Harry Potter did not want to speak ill of the dead, although he was cursing the situation that he had been put into. He was on the plane on his way to Australia.

He recalled the battle of Hogwarts, a bloodbath that it was. He doubted that the stains would ever get out of the walls.

It was done however, Lord Voldemort was gone, and Harry was free of that obligation. He had accepted this mission because it would get him out of the country for a few days, a nice change of scenario. The non-stop Floo Calls and Owls asking him what to do next was positively scary. Harry wondered how these people could find a clean pair of underpants without constant direction. It made him appreciate Dumbledore in some twisted way.

Harry held the parchment in its hand, the last will and testament of someone who he had went to school with for seven years of his life, who he knew, and now she was dead, slain in the Battle of Hogwarts. It was ugly, Harry would spare himself the details, cut ear to ear, across the throat like she was nothing and to many, she was nothing. In a year, no one would even remember her name, she would be just one of the countless who died in that Great Hall and to be fair, she was not the only one.

He held it in his hand.

Dear Harry,

Should I die out there, once it's all over, if you live, I want you to remove the blocks that I put on their memories. And I'm sorry if I was ever a burden to you, but I ask you this one last thing. Remove the blocks, and tell them that I love them and I'm sorry for doing this. They would not approve and I was ashamed of what I had to do. And if I'm dead, perhaps I deserve it.

Harry thought that was a bit harsh but he did not envy anyone being put in that position. She made a snap decision which haunted her every day for the past twelve months. How much her parents knew about that world, Harry did not know, he never asked her.

Harry could tell that it would be a long time before the Ministry of Magic would be up to anything that resembled functional and that meant functional by the standards of the Ministry.

She died, likely trying to fight a battle that she knew she might not win. Books weren't everything, ironic given that she died in a library.

Harry did what he did, he moved on, but he knew that he had to do this one thing if he could put her to rest, along with the rests of them.

He smiled, the sun rose up, indicating a new day, a new promise, so not all was dismal and he made his way to the apartment complex which she stashed her parents in.

Harry knocked on the door and he waited for anyone to answer. He did not have to wait for any longer as the door opened. Harry was blown away as the woman answered the door.

She could have passed for someone in her early to mid-twenties, even though she was in her late thirties. Her chocolate brown hair extended down past her shoulders and she had brown eyes, warm and delightful. Her bust was contained in a black t-shirt that strained against her obviously flat and trim stomach. The pair of tight workout shorts enhanced her delightful legs and she was wearing no shoes, to see her feet along with her elegant arches.

"May I help you?" she asked him.

"Monica Wilkins?" Harry asked and there was a second where she looked at him, a bit bewildered immediately.

"Yes, I'm Monica Wilkins," the woman "Monica" said as she looked at Harry, it was almost like she saw him somewhere before but she did not know where. He was the most handsome young man with the most bewitching set of green eyes. They were like emeralds, green and gorgeous and she had found herself spellbound on him.

"Is your husband home, Wendall?" Harry asked and the woman looked at him, with a surprised glance.

"Wendall left….we divorced a year ago, it's a wonder that we even got together in the first place," "Monica" said crisply and there was a sense of bitterness in her voice.

'Well this might complicate things just a little bit,' Harry thought as he shook his head.

"We felt compelled to pack up and move to Australia and we barely got here before we decided to call it quits," "Monica" said as she looked at Harry. "We were married for eighteen years, May 1979 and…..I can't even remember why we got married."

"I know this is going to sound weird," Harry said and the woman looked at him, wondering why it would sound weird. "Your name is Charlotte Granger, your husband's name is David Granger, and you had a daughter, who died just a week ago."

"Monica" or Charlotte rather, looked at Harry like he had grown two heads.

"I know this is weird, but your daughter sent you to Australia because she was targeted by a Terrorist and she modified your memories," Harry said, realizing how crazy it sounded. Because unless you knew about the magical world, it sounded like he was a complete nutter.

"Right," the woman said sarcastically, wondering if someone escaped, there was a mental hospital about two towns down.

Harry decided that forgiveness was a lot better to ask for than permission, so he decided to lift up the Elder Wand. He had left a fake copy in Dumbledore's tomb, making everyone believe, including Dumbledore's portrait, that he put the wand back like a good little boy scout. He figured that if anything could undo his friend's mental blocks, it was the Wand of Wands.

Charlotte Edwards-Granger felt a rush of memories over the past eighteen years come back to her and Harry prepared to catch her, because she went into a dead faint shock, her head landing against his chest.

To Be Continued.

So going to do a few of these micro-series fics to test the waters to fine tune them(which is what I should have done Inheritance in and not try and shoehorn it into the standard format that I use, but that's too late). I had fun with the first one that I did, the Supergirl/Galatea story.