It was winter in Perth, Australia, or in other words, a very fine day. The clean, utterly normal office buildings on the edge of the suburbs would soon be closing for the evening. Inside one of these buildings, a block made of glass and pink stucco, Dr. Monika Wilkins, DDS, had one more appointment. It was with a new patient named Carolus Balaur, newly arrived in the country from Romania and in need of a routine checkup.
It was not the kind of appointment that should have changed her life. But Carolus Balaur was not her new patient's real name.
Unseen outside Wilkins Family Dentistry, "Carolus" had just arrived. As he did, in the British countryside the hand of Arthur and Molly Weasley's kitchen clock labeled "Charlie" moved to point to the sector marked "dentist" for the first time.
"Dad better notice," Charlie said as Hermione apparated beside him on the pavement behind the dental office. "Mum only put the 'dentist' bit on the face of it to tease him about his Muggle hobby. But look at me now, actually here. He'll be delighted."
Hermione smoothed his hair, pulling a tiny leaf out of it from when he'd scrambled into a shrub trying to meet a new lizard friend. Yes, Charlie was enjoying his stay in Australia quite a lot.
"Delighted?" she laughed at him. "Honestly, Charlie, I've never seen anyone so excited to be going to the dentist."
He cocked one eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be? You're the one who said I had nothing to worry about here."
"And you don't," she rushed to say. "It's simple healthcare, but still...My parents. My parents who don't remember me. They have – instruments."
"Instruments? Like ukuleles or horns?"
She frowned. "No, more like mirrors, and – and hooks."
Charlie raised both of his eyebrows. "Hooks?"
Hermione boosted herself onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Oh, just tiny ones. And they do their best to be gentle with them. They probably won't try to give you a needle – "
"Probably?"
"I am sorry, Charlie," she said, wrapping both of her arms around one of his. "But there's no other way for us to meet them in private. And I need to be the one doing the talking so I can't have Mum rooting around in my mouth. You have to be the patient, and so they'll let me come back with you, I have to be your interpreter."
Charlie patted her hand. They'd been married slightly over a year. It wasn't a long marriage yet, but it was enough time for him to know that Hermione never went about things the easy way. Today, that meant reconnecting with her long lost, memory spell damaged parents through this needlessly ornate plan to accost them in their dental surgery.
"One last time," he said, going over the plan to calm her nerves. "We've told them my name is Carolus Balaur, from Romania. My English isn't great so you, the lovely Mrs. Balaur, need to come along to interpret for me."
She was nodding rather frantically. "Yes. That's it. So your job is to be your gracious self and to speak only in Romanian. And use no magic. None, Charlie. Do you hear me?"
He gave a sharp nod, answering with a clipped, "Da!"
"Excellent, Carolus. Now let's be on our way. How do I look?" She turned her face up to his, blinking rapidly.
He bowed his head to press his forehead to hers, brushing her nose with his. "Unforgettable," he said, and kissed her gently, for just long enough for her to even out her breath.
When he pulled away, she was almost smiling. "Come on then," she whispered.
She threaded her arm through his and Charlie let his frame droop against hers. "Are you being friendly, or holding me up?" he asked. "Am I meant to look unwell when I'm at the dentist?"
She hummed. "No, but it's alright for you to look anxious, even reluctant."
He nodded. "Should I make a show of resisting?"
"No, of course not," she laughed.
It was a relief to hear her laughing.
She said nothing of it, but it was herself Hermione was holding up with her grip on Charlie's arm, clinging to it as they stepped into the clinic and the smell of the place engulfed them. The scent of latex, antiseptics, artificial fruit and peppermint - this was her parents' smell. Her body reacted to it, her cheeks flushing and her eyes stinging as if she might cry.
It could have been overwhelming if Charlie hadn't deliberately distracted her with more silly questions, whispering them in English until she shushed him through gritted teeth.
Hermione sang out a greeting to the lady behind the counter. "Helloooo. Carolus Balaur for Dr. Monika, please."
An assistant appeared and led them back to an exam room. Charlie paced once around the chair, "What do we have here? Looks like a restraining device right out of Azkaban."
"No more English, darling," Hermione reminded him. "Have a seat, nicely now. It won't hurt you."
Charlie sprang into the chair. It creaked and listed like a badly made rowboat.
"Char–Carolus!" she scolded. "Easy."
Outside the tiny exam room, the clinic was busy, noisy with suction and running water, whirring unseen machinery it was best Charlie didn't understand. Hermione stood beside Charlie's seat in the Azkaban armchair and strained to discern voices in the racket. She was listening for her parents for the first time in years, and her eyes were stinging again.
Charlie needed more distractions and he craned his neck toward the wall of windows, twisting in the chair, looking out at the trees planted along the street. There was a pair of black and white birds in them, chattering to each other.
"Look, Australian magpies, love," he whispered. "They're different than our Eurasian ones."
Hermione sighed and shuffled obligingly to the window. "Brilliant. I hear the magpies here are much more vicious than ours too."
Charlie caught her by the waist and pulled her to stand next to where he sat, her arm draping around his shoulders, their heads level enough for him to tip his against hers.
"Vicious? Must be a misunderstanding," he said. "We'll introduce ourselves to them on the way out. They'll be lovely."
She turned to smile at him. "My creature curator," she said.
He held her tighter, teasing. "That's the main reason everyone comes to Australia, isn't it?"
She clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes.
"Just relax," he whispered against her neck. "You're going to see your mother, and talk a little. At this point, she expects nothing from you. So it's not like much can go wrong. We're just evaluating where your spell has left them so we can decide on a next step. If you decide you don't want to try the De-bliviator here today, that's perfectly alright. We'll find all the excuses we need to come again and again."
Hermione blew out a breath. "Maybe I should have booked the appointment with my dad. Less emotional. No, harder to read. No - I don't know, Charlie."
A laugh rang out from just outside the exam area. It was her – Ann Granger, who thought she was Monika Wilkins. She was coming.
"Breathe, Hermione," Charlie said, easing out of their embrace.
Monika rounded the corner, eyes down, reading a chart labeled with Charlie's very odd pseudonym on it, singing out in exactly the same cadence Hermione had used to greet the receptionist, "Hellooo!"
She was talking quickly, eyes still down, reading from the chart. "Carolus? Is that right? Coming to us from Romania. Lovely to meet you," she said, glancing up from the paper, extending a hand in greeting, but finding Charlie already holding someone else's hand. "Oh," she said, "you've brought a friend."
"I'm Hermione," she blurted. "Hermione Granger Balaur. We're in Australia to meet my - my parents."
The explanation was not at all appropriate. Hermione stood blinking at Dr. Monika, reeling with the chill of the lack of feeling in the stare her mother returned. The memory charm was heartbreakingly good.
The dentist spoke. "Charmed."
She nodded to Hermione and then ducked her head to have a better look at the patient, trying to make sense of the strangeness of the room. "Right. Does Carolus speak no English?"
Hermione shook her head, more frantic than ever. "Yes! Yes, that's exactly it. I'm his wife. And his interpreter. Sorry - I'll just - sit over there until you – you need me."
Monika rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the awkwardness of the young lady in the corner. "Alright, Carolus, we'll get us through this. Romanian? Nu ma nu ma eie, and all that. Well, you can trust me and your Hermione. Now then, open up. Excellent, lots of room to work in here."
The authority, the conciliation in Dr. Monika's dentist voice was not unlike a motherly tone, and it left Hermione sputtering, unable to begin any kind of small talk. She heard her own patient kind of impatience in the doctor's sigh as Monika took control of the light conversation herself. "In the country to meet the parents, yeah? After you've already gone and got married in Europe?"
"Yes, it's not ideal timing. But better late than never," Hermione choked.
"Easy, Carolus," the doctor said when he squirmed. "Nothing to be nervous about."
The room fell silent again. Charlie groped after Hermione's hand, jarring her back into conversation.
"It was a bit of a whirlwind romance and wedding," she continued.
Monika hummed, neither approving nor disapproving.
"Very small ceremony. In a registry office," Hermione said, sounding more and more like she might be apologizing.
Monika hummed again, her face hovering over Charlie's gaping, spearmint-y mouth.
"We have a lot to make up to my parents, actually," Hermione said, her voice quavering at the end.
Monika tsk-ed. "I'm sure they'll understand in time."
"You think so?" Hermione said. She squeezed her eyes closed as she asked. "Have you got children of your own?"
Monika made a noise between a scoff and a laugh.
"Oh, I'm sorry. How crass of me to ask – "
"No, no," Monika said. "If you can't be candid with the person elbows deep in your husband's mouth, where can you be candid? No, I'd make an old mother now. And somehow, whenever my husband and I sit down to contemplate children, we both end up confused and wind up talking of something entirely different. It's rather uncanny, almost like a curse – "
"More like just a spell – "
Carolus interrupted her by trying to clear his throat, but with his mouth wide open, it was more like a shout.
Monika seemed used to it and kept on talking. "Whatever it is, I suppose it's the universe's way of telling us it's not to be."
With that, Monika sat back and peeled off her rubber gloves with a snap. "Your teeth are remarkable, Carolus. Not a filling in them, even at your age. Though it does look like you've still got all your wisdom teeth. Might become a problem so I'd suggest extracting them as soon as we can arrange it, before it devolves into a crisis."
She sat back on her wheeled stool, looking at Hermione, waiting for her to interpret the news. But as their eyes met, Hermione froze, forgetting every word of Romanian she'd ever known.
Charlie tugged her hand. He was speaking quickly in Romanian, his voice trailing up at the end, like a question.
Hermione shook herself. "Yes, Carolus, darling. That's exactly what she said. Thank you, Dr. Wilkins, for your excellent English diction. He's getting you all on his own."
Monika set her face in an expression Hermione recognized as amused and disbelieving all at once. "Right. Then he should be able to follow our instructions while we get him x-rayed. I'll send my assistant back for him in a mo."
Monika was standing up. "We'll talk about those wisdom teeth once I've had a proper look at the x-ray films. I'll be back in ten or so."
For the moment, she was gone, leaving Hermione to deflate where she stood beside Charlie in the Azkaban armchair. He wiped at his mouth. "She wants to pull out one of my teeth?"
"No, four of them."
"What?"
She took his face in her hands. "Did you hear her say my name, Charlie? She didn't stumble at it, didn't ask where it comes from, like everyone does. She just said it, naturally as if it was her own."
He gripped her by her shoulders. "Hermione, you've got to stop feeling your way through this. You need to remember your plan, and think. I will come back here with you until all of my teeth are gone, if we have to. But if you feel like you're up for it today, I am willing to help you un-cast the memory spell."
He was right. There were decisions to be made and they were running out of time for today. If she took too long, took too many visits to learn what she needed to, Charlie would be toothless and she'd still have no parents.
She drew her wand, the De-bliviator still nested against its handle. The switch was already in the on position. They were so close, close enough for the thought of failure to be real and terrifying.
Charlie pulled her close, her wand and the De-blivator glowing red between them. "Whenever you're ready, love," he said.
At that moment a man's voice sounded through the clinic. Hermione raised her head to see Wendell Wilkins, who didn't realize he was Tim Granger, walking past, looking ahead, calling out, "Can I bend your ear, my dear?"
He was heading to his office and taking Monika with him. Hermione gasped at the sudden sight of him. He seemed so perfectly himself, darling and docile under a tuft of frizzy hair. When last she'd seen him, it was brown. Now it was almost completely grey, as if something in him, something he couldn't access with his conscious mind, had been suffering all this time.
She broke from Charlie and ran on her tiptoes behind her parents. Charlie caught up to her as she stood outside the closed door of their office. She looked up at him, her eyes blazing.
Charlie was just about to speak when, back at the Azkaban armchair dental exam room, the assistant was calling for Carolus, ready to take his x-rays.
Hermione clutched his hand and dashed through the door.
Inside, Monika sat primmly in Wendell's lap in a massive leather desk chair. They both turned to look as Hermione came tumbling into the room, brandishing her wand.
Wendel blinked hard, not quite in recognition. "Can I help you?"
The De-blivator flashed red above Hermione's grip on her wand, its light growing as she spoke the spell that had sent her parents away, making them oblivious when she was still their little girl. The sound of her voice was caught in the red light, flipped, reversed, and was flung at her parents where they sat in each other's arms.
The red light was fading, an electrified silence filling the office in its place. Across the desk, Tim and Ann Granger, who now knew they were Tim and Ann Granger, stared dumbfounded at their daughter. She was older now, clutching what they remembered was a wand in one hand, and holding desperately to the hand of a vaguely familiar red-headed man with her other hand.
No one spoke.
The dental assistant arrived. "Oh there you are, Mr. Balaur," she was saying to Charlie. "No, not in here. The x-ray unit is right this way – "
"Never mind, Tina," Tim Granger said, his voice oddly low and distant. "You can go home for the night. We can take this patient from here."
—------------------
Three Years Later
It was March in the Canadian Rockies, in other words, a fine day for people properly dressed in layer after layer of warm clothes. Charlie Weasley had made good on his promise to take his in-laws on a ski trip to Banff. The only condition was that they all go skating on Lake Louise, as a family.
"Look at the pair of you," Charlie called out to Tim and Ann as they came gliding toward him over the frozen lake, hand in hand. "You're natural born skaters."
"Not really," Tim said. "Years of practice. When we were in dental school, we couldn't afford lift tickets more than once or twice a ski season, so we took to skating in our poverty."
The ice squealed against Charlie's blades as he spun around to look back at Hermione, scuffing and fighting her way onto the lake to join them. "Really?" he marveled.
Ann laughed. "Yes, we've failed our daughter there, haven't we? I wish I could say at least we made her into a good skier, but..."
"Oh, I'll go rescue her," Tim said. Ann released his hand and he pushed off to take Hermione's and bring her to the rest of the family.
Ann stroked closer to Charlie, reaching up to squeeze the tiny shoe dangling over his shoulder. "Look at Nan's favourite girl, so tall up on her Daddy's shoulders this morning. Look at you. Look at your rosy little cheeks."
The little girl sitting on Charlie's shoulders leaned toward her grandmother, reaching with both arms and demanding to be let down with English surprisingly good for someone so small.
"No, you've got to stay put, Minnie," Charlie said. "The ice will make you fall right on your little helmet-ed head."
"Oh look, Minnie," Ann said, ever the master of making distracting conversation. "Here comes Mummie with Granddad."
But at the sight of her mother, Minnie fought harder than ever to get down on the ice, fruitless as it was.
Hermione was already tense and snapped a little when she saw the trouble Charlie was having. "Minerva Jean, you stop pulling Daddy's hair and be a good girl."
"Look Minnie," Tim tried. "Look at the big mountains all around. So pretty, and they're full of bears."
"Bay-ohs?" Minnie chimed.
"Yes, big black ones and huge brown ones too."
"Stop, Tim," Ann scolded.
"What?" Tim protested. "She's not scared. Our Minnie's her father's daughter. She'd love bears."
"Yes, but they're all asleep right now. Hibernating – "
Charlie was through arguing the whims of a toddler. He winked at Hermione and leapt forward. In a burst of speed, he and Minnie were a streak of puffy coats and red hair, racing away over the lake. They could still hear Minnie's voice but it was squealing with laughter now, cheering them on.
As the morning went on, and Minnie had borne all she could, her father set her down on the ice on the soles of her little bladeless boots. Each of her grandparents took her by the hand and towed her to the lakeshore for a hot chocolate and a sweet pastry called a beaver tail. Though there were absolutely no beavers in them. Hermione had already asked.
His hands finally free, Charlie took hold of Hermione, both arms around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ice and spinning in a slow circle.
She ducked her face into his shoulder. "Careful, Charlie. I'm still a bit nauseated."
Charlie cooed his sympathy, still holding her close. "You're doing too good of a job of hiding it from Tim and Ann. I don't think they suspect a thing yet."
Hermione looped her arms around his neck. "I didn't want to announce it by vomiting all over one of the most picturesque locations on the globe anyway. But I will tell them tonight, at dinner."
Charlie kissed the top of her head, laughing softly. "They'll be so pleased. Grandchild the second."
She hummed sleepily but happily against his chest.
"Right," Charlie said, decisive as he swooped an arm behind her knees and lifted her into a bridal hold, carrying her across the ice toward the bench where Minnie and her grandparents were waiting.
As they came closer, Ann stood and cupped her mouth, shouting to them. "Careful, Charles. Mind you don't fall on Minnie's new baby sister out there."
Hermione gasped, her eyes wide. Charlie laughed. These parents of Hermione's – they knew. Of course they already knew.