This fic is actually book two of my fic, "Cursed" (.net/s/4601682/1/Cursed). Book one is twenty-five chapters long, and I anticipate that the second part will be close to that length by the end. I plan to finish this fic in two parts. In this book, there will be romance. Eventually. I promise.

Thanks to all of you who have waited patiently for the second book. I truly hate to keep you waiting. I will do my best update frequently. Please encourage me by reviewing, it is the best motivator to know that people are reading and waiting for the next chapter!

And now, without further ado, I present... chapter one.

Chapter One: Wendell and Monica Wilkins

Hermione Granger sat on the new squashy sofa by the window with a book in her lap, massaging her temples. She had been reading all morning, and now even the faint ticking of the clock in the hall made her head throb. Hermione groaned and uncurled her legs from under her, tossing the book on the floor. She lay on the couch with her arm over her eyes, trying to shut out the light. A light breeze blew in under the gauzy curtains she had hung, making a stray curl tickle her face.

Harry was running the shower upstairs. The old pipes protested as a magically-enhanced stream of water rushed through them. Hermione had quickly grown tired of the trickle of water that used to slosh out of the showerhead and had spent an hour researching plumbing charms the night before.

Since returning from Australia, Harry had been trying to erase the memories from Grimmald Place with aggressive repairs and redecorating. Hermione had helped him order new furniture and fix the creaky stairs. She had researched everything from self-hammering nails to chimney-sweeping spells. The only part of the house left untouched was Siruis' old room.

In one week Harry and Hermione would return to Hogwarts to complete their seventh year. Harry didn't have do it. The Ministry had guaranteed him immediate placement in the auror program. He had told them that he wanted to earn the right to be an auror, just like anyone else. Hermione wanted to believe that Harry was going to take his studies seriously for the first time in his life, but she suspected that it was only pride and his intense dislike of fame that had kept him from accepting the Ministry's offer. He had never had any qualms before over accepting grades that Hermione earned for him. She had finally asked him about it, warning him that she wouldn't be writing essays for him anymore.

"I know, Hermione. I probably should have just taken the spot in the auror program," he said, "School will be a nightmare this year. Snape's Headmaster, and with the whole school acting like I'm a god, he's going to hate me more than ever. I'll probably be expelled. But I couldn't start auror training. I still don't even really understand how I defeated Voldemort! Everyone sees me as this invincible, deadly wizard with powers the Dark Lord didn't have… but they're wrong. I don't know anything."

Hermione agreed that Harry was not ready for auror training, but she reassured him that he was the best defense student Hogwarts had seen in years. Hermione was glad that Harry was returning to Hogwarts. He was the only friend she could depend on. Having recently broken up with Ginny, they had spent a lot of time together since Snape's recovery from the curse.

"I just couldn't have the same fight again," Harry had said the night of the break-up, when he came to Hogwarts, "She's crazy! She'll tell me that she thinks Ron was wrong, but she expects me to act like nothing happened and 'get on with life'. Well I can't! Padma's still there, you aren't, and Ginny always takes Ron's side! She never would have let him get away with being such a selfish prat before…"

Before Fred was killed, thought Hermione. Harry was right. The Ginny she knew would never have condoned Ron's behavior, or accepted Padma so easily. Hermione knew she shouldn't play psychologist with her friends, but she got it from her mother. It was her mother's overly confident analysis of other people's relationships that prompted her to bluntly share her opinions, often making things worse for the people she was trying to help. So, Hermione tried to keep her observations to herself.

Hermione thought that a break was just what Harry and Ginny needed. Ginny had decided not to put Harry before her family, which was cutting him out of her life. Even though Harry had long been considered an adopted Weasley, he had been separated from the family by Fred's death. The seemingly tight-knit Weasely family was now trying to repair the bonds that had been broken and neglected over the past years. Percy was back, and Bill and Charlie visited much more often.

Harry was no stranger to loss, but he could not imagine what it was like to try to repair the fabric of comfortable, everyday life together because he had never had a home like that.

In the end, Hermione had simply told Harry not to give up on the Weasleys, especially Ginny and Ron, and asked him if he would come to Australia with her to find her parents.

"Ron was supposed be the one to go with you," Harry had said darkly, "Did you ask him?"

Hermione sighed. Harry was about as sensitive as a rock.

"Ron and I aren't exactly on good terms, or haven't you noticed? Besides," Hermione couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice, "He's probably forgotten about that by now."

The next day, Harry pulled some strings at the Ministry and got them a portkey for a 'vacation' in Australia before returning to school. Luckily, Kinsley Shacklebolt was able to do it discreetly and Hermione was spared the fiasco of the Prophet, specifically Rita Skeeter, spreading the rumor that she was Harry's new girlfriend.

Hermione had visited Ron and Ginny before she left. Sitting in the Weasley's kitchen drinking tea, she told them that she and Harry were leaving in two days to look for her parents. Ron fumbled his way through an excuse, turning red. He had promised George that he would help him get the shop back up and running that week. Hermione might have reminded him of the time he had held her while she cried and promised to help her find her parents, but she was only able to swallow with some difficulty as the memory of Fred filled the silence between them.

Ginny had been a mess that day, her hair pulled back carelessly into a ponytail, wearing a faded t-shirt with a hole in the shoulder, one of Bill's old band shirts. There were graphic fanged teeth on the front with the words, "Vampire Ire" and "Bite me".

"I hope they're okay, and that you find them soon, Hermione," Ginny said, staring determinedly at her teacup, "I wish I could come with you… but that's impossible now."

It was then that Hermione was finally convinced that Ginny really loved Harry. She had expected Ginny to be angry after the breakup. Ginny had flippantly broken a few hearts before Harry noticed her, falling quickly into relationships with boys like Dean and dropping them when it wasn't fun anymore. What could be more romantic that believing you were destined to be with your childhood crush and would never be able to love anyone else? Ginny had professed that belief more than once to Hermione, who had tried not to scoff at the idea.

Hermione didn't believe in fated love. She still thought divination was a load of crock, and even though wizards believed in prophecy, she remained a skeptic.

Hermione wondered what it was like to have your heart broken, to feel like half of your soul was missing, or however it was supposed to feel when you suddenly lost 'the one'. She glanced at Ron and tried to imagine what she would have done if they had had a real breakup – or even a real relationship. Would she have been like Ginny, lifeless and deflated?

Hermione and Harry went to Australia. It was easy to find her parents. They were the only two dentists in Australia with the last name 'Wilkens'. They had their own practice and a sleek website complete with photos of themselves. Hermione had cried when she saw them on the computer screen at the Muggle hotel where she and Harry were staying. They took a bus to her parents' office and watched it all day. Her father arrived in the morning and left around five. Harry and Hermione hid in the back of his car under the invisibility cloak, using Muffliato to hide their breathing. Her father parked the car outside of a two-story brick house. Lights were on inside. They waited a few minutes and then climbed out of the car and crossed the street.

Crouching under the invisibility cloak, Hermione stared at the house. She could feel Harry looking at her. Her throat was dry, and her mouth seemed to be glued shut.

"Hermione?"

She swallowed.

"What, Harry?'

"Aren't you – er – going to… you know…"

"Of course I am, Harry, I just need a minute!"

Harry was silent and the minutes stretched on. Her father would have turned on the news, like he always did when he got home. Her mother was probably tossing a salad, making pasta, and pouring herself a glass of wine.

Hermione made Harry hide behind a shrub row to take off the invisibility cloak. Then, she crossed the street.

"Hermione!"

Hearing Harry's urgent whisper, she looked back and frowned at him.

"Do you want me to wait out here?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and motioned for him to follow her. She hadn't brought him to Australia to stand in the yard while she faced her parents alone. He joined her on the doorstep a few minutes later. Hermione rang the bell. Muffled voices and footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door. The door opened just enough for the slim figure of her mother fill the space between door and frame.

Hermione froze. She had been ready to offer a polite greeting, but when she saw her mother standing there in her favorite jeans and cozy cardigan, her bushy hair pulled back in its usual neat bun, she could not speak. Harry coughed, and nudged Hermione with his elbow.

"May I help you?" her mother said. Her sharp eyes had caught Harry's not-so-subtle encouragement, and she looked warily at Hermione, waiting for them to explain their presence.

"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am," said Hermione, "We lost our cat, and I think it's gone around the back of your house. I'm terribly sorry, you're probably at dinner already, but he's not supposed to be out of doors, and he's been known to devastate gardens for the fun of it."

Hermione was not a good liar, but her mother's eyes softened a great deal once she realized that they weren't selling anything. She glanced at her flower beds.

"I see. Of course we'll help you find him. If you wait just a moment, I'll get my husband and his gloves to help us."

"Thank you," said Hermione. Her mother left the door open a crack and walked back into the house, calling for her father.

"Good work, Hermione," Harry said softly.

Her parents came out seconds later, her father carrying his work gloves.

"Lost a cat, have you?" said her father, pleasantly enough, but she knew he was annoyed to have the news interrupted, "what's he look like?"

Hermione quickly described a small, grey kitten. When she finished, he chuckled.

"I hope Crookshanks hasn't mistaken him for a mouse and eaten him!" Hermione tried to look appropriately curious and worried.

"Our cat," her father explained, "enormous, orange, and perpetually ravenous."

"Oh, Wendell, stop it!" Her mother shook her head. "Crookshanks is inside, sleeping, and he wouldn't hurt a fly."

Her father led them around the side of the house.

"So, you're from England, like us," he said conversationally as they walked, her mother following behind them.

"Er – yes," said Hermione.

"Where do you come from? Brother and sister, I take it?"

"Actually, no, just friends, visiting before school starts again. I only just moved here."

Her father glanced back at them, and seemed to communicate something to her mother, who smiled slightly.

"Huh, I didn't know there was anyone new in the neighborhood," he said lightly, but Hermione's heart beat faster. They had reached the back of the house, full of flower beds and a small garden, as Hermione knew it would be. Her parents loved gardening.

"Well, go ahead and call him," said her father. Her mother simply stood with her arms crossed, looking around the yard.

Hermione began calling the imaginary cat and walking about the yard. After a few minutes with no results, her parents and Harry started poking around as well.

"I guess he's not here," Hermione said, wondering how she was going to get from that to, "Hi Mum and Dad, I'm the daughter you don't remember you have. You see, I'm a witch, and I erased your memories so you would be safe, and so you wouldn't get me and my friends killed while we tried to save the world."

Suddenly, an orange blur shot past Harry. The kitty door was still flapping when Crookshanks flopped down in front of Hermione and rolled over her feet, purring loudly. Hermione gasped and jumped back. Crookshanks immediately sat up, and with a meow launched himself at Hermione's chest, giving her no choice but to wrap her arms around him and let him rub his head on her shoulder.

Her parents were staring openly at her now, as was Harry. She laughed nervously.

"I think he likes me. Crookshanks, was it?" She patted his head. She didn't dare try to put him down while his claws were embedded in her shirt.

Her father took a step toward her.

"Okay, boy, let her go."

He expertly unhooked Crookshanks from Hermione's clothing and tossed him back inside the house. Then he stood by the door and looked thoughtfully at Hermione.

"I'm sorry about that, and I hope you find your cat." He walked over to where she and Harry stood and offered his hand. "Good luck, kids." He shook Hermione's hand. He was sending them away already. This was it.

"Actually, sir," she said, but her father interrupted her.

"You know, young lady, you could pass for my wife's sister. The resemblance is uncanny."

Hermione gulped.

"Er- actually" she began.

"Ah, but I'm wasting your time! You've got a kitten to find, best be going! No telling where he might be by now."

He began to usher them around the side of the house. Harry followed him reluctantly. Hermione stopped walking. Her mother stopped beside her.

"Is something wrong, dear?"

Her father turned around.

"I – I… there's something I have to tell you, Mr and Mrs, uh," she realized that she wasn't supposed to know their names, since they hadn't told her. Her father took a step toward her, looking concerned, glancing back and forth between Hermione and her mother.

"The truth is I, uh," said Hermione, trying to slip her wand out of her sleeve, suddenly unable to remember any of the script she had prepared.

Her father stood in front of her, patiently waiting for her to speak. He took her mother's hand. Hermione could see Harry behind them, trying to make eye contact with her. If she didn't speak soon, Harry would. She didn't want Harry to do that.

"Hermione."

She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. It was her father's hand. Stunned, she looked up at him.

"Dad?"

Hermione's mother let out a sob and smothered her in a hug.

"You stupid, stupid, girl," she chocked out.

Hermione was dazed. Her mother's embrace was making it hard to breathe. Her father wrapped his arms around them as well, but was the first to step away.

"How long have you known?" she asked, looking at him, whether trying to determine whether he was holding back tears or anger.

"Three months," he said quietly. He was definitely angry, Hermione decided.

Her mother wiped her face with the back of her hand and dabbed at her eyes.

"Mum, Dad… I can't believe it… how much do you remember?"

"Everything!" said her mother, "I suppose you thought you would just come here and make us remember it all again and it would all be ok? Without giving us the chance to discuss anything with you! You drugged us and then cheerfully informed us that you might die fighting a war!"

Her mother was now hysterical. Telling her parents the truth before she modified their memories might not have been the best idea, but after Hermione had given them a calming draught (which was apparently was more potent for Muggles than for wizards), they had been so compliant that she had told them everything.

So now they knew all about her fears and her doubts about her task, about her crush on Ron, her willingness to die fighting Voldemort, Harry's prophecy, and the danger she had been hiding from them since her first year at Hogwarts. Thinking she might never see them again, she had made the mistake of being completely honest with her parents.

Hermione, Harry, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger went inside. The four of them had very quiet dinner, her parents asking a lot of questions about the war and saying little in response. After dinner, her mother asked where they were staying and offered to drive them to get their things, but Hermione had brought everything they needed in her beaded purse. Harry got the sofa, and Hermione took the guest room. They all went to bed early, but Hermione could hear her parents talking long after they retired to their room across the hall. She waited until she was sure they were asleep and snuck downstairs to talk to Harry. He was still awake, reading a Quidditch magazine by wand-light. She sat down beside him and sighed heavily.

"So… they're angry?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione said. She fell asleep on the couch while Harry read. Her mother woke her early the next morning.

"Hermione, what are you doing down here?!" she whispered loudly, standing over her, "Are you dating him?"

She pointed to the floor, where Harry slept with a throw pillow under his head. Hermione groaned and jumped off the couch. Her mother followed her into the kitchen.

"Well?"

"No, I am not dating Harry! We were just talking last night and I fell asleep on the couch. He should have woken me up."

Her mother was making tea.

"Oh? What were you talking about?"

"Nothing," said Hermione, "Actually, we didn't talk much. I just didn't want to be alone."

Her mother didn't say anything else until the tea was done, and she placed a cup in front of Hermione.

"I'm so happy you're back, Hermione" she said quietly, but her voice shook. Hermione knew she was on the verge of tears. She walked back to the sink, leaned on it, grasping the counter, and looked out the window.

"For over three months, I've wondered every day whether you were dead. I didn't dare contact anyone in Britain because I thought it would put you in danger. I had nightmares that those evil wizards brought your dead body to taunt us before they killed us. I dreamed these things every night for three months, Hermione. I've been through hell wondering if my only daughter was still alive, knowing all the while that she would rather die than give up magic, would rather die than live a normal life with her family. If I had known that your teachers placed so little value on your life, you never would have set foot on that damn train, let alone in a school I can't even see! But I trusted them, McGonagall and Dumbledore. I trusted the man who sent you to hunt a mass murderer! You're a child! A child, Hermione!"

Hermione was now crying too.

"I thought you would understand," she said, "I told you about the prophecy… about Harry… he couldn't go alone…"

"Prophecies!" exclaimed her mother angrily, throwing her hands in the air, "First you ask me to believe in magic, and now prophecies! Do you believe in god now, as well? Why not? If you had asked me before all of this happened what I thought was more likely to exist, wizards, or god, I would have said god!"

Hermione's parents were atheists. Hermione had never understood why they were determined to completely rule out the possibility of a higher power. Before Hermione had known about magic, she had thought she might be able to perform miracles like the saints the Catholic girl that lived two houses down had talked about. For a brief period around age nine, Hermione had been terrified that god would make her work for him and she would have to tell her parents that they were wrong after all.

Her mother took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. Right now is not the time for this. I'm sorry I upset you."

Hermione sipped her tea and nodded. Her father came downstairs and sat across from her.

"Good morning, Monica, Hermione," he said wryly, opening the paper.

Hermione tried to smile at him.

"Stop it, Jim," snapped her mother, "it's not funny. What possessed you to use their names, Hermione, I'll never know…"

"I - I guess I didn't want to give you new names," Hermione said, "Because that would mean I didn't think I was coming back."

Monica and Wendell Wilkins were her mother's cousins who lived in America. They were professional clowns. Her mother didn't like them because whenever they came to visit they overstayed their welcome and were always asking for money.

"I happen to like our names, Ellen. You're looking more and more like a Monica these days."

"Humph. In this house, I answer to Ellen, and I refuse to use the name Wendell in reference to anyone with half a brain, Mr. Wilkins."

Her father laughed, "Everyone at the office thinks you're crazy, you know, ever since you told them that my nickname is Jim."

Her mother answered him with a short laugh as she sat down, but did not smile.

Her parents later explained that it was their fake names that had helped them recover their memories. Hermione's mother began to feel that she hated her name, but she didn't know why. For months, she had flinched whenever someone called her 'Monica'. Finally, she remembered that she knew a Monica, and eventually it came to her that it was her annoying cousin from America. Two days later, all of her memories were back. It had taken her two weeks to convince her husband of the truth, during which he had tried to take her to a shrink. The return of her father's memories had been triggered by seeing Hermione's mother cradling Crookshanks in her arms by the window. It had been one of his last memories of Hermione.

Harry stayed with the Grangers for a week, and Hermione was grateful for his company while her parents were working during the day. They went sightseeing and spent three days exploring the wizards' shops in Sydney. Australian wizards wore much brighter robes than those in Britain, and it seemed that patterns were currently all the rage down under. It was nice to be away from her parents' house, and to be distracted from her thoughts.

Ellen and Jim, however, were not very gracious hosts to Harry. Hermione knew they wanted to have a real discussion with Hermione, or rather a full-blown argument, but they couldn't do it in front of Harry. Harry was her buffer.

Her father ignored Harry for the most part, but was cordial when forced to acknowledge him. Her mother talked to him more often, but her conversation was laced with thinly-veiled hostility. At the end of the first week, Harry told Hermione that he was leaving. Hermione agreed that it was time for him to go. She could not avoid her parents forever.

Harry left Saturday morning. Her parents waited until Sunday afternoon to confront her. What they said was not what Hermione had expected. They wanted to talk about her plans for the future. Hermione had already told them that she would finish her seventh year at Hogwarts, but she had no real plans after that. Further study, an apprenticeship, perhaps, but she had not yet decided which subjects she would continue, and whether she wanted to teach.

"What do you mean, you haven't decided yet? Hermione, if you had gone to a real school you would already know these things! You would have planned it years ago! Are there no wizard universities?"

Hermione explained that Hogwarts was one of the most prestigious schools of magic in the world, and that by the end of her seventh year she would have completed roughly the equivalent of a year or two at university in the Muggle system.

"After that, there are training programs for all kinds of careers, for example, Harry has to go another three years in the auror program after he graduates, and then he'll be guaranteed a job at the ministry."

Hermione didn't mention the fact that Harry was guaranteed a job doing anything he wanted, thanks to saving the world from Voldemort.

"Hermione," her mother said, "This is not about Harry. You don't want to be an auror. How are you going to make a living as a witch?" She laughed a little, "Stand over a cauldron all day, brewing magic potions?"

"Ellen," her father intoned gently, silencing her, "Hermione, what your mother is trying to say is, we are concerned about your future. You have so much promise, such a brilliant mind – such an academic mind – that it seems like it would be wasted by living as a witch."

Hermione felt like she had been slapped. Her parents had always supported her desire to live as a witch and integrate into the magical world.

"Wh- what? Wasted? Dad, I don't understand."

"We think you should apply to some Universities. Think of the opportunities you would have once you graduated!"

"What opportunities? A Muggle degree is about as useless in the wizarding world as a wand would be to you!" Hermione was getting angry now.

"You might not always want to live as a witch," said her mother sharply, "it might become too dangerous. There might come a time when you have to live in the real world, and then where will you be? Hermione… you could do so much with your life. You could make history!"

Hermione laughed.

"I've already made history! Have you been listening to what Harry and I said all week? We're so famous we can hardly go out in public!"

Her mother sighed and looked at her father.

"Hermione, in the real world," she noticed Hermione's raised eyebrow and corrected herself, "In our world – you will never accomplish anything. You will not exist. This is the world that matters, the world of the un-magical masses! Where are the wizard scientists, poets, philosophers, and artists? What great things have wizards contributed to human history? Will you ignore the rest of the world like the wizards do? You could do anything you want, anything… things we ordinary humans can only dream of… you could change the world."

Hermione knew that her mother was thinking of her own decision to become a dentist. She had always regretted not studying literature and chasing her dream of becoming a writer. Hermione didn't challenge her mother, she just sighed.

"I've helped save the world already. Isn't that enough?"

That silenced them on the subject for the evening, but the next night her parents asked her to consider a compromise. They didn't want her to cut all ties to Muggle society. They wanted her to go to university, make Muggle friends, and get some distance from the war and the fame that followed her in the magical world. Hermione said she would think about it, but she never really considered it. She could not live as a Muggle. It would be like living every day with one arm tied behind her back and her eyes closed. She had no desire to make a name for herself in the non-magical world. International fame as a witch was more than enough.

The week was filled with long silences. Hermione yearned to be back at Hogwarts. She hated the house in Australia. She hated the way her parents looked at her, the way they watched her. She was a stranger to them. She had never told them the whole truth about her life as a witch. Hermione had felt like a stranger to her parents for years, but now they felt it too. At the end of the second week, Hermione told them that she was going back to London to prepare to return to Hogwarts.

They accepted it without argument, but they were disappointed. They did not understand why Hermione wanted to reject their world completely, and they thought it was foolish to do so. To them, she was not a witch. She was a Muggle who happened to have magical abilities.

Her parents said they would not move back to Britain immediately, but they expected to return by the time Hermione finished at Hogwarts.

"I'll write regularly, I promise," said Hermione, hugging them goodbye.

Her mother rolled her eyes.

"Of course you will. You always write regularly, Hermione. Well, I hope this year will be as uneventful as always, only this time, please let it be the truth!"