AN: Hanna, lovyuuu 2!

You guys were really upset with me for what I did with Hermione and I totally get it. I'm upset with me, too.

Still not beta'd. Leave a review to let me know the good, the bad and the trashy.

Fijne Koningsdag, als je nederlands bent. And remember: zonder water, zeker een kater.

Enjoy!

If there was one thing the Ministry of Magic thrived in it was putting up a front, and even that was failing. By the time Arthur Weasley found his way to his department he had been bowled over by a delirious mailman, walked into by two sleep-deprived interns and cried on by a faceless Unspeakable. The last one especially was a surprise.

The unspeakable had stood next to him in the lift in that slightly creepy way that Unspeakables always stood until Arthur had commented on how nice the weather had been the day before - "You can really tell spring is here!". The cloaked figure had looked at him in surprise (at least that's what he thought it was, it was hard to tell with the whole hidden identity thing) and had grabbed onto him, soaking the front of his worn-out suit with tears. Arthur froze up, unsure of what to do. Finally, he had decided to pat the figure on the back, like he would one of his kids.

"Chin up," he'd said, silently willing the lift to move faster. "This, too, shall pass. You'll see."

The Unspeakable had straightened, sniffling pitifully. The lift doors slid open revealing pure and unadulterated chaos on the other side. The figure looked between the hallway and Arthur, head swivels obvious even with the enchanted cloak. They reached out and patted the Weasley on the shoulder, straightened their back and walked out like a rookie warrior heading out to their first battle.

Arthur had stood there, wondering what the world was coming to if that was how an Unspeakable entered the archives. Nothing ever happened in the archives!

When the war ended the Ministry had been one bad omen away from descending into hell. Even now no one quite knew what to do with the paperwork that had been left by the wayside or with all the laws that had been passed under Minister Thicknesse.

The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office was an oasis and Arthur sunk into his chair with a relieved sigh. A pile of papers was waiting for his attention. Shrugging off his jacket, the ministry picked up his quill, ready to start his work.

There was a knock on his door. Arthur groaned. "Come in."

"Daddy," Ginny quickly closed the door behind her. "Can we talk?"

"If this is about Quidditch, puppet, then you know my stance on it," Arthur said. His wife and his daughter had been arguing about the girl's future career for years. Molly was the old-fashioned sort, she believed a girl should be married and have children as soon as possible. Arthur snorted. With how openminded his youngest child was it was no wonder they clashed so often. He waited for Ginny to plead with him as she was wont to do, but nothing came. His daughter was fidgeting, biting on a nail.
"This isn't about Quidditch, is it?" Arthur frowned. "What's wrong, Ginevra?"

She swallowed and straightened her shoulders. When she met Arthurs' eyes there was something in them that reminded him of the day he'd first realized what kind of prejudiced world they lived. A young muggle-born witch had been found, stuck in a petrificus totales and beaten to death, 'mudblood' carved into her forehead. It had been all over the papers, everyone he knew was talking about it. His mother had sat him and his brothers down and explained, with righteous fury as hot as dragons flame, the difference between right and wrong - and that no son of hers would ever do wrong.

A chill went down his spine.

"It's about Hermione," she said.

For the first time in weeks, there was an argument going on in the Burrow that Hermione herself was not part of. It had started when Mr. Weasley had come home. She'd been on her way to the kitchen when she heard him step out of the floo, had heard Mrs. Weasley put down whatever she'd been clanging around with and welcome him home.

"Sit down, Molly," Mr. Weasley commanded, "We need to talk."

"What's this about Arthur." Mrs. Weasley sounded confused. There was a dual scraping of chairs being slid back. "Did something happen in the Ministry?"

Hermione had sneaked back up the stairs, deciding to leave the pair to discuss in private. She recognized that tone from her own parents. It sounded like it was a family matter., and while she lived in the Burrow she was not a Weasley.

She'd barely made it upstairs when Molly had screeched.

"You can't do that! Ron will never agree to this. And think about Ginny, the poor girl will be devastated. No. I refuse. This isn't right. I will not let you do this to my babies. We just have to wait, everything will be back to normal soon. You'll see. They just need some-"

"It's already been arranged," Mr. Weasley's voice was laced with steel. "While I've been looking the other way for years, Molly, this ends now."

"Get back here, Arthur. Arthur!" There was panic in Mrs. Weasley's voice. "I won't let you do this. You have no right!"

"I have every right," Mr. Weasley roared. The whole Burrow shook. "As the head of the Weasley family, I am well within my rights, through law and magic, to send my children wherever I damn well please. For someone so stuck in those pureblood ways you grew up with, I'd think you'd appreciate me exercising my magic given rights. Move aside."

"If you do this it will ruin everything I've worked for," Mrs. Weasley pleaded. They were standing by the staircase, Mrs. Weasley blocking her husband from going up them. "Please."

"I said, move aside," Hermione had never seen Mr. Weasley look that cold, "or I will remove you myself, Ms. Prewett."

Mrs. Weasley gasped, then slowly slid out of Mr. Weasley's path.

The man ascended the stairs, footfalls loud on the creaking steps. Hermione was frozen, watching him come up. On the landing, he turned his attention to her. She flinched.

"Hermione, pack your bags," Mr. Weasley shuffled her towards her room and handed her an envelope.

Hermione hesitated. The man still looked angry, furious even. For the first time, Hermione realized how much Ron actually looked like his father.

"I'm sorry, sir. If I did anything wrong. Please, I have nowhere else to go."

Mr. Weasley looked at her, his eyes softening. "I'm not kicking you out, my dear. We're just going on a trip. We leave as soon as possible."

"A trip," Hermione blinked, willing herself not to feel relieved yet. "where to? Sir."

"We're going to Australia."

The air was different on the mainland, though Harry was unsure of how to describe the difference. Everything was different. The sky was less grey, the clouds looked fluffier, and the buildings here were more colorful. The people were different, too.

It had been two days since the circus had arrived in Amsterdam and Harry was having his first experience with culture shock since he'd first entered the wizarding world.

There were coffee shops that did not sell coffee, old brick buildings that leaned over streets like they were falling down and teenagers spending their school lunch break in the red light district - they greeted the women in the windows like old friends and didn't blink an eye at the posters of naked women or sex toys that were everywhere. Harry wasn't quite sure what to do with it all, or how he found himself stepping into a boat on one of the canals. He figured it was all Meghan's fault.

"Now this is more like it," Mortis said from behind him. He was wearing a suit covered in cannabis leaves, a pair of way too big sunglasses and a sash that read 'trust me, I'm high'. "I knew that joining the circus was a grand idea. Didn't I say so?"

Harry snorted. Death had been following Meghan and him around all day to 'enjoy the sights', as he put it. They took a seat on one of the benches while Meghan stopped to talk to the boatsman. Her pink head bopped up and down excitedly as she pointed at a tourist map she'd picked up earlier.

"You know, there's a magical community here, too." Mortis pulled a green bottle out from inside his jacket. It had a label that read Grolsch on the front. He popped the cork and took a swig. "I much prefer the Dutch magical community. A fun people."

Harry hummed, wondering if they'd recognize him if he went to take a look. He hoped not. 'Will you show me where it is?'

"You only have to ask," Mortis smiled, "You are my master, after all."

Meghan sank down on Harry's other side and waved the map in his face."This tour is going to be amazing! I read all about these canals for a school project, once. Did you know that there are one hundred and sixty-five sixty of them? That's over a hundred kilometers of waterways!"

Harry leaned back in his seat as his pink haired friend rambled out facts about the city at a high pace, smiling indulgently at her.

"Does she never shut up?" Mortis said, staring at the girl in slight distaste. He got an elbow in his side for the trouble.