they are:
Jake - supplanter
Angus - exceptional, outstanding
Liam - determined guardian
Grace - grace of God
Chapter 4 - Home Again, Home Again
Harry crouched low over his broom, striving to coax as much speed as he could out of it as he raced for the goal, the Quaffle clutched to his side.
With the increasingly-elusive hoops still far off, though, Ginny had zoomed up beside him, snatched the Quaffle away, spun expertly in mid-air, and sped to the opposite hoops before Harry could react. She scored effortlessly.
“Ha! Sixty - nothing!” she crowed, retrieving the ball and returning to Harry’s side. “Oh, how quickly the Mighty Quidditch Player falls!”
“It’s this ruddy broom!” Harry retorted, gesturing to the Cleansweep with disgust. “I swear a fly overtook me.”
Ginny smirked as she pointed to the shabby broom she herself was using. “Come off it, Harry,” she chided, “you know as well as I do that the skill of the rider trumps the quality of the broom any day!”
Harry’s snort of disagreement was only half-hearted, knowing full well that she was right, and knowing, too, that Ginny’s skill with a broom was fast becoming unrivalled.
She smiled to herself as she tossed him the Quaffle, and Harry suspected that she had sensed his thoughts.
It was mid-afternoon, a Sunday, fourteen days after Ron and Hermione’s departure for Australia, and Harry and Ginny were playing in the Weasleys’ orchard during an infrequent, and therefore very welcome, break in the relentless and driving rain of the past four days.
Harry gripped the Quaffle tightly, determined to overcome the limitations of his mount. He pulled up on the broom handle and rose higher, feeling much more at ease at his usual ‘Seeking’ altitude. Deftly avoiding Ginny, who had shot upwards when he did and was completely blocking his path, he faked left but zoomed right. Not fooled for a second, Ginny veered in the same direction, once more impeding his progress. Harry leant forwards, tilting the front of the broom down, and plunged into a dive, pulling out of it only moments before hitting the ground. Swerving sharply left, he urged the Cleansweep higher once again. Seeing no sign of his opponent, he forced the broom straight ahead to the goal. When he was mere seconds from scoring range, Ginny materialized so quickly Harry would have sworn she had Apparated next to him. He changed course immediately but Ginny stayed with him. Executing another swift dive, Harry’s efforts were frustrated when Ginny mirrored his movements exactly. With a grunt of annoyance, Harry decided that he’d attempt a goal at his current distance and reared back to throw the Quaffle toward the left-most hoop, his closest. Ginny, though, turned abruptly towards him and directed her broom over his, so that the handles were criss-crossed, hers mere inches above his.
“What the hell“” Harry burst out but was cut off when Ginny reached out, grabbed the front of the waistband of his trousers, yanked him towards her, and kissed him full on the lips. A few moments later, while he was still catching his breath, she lightly plucked the Quaffle from his loosened grip and smiled sweetly at him.
“Thanks,” she smirked and prepared to turn. Unfortunately, she miscalculated and just as her broom was almost free of his, a few stray twigs brushed against the handle of Harry’s Cleasnweep. Their aeronautic lift destroyed, they lost their balance which caused both of them to tumble off their brooms and plunge to the somewhat soggy ground together, Harry landing with a slight ‘oomph’ sound as Ginny dropped atop him, laughing hysterically.
“Cheeky bugger,” he growled up at her.
“Yeah,” she shot back, “but you love me anyway.”
Harry couldn’t find any argument to that, especially when she slid up his body and her mouth descended on his.
It was many long and enjoyable minutes later that they were sitting and leaning back against a tree, having performed a simple Drying Charm on their clothes and the ground beneath them. Their arms comfortably around each other, they stared contentedly out at the sky which was darkening once more as thick grey clouds congregated swiftly overhead.
“Going to rain again,” Ginny remarked.
“Is it?” Harry replied, somewhat vaguely, his lips nuzzling her neck, every inhalation filling him with her scent. He doubted he could bring himself to care much if they were suddenly hit with a deluge of Biblical proportions.
They lapsed into companionable silence. Ginny was the first to break it when she said, quietly, “I’m glad you decided to go to Hogwarts this year.”
Harry murmured his agreement, slowly caressing her hair.
“Last year was hell,” she went on. “I missed you so much. And I hated not knowing what you were doing, where you were ...”
Relieved to hear that she had felt the same as he, Harry chuckled to himself.
She rounded on him, her eyes flashing with anger. “Oh, that’s funny is it? Worth a good laugh?”
Hearing the underlying hurt in her voice, he hurriedly assured her that wasn’t his intent and then, somewhat self-consciously, explained: “There were so many nights last year “ when Ron and Hermione were asleep “ that I would ...” He cleared his throat nervously. “Well ... um, I would stare at the Marauders’ Map. Just so I could see your name.”
He could see the tears in her eyes at his admission and he was glad he’d had the courage to voice it. With a smile, she cupped his chin in her hand. “I love you,” she said simply and pressed her lips to his once more.
They were startled in mid-kiss by Mrs. Weasley’s voice from the back garden.
“They’re here!” she cried. “Ginny, Harry, they’re back. Ron and Hermione are back!”
Stunned, they stared at each other for a full ten seconds before leaping to their feet and, grabbing their brooms, sprinted out of the orchard.
For some five minutes the Weasleys’ back garden was filled with delighted cries of greeting and the enthusiastic embracing of good friends and family. It wasn’t until Mrs. Weasley had engulfed her son in a tremendous hug for the third time (amid complaints of ‘Geroff, would you, Mum’) that Mr. Weasley suggested that they retire to the house. It was just as well, for as the group headed to the back door, the now-ominous clouds abruptly opened and heavy drops began to fall.
As one, they broke into a trot and all burst through the door seconds later, shaking the rain from their hair. Mrs. Weasley bustled into the kitchen. “Right then,” she said briskly, “let’s have something to eat.” She suited her actions to her remark and quickly started preparing hot cocoa and thickly-sliced bread and jam. As she sent the jugs and heaping platters to the table, she gave her son and his girlfriend a critical appraisal. “Mind you eat enough,” she ordered, “you’re both appallingly thin.”
Hermione smiled as she took a seat at the table but Harry had the distinct impression she was only just refraining from rolling her eyes at Ginny. Ron apparently had less self-control for he blurted out, “Mum, we’ve been gone less than three weeks!”
“Even so ...” Mrs. Weasley retorted, adding another liberally-buttered slice of bread to his plate. Harry noticed that Ron didn’t bother to remove it.
Once they were all happily sipping and munching, Harry and Ginny demanded at once:
“So what happened?”
“Did you find them?”
And then finished in chorus, “Are they all right?”
The wide smile splitting Hermione’s face as she swallowed a generous bite of bread gave them her answer even before she confirmed, “Yes, they’re all right. They are absolutely fine.”
“They’re back home,” Ron added thickly, his mouth full.
Hermione saw Mrs. Weasley open her mouth to protest and quickly put in, “We suggested they come to the Burrow but I think they just wanted to settle back into their regular routine, pick up where they left off, with their practise and so on.”
Mrs. Weasley nodded her approval. Hermione put down her mug and swallowed hard before looking at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. “My parents wanted me to deliver a few messages,” she told them. “Firstly, they wish to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. They feel they could never repay you.” Ron’s parents both smiled warmly at her. “Secondly,” Hermione went on, "they offer all of us “” Hermione’s glance took in all those seated at the table. ““ congratulations on the hard-won victory over Voldemort and his followers.”
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s smiles were grim this time. “And lastly,” Hermione swallowed again, and Harry could see that her eyes were shining with unshed tears, “they offer their condolences about ... well ... about Fred.”
Mrs. Weasley didn’t speak, merely patted Hermione’s hand with hers. Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on his plate as he murmured, “Thank you, dear.”
Still anxious about the details of the trip to Australia, Harry said as much. Hermione nodded, finishing another particularly large mouthful. “I know,” she said. “Just give me a minute to catch my breath. And get rid of this ...” she added, waving her bread in his direction. Harry reflected that she was perhaps spending a little too much time with Ron.
When they had all had their fill, and drained their mugs at least twice each, Hermione finally pushed away her plate and started her story. “The flight to Australia was uneventful“”
“Bloody long, though!” Ron put in.
“Well, yes,” Hermione conceded, “it was a bit.”
“A bit!” Ron retorted. “Blimey, Hermione, it was almost twenty-two hours! Twenty-four with the stop. You call that ‘a bit’?”
“You going to let me tell this, or not?”
“Okay, okay, get on with it then,” he grumbled.
With an icy glare, Hermione drew a breath and continued. “So, the flight was uneventful, although long,” she added, with another glacial look at Ron, “and after being slightly delayed in Singapore, we arrived in Sydney twenty-four hours after leaving London.” She sighed. “We weren’t sure where to start. We’d booked that hotel near the airport, but I wasn’t too clear beyond getting ourselves acclimated. So we did just that, we got ourselves“”
“You didn’t tell them about the muddle with the rooms,” Ron cut in.
Hermione’s face flushed pink. “Oh, right,” she said, obviously flustered. “The rooms ...”
“What about them?” Ginny asked.
“Were they not acceptable?” Mrs. Weasley demanded, having been the one to book that particular hotel.
“They were lovely,” Hermione assured her, “it’s just ... there was only one of them. I don’t know how it happened, but instead of two rooms, they had given us one room with two sitting areas, one in the kitchenette, one in the main room. And they had no others available either. They felt badly about the mixup, and reduced the price because of it, but ...” Her voice trailed off.
“One room, huh?” Ginny remarked, with a definite smirk.
“I see,” Mrs. Weasley said, her lips doing a marvellous impression of Professor McGonagall’s.
Harry said nothing, merely turned to his friend, one eyebrow arched.
“Don’t you be looking at me like that,” Ron snapped, “damned sofa was bloomin’ uncomfortable.”
“Now, Ron,” Hermione protested, “it’s not like I didn’t offer umpteen times to switch with you!”
“I know, I know, but had to be a gentleman, didn’t I?”
Ginny had another smirk to offer at that, and Harry just caught Mr. Weasley’s quiet smile to himself at the exchange.
“Continuing,” Hermione said, pointedly, “we just got settled that first day, which was Monday, trying to sleep off the effects of the flight. But by Wednesday evening all we’d managed to do was unpack a bit, overcome jet-lag, and get used to the nine hour time difference “”
“And found that great place for cheap breakfast round the corner from the hotel,” Ron added.
“I stand corrected,” Hermione agreed, with a smile, “we did do that, as well, but that was all. I’d tried searching for Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins, using Muggle and magical methods: locator spells, Internet searches, local and long-distance telephone books, all with no luck. I’ll admit I was starting to get worried. I’d even read“”
“Many times over!” Ron cut in.
“ “all the books I’d brought ...” Hermione went on as if he hadn’t spoken, and tossed onto the table her beaded bag with its magical size enhancement. It landed with a thud that seemed incongruent to its size. “... the ones on Memory Charms, especially how to track people under possible faulty ones, as there seemed to be no trace of my parents under their pseudonyms.”
“And you lot know Hermione - if it had been in the books, she’d have found it!” Ron added, a trace of pride obvious in his tone.
“Then,” Hermione continued with the story, “on the fourth day, Ron convinced me to get out of the hotel and go for a long walk“”
“Driving me mad she was.”
“And we ended up on Forbes Street. I don’t know what made us head there, but we strolled down it. I think we must have missed the significance of the first poster since they were plastered everywhere, but by the second or third, it quickly sank in what they were.”
“Posters?” the others chorused. “Of what?”
“Well,” Hermione began, her eyes bright, “they had“”
“Hang on,” Ron interrupted, “we can show ‘em.” With that, he got up from the table, and headed for the pile of luggage in the corner of the kitchen. Grasping his carry-on bag, he unzipped the front pouch and rummaged within it for a few moments before pulling out a folded piece of cream-coloured Muggle paper.
“You kept one?” Hermione blurted out, incredulous.
“Well, yeah,” Ron said with a shrug as he returned to his seat. “Why not?”
Harry noticed the look of affection that Hermione bestowed on Ron. His attention taken with unfolding the poster and smoothing it out, Ron missed it. The others leaned forward to see the paper.
DO YOU KNOW THIS COUPLE?
Below this query was a snapshot of Mr. and Mrs. Granger looking decidedly ill-at-ease and very confused.
IF SO, REPORT TO THE SECURITY DESK,
ST. VINCENT’S HOSPITAL, CARITAS SITE,
FORBES AND BURTON STREETS
“They had them?” Mr. Weasley remarked. “They were all right, then?”
“I didn’t know,” Hermione replied. “They could have been badly hurt, couldn’t they? Or they could have been in the hospital because they didn’t know who they were.”
“We didn’t stop to think about it much,” Ron put in, “we grabbed the poster and ran down the street to the hospital.”
“Felt like the longest run of my life,” Hermione added, before telling them what happened next ...
********************
Her lungs bursting, her legs like jelly from the exertion, Hermione forced her way through the hospital doors, not bothering to wait for the automatic sensor to open them for her. She and Ron scanned the foyer, only then realizing that they were in the Mental Health Service satellite building of St Vincent’s Hospital. They exchanged a grim look at what that might mean before heading for the information desk directly in front of them.
“Security desk, please,” Hermione demanded, breathless.
The woman seated within her little booth gave Hermione an odd look but pointed silently down a short corridor to the couple’s right.
“Thanks,” Hermione threw over her shoulder, already hurrying down the hall, Ron close on her heels.
The security area that the woman had indicated was comprised of a semi-circular counter configuration with various files and papers strewn across it and a couple of phones blinking insistently at no one; the area was deserted. With a panicked look at Ron, Hermione strode past the counter towards a door behind marked ‘Security Office - Private’.
“I don’t know if you should“” Ron began but he clamped his mouth shut immediately at the look Hermione shot him.
The small room into which they stepped was also deserted. Another desk with phones stood on the couple’s right as they entered, a panel of security screens mounted above it, each screen displaying what appeared to be a different scene of the hospital. A small door on the left wall was shut, but another on the wall opposite the one into the hall stood ajar and the noise of some sort of sporting match could be heard blaring through it, accompanied by the occasional interjection of delight or annoyance from whomever was watching.
“Excuse me!” Hermione called impatiently, and loudly enough for her voice to carry over the din, and made her way towards the far door. “Can we get some assistance here, please?”
The television’s sound abruptly ceased, presumably having been muted with the press of a button, springs from an upholstered piece of furniture groaned, and a lanky youth in his early twenties, apparently not too concerned with wearing his security uniform in a presentable fashion, soon stood in the doorway.
“You can’t come in ‘ere!” he barked at them. “What’s the matter? Can’t read?” He pointed indignantly at the sign on the door through which they’d entered.
“This is important,” Hermione told him. She indicated the poster she’d brought. “Where are these people?”
To their surprise, the young man smirked. “Oh them,” he said. “The ones with the kangaroos loose in the top paddock.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger to clarify his point.
Ron’s hands clenched at his side and Hermione knew he was itching to reach for his wand. “C’mere and say that again,” he snarled.
“Now, now, what’s all this about?” said a voice from behind. Ron and Hermione turned to see a jovial-looking man in his mid-forties walking towards them, drying his hands on a piece of paper towel, the small door on the left wall of the office now standing open. Unlike the younger security employee, he wore his uniform impeccably. Dropping the towel in a nearby bin, he smiled at Ron and Hermione before turning to the young man, the smile quickly fading from his face. “Would you tuck your shirt in, Jake, ya great git and get back to work. Breaks are s’posed to be fifteen minutes, not fifty. I can hear the phones buzzing from here.”
As the youth shoved parts of his shirt tail half-heartedly into his trousers, with much grumbling, and headed out the door into the outer area, the older man turned back to Ron and Hermione, once more smiling at them. “You gotta ignore him.” He dropped his voice conspiratorially. “Right yobbo he is, but he’s the administrator’s great-nephew, so there’s not much I can do now, is there?” He noticed the paper in Hermione’s hand. “But you had a question, Miss?”
She showed him the poster. “Where are these people?” she asked again, the tremble in her voice belying her worry. “They’re my parents.”
The man looked kindly at her. “Thought as much,” he said. “Can see the resemblance. They were brought in about a week ago. Not really knowing quite what was what, I’m afraid. They’re up on the second floor still, I think, but with all the changes, I could be wrong.”
“Changes?” Ron and Hermione echoed, confused.
“That’s right, you two being visitors and all, wouldn’t know about that now, would you?” He drew a deep breath. “St. Vincent’s is making some changes, see,” he said, his tone one of reciting a rehearsed speech, “this whole mental health unit’s moving and they’re starting a new building here. Moving back to the main site,” he added at the query that was obvious on their faces. “Place has been in kind of flux for a bit now as all the patients are moved over. Ones that can be, mind.”
“But my parents are still here“” Hermione glanced quickly at the man’s name tag. ““ Angus?”
“Like I said, should be,” he replied. “Best to head up to the second floor and talk to the security man up there. Name’s Liam. He’ll know.”
Hermione was halfway out the door before she remembered her manners. “Thank you,” she said, trying to smile.
Angus nodded his acknowledgement of her thanks and called after her retreating figure, “She’ll be right, you’ll see.”
“Cheers, mate,” Ron said before hurrying after Hermione.
************
Having found the stairs and ascended to the second level, Ron and Hermione emerged from the stairwell into a small foyer, obviously the centre of activity for the floor. A large, semi-circular counter arrangement, in the same design as the security desk on the ground level, dominated the floor space. In addition to a couple of phones, two computers shared the surface of the counter. The entire wall behind the desk was taken up with a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit packed with files, while a board of call lights occupied the right hand wall. This greeting/work area was empty so Ron and Hermione headed to their left down a small hallway dotted with doors, where they could see two people in what appeared to be a heated discussion.
The closer of the two was a tall, gray-haired man dressed in security uniform, his back to them. He was arguing with the other individual, a stocky man with one of those ageless faces that makes it difficult to place the person at twenty- or fifty-five. It was this man who was talking as Ron and Hermione approached the pair.
““and he gave me my instructions. They’re to be moved next week!”
“Then your supervisor’s got it wrong, doesn’t he?”
“I’ll tell him you said that!”
“You do that,” the gray-haired man replied calmly. “I’m telling you, from Dr. Wong herself, Mrs. Bartlett and Mr. and Mrs. Doe aren’t to be moved until the very end.”
“When I get this sussed, I’ll be back next week to get them, just see if I don’t!”
Without waiting for a reply, he stormed off down the hallway in the direction in which Ron and Hermione had come, completely ignoring them. Still with his back to them, the gray-haired man shook his head in disbelief, muttering something about the higher up they get, the dimmer they are.
“Uh, excuse me?” Hermione began. “Are you Liam?”
Startled, he turned quickly and they saw he was an older man in his mid-sixties. “That I am,” he said with a smile that crinkled his well-bronzed face like worn leather. “What can I do for you, little missy?”
Refraining from rolling her eyes, Hermione showed him the poster in her hands. “Where is this couple?” Her voice was starting to take on a shrill note. “They’re my parents. I need to find them and Angus downstairs told me you could help.”
“That I can, Miss. Hang on a tic.” Looking over his shoulder to the door behind him, he called, “Gracie! Oi, Gracie! Get out here, would you?”
Within moments, the door opened and a petite young woman, not much older than Hermione herself, stepped into the hall, wiping her hands on the pinny covering her medical uniform.
“You bellowed?” she queried, her eyes twinkling at Liam with an affection that gave the impression the two were close friends. “That’s the second time you’ve interrupted Mrs. Bartlett’s meal. This better be important.”
Liam nodded. “Aye, ‘tis,” he assured her. “This young lady here says she’s Mr. and Mrs. Doe’s daughter.” He stepped to the side so his colleague could see Hermione, obviously eagerly awaiting a reaction to this pronouncement.
She stared for a moment or two, before hurrying forward to shake Hermione’s hand. “Are you really?” she asked. “That’s marvellous! I knew you’d come. I just knew it. I’m Grace Costigan, psychiatric nurse.” She shrugged before adding, “Although around here, with the move and all, I do everything else as well.”
“Hermione Granger.” Hermione clasped Ron on the elbow to bring him closer. “And this is Ron Weasley.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any identification, would you, Miss Granger?” Grace smiled apologetically. “For security reasons.”
Hermione quickly produced her passport. “My parents are Alison and Geoffrey Granger. They were ... visiting Australia.” Ron was probably the only person present who noticed the slight hesitation before she uttered the word ‘visiting’.
Grace was nodding. “They were found on Forbes Street twelve days ago. We still aren’t sure what happened. We figure they got into an accident of some sort, although physically they’re in great shape. At first, Mr. Doe called himself Wilkins, Wendell Wilkins, but the woman insisted she was Monica Granger. She knew she was married with no children. As days went by, though, she claimed to be Monica Wilkins, which fit with her husband’s story, but then changed it to Alison Granger. About five days ago she became quite agitated and refused to eat. She said she had a daughter and demanded to know what had happened to her. Hours later, she settled down once more, claiming again that she’d never had children.”
Hermione fought to contain her excitement. Her mother’s mind was evidently beginning to resist the Memory Charm on its own. Reestablishing her true identity would therefore be a rather simple matter; Hermione’s resources had been confident on that point.
“May I see them?” she asked.
Grace nodded. “Of course.” She glanced at Liam. “You wouldn’t mind feeding Mrs. Bartlett?”
“Not at all,” he replied, immediately heading for that woman’s room.
“This way ...” Grace said to Ron and Hermione and she led them to one of the closed doors, but turned back briefly. “But remember “”
“I know,” Hermione said quietly. “They probably won’t recognize me.”
This prediction didn’t prove entirely accurate. Ron and Hermione followed Grace through the door into a tiny corridor which led only to another door, the second one sporting a control panel of buttons which Grace used to tap in an entry code. She motioned for Ron and Hermione to wait a moment, rapped on the door, and entered alone.
Hermione’s parents greeted their nurse warmly, which helped to relieve Hermione of some of her anxiety. At least they felt safe and comfortable with this young woman who cared for them. The three chatted amiably for a few moments before Grace mentioned that the couple had visitors. At the nurse’s signal, Hermione reached for Ron’s hand to pull him after her, and stepped forward into the room. Hermione gasped audibly at the sight of her mother standing expectantly in the middle of the fairly large, homey-looking room.
Alison Granger’s eyes shone with immediate recognition when she saw Hermione. Throwing out her arms in ecstatic greeting she cried, “HERMI“” Her mouth clamped shut abruptly. Her eyes had dulled almost instantly, as if a cloud had passed over them. She frowned, perplexed. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
Hermione’s own eyes filled with tears but her voice when she spoke was remarkably steady. “I’m Hermione,” she said.
“Monica Wilkins,” replied her mother, without a beat. Mrs. Granger gestured to the man sitting in an armchair by the window. “And this is my husband, Wendell.”
Mr. Granger looked away from the view at his wife’s words and gave Hermione a nod. “Pleased to meet you,” he said genially before returning his attention to what was going on outside.
The visit was polite and friendly, although at Grace’s suggestion, kept brief. The five of them exchanged pleasantries about the weather and shared information about tourist spots in Darlinghurst and other parts of Sydney, something Hermione’s parents could recall well. By some unspoken agreement Ron, Hermione, and Grace refrained from offering any comments regarding Hermione’s relationship with the older couple, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger showed no curiosity about the subject.
After seven or eight minutes, Grace indicated discreetly that perhaps it was time to leave. As soon as the three visitors had left the room and the door was once again secured behind them, Grace quickly tried to reassure Hermione that it had gone well, and that if she continued to spend time with her parents their memories could very likely return fully. Hermione, though, required no such reassurance and said as much to Ron later, when they were back in the privacy of their hotel room.
“So you can reverse the Charm?” Ron wanted to know.
“In less than a minute,” Hermione replied with absolute confidence.
“Well, why didn’t you when we were there, then?” Ron demanded. “You know, quick ‘swish’,” he twirled his hand as if casting a spell, “behind Nurse’s back.”
Hermione had begun sorting through the textbooks in her size-enhanced bag. “Think, Ron,” she chided. “I show up and ‘poof’ my parents are better, just like that? The hospital staff would get suspicious. And I don’t want any more attention than we can help. I need to do this gradually.”
Ron was nodding now. “Make it look as if it’s happening naturally: you spend time with them, they start remembering ...”
“Exactly,” Hermione confirmed, still rummaging in her bag. “I go back each day for a week or so, each time altering a bit more of their memories.” She sat back suddenly on her heels. “Where on earth did I put Compendium of Charms: Mind and Memory?”
***************
Hermione drew to a close and cleared her throat. Mrs. Weasley immediately raised her wand to direct a glass from the cupboard, soon filling it with water for the young woman.
Hermione smiled gratefully as she took the proffered drink. “Thank you,” she said between sips. “My mouth was getting dry.” The light through the kitchen windows had changed during Hermione’s story; it was now shining with the deeper orange glow of impending sunset. Mr. Weasley lit the lamps in the room with a casual flick of his wand.
“Any plans for dinner, Mum?” Ron asked hopefully.
Mrs. Weasley chuckled but before she could speak, Ginny piped up. “Wait. I want to hear the end of the story. Did your plan work?”
“But I’m hungry now!” Ron complained.
“I can cook and listen at the same time. You finish the story, Hermione, while I get the meal started.” Without waiting for a reply, Mrs. Weasley stood to begin her preparations.
Yes,” Hermione said, answering Ginny’s question, “the plan worked. Every day, Ron and I visited my parents and each time I managed to reverse a part of the Memory Charm. My mother’s memory returned first, as I suspected it would. By the fourth day she knew everything and was actively helping me with Dad, doing what she could when we weren’t there to remind him of his true identity. By the end of a week, they knew exactly who they were, everything that had happened to them, and all that had gone on in the Wizarding world.” Hermione reached for her glass again.
“We had been making plans to return when we weren’t at the hospital,” Ron put in as she sipped her water, “so we were soon ready to leave.”
“We got my parents settled in at home, and came here,” finished Hermione.
“Well done! Both of you,” Mrs. Weasley offered, lighting a fire under the potatoes on the stove.
“Tremendous!” Mr. Weasley agreed as he patted Hermione on the shoulder and got up to help his wife with dinner.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Ginny told them.
“I’m glad there were no Death Eaters,” Harry muttered so only his friends could hear.
“Death Eaters?” Hermione cried, though quietly. “What do you mean?”
He filled them in about the nightmares he’d endured during their absence.
“That’s awful,” Hermione said. “You must have been so worried.”
“Thought you would’ve got rid of the there’s-always-danger-must-rescue-everyone complex once you’d offed Voldemort,” Ron commented. “I guess not.”
“Remind me not to worry about you next time, won’t you?”
“There’s something else we need to talk about,” Ginny said to Hermione, loudly enough to be heard over the beginnings of a row between the young men. “We got letters a while ago ...”
Hermione was nodding vigourously. “From McGonagall. We got them too. Are you returning?”
“I need to do my seventh year. You?”
“I really want to. McGonagall’s asked me to assist in Transfiguration. And the thought of not achieving NEWT level ...” The idea was apparently too horrible to put into words.
“So, what’s stopping you?”
Hermione shot a look at Ron. “Someone’s not too keen on the idea.”
“Oh, come on, Ron,” Ginny said. “You’d get to spend the year with Hermione. That’s got to be worth something.”
“As great as that would be,” Ron said, somewhat surprisingly to Harry, “the thought of another year at school ...?” He shuddered, apparently as unable as Hermione to voice the idea. “I thought I was well clear of the place.”
Ginny winked at Hermione’s crestfallen face. “Well, if Hermione can’t convince you, maybe I can,” she said.
Ron frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.
“Well,” she said, her lips twitching, “Harry’s coming too. I think we’d rather enjoy not having your prohibitive presence dogging our every move ...”
“When do we leave?” Ron snapped
A/N - There, finally done. Long chapter. Hope it makes up for the delay. Chapter 5 is finished and will be posted asap. cj
As Happily Ever After As They're Gonna Get by cjbaggins
Chapter Notes: New Author's Note: I've finally changed around some of the dialogue in this chapter after popular demand. I hope it suits.