Our Little Wilkins
Title: Three Months Later: Our Little Wilkins (1 of 2)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows
Characters: Ron, Hermione, Kingsley, Mr. & Mrs. Granger, Tonks
Summary: A small cry shatters Hermione’s illusion that her plans were simple
Notes: The characters of Charlotte and Daniel Granger were first introduced in my post-HBP fic, Meet The Muggles. This story was originally planned as a one-shot, but there’s too much to be said. Right now I’m looking at it becoming a two-parter, although a third section isn’t out of the question. Questions about Hermione’s decisions leading up to Deathly Hallows aren’t easy to answer, and even more difficult to resolve. Although the first names of Mr. and Mrs. Granger are of the author’s creation, all other characters belong to JK Rowling. The lyrics for “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” were written by George Harrison.
Fifteen Minutes Later: After The Flaw / Previous Chapters / Three Months Later: Our Little Wilkins (2/2)
“Good morning, avids,” the scratchy voice of Brian Matthew intoned over the small kitchen radio. “First up today on ‘Sounds of the Sixties’ is Dee Clark with ‘Raindrops’, a Billboard top hit from 1961. After that, we’ll have ‘It Only Hurts When I Cry,’ a song from the 1965 movie ‘Beach Blanket Bingo’ and performed by Donna Loren, and follow that up with the Righteous Brothers’ ‘Unchained Melody,’ a 1955 Todd Duncan tune which was covered by the group in 1965 as a B-side for their single ‘Stuck on You,’ and, obviously, became the more popular of the two.”
“Ah, I love that song,” Charlotte Granger said as she poured a cup of tea from the stove. She was an attractive blonde woman, slightly overweight and with a large overbite. “Always takes me back… Brian doesn’t play it nearly as much as I’d like.”
“Well, that’s Brian, isn’t it?” her husband, Daniel, said as she adjusted her night gown and sat down next to him at the kitchen table. “He loves playing the stuff that even we’ve never heard of. Doesn’t play the hits as often as he could. What’s a seven-letter word for ‘Psychopharmacologist Presciption?’”
Charlotte leaned over Daniel’s shoulder and squinted at the crossword puzzle in front of him. “What letters do you have?”
Daniel Granger took a sip of his own tea before pointing to the line with the tip of his pencil. “One blank… an I… two more blanks… another I… then two more blanks.”
“Hmm… not very helpful, is it?”
“It’s ‘Lithium,’” came a voice from the hall. Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked up to see their only daughter walk into the kitchen, already fully dressed in jeans and a lilac t-shirt.
“There’s your answer,” Mrs. Granger said matter-of-factly as Dan leaned forward and studied the line in question.
“Are you sure?” he said. “It sounds familiar, but…”
“It’s used to treat bipolar disorder,” Hermione explained quietly, her back to them as she dug through the icebox. “It increases serotonin synthesis and decreases the release of norepinephrine.”
As she turned around to face them, she saw Mr. Granger staring at her with a dumbstruck look on his face, while Charlotte just smiled proudly.
“It’s also a Nirvana song,” she continued quietly. “The one cousin Phillip bribed that awful band into playing at…” her voice choked off in mid-sentence, her face turning red as she turned around toward the sink to peel her orange.
Daniel took it as just Hermione trying to remember the event, and piped in. “Uncle Gavin’s wedding!” he snorted, shaking his head.
“See?” Charlotte said, as she stood up and kissed him on the bald spot of his otherwise curly-brown scalp. “There’s not a question in the world our Hermione can’t answer.” She turned back to her daughter. “Good morning, dear.”
“Morning,” Hermione said, still leaning over the sink, trying her hardest to look away from her mother as she poured a third cup of tea.
“Have you started packing yet?” Mr. Granger asked, returning to his puzzle after scribbling the answer into the squares.
“I’m done, actually,” Hermione said, throwing the orange peels into the rubbish bin. “Didn’t take long, most of my things were still packed from Hogwarts, I only had to do my laundry.”
“And your dress?” Charlotte asked. “The one for the wedding?”
“Packed as well,” Hermione said.
“On top of things, as usual,” Mrs. Granger replied, winking. “Well, it should be a lovely time, I can’t wait to see it.”
Hermione’s fingers went slack, and she dropped her orange into the sink. “What?”
“The wedding, silly,” Mrs. Granger said, motioning over to the calendar, where an invitation identical to the one Bill and Fleur had sent Hermione, Harry, and Luna hung, hand-drawn fairies fluttering around its silver and gold paper. “We got the invitation six months ago, I thought they would have told you.”
“No…” Hermione breathed, her eyes locked on the invitation. “No, they didn’t…”
Why didn’t I see that there before? Hermione thought. I must have been so busy making plans for… How could I have missed that?
“Don’t worry about it, Hermie,” Mr. Granger said. “We’ll only be there the day, and I promise we’ll spend most of our time with Molly and Arthur. We’ll leave you, Ron, and Harry to your own during the reception. You’re of age, we won’t smother you.”
“How is Harry, anyway, dear?” asked Charlotte. “Are he and Ginny still dating?”
Oh, God, Hermione thought, barely putting her orange in a small bowl before covering her mouth with her hand. Please stop talking. Please don’t make this harder…
“Hermione?” Charlotte asked, looking down at her daughter’s face. “Are you alright?”
“And be sure to write us when you get to school,” Daniel said, still looking at the newspaper, oblivious to his wife’s concern. “Your grandmother is planning on taking a trip to Italy next June, I want to make sure that…”
“Daniel,” Charlotte said shortly, and he stopped and looked up. “What’s wrong, dear?” she asked Hermione, whose eyes had begun to well up with tears.
“Mum…” Hermione sobbed, and immediately lunged at her mother, wrapping her in a hug that nearly knocked her over.
“Hermione?” Mr. Granger said, standing up and walking to the pair. “What is it?”
“Can we go into the den?” Hermione said quietly. “Make ourselves comfortable? I need to talk to you about something…”
Two tall men flanked Hermione Granger as she walked along in the August sunset, studying the line of houses across the street from a string of railroad tracks. She looked up at the taller of the two men and asked,
“You’re sure this is the right place?”
“It is,” Kingsley Shacklebolt replied, glancing down at the parchment. “Rupert Street.”
“Not much to look at, is it?” Ron Weasley said, wrinkling his nose.
“It’s perfect,” Kingsley said over Hermione’s head. “Nymphadora’s contacts did a good job setting this up.”
“How do you figure?” Ron asked as Hermione slipped a slightly trembling hand into his.
“If you’re trying to hide someone out,” Kingsley explained, looking up occasionally to read the numbers on the houses, “You don’t put them into a large city, a large commercial district. You’d think it would be easier to get lost, but that also means more eyes peering you at you, remembering your face, even on a subconscious level.
“You don’t put them in the middle of nowhere. That leads to little villages where everyone knows your name. You really don’t want many people knowing your name, knowing your face.
“The last place that people think of to look for protected individuals are places like this. Little, indiscriminate suburbs. Mostly industrial, mostly hard-working folks that keep to themselves, rotate in and out so often that they don’t get to know anyone.”
“Which leads us to Tottenham,” Hermione said quietly, the Melbourne suburb that shared the name of their escape route from the wedding a year ago. She had told Ron and Harry that it was just a busy place, the first place she could think of. But all that time, and she was still thinking of her parents.
“This looks like the place,” said Kingsley, pointing to a small, two-story flat. “Are you ready for this, Hermione?”
Hermione took a deep breath, and felt Ron’s reassuring hand squeeze hers. “Yes, I think I am,” she said. “Thank you for coming with us, Mr. Shacklebolt.”
Kingsley shrugged, a small smile crossing his face. “Memory revival’s a difficult thing,” he said. “I’m happy to pick up where Dora left off.”
“But still,” Hermione said as the trio walked up the front driveway, “I mean… to pull yourself away and all…”
“I’m just an interim,” Kingsley said, laughing. “I may know my Auror stuff, but I’m still trying to pick up the details of running the Ministry. Percy knows how to handle things, I’m comfortable leaving him in charge for a few hours.”
Ron snickered to himself, still trying to break the habit of brotherly dislike that had plagued the Weasleys for the good part of three years.
“Besides,” Shacklebolt continued, pointedly ignoring Ron’s outburst, “You helped defeat Voldemort, helped save the wizarding world. I figure the least the country can do in gratitude is allow me to accompany the two of you.”
Hermione blushed, and she looked up quickly at Ron to see that his ears had turned red at the compliment. “Well,” she said, squeezing Ron’s hand as she looked down at her feet, “I appreciate the gesture.”
Kingsley smiled, nodded to the two of them, and took two steps back before Hermione realized that they had reached the front door. She looked back at the interim Minister of Magic, who held his hand out as if to say go ahead. She looked up at Ron, who smiled reassuringly, and shrugged.
Hermione breathed in, lifted her finger, and held her breath as she pushed the doorbell. She heard a pair of footsteps on the other side of the door, and began bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet as nerves began to take over.
The door opened.
“Can I help you?” the woman who answered the door asked.
“Hi,” Ron said, “Are you Mrs. Monica…?”
But his prepared speech was cut short as he saw a bush of brown hair fly past him and into the woman standing across the doorway.
“Mummy, you’re alive!” Hermione yelled in relief as she hugged Charlotte Granger. Charlotte looked down at her, and gave a very confused look to Ron.
“Hermione!” Ron whispered, grabbing a hold of Hermione’s shoulders and pulling her away.
Charlotte looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing. “Excuse me…?” she asked.
Hermione quickly glanced at Ron, her face blazing red. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s not like she’ll remember it, anyway…”
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Mrs. Granger asked, gazing distrustfully between the two. “What was that?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Hermione said, continuing to look down at her feet. “Is your husband home? Wendell?”
“No. He’s not.” Charlotte looked back at Kingsley, her face clearly showing her patience growing thin. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Can we come in, ma’am?” Ron asked, putting on his best professional voice. “It’s terribly important.”
“Why?” Charlotte asked, her lip curling in a small sneer of anger. “What’s so terribly important that this girl decided to nearly tackle me and call me mummy?”
“Ma’am, if we could just come in,” Ron repeated. “We can explain everything inside.”
“No, I don’t think you will,” snapped Mrs. Granger. “I don’t know you. I don’t see any badges, so it must not be anything dangerous. All I see are a couple of teenagers who must be up to something, and a very intimidating man behind them. Neither of which I’m willing to let into my house.”
Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous glances. Hermione in particular looked extremely strained, as she had rarely heard her mother talk with this kind of tone.
“So if you’re trying to sell something,” Charlotte continued, her voice growing louder, “I’m not interested. If you’re trying to pull some prank, no good, I already remember your faces to give to the police. If you’re robbing the place, I have a security system that I can press at any time and have the police here in five minutes. So, please, stop trying to hug me and shove off…”
“Stupefy!”
“No!” Hermione yelled as a blast passed between her and Ron and connected with Charlotte Granger’s chest. As Charlotte crumpled to the ground, unconscious, Hermione spun at Kingsley.
“What are you doing?” she screamed as he stepped over the body and into the house.
“Grab her feet, Ronald,” Kingsley said, slipping his arms under Mrs. Granger’s armpits.
“That’s my mother you just attacked, you…!” Hermione yelled, trying to push Kingsley, but finding no give in his strong body.
“We’d have to stun her for the memory modification, anyway,” he said as he and Ron carried her into the den and laid her on the couch. “This is much easier than attempting to break in.”
“But…”
“Close the door.”
Hermione instinctively did as she was told, then quickly whirled back on him. “Mr. Shacklebolt…”
“Hermione!” Kingsley said, standing up straight and stepping toward her. “You must realize the situation. To modify someone’s memory, to tell them that they’re someone that they’re not, can be difficult. They might not be willing to let it happen.
“But to re-modify someone’s memory, to revive someone’s past, is exceedingly difficult. They don’t remember who they were. They don’t remember why it happened, what or whom they’re being protected from. They will not want to have their memory modified, because they don’t believe that it’s a fake life to begin with. They see us as a threat, and they will fight back. That’s why we do it quickly, do it quietly, do it safely.”
Hermione looked down at her unconscious mother, and Kingsley could see her chewing her lip nervously.
“Hermione,” he said quietly. “You knew what you were getting into when you did this. It’s almost time for it to be over.”
Hermione nodded, her gaze never wavering from the body on the couch. Ron was looking at the unconscious woman as well, but for a different reason. His brow was furrowed in thought.
When Hermione hugged her, he thought. When I pulled her away. I saw something in those eyes.
Was it recognition?
I look at you all; see the love there that’s sleeping,
While my guitar gently weeps
“Oh, God, what am I doing?” Hermione quailed, glancing down at the book on the coffee table and up at her unconscious parents, trying her best to block the BBC from her hearing. “What am I doing?”
I look at the floor; and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps
She reached over for the notepad and flipped through the pages. Line after line of writing, words she had so meticulously written days, weeks ago, passed by her eyes in a confused blur.
Melbourne.
Wilkins.
Childless.
“I can’t do this,” she said, standing up and pacing the living room for the third time since she cast Stunning spells on Daniel and Charlotte Granger a half hour ago. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this…”
I don’t know why nobody told you how to unfold your love
I don’t know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you
Hermione’s vine wand rotated in her fingers as her free hand ran through her hair frenetically. “What was I thinking?” she muttered. “I don’t know how to do this, this is too much, this…”
The doorbell rang, stopping her in mid-step. She quickly realized who it must be, and ran at full tilt toward the front door.
I look at the world and I notice it’s turning
While my guitar gently weeps
“Oh, thank God!” Hermione wailed as she saw the bright pink hair on the other side of the entrance.
Nymphadora Tonks quickly raised her hand. “What name did you say I should give my first daughter?”
“What?” Hermione asked.
“Answer.”
“Oh, right, sorry,” she responded, forcing her mind to come back from the den. “Ummm… it was Athena, wasn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Tonks said, smiling and winking. “Question?”
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps
“Ginny’s favorite face…”
Tonks grinned broadly as her nose widened into a pig snout.
“Now can I let you in?” Hermione said anxiously.
“Absolutely,” Tonks replied, closing the door behind her.
I don’t know how you were diverted
“You were perverted, too,” Tonks sang. “I love George Harrison. Always the Beatle no one gave two shakes about but, God, he was brilliant. He’s my dad’s favorite, too, although Mum can’t stand Muggle Rock.”
As Hermione stepped back into the den, she got a look at her parents again, and gasped as though she were seeing them for the first time.
“Which, now that I think about it, sounds an awful lot like Fraggle Rock,” Tonks continued as she followed Hermione in. “Ah, well. Are they modified? I have the stuff to make their new passports and…”
“Not yet…” Hermione whispered.
Tonks looked at her warily. “They’re not?”
“No,” Hermione continued, her wand continuing to roll in her fingers. “I thought I could do it, but…”
“What happened?” Tonks said, quickly walking over to Hermione’s father. “Did something go wrong? Did you accidentally give them a wipe?”
“No, no, it’s not that…”
“Lumos,” Tonks said as she pulled out her wand, pulling open Mr. Granger’s eyelid and waving the wand in front of his pupil. “His reactions seem fine. What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Hermione said quickly, kneeling down beside her. “I just… Am I doing the right thing?”
I don’t know how you were inverted
No one alerted you
Tonks let Daniel’s eyelid drop, and sat down on the carpet. She looked at Hermione with understanding and, Hermione thought angrily, a little bit of pity.
“Hermie…” Tonks said quietly.
“That’s my Dad’s name for me,” Hermione said, staring hard at her father as tears once again coming close to the surface.
“Sorry,” Tonks responded. “I won’t use it again.”
Hermione shook her head. “It’s not that… it’s just… I can’t stand to think that he won’t remember that name… Remember my name… Remember his name…”
“He will,” Tonks said patiently. “You’ve read up on this. You had to have, or else you wouldn’t have made this decision to begin with. You know how temporary memory modification works. The memories they have of being Daniel and Charlotte Granger won’t disappear like they would for permanent Memory Charms. They’ll just be buried deep. So deep that not even a Legilimens like You-Know-Who could get to them.”
“But we’ll be able to bring them back again…” Hermione said quietly, trying hard to reassure herself.
“Yes, you will,” Tonks said. “Have you made the Imprint yet?”
Hermione shook her head. “I’ve… It’s been difficult…”
Tonks sighed, but nodded her head. “I understand.”
“But I can…” Hermione quickly continued. “I mean, I know how to do it, it’s just…”
“Would you like me to do it for you?” Tonks said, glancing down at her wristwatch. “We don’t have a lot of time, the plane leaves in four hours.”
“Could you?” Hermione said hopefully, hating herself for being so weak, but knowing that, as easy as it was to plan this operation, it was infinitely more difficult to go through with it.
Tonks nodded again and, raising her wand, drew two glowing circles around the brows of Mr. and Mrs. Granger. They hung there for a few seconds, brightening with each passing moment, before slowly rising to the tops of their heads, shrinking into a glowing ball. The glow faded, and two shining jewels, each the size of a golfball, fell onto the sofa.
Tonks picked them up and held them out. Hermione reluctantly took them, and felt their warmth in the palm of her hand.
“Those Imprints, imprints of your parents minds, mean that we can bring them back,” Tonks explained. “We use them to sort out the true memories, the true mind, from the false. There’s an entire area at the Ministry, in the Witness Protection Agency, where Imprint jewels are kept under lock and key. And these will be kept in safer hands than even those.”
“Where are they going?” Hermione asked.
“Gringotts,” said Tonks. “There’s a vault under joint ownership of every member of the Order, where we keep important documents, artifacts, things like that. It’ll be safe there, I promise.”
“Only members of the Order?” Hermione asked. “But then how can I…?”
“Your name’s on the list, don’t worry,” said Tonks. “So are Harry’s and Ron’s. Ginny, too, although she doesn’t become an owner until she comes of age. If worse comes to worse, you’ll be able to get in, even if the rest of us are gone.” She took another glance at her watch and hissed through her teeth. “If I’m going to do this, I should start now,” Tonks said. “You have your notes?”
Hermione nodded and reached over to the coffee table, pulling the yellow steno pad down to the floor with them. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Pack,” Tonks said absently, as she flipped through the pages. “You know how to use packing charms, right? It’ll make things go a lot faster. Make it look… try not to make it too organized. In case anyone comes looking, we want to make sure they think it was an escape.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” Hermione said. As she listened to her orders, Hermione recognized a part of Tonks that came out so rarely around Grimmauld Place or the Burrow: Nymphadora Tonks, Auror.
“Find any papers that might be in the house, too. Passports, birth certificates, anything like that. I’m going to make sure they head straight to the airport after they come to, but just in case, I don’t want them to see anything that will screw with the charm before it’s fully engrained. That includes anything around the house or the car that might have their name on it, or any pictures of you.”
Hermione’s chest tightened at the thought, but she steeled herself and nodded in assent. “How about record albums, or books?”
“Not important,” Tonks said, pulling out a quill from her bag and scribbling in the margin. “This modification’s going to be difficult enough dealing with their past history and the erasure of you. I’m not even going to worry about things like favorite movies, ice cream flavors, whatever. Just find anything Granger, anything Hermione, or anything related to the magic world, and bring them here.”
“Anything else?”
Tonks paused, closing her eyes in thought. “No, that should be it,” she said. “Now get going, and I’ll get started.”
Hermione nodded and, taking one last look back at her parents, jogged into the kitchen and pulled the calendar, along with the Weasley invitation from the wall as the small plastic clock radio clicked to 8:45.
I look at you all see the love there that’s sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
“Should we have a look around the place?” Ron asked. “See what kind of flat your Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins like?”
“Stay here,” Kingsley ordered, noticing an appointment book sitting next to the telephone.
“Why not?” Ron shrugged, sitting down in a fluffy chair across from the couch. “We haven’t got anything else to do until Mr. Granger comes home.”
“Because it’s impolite,” Hermione said quietly, looking down at her hands. “We’re intruding enough as is, I wouldn’t feel right…”
“There’s nothing in here about Wendell being out of town,” Kingsley said, flipping through the book. “Or anything about any doctor’s appointments, anything like that. Most likely he’s just at the grocers, should be back at any time.”
“Good,” Hermione said, pulling the two Imprint jewels from her pocket and staring at them. “I want to get this over with.”
“It will be easy enough once he gets here,” Kingsley said, flipping idly through the pages of the book. “You’ll have your parents back before you…” He stopped in mid-flip, and his brow furrowed as he read one of the pages.
“What is it?” Ron said, standing up. “Something wrong?”
Kingsley closed the book, keeping his finger in the page, and read the front. 1998 12-MONTH APPOINTMENT BOOK, it stated in gold lettering. He opened the book again and, flipping back to the page in question (September 15th), re-read it, looked up at the two teenagers.
“This can’t be right…” he said.
“What is it?” Hermione said, standing next to Ron.
“September 15, 2:30 PM,” Kingsley read. “Dr. Andrews. Check-up for Hermione…”
“What?”
Before he could say another word, Shacklebolt was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.
“Monica!” the voice of Daniel Granger said jovially from the entryway as the door closed behind him. “I’m back!”
Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, and Hermione noticed that Kingsley was once again pulling his wand from his robe.
“I bought some mint chip ice cream for dessert,” Daniel said as he turned the corner into the den, one hand cradling a bag of groceries, “and some bananas for… Who are you?”
“Stupefy!” Shacklebolt yelled, pointing his wand at Mr. Granger. Instincts got the better of him, though, and Daniel was able to dive out of the way, the jinx missing him by inches.
“Dad!” Hermione screamed.
“Who are you?” Daniel screamed as he hid behind the chair where Ron had been sitting minutes before. “What did you do to my wife? Where’s Hermione? Help! Help!!”
“Mr. Wilkins, calm down!” Ron yelled.
“Dad, please calm down!”
“Where’s Hermione?” Daniel continued to holler. “I swear to God, if you hurt her…”
“What’s he talking about?” asked Ron to Hermione and Kingsley. “What does he mean, ‘Where’s Hermione?’”
“Stand up!” Kingsley yelled, his voice booming authority. “Stand up, Wendell Wilkins, right now!”
“Take whatever you want, just don’t hurt them!” Daniel cried from behind the chair.
“We won’t hurt them if you would just stand up!”
Daniel Granger stood up slowly, staring at the trio with a mixture of fear and hatred.
“Now,” Kingsley said, his voice lowering. “If you would just calm down for…”
“Who are you?” Mr. Granger asked, glancing over at a small end table next to him, perhaps wondering if he’d be able to pick up the decorative vase in time to throw it at his attackers.
“We’re here to help you,” Hermione said.
“Stupefy!” Kingsley said, and this time the jinx found its mark. Mr. Granger's legs buckled under him, and his head hit the table as he fell to the floor, the vase shattering on the ground a second later.
“Oh, God, Dad,” Hermione moaned, running toward him. She pulled out her wand and was preparing to deal with small cut on his forehead when an ear-splitting wail erupted from somewhere in the house.
Ron and Kingsley both looked around anxiously. “Security alarm?” Ron asked.
“No, I disabled it when we came in,” Kingsley said.
The wail took a breath, then continued its onslaught.
“Is that…?” Kingsley muttered, walking slowly toward the stairs.
“Oh, no…” gasped Hermione.
“Ummm…” Ron stammered as the baby’s screams continued to echo through the house. “This… this complicates things, doesn’t it?”
He looked nervously over at Hermione, whose wand fell from her hand as she fainted on top of her father.
Fifteen Minutes Later: After The Flaw / Previous Chapters / Three Months Later: Our Little Wilkins (2/2)