Twelve
Hermione: The Prodigal Daughter
She drew her eyes tight against the relentless sun. Even through the lacy sheers, it was more than she could bear after the endless series of Floo connections she and Ron had endured in the past twelve hours.
Hermione rolled over and burrowed deeper into the downy covers, hoping that another few hours of uninterrupted slumber would make her feel normal in this strange upside down land. She gave it up as Ron’s mumbling increased in volume from the love seat where he’d insisted on sleeping.
For someone who could be so uncommunicative when awake, Ron could sure carry on a prolonged dialogue in his sleep, she grumbled to herself. Perhaps a hot shower would sort her out.
She finished dressing in the bathroom then threw a soft jumper over her damp curls as she returned to the main room. It was totally disconcerting to be in the midst of winter, one more indignity Australia seemed determined to heap upon her jet-lagged person. Make that floo-lagged, she corrected herself, then decided it was a stupid expression. She’d have to ask Ron what the proper wizarding equivalent was “ perhaps after he stopped snoring loud enough to be heard back in England.
The alarm she’d set the night before started beeping from the bedside cabinet, but Hermione debated whether she should silence it as her fingers closed over her wand.
“Blimey, Charlie! Can’t you stop that infernal…” Ron muttered as he shifted in his sleep. The alarm increased in urgency. “Er, sorry, Percy, should have recognized your voice…Tell the Minister I’ll owl him back later, won’t you?”
Hermione stifled a giggle as she relented. With a tiny flick, she silenced the alarm from the other side of the room.
“Wha…what happened?” Ron cried in a woolen voice. “You ‘right, Hermione?”
This time she laughed outright as his clear blue eyes searched the unfamiliar room with frantic intensity.
“Everything’s fine, you silly goose. Just an Aussie welcoming committee come calling too soon.”
“Tell ‘em this bloke’s still on Greenwich time,” he complained as he stumbled half-blindly in the direction of the shower.
They arrived in short order at the Ministry of Magic in downtown Sydney. As Kingsley had promised, Reginald Roscoe of the Intercontinental Cooperation Bureau ushered them directly into his office overlooking the scintillating harbor. It was all Hermione could do to keep her eyes from squinting totally shut.
“Sorry, mates,” Roscoe drawled. “Forgot you were probably suffering from differential drag.”
Ron nodded in acknowledgement. “Is there an apothecary nearby?”
“In the lobby. Just ask the attendant for what you need. Should have you back to rights in no time.”
“Don’t such remedies wear off in a matter of hours?” Hermione tendered.
“Depends on the person,” Roscoe allowed. “Make sure you take the extra potent formula; it’s a staple for tourists the continent over.”
Hermione made a quick notation in her leather appointment calendar. “Did you have any luck locating my parents, Mr. Roscoe?”
“Ah, yes,” Roscoe riffled through the papers spread across his desk. “What were their names again?”
“Wendell and Monica Wilkins,” Hermione supplied.
“Got them right here.” Roscoe held up a thin folder triumphantly. “Resettled in a picturesque cottage near Alice Springs in the interior. Favorable Apparition points are marked if you feel up to it.”
“Maybe after we get a first-hand view,” Hermione demurred. “I’m not certain I could head blindly in my current frame of mind. What about you, Ron?”
“These photos have great detail, but I’m feeling muddled myself.”
“Not to worry,” Roscoe agreed as he handed the rest of the dossier over to them. “I’ll just have my aide set up a Portkey. Won’t be but a moment. Why don’t you nip downstairs for that potion in the meanwhile?”
The discarded metal pipe had grown so cold that it burned their fingers. With a small gasp, Hermione dropped the spent Portkey to the ground as she tied her scarf more securely around her neck.
Just beyond the manicured edges of a small park, the reddish hills captured the robust color of the sun without adding any warmth. The town itself was carved out of the untamed land as if it had only temporary custody of those few acres. It was the absolute antithesis of the relentless hustle of London, and Hermione knew from the start that it would be difficult to convince her parents to leave this rugged oasis.
“According to this, their house is just down the street. Dad runs a small repair business and Mum’s been teaching science at the local school.”
“I thought they were dentists,” Ron muttered in confusion.
“In England, yes. But that would make them too easy to trace if the Death Eaters were persistent enough,” Hermione explained. “My Memory Modification Charm convinced them that they wanted to adopt a less stressful lifestyle. Dad always liked tinkering with stuff about the house. Didn’t I tell you he’d get along great with your dad? Would delight in explaining the inner workings of all sorts of devices until he wore Arthur out.”
“Don’t bank on that, Hermione. Dad’s pretty indefatigable.”
Hermione smiled at the incongruent word coming from Ron’s lips. He’d been doing his best lately to appear more worldly -- for her benefit, she liked to think. She certainly couldn’t fault him for trying to improve his vocabulary after a year away from his studies.
After a brisk walk, they found the building easily enough. A brightly painted clapboard structure much like its neighbors, the signage extolling: Wendell Will Fix-It. A smaller sign in the shop window indicated that the premises were currently closed.
“Perhaps we should’ve come on a weekday,” Ron suggested lowly as he peered past a collection of unfamiliar objects. Muggle artifacts, he amended inwardly.
“Mum would’ve been away at school,” countered Hermione. “It’s essential that I get them both together.”
“Are you so certain that’s best?”
Hermione gave a small shrug. “So the spell manual asserts. Cuts down on initial disbelief when they find the truth reflected in each other’s eyes.”
“I’m not certain how I’d feel if I suddenly discovered the past year of my life had been a total lie,” Ron postulated gravely.
“Not a lie exactly,” Hermione soothed. “I just liberated them from the constraints of their previous life. Allowed them to follow their subconscious dreams.”
“Then it might be that much more difficult to convince them to return with us.”
Hermione nodded with downcast eyes. “I’ve steeled myself to accept that, but I want them to know they have a daughter. I can’t bear just abandoning them. Not after all the losses…” She trailed off as her voice caught in her throat.
Ron draped a protective arm around her as they followed a narrow path to the side door. Ruffled curtains in the neat row of windows indicated that these were likely the Wilkins’ living quarters.
“Are they expecting us?” Ron cautioned.
“Hopefully. I sent them a note a few days before we left. Owled care of the Australian Ministry of Magic who forwarded it via Muggle air mail.”
“Here, for courage,” Ron issued as he dug out a weathered chocolate frog card from his trousers pocket.
Despite the ragged edges, Dumbledore’s laughing blue eyes looked up with a hint of daring. Deciding that it would be the ultimate in stupidity to have traveled all this way just to shy away at the last moment, Hermione boldly knocked on the emerald green door.
A quick swish of the curtain and the door was cracked open by the familiar features of Wendell Wilkins, aka Graham Granger. “What a surprise!” he cried jovially before Hermione could intercede. “You must be that nice English lass who’s researching her family tree.”
Hermione smiled warmly as her nervousness dissipated. “Hermione Granger,” she introduced herself. “This is my friend, Ronald Weasley.”
‘Wendell’ ushered them into the tiny sitting room as he called out to his wife, “Monica, it’s the girl who sent the letter.”
“Oh, dearie me,” ‘Monica’ called as she hurried from the other room, drying her hands hurriedly on her apron. “We didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Travel plans came together all at once,” explained Hermione.
“But to come all this way,” ‘Monica’ remarked. “I certainly hope there was some other reason to make such a long journey. Do you also have relatives nearby? Ron, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Ron improvised on the spur of the moment. “We’re doing a class project of sorts. Too far to travel alone, see…” He looked to Hermione for assistance.
“Ron has relatives in Perth,” Hermione handily supplied. “A rather large contingent, as a matter of fact.”
“All ginger, like my sister and brothers,” Ron volunteered with a crooked grin. “And I’ve always wanted to see the strange local animals.”
“I dare say, we’re the strange ones to them,” ‘Wendell’ chortled.
“Now, Wendell,” ‘Monica’ protested with a playful lilt. “I’m just sorry we can’t be of much help.”
Hermione had been expecting this, so she ploughed ahead. “But both of you are from England, I can hear it in your voices.”
“We only settled here a year ago,” ‘Monica’ provided with a small worried crease between her brows. “Can’t say I remember much of my family before that.”
“Must have been an only child,” ‘Wendell’ theorized.
“I’ve always liked the name Hermione, though,” ‘Monica’ mused. “Always thought if...” She drifted off then shook her head.
“I think I see what you’re getting at,” ‘Wendell’ enthused. “You do look vaguely familiar, now that I see you in the flesh. Doesn’t she, dear?”
“I just wish I could place the face. Maybe a college acquaintance…” It was clear from ‘Monica’s’ expression that she was having difficulty remembering what university she’d attended.
“Perhaps I could show you my research,” Hermione proposed as she shared a quick glance with Ron.
They scooted over on the sofa so ‘Wendell’ could sit next to Hermione. The instant his forearm brushed against hers, Hermione cast the charm.
There was a momentary instant where ‘Wendell’ looked as if he’d received an electrical jolt and then his jaw dropped. “It couldn’t be…” he muttered as he looked feverishly between Ron and Hermione. “No wonder your name seemed familiar as well, lad.”
Clearly intrigued, ‘Monica’ knelt before Hermione and accepted a small photo of her and her husband at the seashore. Playing in the sand at their feet, six-year-old Hermione favored the camera with a gap-toothed smile.
The blank look on ‘Monica’s’ face said it all. “That’s clearly me and Wendell and I remember that stretch of beach from my own childhood, but --”
Her words were cut short as her fingers brushed against Hermione’s and she was hit with the full force of the Memory Restoring Charm.
“You’re my….rather, our… daughter!” Jeanette Granger’s features fairly glowed with triumph.
“Proof positive that Hermione’s your favorite name,” Hermione replied as she caught her mother up in a tearful hug.
Graham wrapped his arms around the emotional women as he continued to work his mouth soundlessly. Catching a glimpse of his daughter’s wand poking out of her pocket, his eyes narrowed with realization.
Clearing his throat for their attention, Graham began, “As much as I hate to break up this reunion…”
“…but you must stay for lunch. Supper, even!” Jeanette was gushing with unbridled joy. “There’s so much to tell you, I don’t know where to begin!” Beaming at Ron, she added, “And it’s high time she brought you for a visit, young man. Talked about you enough.”
Ron’s ears turned bright pink at the added attention.
Jeanette made as if to return to the kitchen, but Graham caught her elbow and turned her around. “The pot roast will take care of itself; it always does.”
“How about some tea then?” she offered. “I should’ve asked you the minute you sat down. How rude of me…”
“We’re really fine, Mum,” Hermione assured her only to be caught up in another hug.
“There’s a few things I’d like to get straight in my head,” Graham insisted in a low voice that brooked no argument.
“Of course, Dad,” Hermione turned to him expectantly.
“Why are we here?” He looked at everyone in turn. “In Australia.”
“Oh, Graham,” Jeanette leaned over and gave him a pat on the hand. “The prices in Sydney were just so dear. Almost as bad as in London…” She caught her husband’s eye nervously as the implications dawned on her as well.
“It’s something to do with that, isn’t it?” Graham pointed an accusatory finger at Hermione’s wand. “How could you? We’re your parents!”
Hermione gulped noticeably. “I didn’t want you to be dragged into the war,” she admitted hollowly. “So many of our close associates were wounded -- or even killed -- in the past year.”
“Why would we be dragged into a conflict that only affected the wizarding population?” Jeanette challenged.
“Because of me. Harry was the primary target, see, but Ron and I were helping him every step of the way.” Hermione was speaking very quickly now. “They retaliated against Ron’s parents and against those who helped relocate Harry’s aunt and uncle. You and Mum would’ve been next.”
“Three teenagers against a whole army? Hardly seems sporting, does it?” Graham observed dryly.
“I think we need to hear everything from the beginning, sweetheart,” Jeanette coaxed.
“Fine, but let me get the tea for once,” Hermione beseeched as she waited for everyone to settle around the table. “Cups in the left cupboard as always?”
At her mother’s nod, she did a complicated motion of her wand. Right on cue, the sound of water pouring into the pot was followed by the gentle tinkling of cups and saucers as a fully loaded tea tray floated through the kitchen doorway. Hermione did not break eye contact until it rested in the center of the table before them. The wondrous expressions on the Grangers’ faces evidenced that their daughter had not practiced much magic before them in the past.
“I’m of age now,” she asserted. “I can perform magic outside of school. Just not in front of anyone who doesn’t know about our world.”
“And since you’re about to fill us in on the goings on of that very world…” Graham noted.
As gently as possible, Hermione outlined the major events of the past year, glossing over many of the grimmer portions that might upset her parents. Ron assisted with the many detours that required background explanation. She faltered only when she was faced with detailing their fallen comrades, at which point, Ron volunteered, “None of us were immune from losses. One of my brothers was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time; many of our close friends and associates as well.”
“I’m so sorry, Ron,” Jeanette commiserated with eyes bright with tears. “I heard similar tales from my grandfather who fought in the Great War. How’s Harry coping?” With a hint of panic she added, “You didn’t leave him alone at the hotel, did you?”
“Nothing as drastic as that,” Ron chuckled. “He’s back in England, staying with my family.”
Hermione explained that after the better part of a year, Harry needed to talk out his woes with someone other than the two of them. Clearly her mother recalled earlier conversations of Harry’s uncertain attempts to date his best mate’s sister by the look she shared with her daughter: the trio had started pairing off.
“So you relocated us in a pre-emptive manner; that I understand,” Graham insisted. “Why escapes me is why you felt this was necessary?”
“It had taken us years to establish that dental practice,” Jeanette issued in support of her husband.
Hermione nodded wordlessly then added in a strangled voice, “Would it have been worth your lives, though?”
“Of course not,” Jeanette shot back. “It’s not like we haven’t been happy here.”
“I know that it must seem like Hermione acted rashly,” Ron spoke up. “But those people were not above taking revenge on anyone who outsmarted them. Random gas explosions were their specialty. Even the house where Harry grew up was destroyed. Luckily, his relatives were evacuated a few hours shy of the ghastly fireworks.”
“Why didn’t you just present this to us before the fact?” Graham protested.
“Because you wouldn’t have agreed,” Hermione returned tearfully. “And we couldn’t spare another pair of experienced wizards to drag you away grumbling like they had to do with Harry’s aunt and uncle.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“Because you would never have believed in the devastation that the Death Eaters could wreak until it was upon you,” Hermione countered. “I know you, Dad.”
“Am I that unreasonable?” he persisted.
“No, just unfamiliar with the realities of the wizarding world,” Hermione allowed. “Muggles of any sort were considered completely expendable! Don’t you recall all those inexplicable accidents throughout the country?”
“You mean those were deliberate acts by these…these maniacs?” Jeanette cried.
“Every one of them,” Ron affirmed. “We can go down a checklist if that will convince you.”
“Perhaps this will help,” Hermione tendered as she withdrew a sizable bank draft in the names of her parents.
“Is this some sort of buy-out?” her father stammered.
Hermione shook her head sadly. “Insurance payment.”
“But this is dated just last week,” her mother countered. “I thought your conflict was resolved long before that!”
“It was,” Ron assured them. “We didn’t know…didn’t find out…”
Holding her chin up bravely, Hermione finished for him, “Until we went to air out the house. Prepare it in case you wanted to return.”
With solemn expressions, Graham and Jeanette poured over the insurance documents. A sharp intake of breath punctuated the moment they reached the photo of the burned out skeleton of their two-story home. On either side, the neighbors’ houses were untouched as if a giant blowtorch “ or trained dragon, Hermione noted darkly -- had been directed at the Granger residence alone.
Before they had a chance to fully recover, Hermione presented her parents with a handwritten envelope. “I promised I would deliver this to you as well,” she explained as she waited for her parents to scan the folded pages contained within.
Dear Jeanette and Graham,
How nice to hear that you are both doing well! I can’t say we haven’t been worried about you “ but this has been a year full of worries on all fronts.
It was a great relief when your lovely daughter, Hermione, was able to fill us in on the details. Must have taken a lot of determination on her part, too, as everyone had scattered to the winds, it would seem. But more on that later.
In retrospect, we should’ve noticed the strain that you were under; Graham, in particular. The constant pinched look about the eyes should’ve been an indicator -- but we were all too wrapped up in our own concerns, I suppose. How well I remember Jeanette railing that he was a mere dentist, not Superman. Not that we couldn’t have used a veritable superhero on staff as you will see.
I should elaborate about that peculiar young man who insisted on booking an appointment with you. Surely, you remember how persistent he was, claiming that you had been recommended by an unnamed friend. I recall how you later told me that despite his broad shoulders and golden hair, his blue eyes were like immutable glaciers. We should’ve put more trust in your intuition.
I tried to reschedule him with one of the other partners after you two left, but he had not given us a telephone number of any kind. Nor was I able to find a listing under his name with the telephone company. But sure enough when the date of his original appointment rolled around, there he was in the waiting room. It was with some difficulty that we convinced this gentleman to see one of the other dentists; there was no other alternative, really.
I won’t go into the details of his dental exam; those are for Davidson to share should he feel they’re significant. It was the disposition of his bill which seemed the most irregular to me. Not only did he request that we prepare it for him immediately, but he returned with a handful of pound notes that very same day to settle it. All singles, if you can imagine it! Tied up in a bundle as if they were kindling. I would’ve thought him a foreigner who was unfamiliar with the local currency were it not for his perfect English.
It was not two days after his visit that the problems began. First it was the metal gears on Davidson’s chair that had corroded seemingly overnight. Then the constant flickering of the electric lights which complicated examinations considerably. Followed by the most disturbing thing of all: a persistent problem with the gas lines. Despite numerous service calls, maintenance workers could not locate the source of the problem, yet their instruments kept showing unacceptable leakage levels. The entire city block was evacuated for a 24-hour period while they cleared the main lines, but that only worked for a short while.
Couple that with the constant disruption of the transit systems. Be it the Underground, trains, buses, even the city streets themselves. Every day it was a new detour that required the tenacity of Magellan to navigate our way to work. Carleton took to riding a motor scooter, the better to negotiate the constant roadblocks; but he’s always been a bit of a renegade. It was as if every terrorist organization had suddenly moved its headquarters to Britain “ or so the newscasts seemed to indicate.
So you can understand why we jumped at the chance to sell the block of offices to investors who wanted to convert them into luxury lofts. It was a generous offer that did not seem to take into account the recent problems. Perhaps once the gas lines were adjusted for residential units, the problems would cease “ or so we concluded among ourselves so we wouldn’t feel guilty for not bringing the matter to their attention.
Needless to say, all these tribulations resulted in widespread cancellations -- business having dropped off to the point where there was barely enough to sustain the remaining two dentists. Luckily, our loyal core customers are slowly returning to our new offices, aided by the current lull in calamities.
Rest assured that the portion of the money that corresponds to your shares has been set aside in a separate interest-bearing account. You can retrieve it whenever you see fit. In the worst case, we would’ve turned over those amounts to Hermione as the rightful heir.
I was so pleased when she managed to find me, apologizing for not having been able to do so earlier. Seems that her boarding school was also experiencing disruptions and students had been barred from outside contact for their very safety. She was so concerned that we may have worried needlessly after your abrupt departure. I assured her that your health was paramount, of that there can be no doubt.
Dave and Carl send their best and remind you that we can always convert the file room into another examination room should you decide to rejoin us. After all, you have a hefty chunk that would more than pay for any renovations or additions that you might wish to make.
I am sending this on with Hermione as she assures me that she will be visiting you in person as soon as her travel plans are finalized. I must say I was surprised to see how she has matured in the intervening years while I have not aged one bit! I still remember her in pig-tails with her rambunctious curls escaping every which way. You should be proud of what a gracious young woman she has become and how well she's managed everything in your absence.
Do send us some photos of the both of you in Australia. They would be just the thing to frame in our new waiting room.
“You didn’t tell her about our house,” Jeanette noted.
“Didn’t discover that until the next day, actually,” Ron admitted.
“I wanted to make sure everything was perfect,” Hermione pleaded. “It was the least I could do…”
“Is everything lost then?”
“No, part of the Compulsion Spell made you both quite diligent about organizing documents and other prized possessions. They were all put into storage before you left. The furniture and old clothing are no more, but photo albums and other irreplaceable items are safe.”
“Sounds like she just reinforced your natural obsessive tendencies,” Graham teased his wife.
Jeanette exchanged a meaningful look with her husband that just made Hermione nervous all over again.
“I know it’s a long shot, but do any of these faces ring a bell?” Hermione inquired as she occupied herself with spreading out a rogue’s gallery of Death Eaters before them.
“Motley crew, aren’t they?” Ron joked as he caught the strained look on the Grangers’ faces.
“We promised the Minister… in return for him facilitating our trip here,” Hermione stammered self-consciously.
Graham shook his head regretfully as Jeanette gingerly picked up one of the glossies and brought it closer to her face. “I think this is the man Rosalie referred to…”
“The tall blonde chap?” Graham posed with mounting interest. “Too bad the photos aren’t in --”
The words froze in his throat as a simple swish of Hermione’s wand colorized the snapshot before their eyes.
“Is that better?” she indicated.
“I’m not certain that’s the word I’d use,” Jeanette replied with a grim set to her lips. “But that’s Mr. Glacial himself.”
Hermione nodded as Ron supplied, “Thorfinn Rowle. Known instigator and acknowledged fire fiend.”
“Explosions in the dead of night were his favorite,” Hermione added then winced when she got a good look at her parents’ pained expressions.
“You know this man?” Graham balked.
“Or just his reputation?” echoed Jeanette.
“A little of both…” Hermione fidgeted.
“Hermione got the better of him in a Tottingham Road coffee shop,” Ron expounded. “Doesn’t surprise me that nutter would seek to even the score.”
Jeanette grabbed her daughter’s arm with concern. “What did he do to you?” she hissed.
Struggling to maintain her equanimity, Hermione replied, “Tried to kidnap the three of us “ although it was Harry they were really after.”
“If this is the sort of lawlessness that’s rampant throughout Britain, I’m not sure I want to go back!” Graham groused.
“Please, Dad…” Hermione implored. “That faction was defeated for all intents and purposes.”
Jeanette’s voice was insistent, “Why the qualifier?”
“Please tell me you didn’t seek us out just so we could testify at this bastard’s trial?” Graham fairly growled.
Taken aback, Hermione sputtered, “Not exactly…”
“At least tell us he isn’t at large!” Jeanette demanded.
“He’s been rounded up,” Ron assured them.
“But we don’t want to lie to you,” Hermione asserted. “There are bound to be loose ends for years to come.”
Ron came to her aid. “It’s not a bleak a picture as you might think. Any who are still free are going to be intent on laying low. We’ve chopped off the head of the serpent, see.”
“With their leader dead, there’s no point in continuing his rampage,” Hermione elaborated. “War criminals always take a while to round up.”
“Yet you came here to persuade us to return with you?” Graham stressed each word carefully.
Hermione raised damp eyes to her father’s stern expression. “I wanted to restore your memories… so you’d know you had a daughter who still loved you… Please tell me you won’t hate me forever,” she begged.
“Of course not, dear,” Jeanette replied as she leaned over to squeeze her daughter’s hand in comfort.
“Would you hate us if we decided to stay in Australia?” her father put forth.
“I’d miss you,” Hermione emphasized. “But I’d understand. Why would you want to uproot yourselves again? I can just arrange for shipment of those things…” She trailed off as she got a good look at her mother.
Jeanette was untying the apron she’d wound around her waist and turned sideways for the first time. Her mother had always enjoyed spending time in the kitchen, even if she’d had to cut corners to accommodate her busy career. Now with a more relaxed lifestyle, it was obvious she’d given into temptation more often than not. On the other hand, Graham had regained the lithe physique of his youth, finally shedding the extra pounds bestowed by too much take-away.
Noticing her daughter’s eyes, Jeanette expounded, “Your father’s finally taken up walking, just like his physician’s been advising him for years.”
“Only here it’s called a walk-about,” Graham added. “Mine are just very modest in scope. There’s something about the very air that’s exhilarating. Haven’t felt this energized in years!”
“Which I suppose is why…” Jeannette hesitated as a rosy blush crept up her cheeks, accentuating the same pale freckles Hermione had inherited.
Graham reached out and tenderly cupped his wife hands. “Hermione, it looks like you’re finally to become a sister. In approximately four months to be exact.”
“So your parents decided to return after all?” Ginny pressed as she helped herself to a lemon tart on the tray before her.
Hermione nodded through a bite of snowy meringue. “Just as soon as Mum finds a replacement to finish out the last of the school term. She’d planned to do that anyway…” She hesitated as embarrassment colored her cheeks.
Catching on immediately, Ron pressed, “Hermione’s folks liked the easy-going pace in Australia. Made them feel young again.”
“So I see from the photos!” Harry raved as he deftly balanced them before him. With a quick turn of his head, he took a bite of the tart that hovered in mid-air.
“That’s not really…” Hermione started but then lost her nerve once again.
“What is it, dear?” Molly piped up from the sink area where the dinner dishes were merrily scrubbing themselves.
Hermione shook her head, feeling especially awkward with all eyes fixed upon her.
“Did your parents give you a difficult time?” Arthur inquired sympathetically.
“Not once they slept on it,” Ron attested. “Decided it was a right adventure, after all.”
“Mum said they’d always rhapsodized about a cottage in the Lake District,” Hermione supplied with a quick change of subject. “Only their careers always seemed to get in the way.”
“That’s not very far from here,” Molly tendered.
“I don’t think Dad’s ready for retirement yet,” Hermione explained. “But there’s no denying that learning to relax has eased a lot of the health problems he was experiencing before.”
“He insisted that they compromise and find a twee cottage near a major train route,” Ron volunteered.
“So he’ll go in a few days a week instead,” Molly surmised. “Are you listening, Arthur? Hermione’s dad has found his healthy balance.”
“Yes, pumpkin,” Arthur conceded as he grabbed the last two tarts and handed one to George. “But only the Minister can set his own hours; Graham’s not really working for someone else.”
Molly pursed her lips in dissatisfaction as she hastened Arthur to follow her into the next room. A small click and the soft drone of the wireless could be heard from the main parlor area. George muttered some excuses before drifting like a wraith up the stairs.
In the warmth of the Burrow kitchen, Ginny imposed, “What’s the rest of it?”
Hermione took a careful sip of tea and countered, “What makes you think there’s more?”
“Because you’re a third-rate liar and Ron’s practically jumping in his chair,” Ginny returned with aplomb.
Hermione’s eyes shifted. “It’s just so mortifying…”
“We’re your closest friends,” Harry urged as the suspense heightened.
“I’ll tell them if you won’t,” Ron dared with a wide grin.
“It’s like I told you earlier,” Hermione stammered. “Australia rejuvenated them both… and, so, Mum announced that she’s expecting another child. Can you imagine that? At her age!”
As the others offered words of congratulations, Molly poked her head past the doorway to summon the teapot. “Please tell me you were more diplomatic to your poor mother’s face.”
Ron let out a huge guffaw. “She was so thoroughly gobsmacked, she didn’t say anything at all!”
“Well, that’s certainly preferable,” Molly harrumphed. “How old is your mother, dear?”
“She’ll be thirty-nine next month.”
“That’s certainly not too old,” Molly insisted as she slid into the chair next to Hermione. “Especially since it’s not her first. Does the thought of being a sister trouble you?”
Hermione shook her curls to the negative. “It was just so unexpected! I know for years they kept talking about another child but somehow it never came to pass. I just assumed the notion had been shelved in favor of other considerations.”
Molly smiled indulgently. “Perhaps all they needed was a little time to themselves -- without any outside influences. So she’s waiting until after the delivery to return to England?”
“They thought it best,” Hermione concurred.
“As much as I’d like to be nearby, I have to agree with them,” Molly approved. “Even a Portkey can add additional stress during pregnancy. I can only imagine the effect of travelling in one of those silver Muggle birds!”
Hermione laughed, much of her embarrassment evaporating under Molly’s no-nonsense approach. “Airplanes can seem overly confining; especially during the endless hours it takes to travel halfway around the globe. The last thing a pregnant woman needs is a panic attack in close quarters.”
“Or an unexpected delivery,” Ron breathed in Harry’s ear.
“I think it’s incredibly sweet that your parents had themselves a second honeymoon,” Ginny affirmed, poking her brother in the ribs in the process. “Ron’s sense of romance is just limited to viewing the animals in the zoo.”
Ron pulled a face amid the ensuing laughter. “It was an animal preserve. Do you see any bars or fake habitats in the photos?”
“You mean you were really this close?” Harry prompted with renewed interest.
“Dad used a telephoto lens but our vehicle was on a dirt track not a stone’s throw away,” Hermione volunteered.
Harry nodded in understanding. “No large predators in Australia.”
“Although those wallabies there can be a right nuisance.” Ron pointed to a group of small kangaroo-like creatures.
“Dad says they wander into people’s backyards on a regular basis,” Hermione interjected. “Help themselves to the ornamentals.”
“I saw a marauding fox in Little Whinging once,” Harry commented. “Can you imagine Aunt Petunia’s face if she found one of these creatures foraging in her flower beds?”
Hermione pointed to a pure white wallaby which stood on its hind legs, mugging for the camera. “You don’t think she might take this lad for the fabled white rabbit? Why he has a ready-made pouch for his pocket watch and everything!”
Harry gave her a put-upon face. “As if my relatives possessed an iota of imagination! More likely, Uncle Vernon would go apoplectic at the muddy tracks it left on his beloved lawn.”
“That’s an overwrought puce color, right?” Ron clarified.
“Yeah,” Harry allowed as he exchanged a quick look with Hermione that acknowledged the obsessive nature of Weasley men in general.
“Not so at the Burrow,” Ginny opined. “Those garden gnomes would’ve speared the ruddy beast!”
“Fur coats for all the she-gnomes,” Ron chortled with abandon.