Wendell and Monica Wilkins could not, for the life of them, figure out why they had ever wanted to move to Australia. It was unbearably hot, and the people were--- well, boisterous was a nice way of putting it. They rather missed Britain, with its erratic weather and stuffy inhabitants, and had often bandied about the idea of going back. However, a little voice inside their heads kept insisting that this--- a small house in a suburb in Queens--- was their dream come true. And so they stayed.

Using their life savings as capital, they opened a small clinic in their neighborhood. Business was slow for the first couple of months, but word got around that the Wilkinses were excellent dentists, in spite of their being British, and soon Wendell and Monica were pleasantly surprised to find themselves enjoying a steady income.

Sometimes Monica would wake up crying in the middle of the night, and the only explanation she could give herself and her husband was that she felt like she was missing someone. Wendell comforted her as best as he could, telling her she was being silly, but when the Christmas season drew near he kept thinking inexplicably of King's Cross Station and the delighted cries of someone who was glad to see him after a long absence. He chalked this up to the impending approach of middle age, and sometimes he and Monica would talk wistfully over steaming cups of tea about how they wished they had a daughter.

As time wore on, Wendell and Monica started saying and doing things that they themselves found strange. Once, while onboard a crowded bus, Wendell's head snapped up at the word "Muggles" and gave the person who had said it a very piercing look indeed. He then spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what the word meant, while a part of him whispered that he knew, he knew. Monica, for her part, was walking down the street when two boys carrying broomsticks rushed by her and she turned and called, "Good luck with the game!" They had stopped in their tracks and stared at her agape until she blushed and hurried away, trying to remember what game involved broomsticks.

"Either we're getting old," Wendell would grumble to Monica every now and then, "or all this sun has addled our brains!"

And then one day, the Wilkinses' doorbell rang and Wendell and Monica found a girl and a boy on their front porch. The boy was tall, redheaded and freckled, while the girl had Monica's brown eyes and Wendell's bushy hair.

"Yes?" Monica said inquiringly.

Tears started streaming down the girl's cheeks. The boy reached out and squeezed her hand, and the girl seemed to draw strength from that simple gesture. She produced a long wooden stick and muttered something in a foreign language. Before Wendell and Monica could ask what on earth she thought she was doing, there was a brief flash of light and then---

"Why, Hermione, darling," said Mrs. Granger, formerly Monica Wilkins, in the split second before her daughter hugged her, "is that an engagement ring?"