The next few weeks were a flurry of activity as Hermione, Ron and Harry prepared to fly halfway across the world. There was a lot to be organised – passports, plane tickets, permits for them to practice magic in a different country, and the most important thing of all – how they would actually find Wendell and Monica Wilkins.
All Hermione had to go by were their names, and the country they were in. She had no idea whereabouts in Australia they were, or if they had continued to work as dentists, or decided to do something else. It had been just over a year since she had sent them away – and as she had learnt, a lot can happen in a year. She had some vague ideas about how she would find them, but it was going to be difficult.
Barely three days after they had decided on their course of action, Hermione took the boys to get passports. She already had one, from various trips to France with her parents over the years. Ron had travelled overseas before, but by magical means, so he didn’t have one.
Ron was fascinated by the photograph on his. He had seen Muggle pictures before, but he couldn’t get over the idea that it was him this time, standing there absolutely still. He stared at it that night, flicking it occasionally and tipping it every which way, trying to see if it would move.
‘It looks like a mug shot,’ Harry said jokingly, leaning over Ron’s shoulder to look at it. Hermione laughed, glancing up from the letter she was writing.
‘No one’s passport photo ever looks good,’ she said. Ron scowled.
‘I’ll have you know I look very handsome,’ he said haughtily. ‘And what’s a mug shot anyway?’
Hermione smiled, turning back to her letter as Harry attempted to explain to him the ins and outs of the Muggle criminal system. The letter was addressed to the International Board of Magical Co-operation, applying for their permits to use magic whilst in Australia. The Ministry had to verify that the three of them were trusted citizens before letting them perform magic in another country. It was a little silly, Hermione thought, because if anyone could be trusted, it was them.
She had booked their plane tickets already – Harry had gone to get his gold exchanged for Muggle money the previous day. Hermione had gone along, biting her lip anxiously as he withdrew an enormous amount from his vault. She hadn’t wanted Harry to pay, really, but there was no other way. And he refused to listen to her protests, insisting it was nothing. Which, to him, it was – the amount they needed barely touched his fortune. Still, she was determined to pay him back one day.
She had tactfully found something else for Ron to do while they were in the bank, because he would have been even more embarrassed than she was at letting Harry pay for their trip. She had gone later to pay for their tickets – they were flying out in two weeks time. It was a little sooner than she would have liked, but the other option was to wait three months. They had only gotten in so soon because of a cancellation.
Harry yawned loudly. He had given up trying to explain what mug shots were to Ron, and stood up, glancing at the clock. It was just past ten. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he said. ‘Big day tomorrow.’ When the other two looked at him questioningly, he shrugged. ‘Kingsley wants to meet with me. Oh, I can deliver the letter in person, if you like,’ he said, nodding at the parchment Hermione was just sealing. ‘You never know, maybe it’ll go through faster if they realise it’s for us.’
Ron snorted with laughter, obviously doubting Harry’s pull in the Ministry, and Hermione handed the letter to him. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Have a good night.’
‘You too,’ he said, his voice drifting back down the staircase as he climbed up to his bedroom. Hermione moved her quill and ink aside and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. She still had so much to organise before they left. She needed to find a Muggle library in the next few days, and use a computer to try to track down her parents. It would have been easier if they were magical – a few spells would have found them. Since they were Muggle, however, she had to find them the Muggle way.
It was unbelievably stressful, trying to arrange so much in just a few weeks. Perhaps she should have waited three months before flying out. Even as she thought it, she knew she wouldn’t. It wasn’t just that she needed to bring her parents back to their old life – it was that she missed them horribly. After everything that had happened, all Hermione wanted was to see them again – to have them hug her and tell her that it was going to be okay, that she had done the right thing. Mr and Mrs Weasley had been lovely, but it wasn’t the same as her own parents.
‘Are you okay?’ Ron asked, getting up from his lounge and crossing the room quickly. Hermione looked up, and then realised that she was crying. She wiped at her face angrily. It was so silly of her to cry over this, when she was going to see her parents in just a few weeks anyway.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, taking a deep breath and busying herself cleaning up the table she had been using to write her letters. Ron caught her hands, holding them tightly in his own as he sat down next to her.
‘Don’t cry,’ he said, scrutinising her with wide, worried eyes. ‘It’ll be okay. We’ll find them.’
‘I know,’ Hermione whispered, looking down at her lap. ‘It’s just – I – what if we don’t? I don’t know. I’m being stupid.’ Another tear rolled down her cheek, and Ron tentatively pulled her into a hug.
‘You’re not,’ he said, as Hermione leant into his shoulder, taking deep, shaky breaths. ‘You’ll find them, Hermione. You’re not the cleverest witch in Britain for nothing.’
After a few minutes, she regained her composure, and sat up straight. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said thickly, wiping at her eyes and smoothing down her bushy hair. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have –’
Ron put his hand over her mouth, abruptly cutting her off. ‘Don’t apologise,’ he said. ‘You have every right to be worried.’ She nodded mutely, and he chuckled. Removing his hand, he leant over and kissed her softly, his mouth lingering on hers. A shiver went up Hermione’s spine, but then he gently let go of her waist and stood up.
‘We should get to bed,’ he said, stretching. ‘It’s late.’ He kissed her once more on the forehead, and walked slowly over to the staircase. Hermione followed him, flicking her wand behind her as they climbed the stairs. The room behind them plunged into darkness.
‘What is that?’ Ron breathed under his breath, as Hermione led him into the foyer of the library. She shot him a sharp look; they had talked about this. He was in Muggle London now, meaning he couldn’t reveal his ignorance of unmagical objects. The solid metal doors of the lift must have confused him – he was used to the old-fashioned ones of the Ministry.
‘A lift,’ she muttered back. ‘Like ours. Now be quiet.’ She smiled at the old man next to them, who was also waiting for the elevator to reach their floor. Thankfully, he seemed to be partly deaf, and hadn’t heard their exchange.
She knew it had been a mistake taking Ron to the library. If he didn’t break the International Statute of Secrecy, then he was at least going to scare a few Muggles. But Ron had refused to be left at Grimmauld Place while she and Harry went out, and he had wanted to see a computer more than he had wanted to visit his family.
Once they got upstairs, Hermione used her library card to book an hour on a computer. Her card hadn’t been used for almost ten years, so the librarian gave her a funny look as she showed them to a computer. Ron gazed around him in wonder.
‘Don’t touch,’ Hermione whispered as he reached for the computer. She wished fervently that they hadn’t had to do this in public, but it wasn’t as if she knew anyone with a computer. She would have liked to go home to use her parents’, but she was pretty sure they would have sold the house. She hadn’t been there since they left, so she had no idea.
They sat down on the swivel chairs, Ron still looking around with interest at the people using the other computers next to them. Hermione gave him a sharp look, switching theirs on. She wasn’t an expert at using computers, but she knew enough to get by. She loaded the internet, deciding to start with the obvious – dental practices. Of course, there were hundreds in Australia, and thousands of dentists. She clicked around a few websites fruitlessly, looking for something that might aid her search.
‘Wouldn’t there be a national database of all the dentists in Australia?’ Ron asked, leaning over her shoulder to see what she was doing. ‘Or maybe one for each county.’
‘State,’ she corrected him. ‘They have states in Australia. But that’s a good idea.’
After several more minutes of searching, she came across the website for the Australian Dental Association. It had a bit of information about practicing dentistry in Australia, and she made note of the fact that her parents would have been able to work straight away, being residents of Britain. Then she found the phone number for the association. She looked at Ron, amazed. ‘You’re a genius,’ she said. He shrugged.
‘No need to sound so surprised. So if there is, will they be able to tell you if Wendell and Monica Wilkins are working as dentists in Australia?’
‘I think so,’ she said slowly, reading the information on the screen. It seemed you had to be registered with the association to work as a dentist. ‘Pass me a pen and paper, will you? I have a phone call to make.’
Twenty minutes later, they were back outside, blinking in the bright light after the dullness of the library. Hermione had copied down the phone number, and was hoping that they would be able to tell her if her parents were working in Australia. This was a long shot – there was no guarantee they would be, but it was the best lead she had.
Now, though, there was the problem of finding a phone to call overseas. In the end, she and Ron decided to use a phone box – it was going to cost her a fortune in Muggle money, but there was no other option. They went to the bank and withdrew a heap of her savings in coins, and then proceeded to the phone box down the road.
‘So, how do we do this?’ Ron asked, picking up the receiver and looking at it dubiously. Hermione made a tutting noise and took it away from him, putting a bunch of coins into the slot and dialling the number for the international operator.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said, putting the phone to her ear and waiting as the automaton connected her through to Australia. She dialled in the number, and listened to it ring. Ron chuckled.
‘Breathe, Hermione,’ he said, and she let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Then the other end picked up.
‘Australian Dental Association, Sharon speaking,’ a woman’s voice said with an accent that was clearly Australian. Hermione smiled; it all seemed so much more real now.
‘Um, hello. My name’s Hermione Granger. I’m looking for my ... parents,’ she said. They had decided it would be easiest just to tell the truth. If they questioned her last name, she could always say she was married. ‘They moved to Australia from England last year, and I’m having some trouble getting in touch with them. They’re dentists, you see, so I thought maybe you could look them up on your database and tell me if they’re working in Australia. And where they are, perhaps.’
‘Of course I can, love,’ Sharon said cheerfully. Hermione sighed with relief. She had wondered vaguely if that would be considered confidential information, but apparently not. ‘Hold on, I’ll put you through to someone who can help you.’ There was a pause, and then a clicking noise. ‘There you go, dear. Good luck!’
‘Thanks,’ Hermione said, and then there was another click, and a man’s voice spoke up.
‘Hello, I’m Darren,’ he said. ‘Now, you’re looking for your parents?’
‘Yes,’ Hermione said, giving Ron’s hand a squeeze. He squeezed it back, looking at her worriedly. He had no idea what was happening on the other end of the line, so Hermione gave him a bright smile. ‘Their names are Wendell and Monica Wilkins.’
‘Okay,’ he said, and she heard the noise of someone typing in the background. ‘Now, what state do they live in?’
‘Er, I don’t actually know,’ Hermione said ashamedly. He chuckled.
‘That’s no problem. If you’ll just hold on one sec ...’ There were some more typing noises, and Hermione held her breath again, interlacing her fingers with Ron’s, as he gave her an excited look. ‘Here we are,’ Darren said finally. ‘I have three Monica Wilkins, unfortunately, and two Wendell Wilkins. However, there’s one dental practice where both of them are working. I presume that would be it?’
‘Yes!’ Hermione cried. ‘Oh, thank you so much! May I have the address?’
He gave it to her, and Hermione wrote it down on the piece of paper that contained the phone number. Adelaide, South Australia. Quite a way from Sydney, which was where they were flying to. But what did it matter? She had an address now, a place where her parents would be.
She bade Darren goodbye, after thanking him profusely. She hung up the phone, and several unused coins clattered out of the slot. Ron grinned at her. ‘That was easy,’ he said. Hermione beamed and threw her arms around his neck. Ron hugged her back, laughing.
‘I’m going to see them again!’ Hermione cried with delight. All her worries seemed to have evaporated once they had an address. All she had to do now was go to them, reverse the memory charm, and then she could bring her parents home, getting a holiday all in the same deal. It was so simple.
However, when they arrived back at Grimmauld Place that afternoon, Harry had some news for them. He had just returned from his meeting with the Minister of Magic, who had requested a favour of them.
‘Well, in the Wizarding World, news travels fast,’ Harry began, sitting down at the kitchen table. ‘The Australian Ministry of Magic have found out that we’re planning a trip to Australia, and he wants to meet with us personally.’
‘Why?’ Ron asked, utterly bemused. Hermione laughed, taking off her jacket and hanging it on the coat rack.
‘Don’t be dense, Ron. Britain isn’t the only country who has heard of Voldemort, you know. We may not be as famous there as we are here, but they still know who we are.’
‘Kingsley said he’ll want to congratulate us,’ Harry added, as Ron’s expression cleared up and he went a shade of pink instead. It was still new for him, being so well-known. Harry was used to it, having spent his whole life in the spotlight, and Hermione had managed to adjust without too much trouble, but Ron was having difficulties.
‘Well, that’s fine,’ Hermione said, unconcerned. It was to be expected, really. Harry hesitated, and she frowned, sitting down opposite him. ‘What?’
‘He also wants us to make a speech in front of the Australian Wizarding school,’ he said, glancing quickly between Hermione and Ron to see how they would take it. ‘You know, tell them what we’ve done, and inspire them or something. I said I’d have to ask you two first.’
Ron scowled. ‘Make a speech? In front of an entire bloody school? Not likely,’ he said, sitting down next to Hermione.
‘Why not?’ she asked him. ‘It can’t be that difficult, surely. You’ve made speeches before, Ron.’
‘Not in front of Australians, though,’ he groaned, slumping his head down onto the table.
‘What’s wrong with Australians?’ Harry asked, amused. Ron shrugged, muttering something inaudible. Hermione rolled her eyes.
‘Stop being so immature, Ronald,’ she said. ‘It’ll be an amazing opportunity, to see how a school on the other side of the world operates. I wonder if it’s anything like Hogwarts? I wonder if they’ll let us look around at the classes and things ...’ she trailed off, deep in thought. Harry grinned.
‘Come on, Ron,’ he said. ‘It’ll be a piece of cake.’
Ron sighed, lifting his head off the table. ‘Fine,’ he grumbled. ‘Tell Kingsley we’ll do it.’
Hermione grinned. ‘Cheer up,’ she told her boyfriend. ‘It’ll be fun. Don’t tell me you’re not looking forward to meeting some Aussies.’ With that, she grinned at them both and headed upstairs to start penning her speech.