The Granger Principle (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 2: The Parents

CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 6th, 2005

By the time Ron reached the ‘guest quarters’, Granger wasn’t screaming any more. She was sitting on the bed, clad in what looked like an oversized shirt, her hair a mess that would have sent Parvati or Lavender running for the hills, and she was glaring at Dawlish, who must have been the officer on duty.

“I am perfectly fine,” she spat. “I merely had a nightmare - quite a common occurrence after a traumatic experience, such as an assault on my person. Something, I think, with which you would be familiar if you had ever worked in the field.”

Ron saw Dawlish tense at that, and he had to suppress a chuckle. Dawlish was a veteran officer - but he had been working at a desk job since before Harry and Ron had started their careers. And you just had to rib the desk jockeys. But for Granger to guess that...

“Yes, you had a nightmare, Miss,” Dawlish started to reply.

“Dr Granger,” she hissed.

“Dr Granger,” the man pressed out through clenched teeth. “As you said yourself, you’ve had a traumatic experience. And in light of your past, that raises concerns about your mental health.”

“My reaction is perfectly normal.” She scoffed. “If you were planning to use this as a pretext to lock me up, I’ll have you know that my parents have been informed about the attack and will ensure my release.”

"Such decisions will be made by the proper authorities, but I would remind you that this is a criminal case," Dawlish retorted.

“Your loyalty to your superiors is commendable. Few men in your position are willing to fall upon their swords like that.”

“What?”

Granger’s sneer left no doubt of her opinion of Dawlish. “Once the press gets wind of how you’re trying to imprison me without cause because you are too lazy or too inept to do your job and find whoever attacked me, who do you think will be the chosen scapegoat?” She turned to Ron. “Oh. Good morning, Officer Weasley. Here to check on your prisoner?”

Ron was certain that she had noticed him before that, but he nodded and ignored her barb. He had expected that, after last night. “Good morning, Dr Granger.”

“Hello, Dr Granger!” Colin piped up behind Ron. “Did you remember anything from your kidnapping?”

“Colin!” Ron hissed, glaring at him, and even Dawlish winced.

“What?” Colin blinked, then paled.

“No, I do not remember anything about my kidnapping,” Granger spat as she stood up. She looked absolutely furious. Worse than Mum when she had caught the twins making explosives in the shed. Nice legs, though, Ron couldn’t help noticing. “Is this why you want to lock me up and keep me from my work? Are you planning to torture me into remembering my ordeal?”

“What?” Colin repeated himself, cringing. “No, no! I was just… I mean…”

“Get out, Creevey!” Dawlish snapped. “Weasley, why did you bring him along? For that matter, what are you doing here?”

“I came to visit Dr Granger,” Ron replied as Colin fled. “I’m working on her case, after all, and I’m responsible for her safety.”

To his mild surprise, she didn’t make a comment about how she could take care of herself. Perhaps the attack had made her see reason.

“Which means your presence is superfluous,” she told Dawlish. “That means you should vacate the premises, in case you’re wondering,” she added.

Dawlish was so tense and angry, Ron could see his jaw muscles twitch as he reined in his temper, but the other man left without another word. Ron sighed and shook his head. “You have such a way with people.”

She scoffed again. “Says the man who came with Mr… Creevey?”

“I didn’t bring him; he followed me,” Ron replied. It hadn’t been his fault - Colin should have known better. They weren’t in school any more.

“Really.” Her doubt was obvious.

Ron shrugged. “Anyway, I came to tell you that we’d like to ask you a few questions later. After you’ve had breakfast, of course.”

“Do I get to dress first? And in private? Or is that too dangerous?”

“You can even take a shower in the female locker rooms,” he told her.

“Alone? Without cameras?”

“Of course.” What kind of people did she think they were? Well, after Colin and Dawlish, she probably had a poor impression of the department.

And, Ron thought, remembering a few of his co-workers, she might not be entirely wrong.

*****​

“Have you seen this man before?” Harry asked, showing a picture of Crabbe to Granger.

Ron saw her tense up, and her eyes widened for a moment, before she schooled her features and shook her head. “No, I’m certain that I haven’t seen that man before.”

She was lying. Ron was sure. She knew Crabbe. Had he been involved in her kidnapping? But he would have been her age - an eleven-year-old, taking part in a kidnapping? Not impossible, of course. But for seven years? No.

And why would she be lying? Crabbe had been there to kidnap or kill her. Was she protecting whoever was behind this? But why?

“Are you sure?” Ron asked.

“Yes, I am. As I just told you,” she said.

She was a very smart woman. And she didn’t scare easily. So… why wasn’t she cooperating? Why was she lying?

“Who was it?” She tilted her head. “Or is that classified?”

Ron was tempted to tell her ‘yes’, but Harry was quicker. “Vincent Crabbe. Career criminal.”

“Ah.”

Still no surprise. She had to know that Crabbe had just been a minion and that someone else was pulling the strings - someone far more dangerous than Crabbe had been. And yet she seemed unconcerned.

Ron shook his head. The woman’s behaviour made no sense. There were too many mysteries surrounding her.

But he would get to the bottom of them.

“Has anyone approached you about your work?” Ron asked. “Anyone you wouldn’t have expected to be interested in quantum physics, I mean.”

Granger’s frowning expression as she thought about that was almost cute. After about half a minute, she shook her head. “No, no one comes to mind. I’ve only spoken with fellow physicists and, of course, the faculty about my research.” She met his eyes. “And I can safely say that my work wouldn’t help anyone to build a quantum computer.”

“Ah, but would others know that?” Ron asked.

“Wouldn’t anyone willing to resort to kidnapping verify that it was worth the risk beforehand?” she retorted.

Was she trying to avoid answering the question? Perhaps.

“You’d be surprised just how careless some criminals are,” Harry said.

“One wouldn’t expect to find someone with the means to profit from the development of quantum computers among that number,” she replied. “Not to mention that it would be foolish to underestimate whoever sent Mr Crabbe after me.”

Harry leaned forward. “Why do you assume that someone sent him?”

Granger didn’t quite scoff, but her expression came close. “You just told me that he was a career criminal. Since he was about as subtle as a charging bull, I don’t think he decided on his own to attack me.”

That made sense, but not enough. Granger sounded too sure of her assessment. Another clue that she had recognised Crabbe. Did she know who was behind him as well? But why wouldn’t she tell them? “Aren’t you underestimating Crabbe by assuming he was too stupid to have acted on his own?”

This time she did scoff. “He’s dead. If he had acted on his own, then there’d be no further danger. It’s only sensible to assume that he was merely a pawn.”

“And you have no idea who could have hired him? None at all?” Harry didn’t quite manage to hide his doubts.

She glared at Ron’s friend. “No, I do not,” she told him. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

Ron had a few questions, but this wasn’t the time to ask them. They needed more information first. He glanced at Harry and shook his head.

“No,” Harry said.

“Am I free to go now?”

“As long as we’re with you,” Ron told her with a smile. “For your protection.”

He saw her press her lips together. She didn’t like that. Not at all. But, as her reluctant nod showed, she knew that she needed them. “Good. I need to return to my work.”

Ron almost shook his head. She had been attacked last night, and she wanted to go straight back to work? Mental.

*****​

Greenwich, London, July 6th, 2005

“I would have expected you to go straight to your lab,” Ron said as they stopped in front of Granger’s home.

She glared at him. “Without changing my clothes?”

Ron took refuge in a joke to avoid answering that question honestly. “Oh, I assumed that you had half your wardrobe stashed in your office. Together with a camping shower hidden in your locker, a sleeping bag in your desk and enough MREs to last you a year.”

She blinked, once, before glaring at him and all but jumping out of the car before he could tell her to wait.

“I would be surprised if she didn’t have a change of clothes at the lab,” Harry whispered as they hastily got out of the car - they had to check for threats, after all.

Ron nodded. She was here for something else. Perhaps to check if something had been stolen from her apartment? There hadn’t been any trace of anyone having broken into it, but a skilled thief wouldn’t leave any signs of their presence.

This might be more interesting than Ron had expected. He wondered what kind of thing Granger feared might have been stolen. And what her apartment looked like.

*****​

It looked messier than he had expected, he realised after stepping into her living room. Cheap shelves lined the walls, stuffed with books. Physics, he noticed, cocking his head to read their spines, but also esoteric books - new age and witchcraft. That didn’t seem to fit Granger at all.

Stacks of paper covered several dressers and a table - though she had left one spot on the table free, probably so she could eat dinner there. The few pictures on the walls - in places where there was not enough space for another shelf - showed her parents and her graduations.

The apartment actually looked like her office. Perhaps he should have expected that. The kitchen was old and cramped, though there was a microwave oven on the small table there, and an electric tea kettle.

All in all, the flat didn’t look like it belonged to a person who had a life outside her work.

“I don’t see anyone outside,” Harry told him from near one of the windows.

Ron nodded at him and went to the bedroom, where Granger was, from the sounds he could hear, rummaging around in her armoire. Glancing through the gap left by the open door, he could see an unmade bed, small and cheap-looking, and Granger’s backside - she was kneeling in front of a trunk.

Frowning, he stepped inside. All the rest of the furniture looked cheap and new. Soulless IKEA crap. The trunk, though, looked old and expensive - the kind of trunk Malfoy had owned. Traditional, but not very practical. The idiot had struggled with his trunk every time he’d had to move it himself and couldn’t order the servants to do it.

Ron couldn’t really imagine Granger carrying that thing around.

“Do you always sneak into a woman’s bedroom without her leave?” Granger wasn’t even looking over her shoulder at him as she spoke, he noticed.

Snorting, he sat down on her bed, pushing aside some of the magazines and notebooks spread out on the sheets. “If I’m guarding her? Yes, actually,” he told her with a grin.

She scoffed without turning to look at him. “Do you expect to find an assassin hiding under my bed?”

“No. I expect the space underneath your bed to be filled with books and stacks of paper,” he said.

That made her laugh, to his surprise, but it didn’t last. “I suppose I could, now,” she murmured, and he wasn’t certain that he had been meant to hear her.

He frowned. What had he done now? He sniffed the air. The expected smell of old books, fresh clothes from the armoire but also… a cat. And he hadn’t seen a feeding bowl in the kitchen. But there had been a spotted cat in the picture of her with her parents. She must have lost her cat recently. And wasn’t planning to get another.

He leaned over to straighten a stack of magazines about to collapse and blinked. He knew that issue. Mum had bought several of them after Pettigrew’s arrest. She had been so proud of him. And of Harry, of course. Angry, too, at the risks they had taken. But mostly proud. But that had been over ten years ago - Granger had still been a captive when it had come out. Why would she have that issue?

She had mentioned having read the article, but how had she gotten the magazine? And why?

Granger stood and turned around. “I’ve got my clothes sorted out now…” She trailed off as she noticed what he was holding.

He looked at her, then placed the magazine down on top of the stack. She didn’t flinch or look away. “Ah, that has the article I mentioned.”

“Yes.”

He waited, but she merely nodded. “I’m going to change now.”

He watched her enter the bathroom carrying a stack of clothes and her ratty bag and waited until the door closed behind her before he picked up the magazine again, quickly flipping to the familiar pages.

He wasn’t a forensic scientist, but the magazine looked like it had been opened very often on the pages showing him, Harry and Sirius posing together.

What the hell did that mean? Was she a stalker? Or a fan? She hadn’t acted like either, though - he was quite familiar with the type thanks to Colin going to the same school as Harry and Ron.

He glanced at the armoire. No. She would have cleaned up anything suspicious in there. But… the trunk. It didn’t fit the rest of the flat. And that was a very good lock on it, he realised after a closer look. Better than the one on Malfoy’s trunk, in fact, and even at his best, it had taken Ron at least five minutes to pick that one.

Perhaps another time.

*****​

South Kensington campus, Imperial College London, London, July 6th, 2005

Once more, Ron was watching Granger go through notebooks and notepads like an alcoholic went through a case of beer. The woman had dived straight back into her work as soon as they had arrived at her lab, and it didn’t look like she’d be stopping any time soon. As if she hadn’t been in a firefight not even twelve hours ago...

Mental.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, one hand close to his shoulder holster. Ron had a feeling that Crabbe wouldn’t remain the last criminal they’d have to deal with, and it didn’t pay to slack off.

“Someone’s coming,” he heard Harry on the radio. “Looks like a faculty member.”

“Are you expecting visitors?” Ron asked Granger.

“What?” She looked up from her work with a by now familiar scowl.

“Someone’s coming,” Ron explained. “Might be faculty.”

She blinked, then pressed her lips together as if she had bitten into something rotten. “Blake.”

“Blake?”

“The Principal,” she said as if that explained everything.

“He claims he’s the Principal of this faculty,” Harry reported as if on cue.

Granger was already up and moving towards the door, and Ron had to hurry a little to cut her off. It could be a trap, after all.

Harry gave the all-clear, but Ron still put himself in front of Granger before he opened the door.

“Hermione! I heard you were here, but I couldn’t believe it!” the man blurted out.

“Good morning, Miles,” Granger replied in a much more composed manner, nodding curtly at him. “Why wouldn’t I be in my lab?”

“But… but you were attacked last night! There are police here!”

She scoffed. “The assailant was killed by the police. And as you can see, I’m well-protected.”

“It’s not another attack we’re worried about,” Blake said, shaking his head. “This must have been such a shock to you…”

“I’m fine,” she spat.

“But surely, some time off would do you good.”

“It wouldn’t do my work any good, and that would actually stress me much more than an attack that has already been handled.”

“But…”

“I’m fine. All I need is to continue my work,” Granger cut him off. “And even if I were traumatised, the familiar environment and routine is what would help me the most.”

Blake sighed, then looked at Ron and Harry, shaking his head. But he didn’t address them before he left.

Granger sighed. “I’m surrounded by people who think they know better than I what’s best for me.”

“And they are all wrong,” Ron said in his best sarcastic tone.

She looked like she would bare her teeth at him at any moment as she glared at him. “Yes, they are,” she spat. “I’m fine.”

Neither of them said anything else until lunch, when it was Ron’s turn to get some grub for Harry and himself.

*****​

Carrying two portions of fish and chips - Harry had insisted - Ron was approaching the entrance to Granger’s lab when he spotted a middle-aged couple walking towards the same destination. The woman’s hair… Yes. As soon as he passed them, he recognised Granger’s parents from the pictures in her flat.

“Mr and Mrs Granger, I presume,” he said.

They looked startled - and even more so when they saw him. “I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage,” Mrs Granger replied.

“Ron Weasley, CI5.”

“Ah. The bodyguard.” Mr Granger nodded.

Ron couldn’t put his finger on it, but Mr Granger’s response sounded somewhat off. He nodded in confirmation anyway. “One of them.”

They didn’t seem surprised about that - but they remained tense. It was understandable, of course, after their only daughter had just been attacked. Yet… Ron would have expected them to be upset.

He used his radio to inform Harry. If her parents ended up staring down the barrel of a gun, Granger would probably be even more insufferable. “Bringing two guests. The Grangers.”

Harry, of course, was ready to step in anyway as Ron opened the door. Just in case.

“Hermione!”

“Dear!”

“Mum, Dad.” Granger seemed to freeze up for a moment before she hugged her parents. “You didn’t have to come.”

“After hearing someone tried to attack you? Of course we had to!” Mr Granger, at least, was sensible.

“I’m fine,” Granger replied as she released her parents and took a step back to lean against her desk. “They shot the man before he could do anything.”

Her parents exchanged a glance. “Dear,” her mother started, “was he…”

“He had a gun,” Granger told them.

Against all reason, her statement seemed to make her parents relax. Which made no sense at all. Normal people didn’t react like that when they heard about someone attacking their daughter with a firearm.

This was another clue to whatever Granger was hiding.

“Dr Granger,” Harry spoke up, looking at Granger, “if someone is after you for your research, they might attempt to use your parents as leverage.”

As Ron had expected, that set Granger off. “You would dare to use my parents…”

“Dear, we’ve already been contacted by the police about this,” Mrs Granger interrupted her. “They advised us to accept police protection.”

“Who called you?” Ron asked, frowning. They hadn’t been informed about that. Cock-ups happened, of course, and some of their co-workers really didn’t like Harry and him for being the best team in the CI5, but there was, of course, another, more sinister, possibility.

“A Mr Scrimgeour,” Mrs Granger replied. “Your boss, I believe.”

Was Scrimgeour playing games?

“We’ll check with him,” Harry said.

“Do you expect someone to be impersonating your superior?” Granger asked.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t think so, but since we don’t know who is after you, nor what resources they have at their disposal, we have to maintain constant vigilance,” he quoted Moody.

She opened her mouth but closed it again without saying anything.

“Dear, you will be able to focus on your work much better if you don’t have to worry about us,” Mr Granger added.

And Granger flinched as if she had been struck. “It’s not like that,” she told them, but it sounded weak.

“Hermione, we know how important your work is,” Mrs Granger said.

“But don’t let them lock you up! You have your practice, and your patients depend on you!” Granger was shaking her head so much, her thick hair obscured her face.

“We could organise substitutes,” Mr Granger replied.

“You don’t have to! Don’t let them ruin your practice just to make it a little easier for themselves!”

“Taking people into protective custody isn’t actually much easier for us than assigning them a protective detail,” Harry said.

He wasn’t telling the entire truth, of course - with two people like the Grangers, taking them into protective custody would be easier than protecting them while they stayed at their own home and kept working. That took more officers to cover them. And Scrimgeour would like to have the Grangers safely locked away. Less potential trouble with the press that way.

Granger snorted. “You were quite quick to take me in.”

“Temporarily, while we sorted things out,” Ron said.

She huffed.

“Mr Scrimgeour mentioned that there were options to discuss,” Mrs Granger explained.

“Take the option that’s most convenient for you!”

Ron looked at Harry and mimed making a call. His friend nodded and stepped out. Granger was looking at them, so Ron told her: “He’s checking with Scrimgeour.”

“Ah.” Granger didn’t look very mollified. What was with the chip on her shoulder? She’d called them ‘professional paranoids’, but she acted as if everyone was out to get her - while ignoring the actual danger, Ron realised.

“Do you have any suspects yet?” Mr Granger asked into the sudden silence.

“We’re still at the start of our investigation,” Ron replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

The Grangers looked from him to their daughter, who was, Ron noticed, almost mirroring him. He quickly changed his posture while Mrs Granger seemed to be amused for some reason.

Granger, of course, wasn’t amused in the slightest, but she didn’t glare at her mother - she glared at him before clearing her throat and addressing her parents: “Well, have you had lunch already?”

“We planned to take you out for lunch,” Mrs Granger replied.

“Or at least order delivery from a decent restaurant,” Mr Granger added. “Instead of instant meals.”

“Or military surplus rations,” Ron cut in.

“What?” Both Grangers stared at him, then turned to stare at their daughter. “You were actually eating those?” Mrs Granger looked aghast.

“Of course!” Granger said, raising her chin. “It wouldn’t do to find out that they were unpalatable just as I needed them in an emergency, would it?”

“Like getting stranded on a deserted island?” Ron asked before he could help himself. “Or getting lost in the Highlands for days without your phone, radio or any other means of communication?”

All three looked at him with a frown for a moment before Granger huffed. “That’s actually far less unlikely than you make it sound,” she claimed.

“I don’t think you’re the type to get lost in the Highlands, much less to go on a hike without proper equipment,” Ron retorted. She was the type to prepare for everything. The paranoid type. Mental.

“Exactly. Which includes MREs.” She nodded at her own words.

“But we’re not in the Highlands, dear,” her mother said. “So let’s eat something a little more refined, shall we?”

“Pizza or curry?” Mr Granger asked, pulling out his phone.

Granger was glaring at Ron as if it was his fault that she would have to eat a decent meal.

*****​

Half an hour later, Ron watched as the Grangers finished their meal. Granger had opted for curry because it would be delivered more quickly. At least that was what she’d claimed. Based on his own experiences, Ron had his doubts. But the takeaway had been delivered promptly and smelled good enough that Ron wouldn’t have minded a taste even though he’d finished his own lunch already.

Not that he’d asked, of course. Even though watching her reaction would have been funny.

“Well, we should go,” Mr Granger said, putting down his fork. “You’re itching to resume your work as soon as we’re out of your hair, aren’t you?”

“No, no,” Granger lied, but her expression betrayed her.

Mrs Granger shared a look and a rather wry smile with her husband before shaking her head. “We understand, dear. We do.”

“Thank you.” Granger looked like she wanted to say something more, but then she pressed her lips together.

“Are you going to meet Scrimgeour now?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Mr Granger confirmed. “We have an appointment at two o’clock.”

“It might be best if one of us goes with you,” Harry said. “If anyone is observing us, they’ll have noticed you.”

“Ah.” Mr Granger nodded. “If you think we’re in danger…”

“I’ll go with you,” Ron cut in. He could also check for news with headquarters that way. And it beat going stir-crazy in Granger’s lab.

So five minutes later, he was seated in the Granger’s BMW, stuck in London’s traffic. He’d never get caught in that situation if he had to guard someone against an assassination, but a kidnapping? Any attempt to kidnap them would run into the same traffic jam. And with all the witnesses around, few would dare to try anything anyway.

“Please excuse Hermione’s manners,” Mr Granger said as they waited at a particularly slow crossing. “She has some issues with… authority.”

Calling her mental to her parents’ faces wouldn’t go over well so Ron nodded. “Understandable.”

“She’s not unstable,” Mrs Granger added. “She just doesn’t trust easily and tries to drive people away before she can grow close to them.”

“Ah.” That made some sense. Her parents would know her best. They might even know what exactly had happened to her during her kidnapping. But, as curious as Ron was, he wouldn’t ask them. “Well, seeing her eat that MRE did nearly drive us from the premises,” he joked.

Mr and Mrs Granger chuckled, though there was a rueful tone as Mrs Granger replied: “That was probably her intention. At least I hope so.”

“I can see that,” Ron agreed. At least now he could.

“She doesn't like it, but she needs protection,” Mrs Granger went on. “We can’t lose her. Not after...” She trailed off and Ron, sitting behind Mr Granger, saw that she was clenching her hands so tightly, her knuckles were turning white.

Of course. They had thought their daughter lost - dead - for seven years before she had reappeared. Tortured, malnourished, but alive. “We’ll protect her,” he said.

“Thank you.” Mrs Granger took a deep breath and wiped her eyes.

After about a minute of silence, Mr Granger suddenly asked: “Whoever is guarding us won’t be hunting the kidnappers, will they?”

Ron understood at once what the man was thinking. “It’s not that simple, but…” He clenched his teeth. “We have other cases and assignments as well.”

“But the fewer people needed to guard us, the more are free to investigate Hermione’s case.”

Ron shrugged. “That’s true. More or less.” Politics played a role, but the Granger case was high-profile. Scrimgeour would want it solved under his command.

“Thank you.”

*****​

CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 6th, 2005

The telly was running in the break room when Ron passed, showing a familiar sight: Granger’s home. It had been running since morning, of course - the attack had happened too late for the newspapers, but that hadn’t stopped the TV news. The BBC was covering it thoroughly, though at least they hadn’t done a special news broadcast.

“...Dr Granger almost fell victim to another kidnapping attempt yesterday night,” a very serious announcer said. “Only the timely intervention of two police officers saved her. Since the criminal who kidnapped her in 1991 was never caught, speculation as to whether or not they might be behind this attempt as well is running rampant. The police have declined to comment on the case, but retired Chief Superintendent Cornelius Fudge, who worked on the case in the past, was willing to share his insights with us and…”

“Turn the telly off before I shoot it!” someone growled.

The clerk watching it jumped to obey as Ron turned. “Moody!”

“Weasley.” The old officer nodded at him. “Heard you nailed another crook.”

“Harry shot him,” Ron corrected his old instructor. “Are you working on the case as well?”

“Aye,” Moody replied. “Rufus called everyone in. Well, everyone he trusts not to steal his thunder.” He nodded at the now dark screen. “Fudge. Bloody pillock. That he had to retire after his affair with his secretary was leaked to the press was the best thing to happen to the Metropolitan Police.”

That had been before Harry and Ron had joined the force, but Ron had heard about that particular scandal from Dad and Percy and everything about Fudge’s incompetence from Moody, so he nodded in agreement.

“Bones got you two guarding the girl, right?”

“We’re supposed to investigate as well, as long as we can do it without ‘compromising our primary assignment’,” Ron quoted Bones.

Moody chuckled. “You’ve been making too many waves. Too many arrests compared to the rest.”

“I’d have expected Scrimgeour to want the case solved no matter what, as long as it happened on his watch,” Ron said.

“He’d like that. But he owes a few of the older crowd some favours, and if he doesn’t let them get their shot, they’ll stab him in the back when he needs them the most.”

“Ah.” Bloody politics.

“You’ll get used to it in CI5. I told you that already, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Even Cowley had to deal with it, and the man was in a class of his own. Bones never managed to match his success. Rufus… well, he’s just crooked enough to have a chance.”

That wasn’t exactly what Ron wanted to hear about his superior.

Moody, though, laughed. “Oh, you should have met Bodie and Doyle.”

Ron made a non-committal sound. Everyone had heard of those two. If even half the stories the older officers told about them were true, they’d put Moody to shame. Of course, if just a quarter of the stories about them were true, Bones would have arrested them herself. Or shot them. He shrugged. “Well, I have to get back to Harry. Can’t leave him alone with Granger for too long.”

“Oh? Would your sister get jealous?”

Ron chuckled. Ginny was better than that. “No, but Granger’s got a sharper tongue than Bones, and a worse temper.”

Moody laughed out loud at that, and Ron waved as he left the break room.

*****​

South Kensington campus, Imperial College London, London, July 6th, 2005

Harry didn’t look annoyed, Ron noticed when he returned to Granger’s lab. She probably had behaved herself after her parents’ visit. He chuckled at the stray thought.

“What did headquarters say?” Harry asked.

“Nothing new. They haven’t been able to find Goyle so far,” Ron told him. After a moment, he added: “The Grangers opted for protective custody after their meeting with Scrimgeour.”

Harry opened his mouth, surprised, but Granger’s loud “What?” cut him off before he could say anything.

The woman was out of her chair and stalking towards Ron. “Protective custody? I told them not to do that! What did you do?” she snarled into his face.

Blame Scrimgeour? Deflect? This wasn’t his fault. Her parents had made their choice before they had even entered headquarters. Well, his parents hadn’t raised a coward. “They asked me which option would result in more officers working on your case.”

He looked at her, meeting her eyes, as she glared at him with clenched teeth - he saw her jaw muscles twitch - as she worked through the ramifications of what he had said. And he felt a little bit guilty when she looked away, tears in her eyes, and muttered: “Bloody hell, of course they’d do that! I should have expected it.”

“They love you. Of course they’d want to do what’s best for their daughter,” Ron said.

Once more, she flinched as if she had been struck.

*****​

She wasn’t insane. She was safe. She wasn’t insane. She was safe. Lost, but safe. If she told herself that often enough, she might even believe it. It could be a ruse, of course. In theory. Magic could do so much to someone’s mind. With the right spell, you could make someone believe anything - erase their memories and replace them with fake ones.

She should know; she had done it herself to others.

But doing so made no sense. If this was just a delusion planted in her mind, what was its purpose? No one was asking her to spill her friends’ secrets. Or posing as her friend. And if this was merely the result of a spell, then where would their enemies have found someone with such detailed knowledge of muggle procedures and hospitals? The room looked exactly like a room in a modern muggle hospital should look. The nurses and doctors behaved like they should. The police officers as well. Perhaps they had taken the imagery from her mind?

But then, who would have come up with the idea that she had been kidnapped seven years ago, disappeared without a trace, until she had been found stumbling around in a London without Diagon Alley? What would have been the point?

To make her lose her sanity? There were other, quicker and more painful ways for that, which their enemies preferred.

She shivered at the memory of the pain and torture, of the mad cackling that punctuated the agony, hugging herself.

No, this was real. It had to be real. She was safe. Lost, but safe. She wasn’t insane. Nor was she traumatised, as the people treating her assumed. Or perhaps she was - she had certainly gone through enough, even though she hadn’t been kidnapped and kept captive for seven years, as the police assumed.

She closed her eyes, brushing the few tears on her cheeks away, as she leaned back in the bed. She was safe. She wasn’t insane.

And she was utterly lost.

There were voices outside her door. She reached for a holster she didn’t have any more, then balled her hand into a fist and listened. That was one of the police officers standing guard, and… not the nurses or doctors. Someone else.

She gasped as the door opened and she stared at her parents. No, not her parents. The other’s parents.

“Hermione!”

The woman sounded like her mother. So much, she replied almost against her will: “Mum?”

They were hugging her. She was hugging them. And crying. Everyone was crying. They looked and felt like her parents.

“They told us they found someone who…” The woman trailed off, sobbing.

“They ran a DNA test before informing us! They ‘didn’t want to get our hopes up’!” the man spat. “They wanted to keep us from seeing you!” He was also crying.

She sniffled as the door was closed from the outside. They weren’t her parents, no matter how much she wished they were. And they thought she was their Hermione.

She could play along. Their Hermione was probably dead. They wouldn’t know. They wouldn’t lose her a second time.

No. She wasn’t their Hermione. She wouldn’t stay. She’d return. Return home.

She couldn’t do that to them. She had to do this now.

She took a deep breath and lowered her voice.

“I’m not your daughter.”

*****​

 

Chapter 3: The Killing

Greenwich, London, July 6th, 2005

Standing in her kitchen as he searched for some grub, Ron wondered if Granger had ever used her stove for actual cooking. Not aloud, of course - Granger might have buried herself in her work for the afternoon after the revelation about her parents, but he had no doubt that now, without the handy distraction of her research, it wouldn’t take much to set her off again.

“Your parents are already in protective custody.”

Like Harry’s announcement in the living room.

Granger didn’t blow her top, though. Well, if she really couldn’t control her temper, she wouldn’t have survived the academic infighting. The stories Percy had told…

“Just keep them safe if you must lock them up.”

“We’ll do our best,” Harry told her.

“You better,” she snapped.

Now that was more like it! Ron grinned as he entered the living room. “Or else?”

“What?” She frowned at him.

“It felt like you’d have to add a threat,” he explained. “You know, like ‘or I’ll feed you into my quantum reactor’.”

“It’s a quantum mirror cage,” she corrected him.

“That doesn’t sound as dangerous as a reactor,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to fail you on your threat test.”

She snorted then blinked, and he could see her close up. “Leaving such silliness aside, there’s the matter of dinner.”

“As long as it’s not heated MREs, I’m fine with anything,” Harry said, sitting down on one of the few chairs that wasn’t occupied by a stack of paper.

Granger pursed her lips at the implicit assumption that she would be cooking for them, and Ron had to hide his grin - his friend could be quite aggravating when he wanted to be. Sometimes even when he didn’t want to be, of course. “I guess we’ll be getting takeaway again?” Ron said. She must live off takeaway and rations. And tea.

“As long as the police pick up the tab,” Granger said. “I’m not supposed to feed you, am I?” she added rather archly.

“Well, you’re supposed to be a good host to your guests, aren’t you?” Ron tilted his head with a grin. “At least that’s what Mum always told me.”

“I see.” And her face was expressionless again. The woman really was mental. “Chicken curry.”

“I suppose that’s shorthand for: ‘Please go buy some takeaway and get me a chicken curry’?” Ron said with a grin.

She glared at him, which was at least a reaction he could understand.

“Ron…” Harry shook his head as Ron glanced at him.

“And that’s shorthand for ‘Ron, go and buy us dinner!’” Ron chuckled. “Curry for everyone?”

“Yes.”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

*****​

“That’s not from the restaurant I told you to visit.” Granger greeted him with a frown upon his return.

“No, it’s from a different one.” Ron grinned. “It would have been too dangerous to go to your favourite restaurant. Someone might have tampered with the food there.” And he hadn’t felt like letting her dictate what they should eat.

“That’s exactly why the restaurant I named wasn’t my favourite, but my third-favourite takeaway,” she retorted with a scowl. “I took the possible danger into account.”

She had done that? Ron couldn’t really believe it. That was almost paranoid. No, scratch the ‘almost’ - Moody would consider it appropriate. He shrugged and put the food on the table. “Well, then I added another layer of security. Bon appetit!”

She scoffed but grabbed the container with her meal anyway. Point Weasley.

He grabbed his own and started eating. The curry was good. Not the best he had eaten - Mum made that, of course - nor the best he’d had in London, but good enough. Granger wasn’t complaining, so she probably shared his view. But then, anyone who voluntarily ate MREs had no right to complain about food.

Ron was about to comment on that when he heard a car engine stop in front of the house. He was at the window a moment later, peering through the gap between the frame and the curtains. He knew the black Aston Martin down there. “Scrimgeour,” he said.

“Scrimgeour? Your superior?” Granger spoke up, putting her own meal down. “He’s coming?”

“He’s just arrived,” Ron said. He saw him get out of the car.

And he saw him drop to the ground, half his head gone, before Ron heard the shot.

“Sniper!” he yelled, tackling Granger to push her down and further away from the window. He felt her squirming under him, trying to push him off - she almost kneed him in the groin. “Stay put!” he snapped. “They shot Scrimgeour!”

A moment later, the lights in the room went off. Harry’s work - it would make it harder for the sniper to aim at them. Unless they had thermographic scopes. Or night vision ones.

“I’m calling it in!” Harry snapped, cell phone in hand. “Did you see where the shot came from?”

“From the southern part of the street. Had to be across the street to get him there,” Ron replied. There were only about five houses from which they could have caught Scrimgeour and also have been too far away to be spotted by Harry and Ron upon arrival.

“Get off!” Granger hissed.

He rolled off her.

“My bag!” The daft woman went in search of her bag! At least she was crawling on all fours and not exposing herself!

“Leave it!”

“It’s my emergency bag! I need it.”

“Let her,” Harry cut in. “Can’t spot the sniper. But they’ll be waiting for us to get out.”

“Stay put?” Ron asked.

“Best chance to get them,” Harry said. “We should have requested assault rifles.”

Moody wouldn’t be pleased by that oversight, Ron knew. And he knew something else. Whoever was behind this wasn’t an ordinary criminal. Ordinary criminals didn’t assassinate police officers, much less a high-ranking one like Scrimgeour. Certainly not by sniping him.

Ron followed Granger on all fours into her bedroom, where she had switched off the lights as well. Good thinking under pressure. “Stay under the bed!” he told her. “Safest place in case they use grenades.”

“Grenades?” She gasped.

“Always assume the worst,” he quoted Moody.

He didn’t catch her muttered response, but in the dim light of the streetlamps, reflected by the room’s ceiling, he saw her crawl under the bed, clutching her stupid bag - the thing wasn’t large enough to hold much more than one or two of her MREs.

He took up a position at the door to the bedroom. That would allow him to catch anyone charging through the door in a crossfire with Harry, who was in the kitchen. And if someone threw a grenade inside, he’d be able to dive for cover inside the bedroom.

But if the enemy came in through the windows…

“Reinforcements are on the way,” Harry informed him. “ETA three minutes.”

That would be more than long enough for a prepared force to storm the flat. On the other hand, if they were prepared, why hadn’t they started the attack already? And why hadn’t they shot at him or Harry earlier? They could have taken out Ron easily when he had gone to get food - he hadn’t expected a sniper. “This wasn’t an attack on us,” he said. “They wanted to get Scrimgeour.”

He took Harry’s muttered curse as agreement.

The next few minutes passed very, very slowly, but no one attacked them before they finally heard sirens. “What a terrible neighbourhood,” Harry commented. “Second night in a row there’s been a shooting.”

“Bound to drive the house prices down,” Ron replied.

“I doubt that,” Granger cut in. “This will be seen as a single incident, not a crime wave.”

“It was a joke,” Ron explained.

She huffed in response.

*****​

CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 7th, 2005

This time, even Bones looked a little rumpled. Losing your second in command was bound to do that, of course. “Potter, Weasley. Sit down.”

Ron nodded and took a seat next to Harry. They had spent the last hour settling Granger in her old quarters and answering questions. He hoped that now they would get some answers.

“You saw Rufus’s murder,” Bones stated, staring at them. At Ron.

Ron nodded. “Sniper shot.”

“The preliminary report from forensics agree with that - the shot was fired from over four hundred yards away.” Bones shook her head. “They found the shooter’s position.”

Harry leaned forward. “Was there any clue as to how long the sniper had been set up?”

“Not for long, according to Alastor.”

Ron nodded. If Moody said that, then it was true. “They killed Scrimgeour without attacking us. All it did was alert us. This wasn’t aimed at Granger.”

“But if they wanted to kill him specifically, they would have had to know that he was visiting us.” He shook his head. “Not many would have known about that. Hell, we didn’t even know he was coming until I saw his car arrive.”

Bones’s stare grew more intense. “Indeed. He wanted to surprise you.”

Well, it had been a surprise.

“That means we have a leak in the department,” Harry said.

“Yes.” Bones looked like she had bit into a lemon. “This might not be related to your case at all - just an opportunistic attack on Rufus.”

Ron nodded, though he wasn’t completely convinced. Scrimgeour had made a number of enemies - anyone in his position would have - but to order an assassination? Who would go that far?

Bones shook her head. “Corban Yaxley will lead the investigation of Rufus’s murder. You will keep protecting Dr Granger.”

“Do we answer to him?” Harry asked.

Bones shook her head. “No, you’ll answer directly to me.”

That isn’t standard procedure, Ron thought as he nodded. Interesting.

*****​

CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 7th, 2005

The next morning, Harry and Ron were about to enter their office - well, the one they shared with four other officers - when they were stopped.

“Potter. Weasley. A word.”

Ron schooled his features before turning around. “Good morning, Yaxley.” He tried not to emphasise the greeting too much, just enough to make a point.

“Yaxley,” Harry said curtly, making the same point.

The man scoffed. “My office.” He turned around before either Harry or Ron could reply, and Ron scowled at the man’s back as they followed him. Yaxley was almost as old as Moody - a few more years from being put out to pasture, as their former instructor would call it - but he could boast of neither Moody’s skill nor reputation. His age and connections were the only reasons he had risen so high in the department.

Which was why, once inside Yaxley’s office, Ron leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, flanking Harry, instead of taking a seat.

Yaxley scoffed again. “I’ve read your reports. They’re a little scant on detail.”

“There weren’t any details to report,” Harry retorted. “Scrimgeour arrived, got out of the car and was shot right away.”

“That was all I saw,” Ron confirmed.

“I’m not talking about the murder itself, but your assignment. Scrimgeour was shot on the way to you - practically on Granger’s doorstep. A blind man could see that the two cases are related. I need to know everything you know about her."

“I think the site of the ambush was a coincidence,” Harry replied. “Someone wanted to kill Scrimgeour and found out he was on his way to us and managed to get a shooter in place in time to catch him.”

The other man all but sneered at them. “Trying to solve my case? I’m not about to dismiss any possible clues. Certainly not at this point. Whoever killed Scrimgeour will pay. So, what do you know about Granger? Why is someone trying to kidnap or kill her?”

“We don’t know - we just started our investigation two days ago,” Harry pointed out. “We’re good but not that good.”

“Leave the conclusions to me. Just tell me, in your own words, what you saw since you met her.”

“We arrived on site at…” Harry started to quote their report, but Ron stepped on his friend’s foot.

“Dr Granger is doing research in quantum physics…”

*****​

“He’s an arse,” Harry said an hour later as they were walking towards the guest quarters to fetch Granger so Yaxley could pointlessly interrogate her as well.

“Of course he is,” Ron agreed. “But finding Scrimgeour’s murderer is more important than trying to needle the bloke.”

“I doubt that he’s competent enough to find the murderer - with or without our help.” Harry grinned.

“But he’s competent enough to blame his failure on our supposed lack of co-operation,” Ron pointed out.

His friend scoffed but didn’t contradict him.

“He’ll get his just desserts, anyway,” Ron went on. “Bones will need a scapegoat as well.”

Harry chuckled at that. “That’s true. But I’d like to be present when she reams him out.”

Ron shrugged. “We have our own assignment.”

“With which Yaxley’s currently meddling. Want to bet that Granger will blame us for this?”

Ron shook his head. That was a mug’s bet.

*****​

“Didn’t you tell your colleagues that I wasn’t even near the window and didn’t see anything before you tried to squash me flat with your bulk?”

As Ron had expected, Granger was in a mood. Her usual mood. Well, Yaxley would have to deal with her. “Apparently, our detailed reports weren’t enough. We had to retell everything, and now it’s your turn.”

“Great. I could be doing actual productive work, but I have to talk to the police so they can cross off a box on their investigation checklist.” She shook her head, sending her messy ponytail this way and that.

“Wait… you want to go to work today?” Harry blurted out what Ron was thinking.

Granger looked at them as if this were the most stupid thing she had ever heard. “Of course. I’m already behind schedule.”

“You have a schedule for research? Isn’t that a little… optimistic?” Ron asked.

“I adjust it based upon past performance.”

“You mean it’s more like a guideline. A loose guideline.” He didn’t snicker, but it was a close call. And her frown told Ron that he was right on the mark.

“Alright, here we are,” Harry said, knocking on Yaxley’s door.

“Come in!”

Ron turned to Granger as the door opened. “Try not to hurt him too…” He trailed off.

Granger was staring at Yaxley, paler than usual. And trembling. “Yaxley,” she whispered, too low for anyone but Ron to hear. But then she straightened and raised her chin. “Can we get this over with?” she asked, loudly, as she marched into his office. “I’ve got more important things to do today.”

Harry closed the door after telling Yaxley to give them a call when he was finished, but Ron wasn’t paying attention. Granger had recognised Yaxley. And she was terrified of him. Yet Yaxley hadn’t said anything about having met her before.

Had she just recovered some of her memories? Had Yaxley been among her kidnappers? He would’ve been old enough at the time. But if she had recognised him, why hadn’t she cried out and denounced him?

What the hell was going on? Every time he found a clue, it just made the case more confusing.

“She recognised Yaxley,” Ron said in a low voice, looking at the closed door of the man’s office.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “He hasn’t said anything about having met her before."

“And she looked terrified when she saw him,” Ron added.

“Crabbe’s death didn’t faze her.”

“Exactly,” Ron agreed, glancing at his friend.

“You think she recovered some of her memories from the kidnapping?”

“If she ever lost them in the first place,” Ron replied.

“But… why is she still alive?” Harry shook his head. “Yaxley’s no Moody, but he’s not an idiot. If he had been involved in that kind of thing, he’d have silenced her at the first opportunity.”

“He might not have been able to get to her at the start, and after it was revealed that she didn’t know anything, it wasn’t necessary any more,” Ron pointed out.

Harry frowned, rubbing his chin. “But to brazen it out… trusting that she wouldn’t recover her memories. Why didn’t he bolt right after she was found, if he was involved? And why would he insist on talking to her now?”

“Perhaps he knew that she wouldn’t talk,” Ron said.

“How? Stockholm syndrome?” Harry shook his head again. “She doesn’t seem to be the type.”

Ron agreed with that - Granger was no Patty Hearst. “Perhaps they had drugs that wiped her memory.”

“And let her go after seven years?”

Ron frowned at Harry’s raised eyebrows. “Just speculating,” he said. “But she knows and fears Yaxley - I’m sure of that.” He glanced around, then leaned against the wall next to the door and pulled out one of his brothers’ inventions.

Harry muttered a curse under his breath and moved to block him from view. “If anyone catches us…”

“They won’t,” Ron said, pressing the bug against Yaxley’s door and handing Harry an earbud. “If anyone asks, we’re listening to the latest pop song Ginny likes.”

He ignored Harry’s snort while he activated his own earbud.

“I already told you: My work isn’t related to the development of quantum computers at all!”

“Potter and Weasley disagree.”

“I told them the same thing! And I’m the one with a doctorate in quantum physics! Now do you have any other questions that would better suit an episode of Dr Who or can I stop wasting my time here and return to my work?”

“Yeah, she’s utterly terrified,” Harry muttered.

Ron glared at him. He knew what he had seen.

“What foreign persons have you been in contact with to discuss your work?”

“You have copies of my electronic correspondence. Everyone is listed there.”

“No private conversations?”

“No. quantum physics isn’t a topic that tends to come up in private conversations. At least not the actual physics.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am certain.”

“What about your friends at work?”

“Of course I discussed my work with my colleagues at the faculty.”

“Would they share the information with others?”

“How would I know? You might not be aware of this, but normal people don’t tap their friends’ phones or hack their e-mail accounts.”

Ron had to chuckle at that. Granger’s sharp tongue was entertaining when it wasn’t aimed at yourself. Sometimes even then, he admitted.

“You’re not very co-operative.”

“I’ve answered all your questions to the best of my ability. It’s not my fault if you don’t seem to be able to ask questions whose answers would actually benefit your investigation. If I were to be any more co-operative, I’d need to solve your case for you!”

“You also seem remarkably unaffected by two killings on your doorstep.”

“I had good therapists who taught me not to feel guilty about anything that wasn’t my fault.”

“And yet you never recovered your missing memories.”

“Considering what kind of memories I’m likely missing, I think I’m fortunate in that regard.”

“It also means your kidnappers won’t get caught.”

“My therapists also taught me that I am not to blame for the lack of success of the police.”

Ron thought he could hear Yaxley grinding his teeth in frustration.

“Is that all? I don’t have all day.”

“For now. I might have more questions at a later date.”

Ron hastily removed his brother’s special bug and took a step back. A moment later, Granger stepped out, glaring at him and Harry. “That was pointless.”

Ron grimaced at Yaxley behind Granger’s back, getting a sympathetic nod in return. Let the man think they were bonding over having to deal with the testy scientist.

But as he followed Granger and Harry through the hallway, he noticed that her shoulders sagged a little and she took a deep breath - as if she were relieved.

A few moments later, though, she looked as usual - driven, frustrated and angry at everyone. “Can I go to work now, or do you have more questions to which you already know the answers?”

Harry cleared his throat. “Actually, you should really reconsider entering protective custody.”

Was that a flicker of fear running across her face? Ron couldn’t tell for certain before annoyance replaced it. “Why? You were fine with guarding me in my lab!” she said.

“That was before our superior was shot with a sniper rifle in front of your home,” Harry replied. They hadn’t actually identified the rifle yet, but a sniper rifle was basically a better hunting rifle anyway, so Ron’s friend wasn’t exactly lying.

Not that Granger seemed impressed by the term used, anyway. “That shouldn’t pose a problem with a decently armoured car, and I doubt a rifle would be of much use inside the faculty building. My lab doesn’t have windows, either, and we can use the staff parking area - it’s underground.”

That made some sort of sense - if you were the sort of mental woman who was fixated on her work to the exclusion of common sense and any hint of a self-preservation instinct. They should shut Granger down. On the other hand, if Yaxley was involved in this whole mess... “I’ll get an armoured car, then,” Ron said, ignoring the annoyed glance from Harry and the triumphant, if possibly surprised, smile from Granger.

*****​

“You want an armoured car? After Scrimgeour’s murder, everyone wants an armoured car, Weasley!” Williamson glared at Ron. “And that means the cars we have go to those with seniority - not junior officers, no matter how hot they think they are!”

Ron grinned. “Oh, but we’re on protection detail. That takes priority, doesn’t it?” He slapped down the copy of his orders that he had taken with him. “We need an armoured car for our assignment.”

The other officer blinked as he skimmed the documents. “What? Isn’t that the bird in front of whose house Scrimgeour was shot?”

“Exactly.”

“And why haven’t you stuffed her into a safe house and told her not to show her face outside for the next few months, huh?”

Ron sighed - a little theatrically. “You wouldn’t be asking that question if you had ever met her. She’s a nightmare, honestly. And we can’t exactly lock her up - she already threatened to raise a stink with the press.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Not my call. So… I guess you’ll have to disappoint some senior officer, hm?” Ron grinned.

Williamson shrugged. “They can complain to Bones. Regulations are regulations.”

“Exactly!” Ron agreed, for once.

“Don’t break this one, though, or there’ll be hell to pay!” The other officer glared at him. “That means: Don’t let Potter drive! His crazy stunts put our entire budget in the red two years running!”

“Of course,” Ron lied. As if he’d let a desk jockey tell him and Harry how to solve a case. If they had to wreck a car to catch a crook, they’d do it.

If they caught Granger’s kidnapper or Scrimgeour’s murderer, not even Bones would criticise them, anyway.

*****​

“So that’s why you agreed with Granger,” Harry commented - in a low voice; Granger was searching for something in her ratty beaded bag a few yards away - as Ron got out of the Audi A6 in CI5’s garage.

“That, and I didn’t think much of our chances to get her to agree anyway,” he said. “So we might as well profit from her stubbornness.”

“Right,” his friend agreed.

“New car?” Granger asked as she approached them. “Armoured?”

“Actually, yes,” Ron replied. “How did you know?”

“Why else would you get a new and expensive - and, therefore, more noticeable - car?” She shook her head.

“You forgot to add ‘elementary, Dr Watson’,” Harry commented.

She chuckled despite his sarcastic tone. Harry must be losing his touch, Ron thought. “Let’s go,” he said. Harry held out his hand, but Ron shook his head. “Williamson said not to let you drive.”

“Since when do we listen to him?” Harry complained.

“Since we’re in headquarters. We can switch later,” Ron said as he slid behind the wheel.

Since it was rather late in the morning, they made good time to the campus, and Granger got them into the underground staff parking lot without any trouble. Of course, she wanted to get out as soon as they parked, but Ron stopped her. “Wait.”

“What?” She froze, glancing around.

“Let us check for trouble, first,” Ron explained.

“But you’re more likely to get shot if someone’s waiting for us, aren’t you?”

She looked serious. The woman was mental.

“More likely doesn’t mean you won’t get shot,” Harry pointed out.

“And we’re trained to spot an ambush,” Ron added. And to deal with trouble.

But there were no vans, nor any other cars that would easily hide someone. No tinted windows, and not many big SUVs. Ron still felt quite exposed even after they had checked the possible ambush spots.

They reached Granger’s lab without incident, though. And the woman went straight to work. Leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, Ron watched her take notes and use two calculators and her computer simultaneously.

She was far too calm and collected. Two murders on her doorstep in two days, her parents in hiding and she didn’t bat an eye? It made no sense. Certainly not for someone who had been kidnapped as a kid.

She was hiding something, and he would find out what. Now.

“You recognised Yaxley,” he said, staring at her.

She froze for a fraction of a second, tensing up, before glancing first at him, then at Harry. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life,” she said in a far too calm voice.

“Yeah, right,” Ron retorted, “I saw your reaction when he opened the door to his office. You recognised him. And you were frightened. Terrified.”

She pressed her lips together, glaring at him, but he met her eyes. He’d stared down much more impressive people. And she had nothing on Mum’s glare, anyway.

“I told you: I’ve never seen that man before.”

“Did you recover part of your missing memory?” Harry cut in.

“No.”

Harry went on: “If you did, you need to tell us. Whoever kidnapped you might be planning to do it again.”

“I don’t remember anything about my kidnapping,” she replied.

“Even if Yaxley merely looks similar to your kidnapper, it would be very helpful - possibly crucial - to prevent another crime,” Ron said.

“Aren’t you listening? I told you: I don’t remember anything about my kidnapping!” She stood, slamming her hands down on her desk, almost toppling over one of her stacks of paper.

“Why were you frightened of him, then?” Ron asked. “And you were; I saw your face.”

Once more, she looked from him to Hary and back, then she raised her chin slightly. “If I knew who was involved in the kidnapping, I would denounce them at once! But I don’t!” She wasn’t quite crying, but her eyes looked wet. For Granger, that was almost a nervous breakdown.

Perhaps we should ease up, Ron thought. She was a traumatised kidnapping victim, after all. Not a criminal. Probably not.

But Harry was pushing. “Why were you frightened of Yaxley, then, if you can’t remember anything and didn’t have a flashback?”

“Panic attack. I’m doing much better than I used to, but sometimes they still happen.” She had composed herself again. “Anything could trigger one.”

Her answer explained her reaction. But Ron didn’t believe her. She was lying. Ron could feel it in his gut. But he couldn’t prove it.

“You didn’t have a panic attack when I shot Crabbe. Or when Scrimgeour was murdered and we expected a follow-up attack on your flat,” Harry pointed out.

“They happen randomly. Like my nightmares.” She didn’t sound smug, but there was a hint of relief, in Ron’s opinion. She looked at them both, then sat down again and resumed working.

Ron clenched his teeth, swallowing a curse. He knew she was hiding something. He just didn’t know what it was.

*****​

“You need to step away.”

“What?” Ron stared at her. She hadn’t said anything but 'Curry’, 'please’ and ‘thank you’ since their confrontation, and now she wanted…

“From the quantum mirror cage. I’m running a test.”

Ah. He took a few steps to the side. “A test?”

“Yes.” She bent down, connecting thick power cables to the base of the cage.

“And what’s it supposed to do?”

“I’m just confirming that the power demands are met and that the cables can handle the strain.”

“Really?” He didn’t believe it. Granger wasn’t the type. She would have tested that as soon as she had built the thing.

“Yes.”

“We’re in no danger of getting disintegrated, then? Reduced to our component atoms?”

“No.” She looked annoyed, even with half her face hidden by her bushy mane. “This isn’t Dr Who.”

“Too bad. A Tardis would be great,” he joked.

She tensed again and stepped back before walking to a console. “Don’t go near the cage! And don’t touch it!”

“One kind of precludes the other,” Harry pointed out.

She glared at them, then flipped a switch, and the cage started to hum as tiny sparks appeared on its metal bars.

Ron half-expected her to yell ‘It’s alive!’, but she only took more notes while cranking up the power until Ron expected an arc to appear between the bars at any moment, welding the machine shut. Or at least for her hair to get all puffy.

But neither happened before she finished her test and turned the thing off. “Just as predicted!” she announced, beaming at them for a moment, before her eyes widened and she turned away, returning to her desk without looking at them.

Mental, Ron thought again.

*****​

Hours later, Granger finally seemed done with her work for the day, picking up a stack of notes and stuffing them into her bag. She even seemed a little tired, instead of looking like she were raring to pull an all-nighter with a few gallons of tea and a few pounds of chocolate keeping her awake and fueled. “Can we pick up dinner on the way home?”

“We’re not going to your home,” Harry told her.

“What?” She stared at Ron’s friend.

“Your flat isn’t safe enough,” he told her.

“I was told the police would be patrolling the area,” she replied.

“They will. But it won’t be enough. Not against people willing to murder Scrimgeour,” Harry said. “A patrol could easily be taken out by a sniper.”

“There’s also the fact that there’s no safe way to park the car in your area and transfer to your flat,” Ron pointed out. “There aren’t enough officers available to cover all possible sniping locations.” And that was not even taking the possible threat from long-range snipers into account.

“I see.” Granger nodded, to Ron’s surprise - he had expected her to throw a tantrum. “So where are we going, then? A safe house?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed.

“I expect to be able to leave for work tomorrow,” she said, frowning at them both.

“That’s the plan,” Ron said. “Unless something happens, of course.” He didn’t trust their luck after two shootings in two days.

“Let’s go then.” Granger nodded and started towards the door of her lab, prompting Ron and Harry to beat her there - a bodyguard didn’t let their charge go first through any door.

Once more, they had to check the underground garage for an ambush. And the car for sabotage.

“I thought the police were guarding the perimeter,” Granger said as Ron knelt down to check the bottom of the Audi.

“They are,” Ron confirmed.

“But you still check for yourself, if you plan to stay alive in this business,” Harry added.

Granger snorted. “Constant vigilance?” Had she met Moody? No - the old man would have told Ron and Harry. She rolled her eyes at Ron’s expression. “You told me about your instructor.”

Ah. But had they mentioned his catchphrase? Ron wasn’t certain.

*****​

Kingston Upon Thames, London, July 7th, 2005

“This looks very ordinary,” Granger commented as Ron put the takeaway containers on the table in the small house. “But it doesn’t look like anyone lives here.”

“No one does,” Harry said as he passed them on the way to check the basement - they had already checked both floors of the house.

“That could tip off the neighbours that something’s not normal, couldn't it?”

“The cover story takes that into account,” Ron replied. “Some expat kept the family home even though he moved to Australia.”

“With the right algorithm, you could probably find such safe houses,” she mused. “Just look for similar setups.”

“A search wouldn’t narrow it down enough to be practical,” Ron retorted. “And I doubt that there’s a mailing list for nosey neighbours.”

“Aunt Petunia would be on it if there were one,” Harry cut in. “Cellar’s clear as well,” he added.

Granger didn’t ask about Harry’s aunt, Ron noticed. She merely nodded in acknowledgement. And the way she looked at Harry… was that sympathy? There hadn’t been anything about Harry’s strained relations to his family in the news.

"Let’s eat,” Harry said. “Before the food goes cold.”

“There’s a microwave,” Granger had to point out, of course.

“That’s not a reason to delay dinner any longer,” Ron said. “I'm starving!” He was, actually.

Granger chuckled, shaking her head with a bemused expression, but a moment later, she closed up again, frowning as if she was angry at herself.

Dinner ended up being a rather quiet affair, and Granger was up and headed towards the stairs before Ron had finished his own meal.

“Which room’s mine?”

“The small one with the single bed,” Harry said - he had also finished his meal already. “We’ll take the double.”

Not that they needed it - one of them would be keeping guard while the other slept, and vice versa. But neither did Granger need a larger bed. Such things only happened in movies.

Two hours later, Ron heard her scream.

*****​

She didn’t want to do it. The last time she had done it… She shivered at the memory. Fur. Fangs. Whiskers. Ears that seemed to move of their own accord. Claws sliding out of her fingers at the slightest provocation. And a twitching tail that had a will of its own. And the instincts...

She shook her head. That wouldn’t happen again. This was safe. Mostly. As safe as she could make it - she had checked and taken the hairs herself.

“Hey! Is something wrong?”

He was looking at her. Smiling, despite their situation.

She returned his smile. “It’s alright, Ron. I’m just a little…” She shrugged.

He nodded. “I know. Harry’s keeping an eye on them.”

She closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Taking a deep breath - facing away from the empty cauldron and its lingering smell - she stood. “The vials are ready.”

“Ah.” He knew what that meant. Wetting his lips, he looked back, over his shoulder, through the tent’s entrance.

“Let’s go.” She nodded and stepped past him, out of the tent.

Harry was leaning against the closest tree, watching their captives. Mafalda Hopkirk. Albert Runcorn. Corban Yaxley. Laid out on the ground, bound with magical ropes and covered with jinxes that prevented all known methods of magical travel. And still drooling from the overdose of Veritaserum Hermione had force-fed them, and the mind spells she had used on them.

Their bodies and knowledge would allow Hermione and her friends to reach Umbridge. She handed the boys a dozen vials each, and the hairs she had tested.

“Remember: We go in, get the locket and leave,” Ron said. “We don’t get sidetracked.”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed, feeling a little annoyed. She knew perfectly well that the locket took priority. “No attacking targets of opportunity. No matter how tempting.” She dropped one hair into a vial, then toasted her friends.

A moment later, she felt her body change.

*****​

She was sick when they returned. Literally - she knelt down in the grass and retched, barely noticing how he held her hair back. Not that she cared. The things she had seen, in the Ministry… The crimes she’d had to watch, without being able to lift a finger, much less her wand, to help, lest she compromise their crucial mission...

She spat the last of her bile on the ground, then rinsed her mouth with a glass of water Harry had conjured. “Thanks.”

He nodded at her.

“Those bastards…” Ron spat.

She turned her head to look at their captives. They were awake, now, but still silenced and bound. They couldn’t move, but they could watch.

Harry and Ron glanced at each other. “Better seal the locket up right now,” Harry said.

She knew what he was thinking. And she was tempted to agree. Enter the tent. Ignore what was going to happen. It would be easy. And it would be wrong.

As the Headmaster used to say: You had to decide whether you did what was right or what was easy. And she knew what was right. They hadn’t been able to save the poor prisoners in the Ministry. But they could ensure that their captives wouldn’t hurt anyone any more ever again.

She shook her head. “No. Let’s get this over with.”

“Are you sure?”

She gave Ron a look, and he backed off.

She picked Yaxley. He was staring at her, his face frozen, only his eyes moving, as she approached. She was tempted to yell at him. Confront him with his crimes. Make him confess. Make him sweat.

But she just pointed her wand at his head.

“Reducto.”

*****​

 

Chapter 4: The Inside Job

Kingston Upon Thames, London, July 8th, 2005

Ron entered Granger’s room with his gun drawn, looking for a threat. There wasn’t any. But thanks to the light from the hallway, he could see Granger sitting up in the bed, hands furiously wiping her face. Though there was nothing on her face. And she was panting. He could see her chest heaving.

A panic attack if he had ever seen one. Or a flashback, part of his mind whispered.

She blinked, finally noticing him. “Ro…” She broke off, swallowing. “Officer Weasley,” she said, more calmly.

“Dr Granger. Nightmare?”

She nodded. “Yes.” Her hand rose, almost touching her left cheek before she dropped it again.

Harry arrived a moment later, wearing his trousers and not much else. He looked at Granger, then at Ron and sighed. “False alarm?”

“I had a nightmare,” Granger said. She was staring at Harry’s chest, Ron noticed. Most people did when they first saw his scar.

“I wasn’t hit by a cannon,” Harry told her in the same slightly annoyed tone he always used when explaining his infamous mark. “It was a normal gun - the scar just grew with me.”

“Ah.” Granger didn’t ask any questions and stopped staring at Harry. Only one person had reacted like that in this situation, as far as Ron knew: Luna, when she had met Harry swimming a few laps in the pond at Ron’s home. And Luna was pretty much the antithesis of Granger.

He glanced at his friend and found Harry looking surprised. Perhaps even a little disappointed that Granger wasn’t pushing for more details - Harry didn’t like talking about the events that led to him getting the scar, but he liked telling off nosy people. Well, it seemed that Granger wasn’t going to give him the opportunity.

“So…” She was looking at him. “You have ascertained that I merely had a nightmare and am not in lethal danger.”

Ron nodded. “Yes.”

“Then there’s no reason to stay in my room any longer, is there?” She pulled her sheets up as if Ron had been staring at her. He hadn’t, though - not that she was naked, in any case; she had taken a nightie from the safe house’s stock.

“No, there isn’t,” Harry agreed, glancing at Ron.

Ron merely nodded curtly and left the room. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” he said in a low voice once they were back in the hallway. “She goes from scared to considerate to abrasive inside of a minute.”

“There’s nothing in her file about any mental health issues - apart from trauma related to her kidnapping,” Harry said, heading back to the bedroom.

“Whoever examined her might have missed something. Or it could be a recent development,” Ron replied. “When I went in, she was about to call me ‘Ron’, and a moment later, she was all distant.”

Harry stopped at the door and looked at him. “She was about to call you ‘Ron’?”

“Yes.” Ron knew what he had heard.

“Are you able to read minds now?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “She said ‘Ro…’, then stopped.”

“That’s not very conclusive,” Harry retorted. “Could have wanted to call you a rotten bastard.”

Ron chuckled at that. “Perhaps she did,” he admitted. But he didn’t think so. “Anyway, we should…” He blinked. Had that been…?

“That was the alarm we placed on the door,” Harry confirmed. “Someone’s breaking in.” And they hadn’t triggered the regular alarm.

“Could be a burglar,” Ron said as he pulled his cell phone out. The cover story claimed that the house was unoccupied for long periods, and the special curtains kept the lights inside from showing outside. A burglar might think the house was unoccupied.

No signal. That was… “Someone’s jamming the cell phones.” No burglar would do that. Moody had been right again - always expect the worst, Moody liked to say, and so far this assignment had been one mess after another.

Harry cursed.

“Get your shoes and get Granger, I’ll cover the stairs,” Ron whispered, already moving towards them.

A moment later, he was crouched at the top of the stairs, pistol aimed at the door below. Any moment now… Behind him, he could hear Harry go into Granger’s bedroom.

It took a little longer for the perps to pick the lock than he had expected. Harry would have gone through it in half the time - and he wouldn’t have triggered the alarm. Whoever this was, they hadn’t been trained by Moody.

Then the door was pushed open - slowly - and the first thing Ron saw was the muzzle of an AK-47. Definitely not a burglar, then. And not - as had happened before to a CI5 team in a safe house - Met officers investigating a possible burglary that the neighbours had reported.

No need to call out a warning, either, against that kind of firepower. When the head of the criminal, face covered by a ski mask, appeared, Ron squeezed the trigger and fired a 9 mm bullet into it. The man dropped dead in the doorway, his assault rifle clattering on the ground. Pushed by the falling body, the door swung open, and Ron spotted someone moving outside, but they took cover before he could snap off another shot.

What would they do now? They had lost their point man and the element of surprise. Smart criminals would retreat in this situation. But smart criminals didn’t carry Russian assault rifles. Or murder police officers with sniper rifles.

Footsteps behind him! He glanced over his shoulder. Harry was in the doorway of Granger’s room, with Granger herself behind him. She looked like he had dragged her out of her bed - still in her nightie, but clutching her bag. Nice legs.

He focused on the door again. “Got one,” he said in a low voice, “but there’s at least one more outside.”

Harry pulled Granger down at once. “We need to get to the car.”

Which was in the garage. They could reach it without leaving the house, but going down the stairs would put them into the field of fire of a sniper covering the front of the house. And Ron would bet that the same man who had murdered Scrimgeour was out there.

“Someone has to have heard the shot and called the police,” Granger said.

“Cell phones are jammed,” Harry replied. “They wouldn’t have forgotten to sabotage the landlines either.”

“Who would be able to do that?” she asked.

“The same sort of people who could find out which safe house we picked,” Harry replied.

Granger’s gasp told Ron that she realised who Harry meant.

Traitors within CI5.

Something flew through the door, trailing flames, and hit the floor in the entrance area, shattering. A moment later, flames sprang up.

“They’re trying to smoke us out,” Ron yelled, squeezing off two shots in the general direction of the door - just in case the enemy was planning a charge.

“Where’s the fire extinguisher?” Granger asked.

“Don’t!” Ron heard Harry yell. “They’ll be waiting for us to go down so they can shoot.”

“But they want me…”

Ron cut her off. “Even if they want you alive, they won’t expect you to be first and will shoot anyway.”

Below, the fire was spreading. He could already smell smoke. They needed to get out of here - but the enemy would be waiting for them.

“We need to get to the car,” Harry repeated himself.

Ron agreed. It was their best chance - as far as they could tell, since the alarm they had placed there hadn’t gone off, no one had broken into the garage yet. They just needed to get down to the ground floor and into the garage without getting shot.

He heard glass shatter, and the flickering light below grew stronger. Someone had thrown another petrol bottle into the living room. Time was running out. “The fire extinguisher!” he yelled.

“What?” Harry and Granger asked, but Ron was already running past them, towards the corner of the hallway. If it was… yes! It was a powder extinguisher!

He grabbed it and sprinted back. “Harry, grab Granger and follow me! I’ll cover us.”

“What? But you said they’ll…” Granger started.

Ron ignored her and pulled the trigger on the extinguisher, quickly covering the stairs, then the entrance area, in a thick cloud of fine powder before holding his breath and sprinting downstairs. They wouldn’t be able to shoot if they wanted Granger alive, but if they wanted to kill her…

He reached the ground floor without stumbling or getting shot and sent a powder cloud out the door, then covered the hallway and stairs again before moving towards the garage.

A shriek behind him made him stop, but a moment later, Harry yelled: “I’ve got her, go on!”

Ron reached the entrance to the garage, dropping the sputtering extinguisher and entering the garage with his pistol out again, quickly covering and checking the area while taking a deep breath. “Clear!” he announced as Harry arrived, Granger in tow. Both were covered in white powder - like Ron himself.

Harry let go of her hand and rushed to the driver’s side of the Audi while Granger bent over, coughing and wheezing.

“Come on!” Ron told her, grabbing her and all but stuffing her into the car. He spotted someone moving in the hallway through the thinning clouds of powder and fired off two more shots, pushing the car door closed with his hip.

Another shot for good measure followed, then he jumped into the passenger seat as Harry gunned the engine.

Ron managed to pull the armoured door closed a second before Harry crashed through the opening door, wrecking it and their paint job. “Get down!” he yelled.

Granger shrieked as shots rang out, armoured windows getting covered in shallow craters where bullets failed to penetrate the glass - mostly on Harry’s side, Ron noticed.

His friend put the car into a narrow turn, narrowly missing a parked SUV, and Ron felt the slight shock when one of their tyres got shot. That wouldn’t stop the car, though, certainly not with Harry behind the wheel. Ron’s partner accelerated and drove the Audi down the road. A far too tight turn round the closest street corner later, they were clear.

That didn’t mean that they were safe, of course. Ron pressed his lips together as he started to come down from the adrenalin high of combat, reholstering his pistol - after a tactical reload, of course.

"How did they find us?” Granger asked. “Who knew that we were there?”

That was the crux of the issue. “No one outside CI5 knew of that safe house. Even fewer knew we were there,” Ron said.

“There’s a leak, then. Probably the same leak that caused Scrimgeour’s death.” Granger went on.

“It’s possible,” Harry agreed.

Granger scoffed. “Do you honestly think that you have two leaks in your organisation?”

If CI5 had been penetrated by two different organisations, they would be the laughing stock of the police service, Ron knew. Worse than they already were, of course - many would love to see CI5 taken down a notch or two. Especially the Met - Bones and Scrimgeour had a tendency to run roughshod over them when solving a case. And Ron would be lying if he claimed not to have enjoyed their special status at times.

“In either case, I don’t trust CI5 any more,” Granger went on. “As an organisation. You two are above suspicion, of course.”

“Why, thank you for the vote of confidence,” Harry drawled.

Ron chuckled.

“You saved me twice,” Granger replied. “But I worry about my parents.”

“And you don’t trust Yaxley,” Ron said.

“No, I don’t. But I don’t have any logical reason for my suspicion.”

“Female intuition?” Ron joked.

Granger snorted at that.

“We’ll have to call Bones. We can trust her - if she were compromised, she would have simply replaced us with other agents,” Ron said. But would Bones know who to trust?

“And we’ll need burner phones,” Harry added.

“Pardon?”

“Too many know our cell phone numbers. Any traitor would be able to track us through them,” Ron explained. “They’ll be tracking us already, but Harry’s driving too fast for them to find us.”

“Ah.”

Harry had to stop at a red light. “Yes. But that’s only a temporary solution. Call Bones and fill her in.”

Ron pulled out his phone. He had a signal again.

*****​

Soho, London, July 8th, 2005

Ron checked carefully for any tails or witnesses before he approached the rental lockers near the hostel and Tube station. He didn’t spot anyone suspicious, though, before he reached the locker they had rented - on Moody’s advice. Ten seconds later, he was walking away with a sports bag in hand. Just another young man coming home late from a trip.

He snorted - it was a little too late at night for that.

“Trouble?” Harry asked as he approached the side alley where his friend was hiding with Granger - they were slightly underdressed for clubbing.

“No,” Ron replied, putting the bag down and opening it. “Let’s get you two dressed.” They’d have to get one of their weapon bags, later - whoever was behind this had too much firepower to rely on their pistols. Bones would loathe it, but they had no choice.

“You’ve got female clothes in the bag?” Granger sounded sceptical.

“Unisex,” Ron replied with a grin, handing Harry a phone and pocketing one himself. “You can wear some jeans and shirts of ours. Might be a little loose on you, though.”

Granger nodded. “I’ll manage.”

For a certain definition of ‘manage’, Ron thought a minute later. Ginny wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing rolled-up jeans - even Harry’s were far too long for Granger - and a loose shirt. Well, not so loose in the chest, he noticed. Though it wasn’t as if he were staring - but as a police officer, he was trained to notice details.

“So, Bones said to ‘lay low and contact her in a day or two’,” Harry summed up as they were walking down the street five minutes later. “We’ve already ditched the car with our phones.” Well, they left it in a car park. Bones would recover it from the Met. “Which means we’re on our own for now.”

“Seeing as you have a private getaway bag hidden in London - and I doubt that you only had one - I assume that you’re prepared for this,” Granger commented.

Ron chuckled at Harry’s pout. “We’ve got a few options,” his friend said. “You might not like them.”

“I’ll manage,” Granger replied, patting her bag. Did she expect them to go camping for a few days and rely on her MREs?

“Good, since you’re the weak link here,” Harry told her with a grin. “We’ve got fake IDs for ourselves, but, obviously, not for you. Which means we’ll have to find a hotel where they won’t ask questions if a woman visits two men in their room. You’ll have to dress up.”

Granger gaping, finally at a loss for words - if only for a few seconds - was a sight Ron would treasure.

*****​

Even after being told that she wouldn’t be posing as a prostitute, just a party girl, Granger was still fuming. The woman couldn’t take a joke.

“And where will you get ‘appropriate clothes’?” she asked. “Unless you think jeans and a shirt are the height of fashion in the club scene. Which, I’ll have you know, they aren’t.”

“Second-hand shop,” Ron replied, checking for tails while Harry took point.

“I wasn’t aware that there were any open at this time of the night,” she commented.

“There aren’t,” Ron told her. “And if there were, using them might draw attention.” Unlikely, but not impossible, as Moody liked to say.

“Breaking into a shop will also draw attention,” she retorted.

“Only if they notice.” He grinned at her. “Which they won’t, I’ll have you know.”

She really didn’t like having her own words quoted back at her. Or she loathed his imitation of her. Either way, her glare was a sight to see.

“Knock it off, you two, and get with the programme. People are staring,” Harry cut in. “We’re here, anyway.”

“Here?” Granger had to ask.

“At ‘Fabolous Frankie’s’,” Ron said. “The second-hand shop which will help us turn you hip. Or at least get you into clothes that were fashionable this millennium.”

"You don’t exactly dress like a model either,” she shot back.

“Not yet.” He grinned.

“So that means you will commit fraud as well as petty theft?”

He had to laugh at the implied insult. “Good one. You’d almost think you have a sense of humour!”

“I do have a sense of humour,” she retorted, proving Ron right, “it’s just a little more sophisticated than yours.”

“I see. You must have left it in your flat, then? Or did you feed it to your quantum mirror cage?”

“Dial down the flirting, you two,” Harry interrupted. “We have a shop to break into.”

"Funny,” Granger commented in a tone that meant the opposite.

Ron chuckled, though, and went to help Harry with the lock on the back door of Frankie’s. This wouldn’t take long. Well, breaking in wouldn’t take long. Finding clothes that made Granger look trendy would be a challenge.

It didn’t take long. Frankie hadn’t changed the lock since the last time they had checked for stolen goods without a warrant or his knowledge. Lazy - but then, most people able to easily pick his locks wouldn’t waste their time on his cheap clothes.

“Come,” Ron whispered, holding out his hand to Granger as Harry opened the door.

She scoffed and ignored it, walking past him. He frowned behind her back. If she stumbled and broke something...

She didn’t, and they reached the back room of the shop without trouble. Unlike some of his competitors’, Frankie’s storage area had no windows. It was perfect for some after-hours shopping - Ron wasn’t keen on picking clothes in the dark, or in the dim light of a penlight, just so the passers-by outside wouldn’t notice them.

“And here we are! Clubbing clothes, self-service!” Ron announced as he flicked the light switch on and revealed rows and stacks of clothes.

Granger picked up a shredded ‘Sex Pistols’ T-shirt from the closest stack and frowned. “Punk has been dead for a quarter of a century,” she said.

“It’s vintage now,” Ron told her, “but I don’t think torn fishnets would look right on you.” Although her hair certainly fit the punk look.

“And what would suit me, then?”

“Leather?” He grinned at her.

“I don’t ride a bike,” she replied, a moment before her eyes narrowed. “I think a gimp suit would be fitting for you.”

“I didn’t think you knew what a gimp suit was,” he said. Or that she had understood his veiled dig.

“I know a great deal more than you imagine.”

“I can imagine quite a bit.”

She sniffed. “I doubt that if you have to quote movies as comebacks.”

And Harry chuckled behind the row of older jackets.

“If not for Ginny, you’d be stuck in the 90s,” Ron told him.

“Like you?” Harry shot back.

Ron scoffed. Then he saw the perfect outfit for Granger and grinned. “Hey! Take this!” He waited until she was about to turn around, then threw the torn jeans and bustier towards her. She managed to catch them, though, before they hit her in the face, but her expression when she held them up was still amusing.

“Are you serious?” She shook her head.

“No, that’s Harry’s godfather.”

“That joke’s older than these clothes.”

“It’s a second-hand shop. But this look’s only about three years old,” Ron replied.

“Britney Spears wants her clothes back.”

“She’s rich enough to buy new ones. Put them on - you’ll be able to run in them as well if you need to. And the style fits your bag.”

To his surprise, she agreed.

Some people had no fashion sense.

Although, Ron had to admit ten minutes later, Granger looked hot in tight, ripped jeans and a bustier that might have been a size too small - not his fault; Granger hadn’t exactly flaunted her figure. Well, hot compared to her usual look, at least, he amended his thought.

And she was blushing a little, he realised, even as she glared at him.

“Perfect!” he stated.

Harry agreed, although Ron couldn’t tell if his friend merely wanted to leave as soon as possible.

*****​

They found a youth hostel at the edge of Soho with a bored night clerk behind the reception desk. Bored and stoned, Ron corrected himself as he caught a whiff of the distinctive smell of marijuana. Must have had a spliff outside.

The man didn’t even glance at their fake passports. However, the security camera in the corner didn’t look broken - but it was mounted so high, just keeping one’s head down would prevent it from recording their faces. Not that it was very likely that their enemies would get the recordings, but Ron wasn’t about to get sloppy now.

“So… uh… you stay past noon, you pay for another night,” the clerk drawled as he handed them their keycard. “That’s noon, not half past noon. Got it?”

Harry nodded. “Got it. We’ll probably be staying a few days anyway - depends on the ‘scene’, you know?”

“Birds,” Ron added with a lecherous grin.

“Ah!” The stoner nodded. “Sure thing.”

The guy was already looking for his next spliff, Ron saw as they went upstairs.

The room was passable. Solid door, though the lock wouldn’t take a professional more than ten seconds to pick, the bed and bathroom looked clean and it was on the first floor - they would be able to jump down to the street if they had to.

After dropping their ‘travelling bags’ on the bed, they left again, asking the clerk - who didn’t even bother to leave his smoking blunt outside this time - about the best club for ‘chatting up birds’.

Granger was where they had left her - waiting in the replacement car, hiding behind the passenger seat. With the car parked in the darkest corner of the car park, the only way anyone would have been able to spot her would have been by shining a flashlight into the car. Still, Ron felt quite relieved to see her glare at them when they opened the doors.

“Am I allowed to leave the car now? Or have you decided to make me sleep in the trunk?”

Ron rubbed his chin, pretending to think it over, but Harry kicked his shin. “We got a room, and it’ll be easy to sneak you inside without the night clerk noticing.”

“You mean I didn’t have to dress up like this?” she asked.

“You still needed to change your appearance,” Ron retorted. “No one will connect a party girl with Dr Granger.”

“Should dye your hair, though,” Harry added. “Or cut it and get a wig. We should be able to get one tomorrow.”

“My hair’s fine,” she replied in an icy tone, running a hand over her messy pony-tail.

“Fine’s not the word I’d use.” Ron shook his head. More like ‘catastrophic’ or ‘in need of emergency hair care’.

“Your haircut doesn’t exactly hint at any competence regarding hairstyling,” she replied.

“That’s enough,” Harry cut in. “Let’s head inside.”

“You’re starting to sound like Percy,” Ron whispered as they walked back to the hostel. “If you get any more respectable, Ginny’ll expect a proposal.”

“Mind your own business,” Harry shot back.

He must have touched a nerve. But then, Ginny had been hoping for a proposal since before she and Harry had gotten together.

The night clerk was busy getting high as they entered and not at his desk, so all they had to do was make Granger keep her head down and act drunk as they passed the camera and then they were safely inside the room.

With the single king-sized bed, Ron realised a moment before Granger did and loudly voiced her displeasure with the arrangement.

*****​

Ron woke up with a tangled mess of bushy hair in front of his face. What the… Someone was shaking him. Harry!

“It’s eight am. Time to get up.”

Ron rolled back to their side of the bed, away from Granger before she could wake up and take offence. “Why didn’t you pull me back before I tried to use her as a pillow?” he complained in a low voice. Harry had been on guard; he would have noticed.

“It was funny to watch you move closer in your sleep,” Harry told him with a smirk.

“Ha ha.” It was as funny as the twins’ spider pranks, in Ron’s opinion. And, given Granger’s temper, probably twice as dangerous.

Speaking of the devil… he saw Granger twist, roll on her back, then turn her head to glare at them. “You woke me up.”

“It’s time to get up,” Harry said - far too cheerfully, in Ron’s opinion.

“And you apparently let him almost molest me in my sleep.” Her glare grew more furious. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want to share the bed.”

“I would have pulled him back before he touched you,” Harry replied. “But as long as you weren’t actually touching, where’s the harm?”

For once, Ron fully shared Granger’s opinion. He’d have to get back at Harry - once they were done with this case.

She huffed. “So, what’s the plan for today? Dress up as mimes and hide in the city? Join the circus?”

Harry ignored her sarcasm. “We’ll get breakfast, then rest until lunch. Like normal partying tourists.”

“And no, we won’t go back to your lab,” Ron added. “They’ll be waiting there, and I don’t fancy getting shot by a sniper.”

“Won’t you contact your superior?” Granger asked as she slid out of the bed.

“She said to wait a day or two; it’s not even been half a day,” Ron replied.

“Wouldn’t she have asked you to wait for twenty-four to forty-eight hours instead, if she didn’t mean the next day?”

Scientists! Ron sidestepped the question. “She was probably up all night. I’d rather not call her when she’s going to sleep.”

She scoffed in return and entered the bathroom.

Ron closed his eyes and leaned back. It would be a while until he could go take a shower. For all her lack of makeup and hairstyling, Granger did take her time in the bathroom.

*****​

“Can I ask you a question?” Ron asked an hour later, after the waiter in the street café they had picked had finally brought their order.

She looked up from her cup of tea. “Yes?”

No sarcastic comment. A good sign. Hopefully. “Why are you so fixated on your work? It’s not curing cancer, or fusion power or anything that can’t wait a few days or weeks, is it? Just experimental physics.”

He could see her jaw set and her lips turn into a thin line for a moment, before she sighed. “It’s personal.”

“That’s obvious,” he replied, then winced. “Sorry. I don’t want to pry, but...”

“Then don’t.”

He pushed on, ignoring Harry’s glances. “But you’re willing to risk your life for it.” And Harry’s and his own, incidentally. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” She was acting as if lives depended on her success. As if people would die if she failed.

“It’s personal,” she repeated herself. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She closed up again and stared at her teacup.

“It’s not related to your past, is it?” He couldn’t think of a reason it would be, but he didn’t know what had happened to her. No one did.

“What?” For a moment, she stared at him with wide eyes. “No, of course not.”

She was lying. He was certain of that.

“We’re risking our lives for you,” he went on. “We need to know why your work is so important.”

She shook her head, rather violently. “As you said, as I told you, my work isn’t really important to anyone other than myself.”

“So the people sending killers after you are doing so because they made a mistake and think your work is important?” That was ridiculous.

“It’s the only explanation that makes sense!” she retorted.

Ron doubted that. Her work wasn’t a secret, and the kind of criminals - or spies - who had the resources to kill Scrimgeour and infiltrate CI5 weren’t the kind of people who made such mistakes.

He bit into his slice of buttered toast, glancing at Granger. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces. But he’d solve it.

*****​

“She knows what this is about,” Harry said after Granger had gone to the bathroom.

“I’m not sure,” Ron replied, keeping an eye on the door. “She’s lying, but I’m not sure what she’s lying about.”

“The kidnapping.”

“That makes no sense.” Ron shook his head. “What could have happened that she can’t talk about but would lead to her becoming a wanted woman - wanted for her work as a quantum physicist?”

“Her work is the only reason anyone would be going to these lengths,” his friend said. “After all these years, at least.”

Ron wasn’t convinced. “We’re missing something. Something crucial.”

Harry made a non-committal noise. Ron tore his eyes off the door and looked at his friend. He looked… concerned. “What?” Ron asked.

“You seem to be taking a personal interest in this case.”

“What?” Ron blinked when he realised what Harry was hinting at. “I’m interested in the case, not in her.”

Harry didn’t look like he believed Ron. But he was wrong. Granger wasn’t his type. Too snippy, too plain, too arrogant.

*****​

Clissold Park, Stoke Newington, London, July 9th, 2005

Ron didn’t like this. They were too exposed. Too vulnerable. “Who arranges a meeting in a bloody park?” he muttered, eyes scanning the closest hedge. Especially with a sniper on the loose.

“Your boss,” Granger, standing next to him in a floral-print summer dress even Luna would probably consider too tacky, replied. At least her ratty bag wasn’t visible, having been stuffed into a larger linen handbag.

“I know that. I was asking a rhetorical question,” he snapped. At her surprised, then rapidly darkening glare, he added: “Sorry.”

“You said Bones could be trusted,” she said.

“Yes.” Ron forced himself not to look back at the tree in which Harry was hiding with the L1A1 they had taken from their private depot. His friend had his back. Their back. “She can be trusted. Bones would rather die than bend the law, much less break it.”

“But you don’t trust her subordinates.”

He glanced at Granger. Her lips, pretty much the only thing visible of her face under the wide-brimmed hat she was wearing, were forming a thin line. “We don’t know who the traitor inside CI5 is. We don’t have any clues,” he added.

“I told you that I had never seen Yaxley before,” she snapped.

“I didn’t mention his name,” he pointed out.

“I know what you meant to say,” she retorted. “And I’m telling you: I don’t know anything about a traitor in CI5.”

“But you think it’s Yaxley.”

“I have no proof nor any rational reason to suspect him.”

“That’s not a denial.” He bared his teeth. Gotcha!

“Can you at least try to act like a couple out on an afternoon stroll?” Harry’s voice interrupted his next line before he could voice it.

“We’re a couple going through a break-up,” Ron shot back. “We tried to talk it out in the park, and we failed.” It was an even better cover than Harry’s idea - who would expect a bodyguard to argue like this with his charge? Well, anyone who knew Granger, obviously.

“We’re what? Ah.” Granger, who couldn’t hear Harry, nodded. “Good idea.”

He smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“Now they’re getting along!” he heard Harry sigh over the radio.

“You’re just…” Ron started, but, once more, Harry cut him off.

“Bones’s arriving. East entrance.”

Ron whirled around. Yes, there was a woman walking towards them in a sharp suit. About the right height and weight - though the hair was blonde. A wig, he realised once the woman came closer.

“Weasley.”

Yes, that was Bones - Ron would recognise her annoyed voice in his sleep. “Boss,” he replied.

“Are you alone?” Granger showed her usual tact.

“Of course,” Bones replied. “No one knows I’m here. Not even Alastor - though he’ll suspect.”

“You didn’t even bring a guard?” Granger blurted out.

“My trusted officers have more important tasks than playing bodyguard.” Bones sneered. “Such as protecting your parents as they go into hiding and hunting down the mole in my department.”

“I see,” Granger replied. "Things are worse in CI5 than I feared, then.”

Ron cleared his throat before Granger could make Bones even angrier. “What’re our orders, ma’am?”

"You’re reassigned. You and Potter will help Alastor hunt the mole. We need to find the traitor yesterday.”

Ron gasped almost against his will. But that would… “Who’ll take over for us?”

”No one. I’ll take Granger to her parents - at a location only known by myself. That way, we only need one protective detail for the entire family.”

That made sense. A lot of sense, actually. And Ron was happy to go on the offensive, instead of hiding and running. But… He glanced at Granger. She looked grim again.

“Any questions?”

“No, ma’am.” He turned to Granger. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

“Yes.” He saw her bite her lower lip as if she was unsure what else to say. “Thank you for all you’ve done,” she said after a moment.

“Just doing my job,” he replied - and winced when she flinched before nodding without any expression.

“Smooth,” Harry added his unneeded opinion.

“Let’s go, then. If I don’t return in time, Alastor will assume the worst,” Bones said, already turning around.

“Alright.” Granger glanced at him, then took a few steps to catch up with Bones.

And he was watching her walk away. Cursing under his breath, he turned away.

“Company!” Harry yelled into his ear. “A car just pulled up next to Bones’s with armed men!”

Ron whirled, sprinting towards Granger and Bones, while Harry started shooting. He saw the attackers appear in the entrance, one falling as Harry’s shots found their mark. Bones pushed Granger down and opened fire as well. He was still too far away to hit anyone reliably, but just a few more seconds…

Bones went down, part of her head missing.

“Sniper!” Harry yelled.

Ron had almost reached Granger - Bones was beyond help - and started to weave while shooting at the attackers. He just had to make them seek cover until he had pulled Granger to safety. Harry could cover them - and spot the sniper. “Run!” he yelled. “Ru…”

Something hit his chest with enough force to make him stumble and fall. He rolled across the ground, coming to rest on his belly.

Then the pain in hit him. He had been hit. Sniper. Hit but not killed. He had to get up. Get Granger to safety. Get up. Shoot. Get up. Get up.

Suddenly, everything went dark.

*****​

“They’ve gotten in! They’ve gotten in!”

“What?” She gasped.

“Death Eaters! They’ve gotten in!” Neville came to a stop next to her, panting. “Coming through the defence classroom.”

That couldn’t be true. This was Hogwarts - the safest place in Britain. She shook her head. It was impossible!

“We have to tell the others! Tell them to barricade the dorms!” Neville regained his breath.

“Where are Harry and Ron?” She asked. They had been with him, headed towards the Room of Requirement to prepare for the next DA lesson.

“They went to tell Dumbledore. Luna went to Ravenclaw Tower,” Neville replied.

“I’ll tell the Hufflepuffs. Go to our dorm!” she snapped and broke into a run towards the kitchens. The Hufflepuff dorm was right next to them. The closest route was two stairs down, across the courtyard…

She took the stairs three steps at a time, jumping the last five and whirling without losing speed - not after more than a year’s worth of training with the DA. She didn’t dash across the courtyard, though - she stuck to the hallways, keeping under cover.

She was almost at the kitchens when she heard the screaming. Wand drawn, she stopped at the corner, then peered around.

And gasped again. There were two dead house-elves on the ground. Reductor Curses, she realised. And a Death Eater was standing there, over a student. Hannah.

The other witch was screaming, countless cuts sprouting all over her body. Hermione recognised the curse - Sectumsempra, from Snape’s book.

Her Bludgeoning Curse smashed into the Death Eater’s shield. The man whirled round instead of diving for cover, and her second curse hit him in the chest, flinging him into the wall with bone-breaking force.

She dashed forward, readying the counter-curse, but before she reached Hannah, her own shield was shattered by another curse - the Death Eater was still in the fight.

She dropped to the ground and cast another volley of Bludgeoning Curses that took the man down for good, then scrambled forward, wand flashing as she cast.

When she finished her counter-curse, Hannah had stopped screaming. And stopped breathing.

*****​

 

Chapter 5: The Truth

Clissold Park, Stoke Newington, London, July 9th, 2005

He wasn’t dead. Yet. Ron could still feel the pain in his chest. And the grass beneath him. And he could hear screaming. And shooting - from Harry. But he couldn’t see anything - it was suddenly completely dark. In the middle of the afternoon. Oh, God - he had gone blind! Had he been shot in the head as well? Not that it mattered, not with a sucking chest wound, and with his legs refusing to work.

“Ron! What happened?” Harry.

“Don’t know,” he managed to reply.

Then he felt someone touching him, patting him down. Up. Holding his shoulder.

“Hold on!”

Granger. He recognised her voice. Easily. And lowered the pistol he had started to raise - his arms still worked, despite the pain.

“Run!” he spat.

“What?” Harry asked. Another shot followed.

“Drink this!”

“Wha...?” Ron managed to say before a hand on his face cut him off. She was feeling around for his mouth, he realised - she must be unable to see anything either. Then something cold touched his lips. The rim of a glass.

“Drink!”

And she tipped his head back while pushing the glass to his mouth. He screamed at the pain the movement caused to his wound, then gargled when cold liquid filled his mouth and ran down his throat. He coughed and sputtered. “Are you trying to drown me?”

“Ron?” He heard Harry’s voice again.

“Shhh.”

Once more, she patted him down - reaching for his wound.

“Don’t!” he hissed. The expected pain didn’t come.

“What are you doing?” Harry sounded frantic. “Everything disappeared in a black cloud.”

“Get up! We need to run!” Granger hissed. “They’ll come after us any moment now!”

Ron chuckled. “You run! I’m done for.”

“No, you’re not! Come on!”

She pulled on his arm. Once more, there was no pain. What drug had she given him?

He tried to get up, if only to stop her from dragging him. It worked. “Hell of a drug,” he muttered.

“Drug?” Harry asked.

“Come on!”

He started to run, her hand in his. He’d bleed out any moment, but there was no pain. And his legs were working again.

And then he could see again - they were running towards Harry’s position. He glanced back. A huge sphere of utter darkness - pitch black - covered most of the area, blocking the line of sight to the attackers.

Another shot rang out from Harry’s M4 carbine, and Ron saw a man who had been trying to flank them collapse.

“Run!” Harry yelled.

They ran.

Ron expected to be shot at any second. To collapse from blood loss - he was feeling light-headed, but that was probably the drug’s effect. But his whole front was covered in blood. His own blood. Instead of dying, he managed to keep running and reach the copse of trees where Harry was hiding.

He followed Granger behind a thick tree and leaned against it, sliding to the ground. He swallowed, panting, and then, gingerly, pulled his blood-soaked shirt up to check his wound.

So much blood. “I need a bandage,” he said.

“I’m coming!” Harry all but yelled.

“No, keep shooting them. Keep them away,” Ron retorted - but Harry was already on the ground, rushing towards them.

“Fuck!” his friend cursed, crouching down next to him and pulling out an emergency bandage from his belt. “You’ll make it!”

Where was the wound? Ron stared at his chest, brushing the drying blood away. Where was the wound? He had been shot. He had bled. He had felt it.

Where the hell was his wound?

He looked up. Harry was staring at him. Ron turned his head, looking at Granger. Harry did the same.

“What the hell did you give me?”

“A rare potion.”

“A what?” Had she said potion? “A magic potion of healing?”

“Exactly.”

“We can discuss this later. We need to go now,” Harry snapped. “Before they recover their nerve. They’ll be trying to flank us already, and it looks like the darkness is fading.”

“It should last a little longer,” Granger replied.

Ron pushed himself up, feeling more than a little dizzy. He steadied himself with one hand against the tree. He had gone through worse. In a manner of speaking. Granger took a step towards him but stopped when he pushed off and started jogging.

They made it out of the small patch of trees and bushes, on to the gravel path leading out of the park.

The sight of Harry’s carbine was too much for the few passers-by who hadn’t yet fled despite all the shooting and screaming. Harry tried to hide the gun under his shirt, but that didn’t work very well.

Not that Ron could help - he had enough trouble just going on and keeping up with the others. Even Granger noticed - she slowed down, but he shook his head, gritted his teeth and pushed on. Their car was close by, anyway. He just had to last until then.

He barely made it. If anyone had tried to intercept them, he would have been useless. And dead. Not that he felt too alive right now, either. He grabbed the roof of the car to keep from toppling over.

“Sit in the back.” Granger grabbed his arm. “I’ll treat you.”

“With another magic potion?” Ron managed to say as she pushed him on to the backseat, then climbed in herself.

Harry gunned the engine and sped away before she managed to close the door behind her.

“We’ll have to ditch the car again,” he said. “And we need to get a doctor for him.”

“I can treat him,” Granger replied. She was already patting down Ron again, or so it felt.

“You’re a physicist, not a physician,” Harry retorted as he took a corner at high speed.

Ron laughed at that.

“He just needs his blood to be replenished. He’s physically fine otherwise,” she said.

He didn’t feel fine. But he didn’t hurt any more. He wasn’t quite sure if that was a good or bad sign, though.

“Drink this!”

She was pushing something - a vial - into his face. He blinked. “A vial?”

“It’s a Blood-Replenishing Potion,” she said. “Drink it!”

“A magic potion?” That wasn’t how you did blood transfusions.

“Drink it, or I’ll knock you out and pour it down your throat myself!” She glared at him.

“Hey!” Harry yelled.

Well, something had saved him so far. He shook his head but took the vial. Or tried to - she didn’t let it go.

“This is irreplaceable. I won’t let you spill it by accident.”

He was too tired to argue, even though he wanted to, and so he only moved his lips to the vial, then let her tip it and pour the liquid into his mouth.

It tasted foul, but he couldn’t spit it out - she held his mouth shut until he swallowed, despite the tight turn Harry took that almost threw her into him.

He felt nauseous. He wanted to retch. He pushed her off him and coughed, sticking his tongue out. “What the hell!”

“Are you feeling better?”

He blinked. He was, actually.

“You’re looking better. Less pale. The potion worked, then.”

“There was a chance it wouldn’t?” Harry asked.

“It’s been a few years since it was brewed. Potions don’t keep forever,” she replied.

That wasn’t very reassuring, in Ron’s opinion. “How long will it last?” he asked. If this was a stimulant, then he needed to know when he would crash.

“It’s a permanent effect,” she told him. “It’ll last until you get shot in the chest again.”

He had to chuckle at that, no matter how misplaced the joke was. “That’s a hell of a drug,” he said.

“It’s not a drug,” she spat.

“I’m coming up to the parking garage,” Harry announced. “We’ll change cars there.”

“Won’t they see us on the cameras?” Granger asked.

“No,” Harry replied, rather curtly.

“We know where the blind spots are,” Ron explained.

“Ah. Moody’s lessons?”

“Yes.”

A few minutes later, they left the garage in another car. Ron was up front, this time. Not just because he was feeling much better, but also because the back seats were very cramped.

Granger, to his surprise, didn’t complain. She wasn’t even glaring at his back, he noticed with a quick check of the mirror in front.

Weird. But not nearly as weird as her ‘potions’.

“We need to get you to a doctor,” Harry said once they had left the neighbourhood.

“I feel fine,” Ron told him.

“You were shot and you’ve twice imbibed unknown substances,” Harry retorted. “We need to get you checked out at once.”

Worded like that, Ron had to agree. “We can’t use CI5’s doctors, though,” he pointed out. “They’re compromised.” He caught Harry grinning and closed his eyes. “Not the vet.”

“Moody trusts him,” his friend replied.

“Moody doesn’t trust anyone,” Ron retorted.

“But he’d let him treat his wounds,” Harry pointed out.

Ron groaned and leaned back.

*****​

Southwark, London, July 9th, 2005

“Perfectly healthy,” Ron announced as he left the office.

Granger, back in Harry’s jeans and a shirt from Frankie’s, with a baseball cap hiding her hair, looked at him as she stood up from the chair in the vet’s kitchen. “I told you so.”

“You’re not a medical doctor,” Harry replied, joining them.

“Neither is Mr Jones,” she retorted. “He’s a veterinarian.”

“He actually is, or was, a surgeon,” Ron explained. “He was in the Falklands War, though, and got so traumatised he couldn’t work on humans any more, so he became a vet.”

She made a point of looking at him, Ron noticed, so he added: “He got better. And he only had to examine me.”

“Ah.”

“Let’s go!” Harry said. “I’ve paid him, and we have a few things to discuss.”

Granger looked a little nervous at hearing that, Ron noticed.

*****​

Richmond upon Thames, London, July 9th, 2005

“Is this another safe house no one knows about?” Granger asked when they pulled up in front of a very average looking house. “Like the last one?” she added, as if her sarcastic tone hadn’t made it clear what she was thinking.

“It’s not a CI5 safe house,” Harry said, scanning the street. “Clear.”

Ron couldn’t see any threats or anything out of the ordinary either. “Clear.”

They got out of the car, and Ron pulled his seat forward so Granger could climb out from the back seat.

“You’ve got your own safe house?” she asked, sounding both relieved and appalled at once. “How much money did you sink into this?”

“It’s not exactly ours,” Ron told her as Harry unlocked the front door. They quickly ushered her inside.

“Sirius’s old bachelor pad. I should have known.” Granger said before the door closed behind her.

“How did you know that?” Harry asked. Ron saw that he was tense. “It was bought through a straw man decades ago.”

She pointed at the huge painting of a scantily clad female biker - a comics character from an old magazine that Sirius had liked so much, he had commissioned the painting in his ‘rebellious youth’, Ron had been told - in the living room.

“You’ve investigated us,” Harry said.

‘Stalked’ seemed more accurate, in Ron’s opinion.

“In a manner of speaking,” Granger replied, sitting down on the couch - rather gingerly, and after brushing some dust away from the cushions. She must have managed to collect herself during the drive here - she didn’t seem nervous any more.

No, she was still nervous. Ron noticed her fingers digging into her thighs, and she tapped her foot a few times before crossing her legs a little too casually. She was putting up a cool front, but it was a front. “What did you give me?”

“I told you already: a magic potion.”

“Magic isn't real,” Harry snapped.

“Then explain why Ron’s not dead, but in perfect health.” She sniffed slightly.

Ron was tempted to cough and retch, but Harry was too tense for even a little joke.

“He was hit with a rubber bullet soaked with blood,” Harry replied. “It knocked him down and made it look as if he’d received a fatal wound.”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “Don’t you think that Ron would have realised that there wasn’t an actual wound?”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron said. “It didn’t feel even remotely like a rubber bullet.” And they should know - Moody was fond of running exercises using such ammunition.

“Some agent in the blood that made you more susceptible to pain, probably some hallucinogenic component as well,” Harry told him. “You thought you were shot and bleeding.”

“And why would they want Ron to think that, instead of shooting him like Bones?” Granger asked, not quite rolling her eyes.

“It was meant for you, to make us think you had been killed and your body dragged off, but the shooter messed up when Ron charged in.”

Granger scoffed at the idea. “Weren’t you taught that you should never assume that the enemy made a mistake but rather that it was a trap instead?”

That was almost a direct quote from Moody, Ron realised.

“It’s much less ridiculous than magic,” Harry retorted.

“And Ron almost dying from blood loss was just my stimulants losing their effect, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Harry spat.

"And I fed Ron a stimulant that countered the agent, then another to take care of the side-effects? I somehow knew the truth? And was prepared for it? After launching a super-effective smoke grenade?”

“Yes,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “We know you’ve been lying to us. You know why people are hunting you. If you have access to such technology, it would explain a lot.”

“I told you: I don’t know why people are hunting me.”

Harry’s theory was very far-fetched, Ron had to admit. Straight out of a cheap science fiction movie. He didn’t think his friend truly believed what he was saying, either. But what Granger was claiming was straight out of a cheap fantasy movie. On the other hand, he had been shot - he was sure of that. Mostly. “Prove it,” he said.

“What?” Harry and Granger said in unison.

“Prove that you can do magic.” He grinned at her. “You want to do it, or you’d have agreed with Harry’s theory.”

She glared at him, then sighed. “Very well.” She got up. “Please examine this,” she said, holding out her ratty beaded bag.

Ron took it and opened it, peering inside. It looked like a normal if old handbag. Purse, lipstick, handkerchief, key ring, notebook, another notebook, pens… Harry snorted and took it from him, then upended it and let its contents drop on the floor before making a production out of turning it inside out.

Granger was annoyed - Ron could tell - but she nodded. “It’s a normal bag, right?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, fingering the fabric.

“Give it back!” She held out her hand. After a moment, Harry handed her the bag. “Thank you. You might want to take a few steps back. I’ll need some space."

“For what?”

“For everything inside it,” she said, flashing them a toothy smile as she restored her bag, then uppended it.

And far more things than could have fit the bag started to pour out of it. Rations. Camping supplies. Backpacks. PET bottles. Ron had to take a few hasty steps back to avoid getting buried under enough food and drink to feed an army.

“Bloody hell!”

He picked up an MRE that had ended up next to his foot. It felt solid and heavy in his hand. No inflatable decoy. It was real. He prodded the rolled up sleeping bag. That felt real as well. Looking at the mound of camping - survival - gear - he shook his head. There was no bloody way that all this stuff would have fit into her bag. Nor would she have been able to hide them under her clothes.

“How?” he heard Harry ask. “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” Granger replied with a wide, smug grin. “I’m a witch.”

Harry started to dig through the heap. “Magic doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, Merlin’s beard!” He saw her roll her eyes. “Do you honestly believe that I managed to set this up in advance in your own secret bachelor pad?”

“‘Merlin’s beard’?” Ron ignored Harry’s attempt to find a secret trapdoor in the floor and cocked his head, looking at Granger. Magic was real?

“A wizarding expletive,” she explained.

“That makes it sound as if there are more of you… witches.” How could that be possible? How could this have been kept secret?

Her expression turned hard. “No. I’m the only one here.”

Here. “You’re not from here, are you?” Ron asked. Other dimensions as well? That was… He didn’t know what it was. Such things weren’t real. But they were.

Her eyes widened a fraction, then she nodded. “No.”

“And you want to return.” Things were starting to make sense. As much sense as something like magic could. “You’ve been scamming the faculty to get money and supplies for magical experiments!”

“What?” She glared at him. “I’m not scamming anyone! I’m doing research in quantum physics! The research council is getting what it’s paying for - I’m merely doing more than anyone knows.”

“And you scammed the Grangers into thinking you’re their lost daughter,” Harry said, standing up.

Her eyes seemed to blaze as she rounded on Harry. “How dare you! I told them everything upon first meeting them! It’s not my fault that I’m the wizarding counterpart of their daughter!”

Ron briefly wondered if she’d turn Harry into a newt. Then he wondered if she actually could do such a thing. If magic was real, what were its limits?

“And they believed you?” Harry sounded doubtful.

“They weren’t as stubborn as you once they were faced with actual magic,” Granger retorted.

Which meant, Ron realised, that they had been humouring her until that point. “Alright, magic exists,” he said. “Or at least technology so advanced that it might as well be called magic,” he added, mangling Arthur C. Clarke.

“Folding space or extra-dimensional storage wouldn’t explain healing you from the brink of death,” Granger replied.

Obviously, she had read the same books that he had. Ron grinned, despite the gruesome reminder of his near-death experience. “Nanites programmed to repair my body on a cellular level.”

“And they instantly passed through your digestive system to reach your gunshot wound?” She scoffed. “I would have poured such a concoction directly on the wound. Provided constructing and directing such machines was feasible in the first place!”

He nodded, acknowledging the point. “Well, at least now we know why people want to kidnap you. They want to use you to do magic.”

“That’s impossible. No one knows I’m a witch. No one apart from the Grangers, and now you two.” She shook her head rather emphatically.

This time, Harry scoffed. “You want us to believe that you never used magic where someone might have observed you?”

Ron could see her pressing her lips together. “What exactly can you do? You mentioned that the potions were irreplaceable.”

“I lack the resources to brew more potions. Almost all of them require reagents that do not exist in this world,” she replied.

Ah. Ron nodded. “So, you make magic items and potions which you then use, but you need exotic components which you can’t get here.”

“It’s not quite like that,” she said, holding out her hand. “Accio sewing kit!”

A small plastic case rose from where it was perched on top of another MRE and flew towards her hand. She had to make two attempts to catch it, though, Ron noticed. And she glared at Harry. “Don’t you dare suggest searching me for wires or magnets!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Have you accepted that magic exists, then?” Granger couldn’t win gracefully, it seemed.

Harry grunted something unintelligible, and Granger sniffed. “That was wandless magic. It’s hard and not very effective.”

“‘Wandless’?”

“Normally, a witch - or a wizard - uses a wand to cast spells,” Granger explained. “It allows for far quicker and far more powerful spells. Wands revolutionised spell-casting when the Romans invented them. All other methods of working magic were rendered obsolete, with the exception of a few fringe cases. A wand is a witch’s most important possession. There are entire customs centred on wands and how to treat them.”

“And you don’t have a wand,” Harry said, interrupting her lecture. “Or you’d have shown off with it.”

The comment made her purse her lips - Harry must be right, Ron thought. Granger was the type to show off.

“I lost my wand before I ended up in this dimension,” she admitted.

“Couldn’t you make a new wand?” Ron asked.

“Theoretically, I could. I would just have to find a substitute for a dragon’s heartstring, a fitting wood and then rediscover how to make wands - which would be like you making a Swiss Army knife after washing up on a deserted island.”

“Your sarcasm needs some work,” Ron replied. “But if wands are so important, how do you expect to return to your home without one?”

“Ritual magic and physics,” she replied. “Casting a spell using a ritual takes hours, which makes it impractical for most purposes, but it has its uses.”

Harry frowned. “And you know ritual magic, but not how to make a wand?”

Once more, she pursed her lips. “I studied rituals before I was… dimensionally misplaced.”

Interesting. Ron didn’t think Granger was the type to study useless things. Although getting stranded in a different world might change her priorities. And it seemed to have been an accident that brought her here. If she was telling the truth - they had seen no proof of her story. Other than the magic, of course.

“Leaving the intricacies of magic wands aside,” Harry said, staring at her, “you’re suddenly very open with your secrets. And you know a little too much about us for someone who just read an article about us in passing.”

Granger sighed again and sat down on the couch. “I keep forgetting that you’re police officers,” she said in a low voice as she stuck her arm up to her shoulder into her bag and pulled out a small, plain box. She opened it carefully and took out a framed picture. “Don’t break it.”

Ron took it and gasped. It was him, Harry and Granger as teenagers, waving at the camera - the picture was animated - and hugging each other. But the Harry in the picture had a scar on his forehead. “You knew our counterparts,” he said, looking into her eyes.

She nodded. “We were best friends.” Her smile rather rapidly turned sad, though.

Ron wanted to ask for more information but turned the picture around in his hands instead. No sign of a screen - no pixels. Magic. He handed it to Harry.

“What’s with the scar on his face?” Harry asked - Ron caught the slight hesitation before the pronoun, but Granger probably missed it. Unless their counterparts acted like them.

“It’s from surviving the Killing Curse,” she said. “Harry was the only one, ever, to survive that curse.”

“Someone tried to kill him?” Harry asked.

“The Dark Lord Voldemort. He killed Harry’s parents, then tried to kill him. It backfired.”

Ron pressed his lips together, swallowing his first comment. This was no joking matter. “Backfired?”

“Voldemort was hit by the reflected curse and turned to dust - although he wasn’t killed; he survived thanks to the Dark Arts.” Granger frowned. “He couldn’t be killed.”

Harry scoffed. He was clenching his teeth, Ron noticed - his friend was remembering the day his parents had been murdered by Riddle.

Granger’s lips formed a thin line as she met Harry’s glare. “You weren’t there. You’re not my Harry,” she replied to his unspoken comment.

Ron cleared his throat. “So… that’s why you researched us.”

She turned to him. “Yes. I wanted to know…” She shrugged. “I shouldn’t have. You’re not them.”

“No, we aren’t,” Harry said. “I killed the murderer of my parents.” He touched his chest. His scar.

“The terrorist Tom Riddle. I’ve read the books.” Granger scoffed. “Not Skeeter’s, of course.”

Harry scoffed as well - he loathed ‘The Boy Hero’. “Smart of you.”

“Did you have a Skeeter in your dimension as well?” Ron asked. Her reaction seemed to indicate that.

“Yes. She didn’t write sensational books, though, but libellous articles.” She sighed. “As one of Harry’s friends, I was a target of hers. Harry had it worse, of course.”

Ron was tempted to ask about his own counterpart but didn’t. That would have been vain. “Why?”

She looked at him as if he had asked a stupid question. “He was one of the most famous wizards in Britain. The Boy-Who-Lived.” Harry scoffed again, and she frowned. “You have to understand that Voldemort - whose birth name was Tom Riddle, actually - wasn’t a mere terrorist working for various groups. He came close to toppling the government of Wizarding Britain with his followers. He was so feared that even a decade after his defeat at Harry’s hands, people were afraid to speak his name.”

Ron blinked, and even Harry, who had looked ready to blow his top at the idea that the murderer of his parents was a ‘mere terrorist’, seemed taken aback.

Granger sighed. “I’ll have to start at the beginning, then. In Little Hangleton, in the 1920s. A witch named Merope Gaunt, who had fallen in love with Thomas Riddle, the son of the local squire…”

*****​

“...and that was how the First Wizarding War - that’s a British term, actually; the rest of the world calls it the First British Civil War - ended in 1981.”

For all her posturing, Granger must have loved telling the tale. Or rather, giving a lecture on the subject. Well, she was an academic, after all. Ron glanced at Harry. His friend had calmed down. Mostly. Hearing about how another Potter family had been murdered by a madman - although quite a bit older than the one Harry had shot - must have hurt. And that Sirius had been sent to prison without a trial… But there was something else. “First Wizarding War implies there was a second,” Ron said.

And Granger’s face seemed to turn to stone. “Yes.” After a moment, she added: “It was still going on when I… ended up in this world.”

“And you fought in it;” he went on, then frowned at the surprised glances from Granger and Harry. Granger had an excuse, but Harry should know better. He almost rolled his eyes. “You were best friends with the other Harry, who was prophesied to defeat this ‘Voldemort’. That must have made you a priority target for those ‘Death Eaters’. And since you are so… determined to return, even though, as you just said, there is a war going on, you didn’t just flee and hide.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s correct. We - Harry, Ron and myself - were fighting. We were Britain’s most wanted wizards and witch, actually.” She must have noticed his expression since she added: “Voldemort was successful with his second attempt at a coup d’état. He took over the country and…” She trailed off. “We had to go underground.”

And now she wasn’t looking at him or Harry any more, but staring at the wall.

Ron didn’t think this would be a good time to ask what happened in the Second Wizarding War. Even though he was really curious about his own counterpart. “Why did you decide on a ‘quantum mirror cage’?” he asked instead. “A cage is designed to contain something, not open pathways, isn’t it?”

“Misdirection,” she replied. “I can’t exactly advertise that I’m working on a dimensional portal. Even if I were to receive any funding for that, I would have been the laughing stock of the entire field.”

“The popular magazines would have loved it, though,” he said.

“They would have depicted me as crazy. They would have started rumours about alien abductions - and then claimed that I believed in such nonsense.” She pursed her lips. “And I would have been pestered by fools who believe in such things.”

Ron blinked. “You are a witch. You can do magic. Isn’t it a little hypocritical to scorn those who believe in aliens?”

“Not at all. There is no evidence at all that aliens exist.” She sniffed in apparent disdain.

“What about people who believe in magic without any evidence? Are they fools as well?”

“Yes.”

“And if they manage to discover such evidence?”

She pressed her lips together and glared at him. She really didn’t like having her own words turned back on her.

Harry chuckled, which earned him a glare as well. He didn’t seem to be amused, though, Ron noticed.

“In any case, you now know why I need to continue my work, even if it puts me at some risk.”

“‘Some risk’? The people after you have already killed two of the most senior police officers in the country. If you go back to your laboratory, you might as well call them in advance and arrange a suitable time and place for a kidnapping,” Harry snapped.

“Besides, you’ve got your notes and crucial work with you, don’t you?” Ron said. When her eyes widened again - why was she so surprised that he had deduced that? - he pointed at the pile of camping supplies. “There aren’t any notes in that mess. And I know you stuffed sheets of paper into your bag. Which means it holds more than just those.”

“Probably enough to equip another lab,” Harry added. “With enough food and other supplies to finish your work.”

She clenched her teeth before answering: “Relying on my bag’s contents will delay my progress. It’s a measure of last resort. It is possible, in theory, but not very practical. I need my lab.”

“That’s a ‘yes’,” Ron replied with a grin. Then he grew serious. “You cannot continue your work at the faculty. Even if the kidnappers weren’t already covering it, the police would take you into custody - for your own good.”

“Or as a suspect,” Harry pointed out. “Your story has a few inconsistencies, and unless you’re willing to admit that you’re being hunted because you’re a witch, they won’t accept your statements.”

“No one knows that I’m a witch!” she insisted. “I never worked any magic where it could have been witnessed!”

“Well, either you messed up and were observed, or someone figured out that you’re working on interdimensional travel,” Ron said.

“That’s impossible.”

“Shouldn’t that be ‘inconceivable?” Ron grinned at her expression - she got the reference, and she didn’t like the insinuation that she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was.

“Help me put the supplies back into my bag,” she said, still glaring.

Ron chuckled again and bent down to pick up an armful of MREs, but Harry left the room.

*****​

Ron found Harry in the kitchen, whipping up dinner. As expected.

“Finished watching the witch at work?” Harry asked. He sounded a little bitter. Ron hadn’t expected that.

“We finished putting the camping supplies back into her bag,” he told Harry. “She’s now checking her notes.” He leaned back against the counter, close to his friend. “She offered to let us eat her MREs, but I declined.”

Harry didn’t laugh. That wasn’t a good sign. “I guess this is a dream come true for you,” he said, shaking his head. “A witch fleeing a war in another dimension, trying to get home - like in your movies.”

“I told you that my hobby would come in handy one day,” Ron replied. That made Harry snort, at least. Although he hadn’t really thought about what magic being real meant. And parallel worlds being real.

“She knows things she shouldn’t know. She knows us,” Harry said. “Some weird wizard versions of us.” He turned to glare at Ron. “She might have slept with one of them. Or both.”

That was entirely possible, of course. Best friends, fighting a guerilla war, as teenagers? All alone against the world? Yeah, that was a recipe for some tension-relieving shagging, if Ron had ever heard one. But he didn’t think so. “She didn’t look at us like she wanted to see us naked.”

“She stalked us.”

Ron didn’t think you could call these exact circumstances stalking. But that wasn’t the point. “That doesn’t mean she wanted to shag one of us.”

“Do you want to shag her?”

“What? No,” Ron said. Granger wasn’t his type. “Why are you so…” He trailed off. “...so moody?”

Harry scoffed at Ron. “Why do you think she was afraid of Yaxley? Because he was her enemy in her world. She recognised Crabbe as well. And she knows us. I bet she also knows all of Yaxley’s friends. But she didn’t tell us or warn us. If she had, perhaps Scrimgeour and Bones wouldn’t have been killed.”

Ron froze for a moment. He hadn’t thought of that. Although… “She said she had no proof, but she all but accused Yaxley. Would we have believed her without proof?”

“She had proof of magic, though,” Harry retorted. “She was carrying it around with her.”

That was true. “I don’t think she expected the murders,” he said. And she had saved his life.

“She should have,” Harry snapped, turning back to the pots and pans.

Ron shook his head. That wasn’t fair. “Well, after Scrimgeour, so should have Bones.” And they should’ve expected it as well.

*****​

“What’s with Harry?” Granger asked as soon as Ron rejoined her in the living room. She was sitting on the floor, surrounded by stacks of paper - obviously, her bag held even more than he had expected. And had a way to keep its contents sorted.

He played dumb. “What do you mean?”

Granger narrowed her eyes. “Earlier, Harry all but stormed out of the room. It’s obvious that he isn’t taking this whole thing as well as you seem to be.”

“It seems our counterparts are more similar to us than I thought, hm?” Ron replied.

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” she told him. “But I do know that you’re being evasive now.”

“Because my counterpart acted the same?” He cocked his head slightly.

“No, because it’s obvious.” She stood and crossed her arms. “We’re isolated, being hunted and can’t trust anyone. In this situation, we cannot afford for Harry to throw a tantrum.”

“It seems that you don’t know us as well as you think you do.” Ron met her eyes. “Harry’s not happy with you keeping secrets. He thinks that if you had told us the truth, Scrimgeour and Bones wouldn’t have been killed.”

She gasped but recovered her composure a moment later. “Did he expect me to just tell strangers about magic?”

“If you’re getting attacked by counterparts of your enemies, yes,” Ron said. “You knew Crabbe.”

“What?” She shook her head. “That’s not how it works. I knew his counterpart, yes. But my Crabbe was a bigoted pureblood willing to murder muggleborns with Malfoy and Voldemort.”

“Malfoy?” Could it be…?

“Draco Malfoy. A despicable, cowardly bigot who thought people like me - muggleborns, wizards and witches born to non-magical parents - had no right to live. They called us ‘mudbloods’ and had death squads hunt us down. Magical Nazis in all but name!”

“Blond, arrogant, always mentioning his family’s money and his father?” Ron asked.

“Yes. You’ve met his counterpart?”

“We went to school with Damien Malfoy. Bloody ponce.” He shook his head. So Malfoy could have been even worse.

“But not with Crabbe or Goyle?”

“I never saw either until Crabbe tried to shoot us,” Ron said.

“Oh. They were Malfoy’s muscle. Almost inseparable.”

“We’ll have to look into a possible tie to Malfoy, then.” At least that should cheer Harry up.

“I don’t think that is the case,” she told him.

“Why? Did you investigate him?”

“No,” she said with a frown. “But this country is very different from Wizarding Britain.”

“But Malfoy is still an arse and a racist.” He snorted. “Some things are constant, it seems.”

“That doesn’t mean I could have anticipated Scrimgeour’s murder. Or Bones’s.”

“We could have taken more precautions,” he retorted.

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows. “I have some difficulty in believing that. You were trained by Alastor Moody’s counterpart, weren’t you? Constant vigilance? You probably did everything you could think of already.”

“You know him?” That explained some of her comments.

“His counterpart was our Defence teacher for a year.”

“Moody taught you self-defence?” That must have been a hell of a school.

“Defence against the Dark Arts,” she corrected him. “Although it covered self-defence as well, though with a wand. And Duelling.”

“Ah. Magic duels?”

“It's a sport. Not quite as removed from actual fighting as modern fencing, but a good duellist isn’t necessarily a good fighter. Especially when facing multiple opponents.” She grimaced and rubbed her shoulder. “They are generally very dangerous when facing a single opponent, though.”

As she had probably found out the hard way. “And you were never into sports, hm?”

She pressed her lips together. “I focused on academics. And if you’d seen the wizarding idea of sports, you’d have done the same.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Duelling sounds fun.” He grinned

She sniffed in response. “You sound like Ron.”

Well, they had already established that.

“It’s still not my fault that Scrimgeour and Bones were murdered. No one but you and my parents knows about magic. Telling you about magic wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Ron didn’t think that it was as easy as that, but it was clear she had not considered that her being a witch might endanger others. So, at worst, she had been mistaken, not callous. He inclined his head and made a non-committal noise.

She frowned again - she was doing that a lot - and shook her head. “I’ll set him straight.”

“No.” He reached out to grab her arm but settled on simply holding his hand out, stopping her without touching her. “He needs to calm down and think about all of this. Give him some space.”

She didn’t answer - and she was staring at something he couldn’t see.

*****​

“This is pointless! We should be ambushing Death Eaters!” Harry yelled, throwing the book he had been reading on the ground and leaving the tent.

“Harry!” She jumped to her feet.

Ron grabbed her arm. “Give him some space, Hermione!”

“But…”

“He just lost his godfather. He won’t listen to your lecture about rituals to find Horcruxes. Let him calm down outside.”

“But that’s not safe!”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” he retorted. “He’ll be fine.”

He was right. No mind-controlled or duped police officer would find them here. But that didn’t mean they were safe from every danger. “What if he…” She trailed off, not willing to say it out loud.

She didn’t have to. Ron understood. “He won’t. You know him.”

She did. But Harry was changing. They were all changing. Had changed. You couldn’t fight a war and stay unaffected. You couldn’t kill and remain the same person you were. She knew that very well.

Sighing, she sat down again. “I just want to help him.” Harry was trying to bottle his grief up. Or, worse, channel it into hatred.

“I know.” He stepped behind her, rubbing her shoulders. “We all do.”

“But we’re the only ones with him,” she whispered. The rest of the Order cells had their own tasks and bases. Sirius had used the enchanted mirror to talk with Harry, but now… perhaps Remus would replace him. Not that you could replace him. “We’ll avenge him.”

He didn’t answer, but she felt his hands tighten a little.

“By finding and destroying all of the Horcruxes,” she added.

“Yes.”

“I’ll fix dinner,” she said. Harry usually did it, but… their pantry was overflowing. She would find some tins or frozen dinners she could use.

“Ravioli?” His voice was light, teasing, and she blushed. That hadn’t been her finest hour. Or meal.

His fingers found a knot in her shoulder, and she closed her eyes. Ron… She buried the thought before it could form. As she had done before.

She couldn’t. They couldn’t. Harry needed them. More than ever. And none of them could afford such a… distraction.

But once the war was over...

*****​

 

Chapter 6: The Friend

Richmond upon Thames, London, July 9th, 2005

“Dr Granger?” Ron wondered if she was having a flashback.

Granger recovered at once, though, and shook her head. “Sorry. Just a memory.” She looked a little rueful.

“Ah.” Once more, he was tempted to pry, but Granger didn’t seem to be in the mood to share. Well, not if it concerned her past - he was sure that she was always ready to give a lecture.

She gave him a look, her expression a mixture of annoyance and fondness. “Yes, it was about your counterparts,” she told him.

“Ah,” he repeated himself. “I’m easy to read, hm?” he prompted her.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re more subtle than him.”

He nodded, acknowledging her rebuke. “Déformation professionnelle, I’m afraid.”

She made a noise halfway between a scoff and a snort. “Well, I guess Ron could have grown more subtle with age as well.”

This time he couldn’t resist. He had to ask: “Did he die?”

“No,” she said quickly. Then she took a deep breath. “He was alive when I was transported here. But we were in the middle of a battle, and…”

“And the odds weren’t great,” he finished for her.

After another of her sad looks, she nodded. “The odds weren’t great from the very beginning, but it was a particularly tight spot.”

That explained her fixation on returning at all costs. “And you feel guilty for leaving them.”

The glare was back as she bared her teeth. “I didn’t leave by choice.”

“But you still feel guilty about it.” It was plain to see. Obviously, she had never told her therapist about that event.

She clenched her teeth so hard, he could see her jaw muscles twitch, then turned away and grabbed a sheet of paper - at random, he was certain.

But he nodded and left the room.

Now both Harry and Granger were sulking and annoyed with him. It wasn’t one of his better days, to be honest - even if you didn’t count him getting shot and nearly killed.

*****​

“It’s good,” Granger commented after the first bite.

"Thank you,” Harry replied - after a noticeable pause.

“Harry’s a good cook,” Ron said. Not as good as Mum, of course. But better than Ginny, which was - despite her claims of not caring about it and not wanting to be a housewife anyway - a sore point for Ron’s sister.

“Not all of us want to live off takeaways,” Harry replied. It almost sounded like their usual ribbing.

Ron shrugged. “Cooking for yourself is inefficient.” He could always visit home, anyway, if he wanted to eat well.

“And you’d burn half your meals.” Harry snorted.

“That happened once, and I was pissed,” Ron retorted. “And you didn’t exactly do anything to prevent it, either.”

“I was drunk, and watching you was funny.”

“So you claim,” Ron shot back.

“My first attempt at cooking ended with a ruined pan,” Granger said after a moment. “The instructions were incorrect.”

Ron chuckled - he could imagine that: Granger, glaring at a smoking pan as if it were the pan’s fault, cookbook in hand, wearing a little apron…

“You were at fault for picking the wrong instructions, then.” Harry sounded a little too sharp for friendly ribbing.

“Nothing a spell couldn’t fix,” Granger retorted, in an equally not so friendly tone.

Ron cleared his throat. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do now,” he said. Before these two drove each other mad.

“We have to stay under the radar,” Harry said at once. “If Yaxley is behind this, then we can’t trust anyone in CI5.”

“Colin would never betray you,” Ron pointed out.

“He can be fooled. Easily,” Harry replied. “And everyone knows that he likes me. I bet you a hundred pounds that Yaxley has him bugged already, in case we make contact.”

“That’s probably how they got Bones. Must have bugged her or her car,” Ron agreed.

“She would have checked,” Harry retorted.

“After Scrimgeour? Yes. But she might have missed something. Or Yaxley had this planned for some time, and was aware of her contingencies.” Ron shrugged.

“It doesn’t seem to have been a well-planned operation so far,” Harry pointed out. “The attack on the safe house had too few people to succeed. But two days later, they had over half a dozen shooters in the park.”

Ron nodded. “Rush job on the house. He didn’t know how long we planned to stay and hit us on the first night with what he had available. Then he got reinforcements for the ambush at the park.”

“It won’t help him, though.” Harry grinned. “Scrimgeour and Bones killed by a sniper? A shootout in a public park in the afternoon, in the middle of London? MI5 and Special Branch will be all over this. He can’t keep this in house. And he didn’t have enough time to cover all his tracks. He’s going down.”

“But he has to have known that. Why would he take such a risk?” Ron pointed out. “Killing Scrimgeour triggered the whole thing. After that, Bones wouldn’t rest until she found the killer. But killing her made things worse.”

“Yaxley’s not the smartest bloke,” Harry replied.

“But he’s smart enough - more than smart enough - to realise that much. So, why start all this?” Ron shook his head. “And where did he get his reinforcements? You can’t just hire mercenaries.” This wasn’t a movie. He snorted. “He’s got a backer.”

Harry slowly nodded. “Yes, that would fit. But it’s still a huge risk to take.”

“Perhaps he had no choice,” Ron speculated. “If his backer has a hold over him and ordered him to procure Dr Granger, what are the odds Scrimgeour would have found out?” After the fact, most likely.

“So he decided to go for broke?” Harry sounded doubtful. “He could have run.”

“And be hunted by CI5 - and by his backer as a loose end?”

“Good point,” Harry conceded.

Ron noticed that Granger was staring at them both. She looked very impressed.

And he liked that, he realised.

“That is a convincing conclusion - but it depends on Yaxley being behind the murder of Scrimgeour and Bones,” Granger said. “And there’s no evidence to support that hypothesis.”

“His counterpart was an enemy of yours, though, wasn’t he?” Harry said with a frown. He didn’t like to be wrong, Ron knew. Well, no one did.

“That doesn’t mean, though, that your Yaxley is a criminal,” she replied with a frown. “He could be a perfectly upstanding, if abrasive and annoying, police officer.”

“That’s true,” Ron admitted, ignoring Harry’s glance towards him, “but so far, the people you’ve met have been pretty similar to their counterparts in your world, haven’t they?”

“Not identical. Not enough to condemn a man for it,” she replied with a glance towards Harry.

Ron’s friend scoffed. “Really? You trusted us because of them, didn’t you? That’s why you revealed your secret.”

“I revealed my secret because it was the only way to save Ron!” she retorted.

“You called me Ron,” Ron pointed out. She also did it when she had that nightmare, he recalled.

“A slip of the tongue,” she said, then took a deep breath. “Yes, the similarities are striking, but there are differences.”

“We’re older than the people you knew,” Ron said. “And we’ve had different experiences.”

“Exactly!” She nodded, a faint smile on her face. “And your Riddle died in 1985. The one in my world survived. That’s a huge difference.”

Harry scoffed again. “Yaxley’s old enough to have been turned before that. People suspected that there was a mole in CI5 who fed Riddle information that allowed him to evade the police.”

“But if it was Riddle who turned him, then who would be able to call on him now?” Granger asked.

“Some of his supporters and fellow terrorists were never caught,” Ron said.

“But would he have trusted anyone with such information?” she replied, shaking her head as she answered her own question.

“That’s based on your knowledge of his counterpart, isn’t it?” Harry asked with a hint of a smirk.

“Yes,” she spat.

“And it fits our profiles of Riddle,” Harry told her.

“Which means that it’s unlikely that Yaxley is working with or for someone who was with Riddle.” She sniffed.

“Unlikely doesn’t mean impossible,” Harry said. “And it certainly isn’t Dawlish. The man’s too stupid for this. That doesn’t leave many others of the proper age and position.”

“In any case, we have to assume there is a highly-placed traitor in CI5,” Ron cut in. “Which means, as we said before, we cannot trust anyone. We have to stay on our own until the mole’s found.”

“Which will make you appear suspicious,” Granger pointed out.

“And you as well,” Harry retorted. “You were present at both assassinations.”

“And if it’s Yaxley,” Ron added, “he might try to use this to get you.”

“Britain’s most wanted,” Granger muttered, “once again.”

Ron tried to cheer her up. “It won’t be for long. Moody’s going to find the mole sooner rather than later.”

“Unless he’s coming after you because he thinks you’ve turned traitor,” she retorted.

“He wouldn’t!” Harry replied, glaring at her. “He trusts us.”

“Does he trust anyone?” Granger glared back at him.

“Didn’t you tell us that we can’t assume everyone’s like their counterpart?”

“Please!” Ron raised his voice. “Arguing about that won’t help our situation. We have to decide what we do now.”

“How safe is this house?” Granger asked. “Can we stay here while this whole mess is sorted out?”

“No one but us and Sirius know about it,” Harry replied.

“And can Sirius be trusted not to rush over here as soon as he hears about the whole thing?”

While Harry clenched his teeth and didn’t answer, Ron made a note of another hint that people and their counterparts in Granger’s world were very similar - she certainly knew Sirius’s likely reaction well.

“I guess that means we’ll have to leave,” Granger said with a sigh.

“I’ll send him a mail - through a secure account,” Harry told them, standing up.

“Let’s hope he’ll listen,” Ron heard Granger mutter as Harry left the room. He hoped Harry hadn’t heard her.

“We really can’t assume everything’s the same,” Granger told him as soon as the door closed behind Ron’s friend.

“We can’t trust people just because you trusted their counterparts,” he replied, “but there’s nothing wrong with being suspicious of people whose counterparts were your enemies.”

She pressed her lips together but didn’t contradict him. He took that as acknowledgment of his point.

*****​

Ron found Harry in the kitchen, doing the dishes. “Sirius should have bought a dishwasher,” he commented.

Harry snorted. “It wasn’t as if he actually cooked back in the seventies. Not that he’s cooking anything nowadays, either.”

Because Harry’s godfather had hired a housekeeper as soon as he had inherited his family’s fortune and ancestral home. It must be nice to be rich, Ron thought, then pushed the thought away. He was better than that. Money had been tight growing up, as one of seven kids with only Dad’s salary, but now that every one of Ron’s siblings was earning their own money, Mum and Dad could afford a lot. And Mum was a far better cook than Sirius’s housekeeper, anyway.

Ron leaned against the counter next to him. “Granger gave me a list of all her enemies in her world.” He should have asked about a list of her friends as well, but… you couldn’t trust someone because of their counterpart’s actions.

“Must be a huge number, what with her charming personality,” Harry replied, not looking up from the pan he was scrubbing.

Ron rolled his eyes. “You weren’t exactly acting like Prince Charming, either,” he pointed out. “Of course, Ginny would kill you if you had been.” His little sister had a stereotypical redhead’s temper. Fortunately, she had chosen tennis instead of, say, kickboxing.

Harry snorted at that but still didn’t look up.

“Is that why you’re so… cranky? Are you missing Ginny?”

“I'm not ‘cranky’,” Harry replied, glaring at him. “I’m just not trying to get into Granger’s pants.”

"Please try to be a little more original,” Ron told him. “And don’t tell me that it’s about her keeping secrets. You knew she wasn’t telling us the truth before, but now that she’s spilt her guts, you’re still mad at her.”

Harry glared at him, but Ron didn’t flinch until his friend sighed. “Magic. Mind-controlling magic. Who knows what she can do? Or has done? It was different when we were guarding a boffin, but a witch? What if she thinks she knows best and makes us agree?”

“If she could do such a thing, or would do it, wouldn’t she have done it already?”

“She might have,” Harry retorted with a frown. “We can’t tell what can be done with magic, and what can’t. Most of our training is useless in the face of magic.”

Ah. Ron nodded. That explained Harry’s attitude - they couldn’t trust their training as they had before. Not in the face of such a revelation.

“But there’s more,” Harry went on. “She knows our counterparts. She probably knows stuff we haven’t even told each other. Don’t tell me that you’re alright with that!”

He wasn’t. But she had saved his life. And Ron didn’t think she meant them any harm. “If she knows too much, it isn’t her fault. Blame our counterparts. Anyway, here’s the list.” He unfolded the list and held it up so Harry, whose hands were wet, could read it.

“Malfoy… all three of them, actually. Travers. Yaxley. Dolohov. All three Lestranges.” Harry tensed, as Ron had known he would, but didn’t comment. “Crabbe. Goyle. Crouch. Avery. Jugson. Carrow. Carrow. Rookwood. Pettigrew.” He scoffed. “That’s no surprise. Umbridge?” Harry blinked. “Isn’t that the woman Arthur keeps complaining about?”

“Yes."

“Her counterpart is a magical terrorist?”

“Was,” Ron told him. “The names with an asterisk are dead. And she wasn’t a terrorist but an eager genocidal bureaucrat, according to Granger.”

Harry whistled. “That’s a lot of dead people.”

Ron nodded. He glanced over his shoulder, then added: “And Granger was involved with a number of the deaths.” Which was both worrying and reassuring. And he couldn’t, yet, say which feeling was dominating. Or should.

“Did she tell you that?”

“No. But her reactions were telling,” Ron told him. She had been ‘lost in thought’ a few times as well. “Anyway - it’s a long list.”

“And some of the names don’t ring any bells,” Harry pointed out. “Fenrir Greyback?”

Ron shrugged. “A werewolf, or so I was told.”

“Werewolves. What’s next, vampires?” Harry asked with a snort.

“There’s a market for blood pops made with real blood in Granger’s world,” Ron replied with a wry grin.

Harry sighed as he shook his head. “This is weirder than one of your stupid movies.”

“They’re not stupid,” Ron replied out of habit. “They just don’t have the budget for their special effects. And it doesn’t matter. We’ve got a list of suspects now.”

“And no proof.”

“That’s what Granger kept saying,” Ron said, then smirked when he saw his friend clench his teeth. “What did Sirius tell you?”

“He hasn’t answered my mail, yet,” Harry replied. “I told him not to do anything stupid, though.”

Ron hoped that Sirius would listen - combat experience in the Guards didn’t make you a police officer. And he had been a tank commander, not exactly SAS material. Though he had had some experience in Ulster…

“He’ll listen,” Harry said as if he had read Ron’s thoughts.

Ron nodded. Sirius still blamed himself for the death of the Potters, after all. On the other hand, if he thought Harry was in danger, he’d rush in no matter what. “So…”

Harry held up a hand, and Ron heard his cell phone vibrate. “Message from Sirius,” his friend said. He wiped his hands, then checked - and cursed. “They’re looking for us. As suspects.”

Damn.

Ron had expected that this would happen - the traitor would frame them to try to protect himself - but it was still a shock. What would Mum and Dad think? His brothers? Ginny, of course, would never believe it. But Percy? Bill? “Well, we didn’t plan to show our faces in public anyway,” he said. It wouldn’t do to appear actually worried.

“Feh.” Harry frowned.

“And we don’t need to buy food - Granger has enough to last two lifetimes,” Ron added.

“That’s not food,” Harry complained. “That stuff makes spam taste good in comparison.”

“I like Mum’s spam recipe,” Ron said. Times had been lean in his childhood, and they had eaten spam quite a lot.

“Let’s tell Granger.”

They found her in the living room, where she was watching TV. Ron saw pictures of Scrimgeour and Bones on the screen as well as Granger’s and swallowed his joke about mindless entertainment.

“They’ve been talking about the murders non-stop since I switched the telly on,” Granger said. “And they speculate about whether I was kidnapped, killed or brainwashed into becoming a murderer.”

“The BBC?” Ron couldn’t imagine the news going that far.

“No, not the BBC,” Granger admitted. “But the rest of the channels.” She sniffed. “I expect them to mention your past at any moment,” she said with a glance at Harry.

Harry muttered another curse in response.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “but we’ll have to expect it and prepare accordingly.”

"Prepare for what?” Harry asked.

“With so much attention from the media, everyone will recognise us,” she replied. “We won’t be able to set foot outside without a disguise.”

“We don’t have to go out,” Ron pointed out. “We can stay here for months if need be.”

“Are you suggesting that we should hide here until someone catches the traitor?” she asked with a frown.

“No,” Ron said. Granger and Harry would drive each other crazy. “But we don’t have to go out right now. We can wait until the next celebrity scandal breaks.” Or until Yaxley was arrested.

“I need a dependable base for my experiments. And an inconspicuous source of power,” she told them.

“You’ll have to do without,” Harry replied. “Suddenly using far more power than normal would betray our presence.”

“I can’t do research without power.”

“You can’t do research if you’re dead, either.”

Ron shook his head. “You can’t do research as long as someone is willing to hire mercenaries and criminals to hunt you down. Until the traitor’s backer is found, you’re stuck.”

Her expression told him that she loathed their situation - but it couldn’t be helped.

“We can go through your list,” Harry said. “It’s not as if we have any better leads.”

“Just because their counterparts…” Granger started.

Harry cut her off. “...yes, yes, we can’t condemn anyone for what their counterpart did. But,” he went on with a grin, “we can investigate them.”

“While we’re Britain’s most wanted?” she retorted.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “I’m not going to hide and wait for someone to solve my problems for me.”

Granger shook her head at that. “That’s familiar,” she commented with a rather sad smile as she stood. “I’m going to bed.”

Ron wasn’t sure if he should be glad or concerned about Harry glowering at her as she passed.

He sighed. “Let’s go over the list and make some plans.”

Harry agreed after a moment. “Too bad we don’t know if we killed some of them already in the park.”

Ron hadn’t actually done any killing, but it was nice of Harry to include him. Probably.

“So… her Malfoy was best friends with Crabbe and Goyle?” Harry asked after looking at the list again.

“They way she described it, they were his minions,” Ron corrected him.

“Hm. Our Malfoy would have loved minions to do his bidding. What are the chances that he hired some thugs? He couldn’t rely on his dad all the time.” Harry rubbed his chin. “And we know he had some shady contacts.”

“It’s quite a step to go from buying marijuana to hiring hitmen,” Ron pointed out.

“Malfoy might have hired them as thugs, to beat up his ‘rivals’,” Harry replied. “Remember when he tried to send the rugby team after us?”

“Oh, yes!” Ron chuckled. Malfoy’s dad must have spent a lot of money to smooth things over so his son wouldn’t be expelled.

“Or perhaps he needed bodyguards to keep Parkinson away,” Harry joked, then blinked. “Damn.”

“What?” Ron asked.

“I just had a thought,” Harry replied. “This was Sirius’s bachelor pad in the seventies.”

“Yes. And he bought it under a fake name.”

“He did. But how many women did he invite over? And how many of them might remember the flat?”

Ron frowned. “How many of them would make the connection to us? You weren’t even born when he started using it.”

“No. But he was over the moon when he was made godfather,” Harry said. “He would have told his girlfriends. And all it takes is for one woman to remember.”

Ron sighed. “Who gets to tell Granger that we have to move again?”

“You. She’s less likely to turn you into a newt,” Harry replied with a grin.

Ron frowned, but his friend was probably correct.

*****​

“I should have thought of that. It’s obvious in hindsight.”

Granger took the news better than Ron had expected. And worse, in a way. “Don’t blame yourself. What would your therapist say?”

“This is different. I should’ve known better,” Granger replied. “I’ve been hunted before.”

“By wizards.”

She snorted as she slid out of bed. “Wizards who could easily mind-control police officers and order them to hunt us as well. Hiding out in muggle hotels didn’t work out well for us. If the police hadn’t tried to arrest us before the Death Eaters found out...”

He didn’t look at her legs as she grabbed the jeans from Frankie’s. Not overly long, at least. “How easy is magical mind control?” he asked, trying not to show how disturbing he found the subject.

“It depends on what method you use, but it’s generally quite easy. Obliviation - erasing someone’s memories - is very common. It’s how the Statue of Secrecy is enforced. Then there’s the False Memory Charm, which allows you to implant artificial memories in someone’s mind. It’s far harder to use - you have to take great care to construct memories if you want them to influence the target. But done right, you can give someone an entirely new personality or set of goals.”

Ron was aghast. That sounded… like Total Recall. “Is that what your enemies were doing?”

She shook her head, then pulled her hair back and put it into a bushy ponytail. “No. They usually stuck to the Imperius Curse.” Looking at him, she added: “It’s basically an order you can’t refuse and want to execute. Casting the spell on a human earns you a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s a prison in the North Sea staffed by monsters. Most inmates lose their sanity within a few years.”

He wanted to ask her why she was so determined to return to that. The way she’d worded it, that prison wasn’t new. On the other hand, her family and friends were there. And her magic wand. Although… she had spoken as if she had personal experience with those spells. “Did you use them yourself?”

“What?” She turned to him, shirt in hand, teeth bared.

“Not the Imperius, the others, I mean,” he was quick to explain.

“Oh.” She sighed. “I considered it. Quite thoroughly. The False Memory Charm, that is. Obliviating enemies was pretty standard. And witnesses - wouldn’t want to endanger the Statute of Secrecy.” She scoffed.

She had mentioned that before. “Keeping magic a secret is of such importance?”

“It’s pretty much the only thing all wizarding countries agree upon. Breaking it is the worst crime you could commit. Far worse than massacring a few dozen muggles,” she added in a bitter tone.

He had the distinct impression that wasn’t a hypothetical example. “Worse than using the Imperius Curse?”

She pulled her shoes on. “Yes.”

“Does that mean you’ll have to obliviate Harry and me?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She looked startled for a moment. “No. Your world has no magic. There’s no Statute here.” Frowning, she went on: “Of course, some of the bigots would still claim this was breaking the Statute of Secrecy. They invented bogus charges of ‘stealing magic’ to justify their murders.”

“And you want to return there?”

“I have to. I left my friends.”

Friends who might be - were, probably - dead by now. But he knew better than to point that out. Judging by her expression, she was already aware that she might be returning to avenge, rather than help, them.

“So, where are we going?” she asked, grabbing her bag. “Do you have another safe house prepared?”

He chuckled, ruefully. “I wish.” Moody would tell them that they weren’t vigilant enough after this mess was sorted out. “No, we’ll visit a friend of mine,” he said with a smile.

“A friend?”

He nodded. “A good friend. She won’t betray us.”

She had an odd expression, he noticed. “Who is she?”

“Luna. Luna Lovegood.” She looked rather incredulous, so he added, slightly annoyed: “It’s an old and perfectly fine name.”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “It’s not that. Does her family live next to yours?”

Ron blinked, then groaned. “You knew her counterpart as well?”

“We went to the same school.”

Ron shook his head. This was eerie. What else did she know? “Ah… were we involved?”

“What? Us? I mean, your counterpart and I?”

“No, I mean my counterpart and Luna’s,” he explained.

“Oh. No, not to my knowledge. And I’ve known Ron since he was eleven.”

Good. So not everything was the same.

“Is she a cryptozoologist? Hunting Nessie?”

He laughed. “No, no. She’s no cryptozoologist.”

*****​

Near Savernake Forest, Wiltshire, Britain, July 10th, 2005

“Luna lives here?” Granger asked before Harry had even stopped the car. “It’s a barn! And a broken-down one, at that!”

“It merely looks like a barn,” Ron replied as he got out of the car.

“It smells like a barn, too,” Granger remarked.

“Luna’s very thorough,” Ron said.

“Thorough?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, still behind the wheel. “Even Moody would be impressed.”

“That’s not really reassuring…” Granger trailed off. “Wait…”

But Ron had already reached the big gate, pulling it open for Harry to drive the car inside before closing it behind them.

The inside looked as it should - full of the derelict remains of a failed farm, with barely enough space left free for a vehicle to park, the only light provided by their car.

“It is a barn. And Luna doesn’t live here,” Granger stated as she climbed out of the car.

“Right.” Ron nodded, slightly disappointed that she had seen through the small deception already. “Moody was the clue, huh?”

“Unless you deliberately wanted to mislead me, it means that Luna’s paranoid. Which means she’d never let you drive up to her real home,” she replied, shaking her head as she looked around.

Then the entire barn was plunged into darkness as Harry switched the lights off. Granger didn’t comment, though, not until Ron had pulled out his flashlight to show her the way to the side exit.

“Couldn’t someone spot the light?” she asked as she made her way towards Ron.

“The barn doesn’t let any light out,” Ron told her. He had helped Luna fix it that way over one summer.

“Ah. And the side exit leads to a secret tunnel?”

Harry scoffed. “Don’t be daft - that’d mean you’d have a direct lead to her home from here.”

Ron couldn’t see Granger’s face, not without being obvious about it and shining his flashlight in her direction, but he was certain that she was pursing her lips at Harry’s comment. “And traipsing through the countryside won’t lead any pursuers to her?” she retorted in a cold tone.

“No. Not with the route we’re taking,” Ron told her as Harry handed him his set of night vision goggles. “We’ll be moving through the underbrush for most of the distance.”

“We’ve only got two sets, sorry,” Harry said. He almost sounded sincere.

“Great. I missed stumbling through a dark forest so much,” he heard her mutter.

“Just hold my hand, I’ll guide you,” Ron offered.

“No need. I’ve got my own.”

“You do? Of course you do.” Ron shook his head as she pulled out a set of night vision goggles - a Russian model, Ron recognised the type - from her bag.

Luna would love her. Probably.

*****​

Granger definitely wasn’t at home in the woods. Even with night vision goggles, she had trouble navigating the forest. At least Ron assumed her repeated, whispered queries about whether or not they were lost indicated that she was lost. And she didn’t have an easy time marching, either.

But they had made it to Luna’s hideout anyway, if later than planned. It was still the middle of the night, though, and so Luna wouldn’t be mad at them.

“That’s her real fake barn?” Granger asked, staring past him at the back of a decrepit-looking wooden building. “Oh God, I’m more tired than I thought to be saying that.”

“Yes,” Ron told her with a grin.

She huffed. “So… do we go and knock?”

“In a way.” Ron took a deep breath and stepped closer to the back of the barn, looking for the slightly loose plank. Luna tended to move it around… ah, there. He pulled it back a little and stuck his finger inside, moving it until he felt the cool metal of the fingerprint scanner.

A moment later, part of the wall swung open, revealing a narrow space with a hatch in the floor, barely big enough for one person to step inside - and needing to duck their heads if they weren’t on the short side. He did so and opened the hatch, then pointed at the spiral staircase leading down. “Here we are.”

He quickly descended the stairs until he reached the steel door at the bottom, where he smiled up at the camera. “Hi, Luna! It’s me, Ron!”

The door didn’t open.

After a few seconds, he heard her voice - digitally altered. “Password?”

“Swordfish.”

The steel door started to swing open.

“Swordfish?” Granger asked behind him.

“A movie starring John Travolta,” Ron explained.

“Ah.”

It was also one of the movies he had watched with Luna when they had been dating, but she wouldn’t know that. And he wouldn’t tell her. It was none of her business.

He stepped through the airlock - at least Luna wasn’t running her NBC protocol - and into the hallway - or entrance hall, as Luna called it. And there she was - dressed in one of her ‘ironic’ T-shirts and baggy jeans with ballet flats. Not one of her weirder looks, this time.

“Ron!” She hugged him. “I told you the shadow men behind the government would hunt you down one day! I told you!”

“It’s not quite…” he tried to explain.

“Fortunately, I’ve been preparing for this eventuality! This bunker is shielded against all the ways they could use to track you! They won’t get you!” He felt her nodding - her chin repeatedly dug into his shoulder. “And neither will they get Harry and…” She tensed in his arms. “Blessed Mother Goddess!”

He turned his head, with some difficulty, and noticed she was staring at Granger. “Ah, Luna, this is…”

“An alien! You brought an alien here!”

“I’m not an alien!” Granger protested at once.

“You’re Hermione Granger. Kidnapped at the age of eleven. Found seven years later, with amnesia. Identified through DNA testing and reunited with her parents. Proceeded to complete her missing secondary schooling in record time despite her history, then went on to study quantum physics, becoming a researcher after earning her doctorate,” Luna stated, without releasing Ron. “Claimed her research was purely theoretical, yet found herself the target of multiple kidnapping attempts by an unknown yet clearly powerful secret organisation.” She sniffed. “It’s obvious that you’ve assumed the identity of the real Hermione Granger who was conveniently killed years ago before your arrival on Earth in order to gain the resources needed to return to your home planet. But the secret global anti-alien forces have seen through your deceptions and are now trying to arrest you without revealing that aliens exist!”

Ron managed to turn his head far enough to see Granger. She was staring at Luna, speechless.

And then Harry laughed.

“That’s ridiculous!” Granger snapped. “I’m not an alien!”

“Of course you’d say that!” Luna retorted. “But how else can you explain the countless inconsistencies in your life? If you aren’t a member of an alien species whose technology is far in advance of our own, how would you have managed to research something for which people are willing to murder senior police officers? After missing seven years of your secondary education?” She finally released Ron and took a step towards Granger, pointing her right index finger at her. “You might have fooled the Grangers, and you might have fooled the government - although the government may have been on to you from the start, and just let you believe you succeeded in fooling them so they could reap the results of your research for their own secret weapon programs. But you haven’t fooled me!”

“Wha…” Granger blinked. “That makes no sense!”

“On the contrary! It makes perfect sense!” Luna shook her head wildly. “But you’ve made a fatal mistake! You dared to attack my friends!”

Uh oh. Ron grimaced. Luna was what Mum called a gentle soul, and she was a lovely, if eccentric, girl, but if she thought someone was threatening her few, very few, friends… “Luna, she’s not an alien.”

“I know you have to say that.”

“No, I mean, we know the truth. And she’s not an alien. She’s human. Although you’re correct in that she isn’t the original Hermione Granger.” Ron stepped between Luna and Granger. Just in case his ex-girlfriend hadn’t been joking about the anti-authoritarian thug counter-measures she wanted to install in the ceiling.

Luna blinked. “She’s human, but she managed to fool a DNA test? She’s a clone!” She clapped her hands together. “The government has been cloning promising people for their shadow research think tanks! I knew it!” She slid around Ron and peered at Granger. “How old are you? Historically, I mean. Biologically, you’ve obviously been subjected to an accelerated growth treatment.”

“I’m twenty-six years old! I’m not a clone!” Granger insisted.

“Are you sure?” Harry cut in, still chuckling.

She glared at him, then at Ron, as if this was his fault. Well, he should have expected this, Ron guessed. “She’s not a clone.”

“I’m Hermione Granger, a witch from a parallel Earth,” Granger spat. “I ended up here due to a magical accident, and I was misidentified as this world’s Hermione Granger.”

“A witch?” Luna frowned. “A magical accident?”

“Yes.” Granger held her hand out towards a small tobacco box on the shelf behind Luna and snapped: “Accio box!”

A moment later, the box flew towards her outstretched hand, and, from hidden speakers, Luna’s voice yelled: “Alert! Alert! Smoker intruder! Alert!” - loudly enough to hurt Ron’s ears.

*****​

She heard the loud, very loud, sound of a gong being rung and knew she had made a fatal mistake. She hadn’t disabled all the alarms, and now the enemy knew that there were intruders on the premises.

“We need to go!” Harry hissed, jumping to his feet.

But they were so close. And Voldemort… he was supposed to be busy dealing with the diversionary attacks while they broke into the manor.

“Come on!” Ron yelled, grabbing her shoulder. “We’ve failed! We need to leave!”

No, she had failed. All those Order members risking their lives, and she had let them down. Their chance to get the Horcrux, lost. She shook her head, forcing back tears, as she ran towards the wardline, casting a Disillusionment Charm almost without thinking. Fifty yards until they could apparate to safety.

They cleared the gardens. Forty yards.

Halfway through the open ground. Thirty yards.

Twenty yards. Almost.

The hedgerow in front of them blew up. She barely saw the Blasting Curse before she was thrown to the ground. She rolled over the lawn - her Shield Charm had held - as a cloud of dust started to settle and chunks of earth and roots rained down on her. Harry! Ron!

She looked around, pointing her wand in every direction, as she tried to find her friends. The cloud still concealed everyone and everything, but it would thin out on top first, and her Human-presence-revealing Charm would show.…

Half a dozen markers became visible between her and the wardline - and she couldn’t yet tell who among them were Harry and Ron, and who would be Death Eaters.

She - belatedly - dashed towards the wardline. At an angle, away from the Death Eaters. If she could get out and flank them...

She saw a flash right in front of her, then she was flying through the air - another Blasting Curse, she realised, right before everything went dark.

*****​

 

Chapter 7: The Old Flame

Near Savernake Forest, Wiltshire, Britain, July 10th, 2005

Granger was blinking rapidly. Flashback, Ron realised - he was starting to recognise the signs. “Luna, turn it off!” he said - a little more sharply than he intended.

“What?”

“Turn it off!” he repeated himself, a little more loudly. Granger was pressing her hands on her ears, and Ron wished he had some ear protection.

Luna left the hallway, and, a moment later, the shouting stopped. She returned and asked: “What did you say?”

“I wanted you to turn off the alarm,” Ron said for the third time.

“Ah.”

Granger was still breathing heavily, but she seemed to recover as Ron watched. “Merlin’s beard! What was that?” she spat, glaring at Luna.

“My intruder alarm, of course. That is, my back-up intruder alarm.”

“You linked an alarm to a tobacco box on a shelf?” Granger sounded incredulous. Again.

“Of course! Everyone knows that members and minions of the shadow government are often heavy smokers - not only are they stressed from trying to oppress the masses and keep their machinations secret, they can also camouflage themselves in clouds of smoke, you know! And members of the shadow government are corrupt and, therefore, greedy, so they wouldn’t be able to resist a genuine eighteenth-century vintage tobacco box! And, finally, minions of the shadow government are trained to search for your most private secrets, so they would look through the box for hidden documents such as your diary!” Luna beamed at Granger. “It’s effective on three levels! And, as you’ve proven, it works on dimension-travelling witches, too! If you’re actually a witch.”

“I am a witch,” Granger said through clenched teeth. “You just saw me levitate a tobacco box with magic!”

“That could’ve been a directed beam of gravity-reversing energy. Or a psionic burst. A Timelord certainly would be able to fake magic thanks to their hyper-advanced technology,” Luna retorted.

“I’m not a Timelord. And Dr Who is a fictional TV series,” Granger replied.

“Ah, that’s what they want you to think! It’s actually the perfect cover - any time the aliens make a mistake, the government can claim it’s just part of a new episode of Dr Who. That’s why they restarted the series, you know - they tried to save money in the 80s and 90s, but when the Cold War ended, the budget of the secret service was cut, and that also reduced the budget for covering up alien activities, so they had to restart the series.”

This time, Ron was sure that Granger wasn’t experiencing a flashback - she was just left speechless and blinking by Luna’s theories. Not unlike Percy that time Luna had tried to interrogate him after he had started working for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. That had been an amusing family dinner.

“But…” Granger shook her head. “I told you that I’m not an alien!”

“Even if you are telling the truth, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t any aliens.” Luna sniffed. “As a scientist, you should be aware of that!”

“What?”

Uh oh. Granger was getting mad. Ron cleared his throat. “Anyway - as you know, we’re being hunted by the police. Can we hide here until the real murderer has been found?”

“Of course!” Luna beamed at him. “This is a refuge for any innocent victim of the government!” She frowned and peered at Granger. “You are innocent, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!”

“She was actually fighting a fascist wizard government in her home dimension when she was transported here in a magical accident,” Ron added.

“What? Oh, Mother Goddess! Is that true?” Luna quickly closed with Granger and grabbed her hands. “You’re a refugee from an oppressive, fascist government?”

Granger blinked, but, apparently, her desire to lecture won out over her indignation. “In a way. The politics in Wizarding Britain do not align perfectly with the politics of this world - or the muggle parts of my home. That means the magic-less parts. But the government was quite bigoted towards those who weren’t born to wizards and witches, favouring the so-called purebloods even before the Dark Lord took over. He didn’t take over openly, though. Instead, he mind-controlled the Minister and had his followers and sympathisers take control of the Ministry - the wizarding government - to persecute the muggleborns like me. As a minority and relative newcomers to Wizarding Britain, we were the perfect scapegoats. So, I don’t think it’s entirely incorrect to call his movement fascist, although it’s not entirely correct either.”

“A government controlled from the shadows using mind control! Persecuting minorities to distract the mindless population from their own situation! Did you have a voice of freedom spreading the truth for those who would listen, too?”

“Well… actually, yes. There was a pirate wireless station, and The Quibbler,” Granger replied. She looked wary now - or again.

“Oh, I knew it!” And Luna lunged, hugging Granger. Hard. “A sister-in-arms! A transdimensional comrade! Be welcome in my abode!”

Ron couldn’t tell if Granger’s open mouth was due to shock or lack of air - Luna was stronger than her waif-like appearance suggested, and she was as passionate when hugging as she was in everything else that she did.

But what was important was that she had welcomed them. They’d be safe here.

*****​

“...and an entire world - the Wizarding World - is hidden from the general, non-magic population? Thanks to magical mind control?” Luna shook her head. “Could this world have such a hidden world as well? Full of witches, wizards and dragons?”

“There isn’t. I checked thoroughly,” Granger said.

“Too bad. But in your world, no one knows about this ‘Statute of Secrecy’?” Luna leaned forward, licking her lips, almost pushing the table back as she did so.

“Ah… close family members of muggleborn wizards and witches are allowed to know about magic.” Granger looked taken aback by Luna’s enthusiasm. Ron could understand the feeling, of course - Luna could be scary when she got excited. Well, excited in the wrong way.

“Oh. And how do the wizards keep them from spilling the secret?”

“Well, it’s illegal, for one thing. And who would believe them if they claimed magic existed?”

Luna would, of course, Ron thought.

“No implanted magical compulsions to keep quiet? Constant surveillance of everyone in the know? No threats to their loved ones? No examples made of random passers-by?” Luna sounded almost disappointed.

“Nothing like that happened before I left.” Granger’s face turned into a scowl. “But with Voldemort in charge, I could see them going after the family members of muggleborns if only to prevent the birth of more muggleborns.”

“Oh!” Luna gasped. “Your parents are in danger?”

Granger winced but shook her head. “They were already in danger for being my parents. I was one of Harry’s - my Harry’s - best friends. Harry, Ron and I were the country’s Undesirables Numbers One, Two and Three. So we took precautions when Voldemort regained a body.”

Luna almost looked envious, Ron noticed. “You were public enemy number three?”

“Two, actually. I was deemed the greater danger than Ron.”

“Oh! Because you were a witch and challenged their oppressive patriarchy?”

“What? No. It was because I’m a muggleborn witch while Ron’s a pureblood wizard. I didn’t deserve magic according to their ideology, so me being better at it than anyone else at school meant I challenged their stupid prejudices in ways Ron couldn’t.”

And Ron bet that Granger didn’t exactly hide her talents, either. Quite the contrary.

“That doesn’t make much sense,” Luna replied, pouting.

“Of course it doesn’t! The Death Eaters and their supporters are small-minded, ignorant bigots,” Granger spat.

“Like our government!” Luna nodded rapidly.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Granger replied.

“Of course you wouldn’t. But you haven’t grown up here. As a visitor, and from an openly fascist dictatorship, you would have missed the secret cabal ruling the country.” Luna frowned at Ron and Harry, although Ron’s friend didn’t notice - or acted as if he didn’t - since he was reading Luna’s latest ‘Underground Newsletter’. “Even some people who grew up in Britain and, as trained police officers, should really see through such cover-ups, won’t accept the truth.”

“Ah…” Granger looked - not for the first time - lost.

Ron shrugged. “As police officers, we need evidence before we act.”

“Hard evidence,” Harry added.

Luna huffed. “And that’s why you’re now being hunted by the forces of the shadow government! If you had arrested them beforehand, they wouldn’t be able to do this now!”

It was an old argument, but after Bones and Scrimgeour’s deaths, it stung a lot more. “We have a suspect, at least,” Ron said. “Corban Yaxley. He’s…”

“...a high-ranking member of the CI5. Your own department!” Luna frowned at him. “How did he manage to fool you?”

“He probably didn’t do anything criminal or even suspicious for a long time,” Granger cut in. “That’s what his counterpart in my world did.”

“Oh!” Luna’s head instantly turned to stare at Granger. “The similarities are so significant, you can use knowledge of one person to judge their counterpart?”

“Not exactly,” Granger was quick to reply. “Our worlds differ greatly. At best, it provides hints or suspicions for further investigation.”

“Oh! And you encountered Yaxley?”

Granger pressed her lips together before answering. “Yes.”

To Ron’s relief, Luna didn’t ignore the hint and didn’t pry. Instead, she said: “Oh! Did you meet my counterpart as well?”

“Yes.” After a moment, she added: “We went to school together. She’s a witch.”

“Oh! Tell me about her! Is she fighting the fascists as well?”

“Yes, although she does it by helping her father publish his underground newspaper, The Quibbler, to oppose the enemy propaganda,” Granger explained.

Luna clapped her hands together and squeed. “Just like me! Were we - I mean, your Luna and you - friends?”

“Yes,” Granger answered. She didn’t seem to be lying, Ron noticed. “Very good friends,” Granger added.

“Oh! Were we involved? With each other, I mean?”

“What? No. No.” Granger shook her head. “But we were part of the, well, the resistance movement. Part of the core - of the new generation, at least.” She had a smile on her face, but it looked rather sad. Ron almost reached out to pat her hand, but Luna was already moving to hug her.

“I’ll replace my counterpart as your friend until you can return to your world!”

Well, Ron hadn’t expected that. But, in hindsight, he should have.

*****​

“And here’re the guest quarters!” Luna announced half an hour later, after she had finally picked up on Ron and Harry’s hints that they hadn’t slept for nearly twenty-four hours. She was a lovely woman, but she sometimes lost sight of the fact that not everyone shared her sleep cycle.“They’re not the most luxurious, but they’re the safest rooms in Britain!” She proudly spread her arms as she turned around and waved at the bunk beds lining the walls.

“Thank you,” Granger said, already eyeing the closest bed.

“Ah… you don’t need a special diet, and you aren’t allergic to our food, are you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Granger told her, sitting down on the bed to remove her shoes. “Thank you,” she said again with a tired smile.

“She eats MREs to save time,” Harry added with a smirk.

“Really? Is that a parallel development or did wizards and witches copy them? And why are you doing that? Is magic unable to make food?”

“I stocked up here,” Granger explained, “in case I had to hide for a length of time without being able to resupply.”

Luna beamed at her. “Great minds think alike! I’ve got my own stock, so you’ll be able to enjoy familiar meals here!”

Granger managed to keep smiling, but Ron spotted her fingers slip and freeze as she was undoing her shoelaces. He smirked and, for a moment, considered letting Luna feed Granger nothing but rations. He decided against it, though - Granger was prickly on a good day; he didn’t want to imagine how insufferable she might be if she were forced to eat rations for a week. Well, it certainly would be a sight to see. From afar. So he cleared his throat and spoke up: “I think we should save the rations for emergencies.”

“But isn’t this an emergency?” Luna replied, looking puzzled. “The emergency, actually - the government is, finally, hunting you!” She shook her head. “And even though I took care not to be predictable, suddenly increasing the amount of food I need would raise a flag which the government’s minions could hardly miss. No, we should stick to rations for safety!”

Ron winced. It was a good argument - at least Moody would think so. And since Moody might be assigned to tracking them, they could hardly argue against such a precaution. No matter how slim the chance that Luna was actually under government surveillance. So he nodded. “Good thinking, Luna.”

She smiled widely at him, which almost made it worth eating MREs for a few days.

Harry and Granger glared at him, though, as soon as Luna had left - as if this were Ron’s fault. “So, ah… goodnight.”

Granger didn’t bother answering - she just slipped under her sheets and turned away from him. And whatever Harry grumbled wasn’t a wish for a restful night.

*****​

“You and Luna were involved with each other, weren’t you?”

Granger’s question took Ron by surprise. He glanced at her bunk; she was still under the sheets, but she was looking at him. “Good morning,” he said, smiling - at the impressive bedhead she was sporting, with half her bushy mane plastered to one side of her head and the other half trying its best to point in all directions at once.

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s almost noon.”

He shrugged. “Almost means it’s technically still morning.” Harry was already taking a shower, and Luna was still asleep.

She scoffed. “So, were you and her a couple? You asked if my Ron was involved with her counterpart.”

He had, hadn’t he? Ron nodded. “We parted amicably.”

“So I gathered,” she replied, in a rather wry tone.

He sat up. “I take it her counterpart is different.” Granger had looked a little too shocked to have dealt with Luna before.

She pursed her lips. “There are some parallels. But my… her counterpart wasn’t quite so fixated on conspiracies. That was mainly her father, although she believed his theories without question. No, she and her father focused on Magizoology - they were usually hunting for mythical, and perhaps fictional, magical creatures. Until the war started, at least.”

“Ah.” He nodded and waited.

“Your past won’t be a problem, will it?” she asked.

“We parted amicably,” he repeated himself, wondering why she was asking. “You’ve seen her reaction, haven’t you?”

That made her wince. “She’s a little more enthusiastic than I expected.”

Ron laughed. “Well, you’re pretty much the perfect guest for her. You validate all her beliefs. If a witch from a parallel world can be hiding out in our own, nothing is impossible. It’s probably the happiest day of her life.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked with a glance at the door.

“Whoever is hunting you has corrupted part of CI5 and sent about a dozen thugs to attack you in broad daylight. Whether Luna’s correct or not about a government conspiracy - I don’t think she is - it’s certainly better to be cautious,” Ron pointed out.

She nodded, although it looked like she was doing it despite herself.

“Was my counterpart in a relationship?” he asked before he could reconsider.

“He dated Lavender Brown for a few months, in our fifth year.” She wasn’t looking at Ron, he noticed.

“You were a couple, weren’t you?”

Her wide-eyed expression as she gaped at him proved that he had guessed correctly.

Swell.

She must have realised that he knew since she sighed. “We were a couple, yes. We shouldn’t have become a couple, of course. Not in the middle of a war. Not with just the three of us in our cell. But…” She slowly shook her head.

“You were teenagers and fighting a war,” Ron finished for her.

That earned him a frown. “Yes,” she said, sounding as if she really didn’t like to admit he was correct. “It’s a completely understandable reaction to the circumstances, of course. Almost a textbook case.”

“You’ve studied psychology?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” she replied.

He nodded. This was a delicate subject. Touchy, too. ‘So you’ve seen my body naked’ probably wouldn’t go over well.

“Ask,” she snapped. “I know you want to.”

“Ask what?” He tried to play dumb.

She rolled her eyes. “You really think I’ll believe you don’t have a clue? After your Sherlock Holmes act before?”

“Touché.” He shrugged. “Although in my defence, it usually works on people who don’t know me.”

More eye-rolling followed. Well, you couldn’t win them all.

“So… what’s my counterpart like?” He tried to sound casual, almost whimsical. Just idle curiosity, nothing more.

“He was barely eighteen last time I saw him,” she said. “He’ll have changed in the meantime.” Or died, but Ron wouldn’t mention that. Even though both of them were aware of the possibility. “So I can only tell you what he was like as a teenager.”

“Yes.” That was obvious.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “He was brave. Above all, he was brave. Even as an eleven-year-old, he was braver than most adults. He was always willing to risk his life for his friends and family. Or acquaintances, in some cases,” she added with a sad smile.

Ron was certain that Granger had been among the latter - he knew that expression. And brave? Well, no one had called him a coward. No one but Malfoy, and the git didn’t count.

She took a deep breath. “He wasn’t perfect, of course. He often didn’t think before he said something - or did something. He felt overshadowed by Harry. Probably by me as well. Certainly by his older brothers.”

Ron struggled not to wince. That sounded familiar. Well, until he had helped bring Pettigrew to justice. And who wouldn’t feel overshadowed by Harry?

“Stubborn to a fault, and sometimes too proud to admit a mistake,” she continued to mention his - and the other Ron’s - flaws. “But he was kind, and funny, sometimes very insightful and perceptive. And you wouldn’t find a better friend in all of Britain.”

“Ah.” That was quite the list. “Well, he sounds like a great guy,” he said, using a light tone.

“Yes,” she agreed with a smile.

So Granger was definitely in love with her Ron - Ron knew that kind of smile as well. Even though he might not have seen it as often as he wished. Or appreciated it. “No wonder you want to return at once,” he said, trying to sound optimistic and supportive.

She frowned at him. “I’m well aware that the odds of Ron and Harry being alive aren’t good. And even if they are alive, the chance that Ron didn’t find someone else is very slim.”

Now that sounded a little… He frowned. “They think you’re dead.”

Another flinch. “The circumstances of my leaving would readily lend themselves to such an assumption.”

Which meant Ron was right. But that was another subject he didn’t want to touch. Certainly not right now.

Fortunately, Harry entered their room just then, having finished his shower. Ron wasn’t about to discuss his counterpart’s love life with Granger in Harry’s presence, and he would bet half his salary that Granger didn’t want to either.

Even though Ron really wanted to talk about this.

*****​

Half the dining table in Luna’s living room was covered with newspapers when Ron entered her living room. “Hi, Luna.” She was wearing a kimono and fuzzy rabbit slippers today. He couldn’t tell if she was wearing anything underneath.

“Hi, Ron,” she replied without looking up from The Times. “Your ration is the one in the middle.”

Right, rations. He had almost forgotten about that. “Are those today’s newspapers?”

“Certainly not! That would require either a subscription or regular purchases!”

“Ah.” He should have remembered that.

“But the news will soon start on the telly,” she went on, apparently munching on a ration’s main course herself.

He looked at the three screens mounted on the walls in the room. The BBC, CNN and… something in Chinese. “Did you learn Chinese?” he asked.

“No.”

He waited a moment, but she didn’t elaborate. Well, time to tackle the MRE. He checked the label: Chicken w/ Thai Sauce.

“Your favourite,” Luna said. “Well, among the MRE menus available.” She was smiling at him in that sweet way of hers.

He smiled in return. “Thanks.” He didn’t think the meal would be even close to a good Thai takeaway, but it was the thought that counted.

And he would rather eat a tin of bacon dating back to the Battle of Britain than complain and make Luna feel bad.

Harry arrived a minute later, mumbling a greeting as he craned his neck to look at the newspapers spread out on the table.

“Yours is the beef steak,” Luna declared before Harry could take a seat.

“Ah, thanks,” Harry said after a glance at Ron. Fortunately, he didn’t try to make an issue out of it.

“Where’s Hermione?”

“Trying to fix her hair,” Harry said. “I think - she was the last in the bathroom.”

“By choice,” Ron quickly said when he saw that Luna was starting to frown. “And she’s not trying to fix her hair,” he added with a frown at Harry. Even her hair wouldn’t be that difficult to pull into a ponytail.

“I like her hair. It’s wild. Untamed,” Luna said.

“What’s untamed?”

Granger had arrived. And she had her hair in a ponytail.

“We were discussing your hair,” Luna blithely told her.

“What?” Granger was narrowing her eyes.

“Harry was speculating that you were ‘trying to fix your hair’,” Ron said. “I told him you weren’t.”

“Yes. And I said I liked your hair.” Luna nodded.

Granger snorted but smiled at her. “Thanks, but I know it’s a mess.”

“Like nature.”

Ron didn’t think Granger liked that comparison. But the woman - the witch - sat down at the table and grabbed her ration. “Roast beef?”

“I thought it would be the closest to a taste of home,” Luna explained. “The most English of the choices we’ve got available.”

Granger’s smile slipped a little, but she didn’t show any other reaction and even sounded sincere when she thanked Luna. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy your meal!”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t that bad, actually - at least Ron’s meal wasn’t. Not good either, though. But Luna meant well - even Granger knew it. Of course, she had known Luna’s counterpart.

And Granger ate her meal without any complaint. Ron couldn’t spot even a hint of distaste. Either she was even more stubborn than he had thought or her taste buds were not normal. Which, Ron realised, could be the case since she was a witch.

Before he could ask - and potentially embarrass himself, or her - though, the telly finally switched to the news, and Ron winced as footage of Clissold Park appeared.

*****​

“...and there is still no news about the fate of Dr Hermione Granger, who was last seen in the company of the two suspects. Dr Granger was kidnapped in 1991 at the age of eleven in one of the most famous criminal cases of recent history. After her escape in 1998, she led a quiet life and studied quantum physics before pursuing a career in research. Speculation that the recent kidnapping attempts were related to her past hasn’t been confirmed by the authorities yet, although many critics of the police point out that at the time of her original kidnapping, rumours claimed that her kidnappers, who were never identified, enjoyed the protection of senior government officials.”

Ron glanced at Granger. She didn’t show any reaction. Of course, she hadn’t actually been kidnapped for seven years, but still…

“Harry Potter, one of the two missing police officers suspected of being involved with the shocking murder of two senior police officers, is himself famous as a result of an incident in which he shot a terrorist to death at the age of five. While his age - he is one year younger than Dr Granger - means it’s unlikely that he was involved in her first kidnapping...”

Harry, though, had just snapped the plastic spoon that had been in his MRE. Ron reached over and clasped his friend’s shoulder.

“They don’t mention that said terrorist killed your parents?” Granger blurted out. “Or that he was trying to kill you? Who wrote that, Skeeter? This isn’t a neutral, objective report!”

Ron could feel Harry grow even tenser and winced.

“The media are controlled by the government,” Luna added. “This is just further proof of that!”

“It’s probably just Yaxley feeding them rumours and slander,” Ron said. “It’ll be corrected soon enough.”

“Yes!” Luna nodded so quickly, her head bobbed up and down. “When we expose the entire conspiracy!”

Ron nodded in agreement - it was clear that there was a conspiracy, even though he didn’t think it involved the government.

The rest of the news report was more speculation - and insinuations about Harry and Ron’s character and suspected motives, dragging up a few incidents from their past and twisting them out of proportion. They hadn’t been that reckless, and, anyway, Smith had had it coming. At least the news stated that the shooting in Clissold Park wasn’t related to the recent arrests of several individuals believed to have been planning a number of bomb attacks on the London public transport system.

“Now this feels like home,” Granger commented with a sneer when the news switched to foreign events. “Biased media and incompetent authorities.”

“And a few brave souls willing to challenge the system!” Luna announced, raising her fist, before Harry or Ron could say anything. “But we could do with a few more allies, I think. Who else was your friend in the other world, Hermione? We could recruit them!”

Granger froze. “You can’t trust someone just because their counterpart was a friend of mine,” she said after a moment.

“Why not? So far, it’s proven to be correct, hasn’t it? Ron, Harry, me…” Luna replied, ticking off a finger with each name.

“That’s not enough data to trust it will hold true. There are fundamental differences between the two worlds, even discounting magic,” Granger said. “For example, Tom Riddle was born almost twenty years earlier in my world than in yours.”

Ron blinked. “A seventy-year-old wizard terrorised Britain?”

“Yes.” Granger looked at him. “Of course, he had made himself a new body, a monstrous thing that looked as if it was part snake, but even if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have been hampered by his age. Not at all.” She looked like she was about to tell them more, but stopped.

Ron leaned forward a little. “Do wizards age more slowly?” Like elves, perhaps?

She hesitated a moment. “They remain active for longer. And the average life expectancy is about twenty to thirty years longer. Provided you don’t get killed.” She looked grim. “Two wars significantly lowered Wizarding Britain’s life expectancy.”

That was a chilling thought. Ron tried to imagine just how many deaths it’d take to do that to Britain.

Luna spoke up again. “Well, a list of your friends back home will still be useful! We can investigate them to check whether they can be trusted!”

Granger didn’t look like she shared Luna’s optimism. “That will be difficult while we’re hiding from whoever is after me.”

“Ron and Harry will manage,” Luna told her, then smiled at Ron. “You will, won’t you?”

He returned her smile. “We’ll do our best.”

“Many of your friends were killed, weren’t they?” Harry spoke up, addressing Granger in a soft voice.

Ron clenched his teeth - he should have realised that - and Luna gasped as Granger pressed her lips together. “A number of my friends and acquaintances were killed in the second war, yes.”

And her two best friends had been fighting a desperate battle when she had been transported to this world, Ron reminded himself.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t think about how painful this might be for you!” Luna blurted out - and went to hug Granger.

In different circumstances, watching Granger awkwardly trying to console an apologising Luna would have been amusing. But not now. Ron cleared his throat. “Shall we finish our meals before they grow cold?”

It was a weak excuse, but it persuaded Luna to let go of Granger and return to her seat, and for the next few minutes, no one spoke as everyone finished their meals.

“We still need to decide on a course of action and make plans,” Harry said once everyone but Luna, who had already finished her sweet, was nibbling on what passed for pudding in the rations.

“Investigating Malfoy?” Ron asked.

“Without any evidence?” Granger countered.

“It’s better than doing nothing,” Harry, predictably, argued.

“Yes!” Luna chimed in. “And even if the dark secrets of the Malfoys turn out to not be related to the government conspiracy, we’ll still have removed a corrupt and nasty man who would otherwise be a potential member of the shadow government!”

“And it’s not as if the Malfoys haven’t got it coming,” Harry added.

“Settling accounts?” Granger frowned.

“We wouldn’t frame them,” Ron said. “But I’m certain that they have some skeletons in their closet.”

“Why didn’t you investigate him before, then?” Granger crossed her arms.

“Bones forbade it,” Ron told her.

“And you obeyed her?” She sounded doubtful.

“It’s one thing to solve a case by disobeying orders,” Ron said, “but another to go fishing, so to speak.” Bones had made it adamantly clear that she didn’t tolerate those kinds of shenanigans.

“Ah.”

“But if we can - correctly - claim you were suspicious of the Malfoys, possibly having some flashbacks…” Harry grinned. “Whatever we find, we can use.”

“You’re asking me to lie to the police.” Granger didn’t seem amused.

“Perish the thought!” Harry even clasped a hand to his chest. Sirius’s influence, Ron thought. “Just tell them that you dimly remember the names and seeing them briefly during your captivity.”

Granger’s face looked frozen for a moment. Stiffly, very stiffly, she asked: “Did I talk in my sleep?”

Fuck! Ron glanced at Harry, who looked aghast, then at Luna, whose slightly lost expression was quickly turning to horror as everyone realised that Granger had been captured and tortured by the Malfoys in her world. “Perhaps not the Malfoys,” Ron said hastily.

After a moment, Granger slowly nodded. “You can’t just assume people and things are the same,” she repeated herself. “Apart from magic, my world has several sapient species - trolls, giants, goblins, house-elves, merpeople and centaurs, to name a few. That is bound to change people even if they might look like twins.”

So far, though, things and people had lined up almost perfectly. Ron bit down on his retort. He had made a gaffe already; no need to compound it. Also… house-elves? Were those like high elves?

Fortunately, a beeping noise served as a distraction. “Oh! A priority message!” Luna announced, jumping up.

“Priority message?” Granger asked.

“It’s Daddy!” Luna yelled over her shoulder as she left the room.

Granger looked at Ron. “Is Xenophilius as… security-conscious as Luna?”

“Paranoid, yes,” Harry replied. “And it’s Xenophon, not Xenophilius.”

Ron glared at him. At least, Granger had tried to be diplomatic. Luna was a little quirky, but a great friend. And there was no...

Luna returned. “Ron?” She looked a little concerned. “Your father’s at my daddy’s, asking for a meeting.”

Uh oh.

“Arthur wants to meet us?” Granger asked as they followed Luna to her computer. “Or just Ron?”

Ron made a note that she knew his parents’ counterparts - well, he had already assumed that.

“I don’t know,” Luna replied, “he hasn’t said yet.” She opened the door to her ‘operations room’, as she called it, and Ron saw Granger’s eyes widen at the sight of the hardware installed there. It might be cobbled together from a dozen different machines, but Luna's rig had serious computing power - which she needed, of course, to run her systems. “Look!” She pointed at the screen to the left, where her mail program was open.

Ron read the message as he sat down. It was brief and to the point: Son, we need to meet. You and your friends.

He started typing. We have been framed.

I know.

Meeting us is dangerous.

I trust you to take precautions.

“Why does Arthur want to meet us?” Harry asked. “He should know that we’re alright and don’t need help. Or food.”

Ron rolled his eyes. How long would Harry hold that against Mum? “He knows. So this is about something else.”

“Me. He wants to meet me,” Granger said.

“We don’t know that,” Harry pointed out.

Ron shook his head at the sudden role reversal and typed: Is everything alright?

Your mother’s forcing me to contact you. She’s very concerned.

Ron released his breath. “He’s not being forced to do this.” To think Dad’s silly ‘precaution’, straight out of a spy novel, would actually turn out to be useful… Ron had merely been humouring his father when he had proposed such code phrases a few years ago.

“But your family will be under observation,” Harry said. “Not even Dawlish would be too dumb to consider the possibility that we might contact the Weasleys.”

“That’s why he went to Daddy!” Luna said, beaming. “No one can spy on our home!”

“That’s good for communication,” Ron replied. “But he won’t be able to shake off a tail.” Dad wasn’t a trained police officer or spy, after all. And with Bones and Scrimgeour assassinated and several shootouts in London, the police would pull out all the stops to solve the case. Manpower wouldn’t be an issue. Meeting us is dangerous. We’ll be fine.

There’s good reason to suspect otherwise.

What? Ron blinked. Dad was a government employee, not a spy or police officer. Why would he say such a thing? He looked at Harry, who seemed equally bewildered. Luna looked intrigued, and Granger was frowning. No help there. What do you mean?

I’ll explain when we meet. Can you reach London by tomorrow evening?

Dad was evading his question? Ron clenched his teeth. Yes. That wasn’t revealing anything sensitive - you could reach London from almost anywhere in the country in that time.

The next reply was an address: Dumbledore Manor in ‘Mould-on-the-Wold’.

Granger, who was reading over his shoulder, gasped straight into his ear.

*****​

The Headmaster looked terrible. Pale, thin, with his bad arm hanging uselessly at his side, he seemed barely able to stand, much less walk. He looked frail, she realised with a shock. Judging by the muttered curses she heard from Ron and Harry, they had realised it as well.

Dumbledore smiled. “I am not quite dead, yet, but I do not expect to live much longer.”

She swallowed and forced herself to nod as Harry spoke up: “Good evening, sir.”

He gestured, and three chairs appeared in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat. It is more comfortable to discuss such things while you’re seated, is it not?”

She pressed her lips together at the hint. They had known the Headmaster had been cursed months ago, but he hadn’t looked nearly that bad when they had seen him a few days ago.

Everyone sat down.

“Time. Ask me for anything but time.” Dumbledore shook his head. “But death comes for everyone, and I have lived a full life. I but wish the circumstances in which we find ourselves were less dire.”

Was he rambling? She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t blurt out her question. He was Dumbledore, after all.

“You didn’t just call us here to tell us you were dying, did you?” Ron said. “You kind of did that already.”

“No, I did not merely want to reveal my condition in a dramatic manner.” Dumbledore chuckled, but it ended in a heavy cough. “I have called you here to discuss the Order and your mission.”

She stiffened. Their mission. The hunt for the Horcruxes. The Headmaster had spent the last ten months - the last months of his life, it seemed - teaching and preparing them.

“Did you find more clues to the Horcruxes’ locations?” Harry asked.

“Alas, I was not so fortunate. You will have to rely on your special connection to Tom’s soul,” Dumbledore replied. “But a good friend of mine has provided me with a safer method to dispose of your targets.” He pulled out a small bottle. “A few drops from this will dissolve anything.”

Flamel. The ‘good friend’ had to be Flamel. But…

Dumbledore chuckled again, which once more ended in coughing. He conjured a glass of water for himself this time and took a swallow before he continued. “While the Elixir of Life, did not, alas, manage to counter the curse on me, I can assure you that this concoction will not disappoint you. I have tested it myself.”

Oh. She felt chastised for doubting Dumbledore as Harry took the bottle - very carefully, of course.

“A tap with your wand will shrink it, another will restore its true size,” Dumbledore explained. “I took the liberty of enchanting and reinforcing the bottle.”

That made her breathe more easily. If they were to break a bottle full of a substance that could destroy a Horcrux while they were carrying it…

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said.

“Do not thank me. I leave you with a terrible burden.”

She thought that he was right. “And who will replace you?”

“Alastor will handle most of the Order.”

Leaving them to deal with the Horcruxes.

“Tom lost a significant number of his trusted followers in his attack on Hogwarts. Unfortunately, not enough to stop his rise to power. Not once I’m dead.” The Headmaster shook his head. “Soon, those who dared to oppose him will have to flee and hide. I can only hope that those he will target will heed my advice - or be scared into hiding by my death. But, at the very least, Severus killing me will cement his cover.”

She wasn’t the only one who gasped. Snape was… a spy? “Should you be telling us that?” she asked. Dumbledore had impressed on them how vital secrecy was.

“You already know the most important secret. If you should fail, if you should get captured and your secrets revealed, all is lost anyway. And if you succeed, your word will save Severus.” He coughed once more. “You know what you have to do.”

*****​

 

Chapter 8: The Retired Gentleman

Near Savernake Forest, Wiltshire, Britain, July 10th, 2005

“Hey.” Ron reached out, but Granger shook her head before he touched her. Another flashback. So much for the quality of her therapist. On the other hand, she couldn’t have told them what she had really experienced, of course.

“Sorry… I know that name,” she said.

“Oh?” Luna perked up. “Friend or foe?”

Granger took a deep breath. “He was the Headmaster of my school. And the leader of the Order of the Phoenix.” And, obviously, dead in her world. “The only man, or so it was said, who Voldemort ever feared.”

“Yet, he died, and Riddle lived,” Harry not-quite-asked in a bitter voice.

Ron pressed his lips together - the failure, as Harry saw it, of the police to stop Riddle before he managed to murder the Potters was a very sore point for his friend.

Granger narrowed her eyes at him. “He was cursed in a trap. He was never defeated in open combat.”

“It’s not very useful to win every fight yet lose the war,” Harry pointed out.

“We hadn’t lost the war when I was transported to this world,” Granger retorted, scowling now.

“But you didn’t think much of your chances,” Harry shot back.

Ron cleared his throat. “Let’s focus on the current problem. What do we do about this meeting?” He quickly typed: Please wait a minute.

Ok, son.

“I think we should meet Dumbledore,” Granger said, with another glare at Harry.

“Based on his counterpart being your teacher?” Harry didn’t bother hiding his doubts, Ron noticed.

“Based on the fact that Arth…” She looked at Ron. “That your father is asking for a meeting, and that Albus Dumbledore was very important in my world. While, as I said before, repeatedly, I might add, we cannot trust someone just because their counterpart was someone I trusted, so far there has been a correlation in both trustworthiness and influence. Bones, Scrimgeour, Yaxley.”

“It could be a trap,” Harry retorted. “Arthur might trust whoever is behind this, but he could be mistaken.”

Ron wanted to defend Dad, but he had to admit that that was possible. Not aloud, though. “We will have to scout out the area for ambushes.”

“You want to go, then?” Luna asked. She sounded quite eager.

“The area, the manor - that’s a lot to cover,” Harry replied. “And if it’s a trap by the police, they’ll have the SAS dropping down on us from a chopper.”

That was a sobering thought. Ron knew he wasn’t a slouch in a fight, but to go up against those blokes... “But we have an advantage they can’t anticipate,” Ron retorted with a grin.

“Yes! Magic!” Luna pumped her fist.

Harry, though, frowned, and Granger didn’t look quite as enthusiastic as Luna. “My magical means are very limited,” she said. “I can’t just snap my fingers and reveal a trap.”

“But you can read thoughts, can’t you?” Harry challenged her. “If you can rearrange thoughts, you can read them as well.”

Granger blinked. “It doesn’t work like that. One is a charm, and the other is a skill you have to learn.”

“What?” Ron blurted out. “You mean you manipulate memories without knowing what they are?”

Granger winced. “Yes. It’s often very crude and blunt.”

Oh my God. Ron couldn’t imagine that. Well, he could, actually - but it wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“The Obliviators mostly just remove a few minutes of someone’s memory and confund them. Muggles usually make up explanations for whatever happened,” Granger said.

That didn’t make it sound it any better. He focused on the problem at hand. “Can you turn us invisible?”

“Not without a wand,” she replied. “I don’t have an invisibility cloak, and if I had one, it would have faded by now - they don’t last long. I cannot teleport, either - well, I could make an attempt, but it might leave parts of us behind. Such as an arm or leg. That’s called splinching.”

Ron wasn’t the only one who winced at that.

“So... what can you do with your magic?” Harry asked.

Granger pressed her lips together, then sighed. “I have various potions. It depends on what you need. A way to infiltrate the manor, or a way to escape?”

“Both,” Harry told her with a toothy smile.

She pressed her lips together. “I have a limited supply of Shrinking Solution. I prefer the Shrinking Charm, but I acquired these from… someone who had no further use for any of his possessions.”

“Waste not, want not,” Ron said. “So, how much does one shrink after drinking one?”

“It depends on how much you drink, but you can reduce a cow to the size of a mouse.”

“Wow!” Luna clapped her hands together. “Imagine how you could spy on someone with that!”

“Just check whether they have a cat or dog, or another pet, first,” Granger said.

“Oh.”

“Well, we have our escape plan,” Ron announced.

“We do?” Luna asked, cocking her head as she looked at him. Granger and Harry weren’t as obvious, but they were looking at him with similar expressions.

“Yes,” Ron replied. “All we need is an RC helicopter - and someone at the controls.”

“I don’t think the SAS or whoever might be ambushing us would let an RC helicopter get close,” Granger pointed out.

“That’s why you’ll be carrying it in your bag. We can use some other of your surprises to gain enough time to drink the potions and get on the chopper,” Ron said.

Harry, of course, didn’t like the plan. But after thrashing out the details and a few contingencies - they couldn’t count on radios working inside the manor, after all - Luna and, more importantly, Granger were on board. And so Ron messaged Dad that they’d be there tomorrow.

*****​

While Granger, prodded not-too-subtly by a hovering Luna, was noting down some of her old friends and allies, Ron went to find Harry, who had gone ‘to check the perimeter’. Which, given that Luna had placed more cameras in the area than you could find in the City, meant that Ron’s friend had gone to brood.

Ron climbed the stairs, checked the screen at the top for witnesses, then stepped out and took a deep breath. Even close to the dusty barn, the air smelt fresher than below - Luna had gone to great lengths, but filters could only do so much.

“Am I needed downstairs?”

Good, Ron thought as he turned, He hasn’t left the barn for the woods. There Ron’s friend stood, leaning against a support pillar in the middle of the barn. “No, Granger’s still working on her list,” Ron told him as he walked over.

Harry snorted. “Luna’s not helping, huh?”

Ron pressed his lips together for a moment. Luna was a great friend, and she meant well. And, as far as he could tell, Granger was aware of that.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

Ron grunted. Harry didn’t mean it. “So, what are you brooding about?” As he’d known, Harry frowned at him and didn’t answer. “Missing Ginny?”

“You already asked me that.”

“And you didn’t answer,” Ron retorted.

“Of course I miss her!” Harry snarled.

“Sorry.” Ron held up his hands. But he had to ask. “Should I have asked Dad to pass on a message while we were talking?” Harry hadn’t said anything, but Ron could have asked - if he had thought of it.

“No.” Harry shook his head, then brushed a dust mite off his sleeve. “I’ll ask myself next time. Provided that the meeting isn’t a trap.”

“It shouldn’t be.” If Dad was compromised… Ron didn’t want to think about what that would mean. For them, and for his family.

His friend snorted. “We were attacked at our last meeting. And Bones knew what she was doing.”

“There was also a traitor in CI5, probably close to her,” Ron pointed out.

Harry pushed off the pillar. “Let’s hope whoever is after us will keep making mistakes.”

“We have our escape plan ready,” Ron replied.

“Getting shrunk and then on to an RC helicopter.”

“It was your idea to use magic,” he pointed out.

“I was thinking of some way to detect enemies. Or take them out,” Harry said. “Not of… getting turned into a mouse.”

“Transfigured,” Ron told him. “That’s the technical term, I believe.”

“You’ve been talking to Granger a lot.”

“Yes.” Ron let out his breath through briefly clenched teeth. “Knowing what magic can and can’t do is important if we plan to depend on it.”

Harry grunted, looking at - or acting as if he were - a broken-down tractor.

“You know, magic has laws and limits. And Granger can’t just snap her fingers and alter reality,” Ron said. If Harry would make the attempt, he could probably figure out a lot.

“Does she have a nice handbook with all the rules in it, too?”

Ron rolled his eyes at the remark. “Very funny.” He stepped closer to Harry. “Seriously, stop being so difficult about it. We need to be on top of our game if we want to make it through this.”

“‘Our game’. Very funny,” Harry said, but he was grinning. Then he sighed. “I know. I just hate not knowing anything about magic.”

“Well, learn?” Ron shrugged. “Granger can help you.”

“She certainly likes to give lessons,” Harry said, grinning again.

Ron frowned, then shrugged. It was true, after all - he had thought so himself. But he still didn’t like hearing it from Harry. “Let’s go downstairs before Luna convinces Granger to curse the government.”

“I thought she couldn’t do that?”

“She’s not supposed to be able to, no.”

“But you don’t believe it?” Harry asked as the door swung open and revealed the staircase below.

“I think she’s holding some things back ,” Ron said.

“Ah.”

Ron nodded. It was only natural - as Moody had taught them, you never showed your full hand until it was absolutely necessary.

*****​

“So, you can’t create food out of thin air, but you can enlarge and multiply existing food,” Harry said half an hour later, still taking notes.

“Yes. One of the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law,” Granger replied.

“But you can create water.”

“Yes.”

“So, it’s food that’s special. Not the matter itself.” Harry made another note.

“Yes.”

“And you could transfigure the water to oil.”

“Yes.”

“Which is food, provided it’s the right kind of oil.”

“It wouldn’t be edible,” Granger said.

“Does that mean it can’t be ingested, or that it shouldn’t be ingested? And what happens if you mix it with real oil?” Harry leaned forward, just like he usually did when he had caught something during an interrogation.

“Your body will not derive any sustenance from it. But it will not suddenly turn to poison in someone’s body.”

“So you couldn’t - if you had a wand - transfigure, say, mercury into water and add it to someone’s drink, then let it transform back and watch them die?” Ron’s friend sounded disappointed.

“No, you couldn’t. But there are dozens of magical poisons if you need to kill someone.”

“And how many do you have on you?”

“A few.” Granger sounded a little cagey.

“Enough to, say, contaminate an entire water supply?” Harry asked.

“It would depend on the size.”

“But could you enlarge the vial?”

“With magical substances, that’s very difficult. Theoretically possible, but few would make the attempt.”

Ron wanted to hit himself. He should have known this would happen.

“It’s like the Final Fantasy Debacle,” Luna whispered next to him.

He frowned at her, which didn’t impress her in the slightest. And she was correct. Ron had spent two months trying to get Harry to play Final Fantasy Legend 2, back in school, and once Harry had - finally! - tried the game out, he had quickly monopolised Ron’s Gameboy. Until Sirius had bought Harry a Gameboy of his own, at least.

Well, Granger wasn’t a Gameboy, of course. Still… Ron felt the same urge to punch Harry that he had felt back then.

And Granger still hadn’t finished her list.

*****​

Mould-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, Britain, July 11th, 2005

“What do you see? Do you see anything? I didn’t see anything.”

“I don’t see anything suspicious,” Ron told Luna. He refrained from adding: ‘As I told you five minutes ago’ - she was a little excited.

"That doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything suspicious,” Harry said, lowering his binoculars.

A competent ambush wouldn’t be very easy to detect, Ron knew. But they had circled the village and then the manor for an hour, at a safe distance, and hadn’t spotted anything. “If there’s a trap, it’s probably inside the manor,” he said. “And we can’t do much about that. But this is a good spot for Luna to control our getaway chopper.”

“Yes! It’s in range of the remote, and we can hide the getaway car nearby!” Luna agreed.

Ron was quite relieved that she was enthusiastic about her role, instead of complaining about missing out on the first meeting with Dad’s mysterious contact. But he didn’t want Luna anywhere near a potential fight - she wasn’t trained for that, and she didn’t have Granger’s experience, either. But she was the best RC pilot they had, Harry’s opinion that just because he could fly a plane meant he could fly an RC chopper as well notwithstanding.

“Testing, testing,” Luna said.

Ron heard her through the bud in his ear, and, of course, normally as well. “It works,” he told her. At her pout, he lowered his voice, looked down, where he was wearing a wire under his shirt, and whispered: “It works.”

“Great! All set here!”

“Do you have the pouch with the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?” Granger asked - not for the first time, either. Ron still couldn’t tell if she didn’t trust anyone else to know what they were doing with the magic powder or because she needed to distract herself so she wouldn’t work herself into a nervous frenzy. Not that she wasn’t coming close right now anyway.

“Yes!” Luna announced, holding up a small bag. “I’m ready to work magic!”

“Good. Remember, you won’t be able to see anything either.”

Distraction, Ron decided. Definitely distraction.

“Alright,” Harry said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Ron snorted. Cheesy movie quotes were usually his shtick. Perhaps Harry was a little nervous as well. “Literally,” he said - they had to go back to where they had hidden the other car, then drive up to the manor. “Keep an eye on the house, but don’t expose yourself, OK?” he told Luna.

She laughed. “I’ve been spying on people for years! Only on corrupt government people, of course.”

“That’s reassuring to know,” Harry said, deadpan.

Luna smiled widely at him. “I know! That’s why I said it!”

Ron chuckled at Harry’s face, and, after a moment, Luna joined him. To his surprise, even Granger laughed - briefly. Though she gave him a weird look, too, he noticed.

*****​

Twenty minutes later, they watched the gates of the manor open as soon as they drove up to it. Someone was watching them - probably watching all approaches to the manor. It’s what Ron would have done in their place.

“I wonder if my Dumbledore had a manor as well,” Granger said. “He lived at Hogwarts, so it never came up. But this… it’s not up to Malfoy’s standard, but the owner must be quite quite well-off.”

“It’s a lot classier than Malfoy’s,” Harry said as he parked the car next to a sports car. “His dad only married Narcissa so he would get someone with a sense of style in the family.”

That was Sirius’s opinion, of course. Which wasn’t always reliable. “It wasn’t hereditary, then,” Ron replied. “Remember Malfoy’s green suit?”

Both of them laughed at the memory as they got out of the car, followed by Granger. Sunglasses and caps hid their faces, wigs their hair - though Granger’s hair had put up quite the resistance.

Before they could take more than a few steps towards the house, a door opened.

“Side entrance,” Ron commented. It was more discreet - although anyone observing the manor would spot them entering anyway. And he couldn’t see anyone waiting there for them. Of course, they were covered by cameras. One in the open, and, as far as he could tell, two more hidden.

“Will you come into my parlour?” Harry joked.

“We’re not flies,” Granger said.

“But I’d like to be a fly on the wall!” Luna commented in Ron’s ear. “Well, I am, actually. Unless the manor is radio-proof.”

He suppressed a chuckle. “Let’s go, shall we?”

They entered the manor. The door closed behind them, and they still didn’t see anyone.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Ron heard a voice say.

Granger jerked. She whispered something under her breath that Ron didn’t catch.

“Please join me in the living room,” the voice went on as another door opened, revealing a corridor. Someone had spent a lot of money on this house. And, seeing as Luna was quiet, they had probably lost radio contact. He signalled the others - they would have to adjust their plans accordingly.

Ron walked closer to Granger as they entered the hallway, but she didn’t say anything else before they reached the end of the corridor, and another door swung open, revealing a large living room, with old-fashioned furniture and heavy drapes covering the windows.

An old man sitting in a large armchair rose as they entered and nodded at them. “Dr Granger. Mr Potter. Mr Weasley.” He was wearing expensive, if understated, clothes and had a short, well-trimmed beard.

“Dumbledore,” Granger said - Ron heard her draw a deep breath. “Albus Dumbledore.”

The man smiled. “I’m impressed - few would recognise me. I did make an effort to disappear from the public eye.”

Granger shook her head. “I didn’t know… I mean...”

The man’s smile widened. “Now I’m intrigued.”

Ron almost moved to interpose himself between the old man and Granger before he could control himself.

“Intrigued?” Granger asked, suddenly sounding more wary - or worried.

“If you didn’t know my past, then how did you recognise me?” Dumbledore’s smile didn’t change as he pushed up his half-moon reading glasses.

Granger didn’t seem to have an answer, so Ron spoke up: “She didn’t say that.”

The old man - he had to be at least seventy - inclined his head. “Yet she denied having researched me, didn’t she?”

Ron didn’t glare at her. That was an old trick he wouldn’t fall for.

“Why did you want to meet us?” Granger asked. It looked like she had recovered her composure. And her attitude. Good.

Dumbledore gestured to the couch in the room. “Will you take a seat? I’ve found it’s more comfortable and more productive, usually, to talk while everyone’s sitting.”

Ron hadn’t spotted any hidden shooters nor any traps - but that didn’t mean much. You could hide a lot in your flat if you had enough time.

“I prefer to stand,” Harry said, leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed - with his hand next to his shoulder holster.

“By all means,” Dumbledore said, still smiling - rather condescendingly, in Ron’s opinion.

But Granger was sitting down, so Ron followed her example, taking a seat next to her on the couch.

“I would offer you some refreshments, but I think you would refuse them, at least for now.”

Ron pressed his lips together. He didn’t like the man’s attitude. But he liked the fact that Dumbledore seemed to know so much about them even less. “How do you know my father?” Dad had never mentioned Dumbledore. “And where is he?”

“Arthur couldn’t shake the people keeping him under observation,” Dumbledore told him. “You can speak to him through the phone on the table, though. As to how I know him… I helped him out of a tight spot some time ago. A sticky situation, but I managed to solve it.”

“So he owed you,” Harry said as Ron grabbed the phone and sent Dad a quick message using another of the signs from the signs and countersigns his father had taught Ron and his siblings. Within a second, he received the countersign and sighed in relief. He would hold off speaking to Dad until Dumbledore wasn’t listening in.

“He thinks he does. I was just doing what was right.” Dumbledore said, apparently not paying attention to Ron.

Granger made a choking noise in response to that.

“Dr Granger?” Of course the old man wouldn’t miss that. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said - though Ron could almost feel her tension. “Who are you?”

“A good question. I’d like to say that I’m a retired gentleman.” Dumbledore chuckled. “It’s true - from a certain point of view.”

Now he was quoting Star Wars? Ron glared at him.

Which Dumbledore seemed to find amusing. “I’m sorry - at my age, one is bound to become a little eccentric.” He sighed. “But I digress. So, I was the Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service for a rather troubled time in the eighties.”

The man had been the boss of MI6? The infamous ‘C’? Ron tensed. That meant the old man would be prepared for a fight. He glanced around, but he still couldn’t spot any sign of a trap or an ambush. But opening the windows and fleeing by air might be more difficult than they had anticipated.

“And what do you want?” Granger asked.

“I could say I want to help deal with a quite embarrassing situation for the government - not that Downing Street or my successors would acknowledge, much less thank, me - but it’s mostly to satisfy my curiosity,” Dumbledore said. He leaned forward and steepled his hands. “Even after retirement, I kept an ear to the ground, so to speak. In my business, it pays to keep abreast of developments, lest you find yourself out in the cold and being hunted.”

Ron clenched his teeth at the implied criticism. There wasn’t anything they could have done.

“So when I heard that certain, shall we say, assets of former opponents of mine were being sent to England to hunt down a physicist, shortly followed by the murders of senior police officers, I began to wonder exactly why people were going to such great lengths in your case, Dr Granger.”

“‘Former opponents’?” Harry asked.

“The Cold War ended shortly after my official retirement, leaving a number of very capable - and dangerous - assets bereft of gainful employment by the state they had served. Many of them decided to enter the private sector. As did some of their superiors.” He shook his head. “Given my past, it was only logical to keep an eye on them.”

“What… Are you telling me that the Russian Mafia is hunting me?” Granger sounded as if she couldn’t believe it.

“That is exactly what I’m saying, my dear. Although parts of the Russian government have close ties to them as well, so they might just be a front. However, that doesn’t answer the most important question: why?” He looked at Granger, slightly tilting his head.

“I don’t know!” Granger replied - a little too forcefully, Ron thought.

“But I think you suspect.” Dumbledore leaned back. “The theory that this is related to your kidnapping, as the media are so fond of speculating, can be safely dismissed, in my opinion. Almost ten years passing before someone moved against you? That would have been far too late to silence a witness, and far too long for the kind of obsessed criminal who couldn’t let you get away. So this is either related to your private life or to your work. And, please excuse my bluntness, you don’t have a private life.”

Granger drew a sharp breath at that, and Ron thought her eyes were blazing, but she didn’t contradict the old man.

“Which leaves your work.” Dumbledore shook his head. “Research that, when it was first proposed, was criticised for its utter lack of practical application.”

So he had investigated Granger thoroughly. Of course, for a man with his contacts, that probably didn’t take much of an effort. Unless Dumbledore had treated his co-workers and colleagues with as much condescension as he was treating them, and they ignored him as soon as he retired.

“My work is well-documented as investigating a purely theoretical aspect of quantum physics,” Granger replied - but a moment too late to sound completely natural.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Well-documented doesn’t mean that something is actually true, though, does it?”

Harry frowned, Ron saw, but this was on their heads as well - they had known that Granger wasn’t the best liar. And facing a former head of the Secret Intelligence Service? Ron snorted, earning him a smile from Dumbledore and a glare from Granger and Harry.

“So what exactly did you discover that has attracted such attention?”

Granger hesitated. Ron saw her open her mouth, but she didn’t start speaking. Instead, she glanced at him and at Harry. Harry kept scowling - at Dumbledore, now. But the old man didn’t seem to be impressed at all.

Ron sighed. “Dad trusts him, or he wouldn’t have arranged this meeting,” he told them.

Dumbledore didn’t seem to mind the rudeness. A pity - Ron would have liked to get back at the man, a little at least.

Granger looked at Harry. Ron’s friend scoffed.

The witch frowned, then, after another glance at Ron, turned back to face Dumbledore and took a deep breath. “I’m working on opening a portal to a parallel world.”

The old man’s eyebrows rose, and his smile faded - although not completely. Then he stared at Granger for a few seconds, before he slowly nodded. “That makes sense. Your home world, I presume?”

Ron wasn’t the only one gaping at him. “How…” He cut himself off by pressing his lips together.

Dumbledore smiled and answered anyway. “It was an educated guess, of course. But, once more, the key is in the wording. You, Dr Granger, spoke of ‘a parallel world’. Why did you pick that term? Why not ‘an alternate world’? Or ‘another dimension’? You might be speculating, but I don’t think you’d let your assumptions and theories be presented as facts, not even in this context. Which means you have some information on which you base your terms. If you had the ability to observe another world and revealed it, you would have earned yourself a Nobel prize for certain. Fame and fortune would have been yours.”

“I’m not interested in either,” Granger snapped.

“No, you aren’t. Which is another clue. You keep your real research secret. Why would you do that? Why, indeed, if not to travel to another world yourself, without anyone the wiser?” He nodded. “You might have been afraid of the effect your work will have on the world. A way to travel to other earths? Different worlds? How tempting - and how dangerous. Would you usher in a new age of colonialism, or open our world to an invasion?”

Ron frowned. He should have been considering that - he had read enough sci-fi books, after all, with similar plots. And Granger was flinching.

“You could have stopped working. Destroyed your notes. Perhaps sought the patronage of the UN, to relieve yourself of your responsibility. Yet you continued. Why would you do that? You might simply be driven by intellectual curiosity or the desire to overcome the challenges such work represents. But I guessed that the real reason is that you want to return home.” Dumbledore leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. “And I guessed correctly, didn’t I?”

Granger slumped and sighed. “Yes.”

Dumbledore didn’t quite gloat, but he nodded with a certain air of satisfaction which came close.

“But it’s impossible for anyone else to know what I’m doing,” Granger protested. “Not only have I not shared my notes with anyone, not even a computer, but without certain knowledge only I possess, the notes wouldn’t make any sense.”

“I would not dismiss that possibility out of hand, my dear,” Dumbledore said. “You arrived in our world in 1998, didn’t you? You weren’t kidnapped for seven years, were you?”

“Yes, I did. I was mistaken for my counterpart. But I told my… her parents the truth as soon as I could.”

“Well, I think you overlooked a possibility, my dear: What would someone who was certain that you were not the original Hermione Granger assume after you resurfaced?”

Ron shook his head. There was a problem with that assumption.

“Why would they have waited seven years, though?” Harry asked. “Her ‘return’ was national, even world-wide, news.”

“Perhaps they weren’t certain. Perhaps they - those who have the power to move against her - have only just recently come into possession of this information. Perhaps they previously thought you an impostor. But once someone is reasonably sure that you are another Hermione Granger they will come up with a very short list of possible explanations,” Dumbledore replied. “Coupled with your work…” He spread his hands. “I don’t think it would take a genius to work out that you are far more valuable than anyone else had realised.”

‘Valuable’? Ron narrowed his eyes. Dumbledore had just stressed how important the terms one used were, hadn’t he?

Damn.

“They could assume that I’m a clone,” Granger replied.

“That is possible,” Dumbledore admitted, “but unlikely. Why would anyone have not only cloned a little girl who was kidnapped years ago, but keep it a secret, yet let the girl go?” He shook his head. “No, I think whoever is hunting you suspects what you are working on, even though they remain ignorant of the exact details behind it. Not unlike my own position,” he added with a smile.

Fishing for more information. Two could play that game. “Not unlike our own position with regards to your intentions,” Ron said before Granger could spill even more information.

“Touché,” Dumbledore said, not losing his smile. Ron was starting to suspect that the man would keep smiling even in the face of death - his own or his enemies’.

“You’ve satisfied your curiosity,” Harry told him with the hint of a sneer. “Mission accomplished.”

“You know how things work in our business,” Dumbledore replied. “The reward for a successful mission is another mission.”

“And what mission would that be?” Ron asked, tensing up.

“Why, helping Dr Granger to finish her work, I think.” Dumbledore tilted his head again. “Which includes clearing your names, of course.”

How convenient! Ron almost scoffed openly. Helping the ‘valuable’ scientist...

Granger frowned. “Clearing our names should allow me to return to my lab. Yet you seem to imply that there’s more to it.”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore nodded, appearing pleased - like one of Ron’s old teachers when someone answered a question correctly. “You have, undoubtedly, realised just how important and dangerous your work is. As has your mysterious enemy. As long as they are not dealt with, you wouldn’t be safe at your former place of work.”

“My ‘former place of work’?” Ah, there was Granger, finally showing some spine again!

“Correct. Even if this Russian connection is cut, which I trust will happen, with some help, a number of people will make similar deductions. At the very least, they will assume that your work isn’t quite as boringly theoretical as you made it out to be. They will investigate. And while I don’t doubt that you were quite clever, a thorough investigation will eventually uncover even the smallest of irregularities - those which would ordinarily be overlooked.” The old man sighed. “I don’t think you will be able to continue your work at your laboratory, even if the government will keep your parents safe.”

Granger’s face fell, and Ron saw her clench her fists. He understood her reaction - this was a huge setback. And something they should have realised themselves.

“And you have a solution for that?” Granger spat more than she said.

“I believe so. However, perhaps we should inform your backup that you haven’t fallen into a trap?” Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows.

“Our backup?” Harry asked, acting, quite convincingly, in Ron’s opinion, as if he didn’t know what Dumbledore was talking about.

“Please, Mr Potter. I’m familiar with your and Mr Weasley’s efforts. I don’t believe both of you would have entered my manor without having someone else ready to come to your rescue.”

Ron really, really hated the man’s smug smile and patronising manner. At least he hadn’t deduced Luna’s identity. Or, Ron thought, that’s what he wants us to think…

On the other hand, they had already told him almost everything, and he hadn’t sprung a trap on them. But to reveal Luna? No. Certainly not to a former chief of MI6. That would be betraying her trust. “They’ll be fine,” he said.

Dumbledore seemed to accept his answer with a nod. Although… Harry and Granger had deferred to Ron. Would that be enough for Dumbledore to deduce Luna’s identity? Had it been?

Granger spoke up before Ron found an answer: “And how would a retired spymaster be able to help me with my work? Using your influence with your former co-workers?”

Dumbledore laughed. “I don’t think they would heed my advice, no matter how sensible. And most of those who remain of my friends are now retired as well.” He shook his head. “Besides, my successors wouldn’t need my advice to realise what you represent. Although they might need more time. No, I wasn’t offering what influence in Britain I still command.” He smiled. “I can offer you a modern laboratory with everything you need.”

That sounded too good to be true, in Ron’s opinion. And it was a common con strategy: First, lay out a supposedly huge problem, then propose a neat and simple solution and watch your mark fall for it.

“My work requires a lot of power,” Granger said. Was she actually falling for this?

“Power isn’t a problem, my dear.”

“Really?” She frowned. “I had a lot of trouble to secure my lab. And I am to believe you could whip one out just like that?”

Once more, Dumbledore inclined his head. “My finances greatly improved after my retirement. Arranging access to a laboratory on par with, if not better than, your last one is not much of a challenge.” He leaned forward. “However, I would have to know what else you’re hiding about your work.”

Ron glanced at Granger, whose brief but clearly surprised expression had, unfortunately, once again betrayed her thoughts and confirmed Dumbledore’s claim. At least she didn’t bother denying it this time.

“I don’t think revealing anything else is advisable before you’ve proved that you can actually provide me with a laboratory suitable to my needs,” she said, raising her chin. “And explained just how exactly you managed to amass such wealth as a retired government employee.”

Ron nodded in support - he was more than familiar with the income of even a senior member of the civil service, and the Dumbledore family, while not as poor as the Weasleys, wasn’t wealthy enough to make up the difference - they had checked that.

Dumbledore ran a hand over his short, well-groomed beard for a moment. “A fair demand, I think. And, although I didn’t exactly advertise my private life and kept it out of the press thanks to a few favours I was owed, it’s not a secret either - though some of my old co-workers certainly wish it were.” He leaned back. “I am the co-owner of the Phoenix Gruppe.”

Ron whistled. Phoenix Gruppe was one of the bigger German corporations. They were mainly known for their armament branch, but they had interests in many other sectors.

“Technically, even a single share would make you a co-owner,” Harry pointed out.

The old man’s smile widened. “You are correct. However, such word games wouldn’t serve me here.” He looked at Granger. “I own fifty per cent of the shares of the main holding firm.”

Ron blinked. Even taking the fact that a lot of the subdivisions were publicly traded into account, that meant the old man was a multi-billionaire. How could he have managed…? Of course! “You were one of the founders of the firm, weren’t you?”

“Correct!” Dumbledore beamed at him.

Ron suppressed a scowl. Would the old man ever stop acting as if they were precocious students answering questions in school?

“It was shortly after the end of the Second World War. I had served in the Secret Service during the war - the details are still classified - and I wasn’t yet quite certain whether I should continue my career in the service or join the millions of other young men returning to civilian life. So when I had the opportunity to invest in a new company being founded, I took it. Despite my father’s wishes at the time - he was a very traditional man.” His smile turned a little sad for a moment, or so Ron thought.

“A German firm?” Harry didn’t bother hiding his doubts.

“I was in Germany at the time,” Dumbledore replied. With a smile, he added: “I was of the opinion that if both Britain and the United States were recruiting every talented German for various tasks, provided they weren’t too badly tainted by their service to the Nazis, then co-founding a company myself would also be acceptable.” He frowned briefly. “Do you disagree, Dr Granger?”

She was staring at Dumbledore, not quite shocked, but close, Ron noticed. “Would… would the other founder of the Phoenix Gruppe be named Grindelwald?”

“Why, yes. Gellert Grindelwald.”

*****​

‘Dumbledore revealed as Grindelwald’s ally! Plans to subjugate Magical Europe and oppress pureblood culture discovered!’

She fought the urge to throw the Daily Prophet to the ground of their tent. Dumbledore had fought and defeated Grindelwald! Everyone knew that - it was the most famous duel of the century! Perhaps of all time! “What are they thinking?” she spat, shaking her head.

“It’s propaganda,” Ron replied. “Like their ‘reports’ about muggleborns stealing magic. They paint Dumbledore as the real Dark Lord because they hope such lies will erode our support in Britain.”

“And in the other countries,” Harry added, scowling. “But it’ll make it harder for the Delacours to get us help from France.”

She nodded - few, if any, French wizards and witches would ever help a friend of Grindelwald. Not after the atrocities committed by his followers in the forties.

“If only the Death Eaters had attacked Bill and Fleur’s wedding instead of the Ministry,” Ron muttered.

“Ron!” She glared at him.

“What?” He grinned as he moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders - after planting a kiss on the nape of her neck. “They had half the French Gendarmes there, surrounding the chateau. If Tom had attacked the wedding, he’d have lost most of his followers, and France would have moved against him. And they wouldn’t even have come close to the guests, anyway.”

He had a point, but she didn’t like admitting it. Nor that this might have been the Order’s plan. She huffed instead. “In any case, this is a transparent lie few, even in Britain, will believe.” Dumbledore, friends with one of the worst dark wizards in Europe? Who had dragged the entirety of Magical Europe into the bloodiest war of the Wizarding World of the century until stopped by Dumbledore? Preposterous! The Headmaster’s career spoke for itself. Voldemort had to be desperate to stoop to using such obvious lies.

She dropped the newspaper. She couldn’t dwell on this - Luna and Lee would deal with the enemy propaganda anyway. She and her friends had a bank robbery to plan.

*****​

 

Chapter 9: The List

Mould-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, Britain, July 11th, 2005

“From your reaction, I assume that you knew both my and Gellert’s counterparts in your world. And not under the best of circumstances.” Dumbledore’s smile had faded almost completely.

Granger shook her head. “I never met Grindelwald.”

“But you’d heard of him.” Dumbledore leaned forward.

Ron matched him - and shifted his weight a little. Just in case. Whatever trap the man must have prepared might be avoided if Ron managed to tackle him. Dumbledore didn’t strike him as the suicidal type, and even so-called knockout gas wasn’t exactly safe to use, as the Moscow theatre hostage crisis had proved.

“I had, yes. I dismissed what I heard, though.” Granger spoke very precisely, almost biting the words out.

Ron reached over, touching her thigh with the back of his hand. She stiffened, then slowly breathed out.

“What exactly did you hear? It seems obvious that there are significant differences between this world and your own.”

Granger snorted at that. “You might say so, yes.”

Dumbledore inclined his head, but she still hesitated to elaborate, Ron saw. He cleared his throat. “Explaining the differences would also reveal important secrets.”

Granger frowned at him for a moment, then turned her attention back on Dumbledore. “Could you tell us more about Mr Grindelwald and how you met him?”

Dumbledore hesitated a moment before that slightly condescending smile of his appeared again. “Of course.” He leaned back. “I met him on a mission in occupied Europe in 1943. Paris, to be exact - the City of Love had seen better days, but even under the Germans, there was a certain je ne sais quoi… but I digress. It was one of my first missions - I had completed my training a year previously and volunteered for the Special Operations Executive - I was a Baker Street Irregular. Since I spoke perfect French, I was sent on a mission to France.”

They certainly wouldn’t have sent the man to Norway, Ron thought.

Dumbledore sighed. “Gellert was a member of the Abwehr. A very junior member, of course. He had pulled a few strings to get posted to Paris - his mother knew Admiral Canaris, a relationship that got Gellert into trouble after the failed assassination of Hitler in July 1944. Fortunately, he managed to deflect the suspicion of the Gestapo, or he might have been executed as well.”

Dumbledore hadn’t said if Grindelwald had actually been involved in that plot. Ron took that to mean that that hadn’t been the case. He glanced at Harry, who was frowning. So, he had noticed that as well. Granger, though, seemed to be listening with rapt attention.

“Anyway, I met Gellert in Paris - we frequented the same bars. I quickly realised that he was a member of the Abwehr, and he claims he was suspicious of me as well, but since he never tried to take me in, I think that’s mostly his bruised ego speaking.” He chuckled. “In any case, I should have avoided him, faded away and focused on my mission, but I was young and foolish. The prospect of working on my mission while socialising with my direct opposite was irresistible.”

“You fell in love,” Granger said.

Dumbledore’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. “Perhaps the differences between our worlds aren’t as great as I assumed. Yes, indeed, we had an amour fou, as the French would say. We were enemies, in the middle of the war, and even in peacetime, both our countries would have considered our relationship a crime - it was exactly the sort of foolishness young men were wont to engage in.”

For the first time, Dumbledore’s smile seemed, in Ron’s opinion, to be completely devoid of condescension and deceit.

“Of course, it couldn’t last. We both knew it. The Invasion happened in June 1944, and in August, the battle for Paris began.” The old man shook his head. “The police rose against the Germans, and battles broke out all over the city while Leclerc advanced towards Versailles. Gellert rushed to the hotel in which I was staying, braving the general madness, to get me out of the city - he knew what would happen to collaborateurs. Unfortunately, he managed to catch me when I was meeting with members of the Resistance, and things took a rather violent turn. No one died, fortunately, and he managed to escape and evade pursuit, rejoining the German lines as they retreated. I didn’t see him again until the war had ended.”

“And you rekindled your relationship,” Granger said rather than asked.

“It wasn’t as easy as that makes it sound,” Dumbledore told her, “but, essentially, yes.” He shrugged. “The most devastating war in the history of the human race had just ended, and millions had to adjust to the sudden changes. Gellert proved to be as adaptable as he was intelligent, and we, well, came to an arrangement.”

“You protected him,” Harry said.

Dumbledore slowly nodded. “I did expedite him getting cleared, but as a very young member of the Abwehr with relatives implicated in the failed plot against Hitler, he wouldn’t have been treated as a true believer in the Nazi ideology anyway.”

“But was he a Nazi?” Granger asked, staring at Dumbledore.

“If he had ever been one, he wasn’t, not any more.”

“Ah.”

Granger’s smile was hard to read.

After a moment, Ron spoke up: “Dad’s message claimed that we were in danger.”

If Dumbledore was annoyed at the change of topic, he didn’t show it. “You aren’t as safe as you might think you are. The foiled terrorist attacks, the two high-profile assassinations and Britain’s most famous kidnapping victim possibly being kidnapped again - the public is demanding results and retribution, and the government will do its utmost to deliver, lest the minister in charge lose even more face and be replaced by one of their rivals in the party.”

Ron snorted, but had to agree - justice wasn’t as effective at pushing the government into action as the threat of losing power.

Dumbledore nodded at him and folded his hands again. “As a consequence, the authorities will not shy away from any means to find you - and Dr Granger. They already have your family under observation, Mr Weasley. And after Arthur’s visit to Mr Lovegood, they will place him and his daughter under surveillance as well. Then once the Grangers resurface, they will also be put under surveillance. Technically, they already are, of course.”

Ron didn’t react. He was certain of that. But the old man was correct - if Dad had been spotted visiting Xenophon, then it wouldn’t take a genius to order Luna to be put under surveillance as well. And while Luna had gone to great lengths to hide her place, no cover was perfect. Put against the efforts of the government, and assuming that they would look the other way while certain police officers bent a few laws, they would be able to find Luna’s home - eventually.

“That you were once in a relationship with Miss Lovegood is known. As is the fact that you broke up amicably,” Dumbledore went on.

“Xeno’s a very careful man,” Ron replied. “Even if they break into his home, they won’t find anything on his computers.” And he knew how to delete data properly so it couldn’t be reconstructed. And how to encode messages so they couldn’t be deciphered any time this century.

“I don’t doubt that. But I also know my former department. And trust me - people who cut their teeth foiling the KGB’s best plans will not be daunted by the efforts of an amateur, however gifted they might be.”

Ron wanted to frown - both at the implied insult to the Lovegoods’ skill and at the threat being laid out so plainly. He didn’t, though. Dumbledore wanted him to show a reaction so he could confirm his guess. “We aren’t easy to find,” he replied instead.

“You need help hiding,” Dumbledore retorted.

“No, we don’t,” Harry stated. “We can hide as long as it takes the police to sort this out without any outside help.”

Dumbledore slowly nodded, apparently acknowledging the point. “But do you want to? And that still doesn’t help Dr Granger in achieving her goals. As I’ve already explained, Dr Granger, you won’t be able to continue your subterfuge, I’m afraid. Her Majesty’s Government is not as quick to grasp the full ramifications of every situation as it should be, but in this case, they can hardly miss the implications.”

“And you claim to be a more trustworthy source of help than our government?” Granger asked. “A former spymaster turned arms manufacturer who is collaborating with a former Nazi spy?”

“Technically, Gellert wasn’t a spy - he was counter-intelligence,” Dumbledore replied. With a smile, he added: “But you are correct: I do claim that I’m more trustworthy than our government. Of course, I am slightly biased.” He chuckled. “However, I don’t think I’ve given you cause to distrust me any more than our government - none of my employees, after all, are currently hunting you or tried to frame your friends for murder.”

“So you say.” Harry was still standing with his arms crossed, staring at the old man.

“If I were behind the attacks on you, wouldn’t I have made my move long ago? I could have taken Mr Weasley’s family hostage, for example. And ambushed you as soon as you entered my home.” Dumbledore slowly shook his head. “If I meant you and yours harm, I would have handled this quite differently, I assure you.”

Of course, the man could be merely trying to gain their trust - Granger’s trust - by playing nice. But such plans were convoluted and prone to failure. On the other hand, Dumbledore was the partner of a former Nazi - a real Nazi. “And what do you get out of this?” Ron asked, narrowing his eyes at the old man. “You wouldn’t be offering a fortune’s worth of resources - and risking a possible charge of treason - simply to satisfy your curiosity.”

“Oh, at my age? Trust me, I would.” Dumbledore laughed. “Neither myself nor Gellert have any family we can stand, so our considerable fortunes will, after our eventual but inevitable deaths, be left to Germany and the United Kingdom, respectively. And while I would never consider myself a traitor, my loyalty to my country isn’t so strong as to keep me from spending a small fortune on indulging my whims.” He leaned forward. “Moreover, spending a small fortune to, let us say, prolong our lives a little longer? That would be an immensely shrewd investment at any age, wouldn’t it?”

Ron frowned. What did the old man mean? He glanced at his friend; Harry was frowning as well. But Granger… the woman was nodding.

Ah. “You’re counting on gaining access to the technology of Dr Granger’s world to prolong your life,” Ron said.

“Precisely,” Dumbledore told him. “I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming that Dr Granger’s world is quite a bit more advanced than ours if, at her age, and with only access to our technology and knowledge, she can construct a means to travel between worlds. And humans being humans, I trust them to have invested considerable resources in warding off death.”

Granger chuckled at that. “Some of them, at least. Others considered death but the next great adventure.”

“I have to admit, Dr Granger, that I’m not particularly religious. And, according to your file, neither are you.”

She sighed. “You are correct. Both in my view of religion and in your assumption that my world’s population tends to live considerably longer than yours. Your counterpart, for example, was a hundred and fifteen years old when he was killed.”

Dumbledore positively beamed at her.

Granger’s answering smile looked both tired and cynical. “However, as the circumstances of my arrival might have indicated, I don’t know how my home’s faring - when I, involuntarily, left, we were fighting a civil war against a mad tyrant.”

Dumbledore looked, briefly, surprised - and was that a sliver of annoyance? At having missed or dismissed that information? So the old man wasn’t infallible, either. “That tyrant… he wouldn’t have been German, would he?” Dumbledore asked.

“No. The Dark Lord, as he called himself, was born a British subject,” Granger replied.

“He called himself ‘the Dark Lord’?” Dumbledore sounded both appalled and amused.

“He earned the name.” Granger sneered, then shook her head. “His followers were so brutal during the first civil war, people were afraid to say his name ten years after the war had ended with his defeat.”

“And he returned to start another war?”

“Yes. More successfully, this time. He took control of the country in 1997 in a coup. We fought back, of course, but things were looking grim.”

“I see. The situation must have been dire indeed if you were fighting. Unless you’re older than your counterpart was.”

“I’m twenty-five years old.” Granger snorted, though she sounded bitter, not amused. “So, once I open the portal back, I might be returning to a war - or a country ruled by a monster.”

Ron tensed again. If Dumbledore decided that this was too much of a danger instead of an opportunity...

“But that would just be in Britain. Other countries wouldn’t be touched by the war, would they?”

“That depends on whether the Dark Lord won the civil war and decided to imitate Grindelwald and invade the rest of Europe.” Granger showed her teeth.

“I see.” Dumbledore chuckled softly. “Gellert will be interested in hearing about his counterpart’s exploits, I think. He was quite a bit more important in your world, then.”

“Yes. As was your counterpart,” Granger said. “He personally defeated Grindelwald in a duel.”

“Oh.” Dumbledore blinked. “I’m unsure whether I should be proud or sad about that.”

“Proud,” Granger replied.

“You mentioned that my counterpart was killed. At the hands of this tyrant?” Dumbledore sounded far too casual about the fate of his counterpart, in Ron’s opinion.

“Indirectly. As a result of a trap, he was slowly dying and decided to use his own death to let his best spy gain the tyrant’s trust,” Granger told him.

“Now that is a sound move,” Dumbledore said. “Noble, in a way, but certainly effective.” He rubbed his beard. “However, to let a young woman like yourself know about it seems a little careless.”

He was fishing for more information. Ron shook his head and spoke up before Granger’s pride drove her to reveal more secrets. “You don’t know the situation.”

“Unlike you.”

Ron shrugged. “Not in detail.”

“I was a member of your counterpart’s organisation,” Granger just had to explain. “He personally trained our cell for a special mission.”

“Despite your age?” Dumbledore tilted his head. “While only a fool would doubt your intelligence, you didn’t strike me as an agent.”

“Those are the best agents, aren’t they?” Ron interjected.

“Touché,” Dumbledore admitted. “However, I have a good eye for field agents, if I do say so myself.”

“And I don’t fit your mould, do I?” Granger retorted with a frown.

“Not exactly, no. And I generally preferred to recruit agents who had been extensively trained - not agents who had barely reached adulthood, no matter their talents.”

“We had proved our worth several times by the point we were recruited,” Granger shot back.

“We shouldn’t go into too much detail,” Ron reminded her. Judging by how flushed she became, she understood.

“I won’t pry,” Dumbledore remarked. “However, trust generates trust.”

“And some decisions shouldn’t be taken lightly or in haste,” Granger declared.

She meant well, and Ron agreed - but now Dumbledore knew that she was keeping an important secret. Well, perhaps he would think his counterpart had not been so sloppy in his training and suspect that it was disinformation.

“Of course. I assume you will want to discuss things with your backup as well. Please, take your time.”

Ron really hated the man’s smile.

*****​

“A former government spymaster turned arms conglomerate corporate tycoon?” Luna asked wide-eyed.

Ron winced, bracing himself. He knew what was coming.

“He must be evil! Twice over!” Luna blurted out. “A key member of the shadow government conspiracy!”

Yes, Ron was quite glad they had taken the time to check themselves for listening devices.

“His lover is Gellert Grindelwald, a former counter-intelligence operative of the Third Reich. Grindelwald’s counterpart was one of the worst dark wizards ever known and almost conquered Magical Europe before Dumbledore’s counterpart stopped him,” Granger said. “Although I think they were a couple before that war.”

“Oh! That’s… That’s even worse!” Luna shook her head wildly. She started to pace in the small clearing in which they were gathered.

“I don’t trust him. He’s far too smooth,” Harry said.

“Far too condescending, too,” Ron added.

“Your father trusts him, doesn’t he?” Granger asked.

“Dad owes him,” Ron replied. “He’s not exactly unbiased.”

“And he’s offering you his help because he plans to use dark magic to live forever!” Luna declared.

“As a muggle, his options for gaining immortality are rather slim,” Granger said. “But magic could be used to keep him fit and healthy for a number of years - not forever, of course. But ten, twenty, more years would be possible, I think.”

“What could a man with his power and influence do with two more decades?” Luna shuddered.

“But he is correct in that even after our names are cleared, I won’t be able to continue my work in peace. The government wouldn’t allow it,” Granger pointed out. “And I’ll be the target of other countries as well. As will the Grangers.”

“Do you trust him?” Harry asked. “He’s not the man you knew.”

“I know,” Granger said, frowning. “But it’s not about trusting him - it’s about trusting his motivation to be aligned with ours, I mean, mine. Sorry.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll risk losing this chance at living longer.”

“Or at discovering more worlds ripe for the picking,” Ron added. “Once you finish your work, all bets will be off.”

“I know,” Granger replied through clenched teeth. “But he’s my best chance of going home.”

Ron pressed his lips together. She was probably correct. But he really didn’t like it.

“And he’s our best opportunity to finally reveal all the crimes and conspiracies the government covered up!” Luna stood straight, hands on her hips. “This is our chance to infiltrate his organisation! And help Hermione at the same time!”

Ron glanced at Harry. They couldn’t let the two women do this alone. And they couldn’t just knock them out and drag them away - they’d be back at the first opportunity.

He sighed.

*****​

Dumbledore’s decades of experience as a spy and spymaster meant he wasn’t radiating satisfaction when they returned to his manor. Ron thought so, at least - the man’s polite manner had to be masking his glee. “Welcome back,” he said. “And welcome, Miss Lovegood.”

Ron nodded together with Harry and Granger as Luna frowned at the old man. “That remains to be seen, Mr Dumbledore.”

“I can assure you that I mean neither you nor your friends any harm,” Dumbledore replied. “Our interests align, after all.”

“Really?” Luna narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “Then it’s true that MI6 was also active in Britain!”

Dumbledore blinked at her. “Pardon?”

“How else would you know what my interests are, if not by spying on me?” Luna explained.

“My dear, I retired from MI6 long before you finished school,” Dumbledore replied.

“But not from spying!” she retorted.

“That depends on your definition of spying, I believe.” The old man smiled.

“I think ‘violating people’s privacy’ covers spying perfectly,” Luna declared.

Dumbledore nodded. “Such actions are often needed, though, lest people lose something even more important.”

“That depends on your definition of ‘often’,” Luna shot back.

Dumbledore laughed at that. “Touché, Miss Lovegood.”

Luna smiled in return, but Ron could tell that it wasn’t an honest smile. He hoped that Dumbledore didn’t manage to read her as easily. Well, at least she hadn’t called him a merchant of death, oligarch or traitor to the country.

“We’ve decided to accept your offer - provided the details fit our needs,” Granger said.

The old man smiled. “Of course.”

“Such as where you’d set up my new lab,” she went on. “And the Grangers’ safety.”

“I can arrange permanent protection for your family. Privately or through the government. As to the location of your laboratory, that depends entirely on you,” Dumbledore told her. “Our facilities in Germany would be safest, but we have a subsidiary in Britain as well.”

“Would that be in Scotland?”

“Why, yes. An isolated research facility in the highlands.”

“Of course it would be there.” Granger shook her head with a dry smile.

“However, you wouldn’t be able to move as freely as you could in Germany - your notoriety is quite a bit higher in Britain, so you’d have to go to greater lengths to maintain operational security.” Dumbledore spread his hands. “The decision is, of course, yours.”

But if they had to leave in a hurry, they would be closer to their own resources. And they would speak the language. Well, a form of it, Ron thought.

“But we’d stick out more in Germany,” Luna pointed out.

“You plan to keep Dr Granger company?” Dumbledore didn’t sound surprised.

“We always see things through on an assignment,” Harry said. His smile was more a challenge than a friendly gesture, Ron noted.

“That might not be well received by whoever ends up being the new leader of CI5,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ron said. “We’ll stick this out.”

Granger looked surprised for a moment, he noticed, before a brief smile appeared on her face. Truth be told - or not, in this case - Ron had surprised himself a little.

“If Dawlish takes over we’ll be screwed anyway,” Harry added.

“That man is such a bore.” Granger nodded.

Luna was beaming at them. Ron just knew she saw this as them finally ‘throwing off the shackles of the government’, as she had urged him to do in the past.

*****​

Ron looked around, both out of habit and training, as he walked down the hallway connecting the guest rooms Dumbledore had offered them. He couldn’t spot any cameras, but he was certain there was at least one. Well, they had known there would be when they decided to accept the old man’s offer. That was also the reason he hadn’t gone into any details when he had called Dad - the ‘safe phone’ Dumbledore had provided would be bugged as well.

Granger opened the door a few seconds after he knocked. “Ah.” She didn’t seem to be surprised to see him. And she was already wearing her sleepwear, he noticed.

He nodded. “I trust everything’s alright with your room?” It was a pretext, and she knew it.

She pulled the door fully open. “Yes.”

He could see that her and Luna’s room was bigger than his and Harry’s. Two beds, two desks, a big armoire and a dresser. He could easily spot Luna’s bed - her clothes were spread out over it. Dumbledore had offered them all single rooms, but they had declined. Ron and Harry because even though Dumbledore was unlikely to move against them - there were easier ways to deal with the two of them - they felt safer rooming together. Granger and Luna because Luna had insisted, and Granger hadn’t objected.

She stepped to the side. It was as good an invitation as any, and he entered.

“Luna’s in the bathroom,” she told him.

He nodded - he could hear the running water.

“By the way: thank you,” she said after closing the door.

He shrugged. “We see things through.”

“At the cost of your career?”

He shrugged again. “We can find other employment.”

“The job market for police officers who went rogue might be a little…” She trailed off, wincing.

He smiled. “Things will work out. If all else fails, we can become private investigators.” They had planned that, as kids, after all.

“Would that offer a stable income?” She frowned as she sat down on her bed.

“Things will work out,” he said. This was more important. He knew it.

She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

She looked younger when she smiled, he noticed. Not as… hard, perhaps? Or driven. Almost… He shrugged once more and looked at the window - or, rather, the curtains covering it. “I didn’t become a police officer so I could leave people in need to fend for themselves.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t mean that you were helpless,” he explained, looking at her. She wasn’t smiling any more. “Just, well… I don’t trust Dumbledore.”

Granger nodded slowly. “Understandable.” She wasn’t frowning, but her smile looked polite, not genuine, now - Ron could tell.

“So, I figure it’s best we stick together until this is over,” he said.

She nodded, then pursed her lips. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. Especially not if it means your life and career will be affected.” She was looking at the armoire, he noticed.

“You’re not a bother,” he replied, a little more sharply than he had intended. “Also, we can’t exactly hunt down Scrimgeour and Bones’s killers. Regulations.” And too many other agencies were involved now to be able to get around those pesky rules. “But protecting you, and foiling their plans to get you? That’ll hit them where it hurts.”

“Ah.” She inclined her head. “Does Harry think so as well? Ginny might disagree with his priorities.”

He had to snort at that. “Well, he hates leaving things unfinished. And Ginny can’t complain - she’s away too often for her job.” His sister would complain, of course - Ginny wasn’t the spoiled little princess any more, but part of her still thought she was special. More than she was, of course. Granger’s expression told him she didn’t believe him. Well, she had probably known Ginny’s counterpart. And she didn’t seem to have been convinced of his sincerity. He grinned at her. “Anyway, you’re stuck with us.”

“I’ll try to bear it,” she replied, with a grin of her own. And if her smile had made her look younger, her grin made her look… well, fun.

“I’ll try not to be too much of a burden.”

“Oh, hi, Ron!”

He turned his head. Luna was standing in the door to the bathroom, one towel wrapped around her body, the other around her hair. How had he missed that? Moody would have his head if he knew!

Luna walked in, tilting her head left and right with each step - to shake the water out of one ear without letting it flow deeper into the other, as she had once explained to him. “Are you plotting? Can I help?”

“We’re not plotting,” Granger said quickly. She wasn’t smiling or grinning now. “We were just discussing Ron… Mr Weasley’s plans for the future.”

“Oh! Are you still planning to become an astronaut?”

Ron closed his eyes for a moment. “I abandoned that idea before secondary school, Luna.” As she should know.

“You might have reconsidered - after all, you should never stop dreaming.” Luna sat down on Granger’s bed. “And Hermione here proves that even the most fantastical dreams can be real!”

She was correct, of course. Though Ron had a feeling that he was missing something.

*****​

Mould-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, Britain, July 12th, 2005

Granger was scribbling down notes, Ron saw, as Luna, who was, for some reason, glaring at him, let him into their room. “Working?” he asked.

She looked up. “Not on my project.” She leaned back with a sigh. “I was finishing the list of my… allies.”

“Oh.”

“Have finished, I think. I don’t think I’ve missed anyone.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

That explained Luna’s reaction - Granger must have recalled some very unpleasant memories doing that. She might’ve had a flashback or two as well. “Sorry,” he said.

“What?” Granger looked at him. Then she shook her head. “I decided to do this. It’s not your fault.”

“We asked you to,” he replied.

“Asked. The decision was mine.” She pressed her lips together.

He suppressed a sigh. Stubborn to a fault. She wouldn’t even accept his apology.

“We shouldn’t have asked you to do this!” Luna exclaimed.

Granger smiled at Luna, tilting her head slightly. “It’s OK.”

“It’s not!”

Ignoring the unfair difference in how Granger treated them, Ron walked up to her desk. “That’s the list?” he asked, ignoring Luna’s frowning pout.

“Yes.” Granger reached out and picked it up, then held it up for him to take. “Here.”

He skimmed the list. Harry and his counterparts’ were the first names, of course. He looked at her, and she smiled, shrugging.

“Best start at the top.”

He snorted, then read on. Luna. Ginny. Fred. George, Percy… everyone from his counterpart’s family was next, with the exception of Aunt Muriel. Granger had probably never met the old battleaxe. All of them were alive, or had been when Granger had left her world, he noted with relief. Which vanished when he remembered that Granger had left her world in the middle of a battle and wouldn’t know what had happened in the years since.

Dumbledore - deceased. Severus Snape - deceased. He’d apparently been… “A teacher?” he asked.

“Ron!” Luna stepped up to him, hands on her hips, and huffed. “Stop!”

Granger, though, chuckled. “Perhaps get Harry so we only have to go over it once?”

Harry was currently resting - they had traded guard shifts - but he wouldn’t want to miss this, Ron knew. And Harry preferred directly hearing testimony instead of hearing about it. “I’ll get him.”

He dropped the list and went to fetch Harry. As expected, Harry wanted to see the list.

“So, Snape?” Ron asked.

“Snape?” Harry blinked.

“He was a childhood friend of my Harry’s mother and hated his father and Sirius. He had an acerbic temper and was very smart, but also incredibly petty and cruel - I only ever saw him smile when he was punishing someone.”

“Ah. Sirius mentioned him,” Harry said - in a tone that closed that subject for further discussion.

Which, of course, didn’t stop Granger from adding: “He was one of our teachers - and a double-agent working for Dumbledore. He got caught helping us, though, and was murdered.”

“McGonagall?”

“Another teacher. And our Head of House at school. Flitwick was a teacher as well,” she said, mentioning the next name on the list.

“Sirius died?” Harry exclaimed. “You didn’t mention that!”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “It was rather brutal.”

Ron saw her and Harry stare at each other and cleared his throat. “Remus Lupin was also your teacher?”

“Yes. For a year. He was one of our best.”

“He’s dead,” Harry told her.

“Oh. Illness?” Granger asked.

“Yes,” Harry said.

Ron had never met the man, though Harry, and especially Sirius, had often talked about him. Magic had probably cured his counterpart. “So many teachers. Did they recruit your entire school?” he asked.

“More or less. Dumbledore had a lot of friends among the teachers, and we students, well… many of us started training when we realised that there would be a war, and that we couldn’t count on the Ministry.”

“Oh!” Luna held a hand in front of her mouth. “They recruited children as soldiers?”

“We decided to fight,” Granger told her.

“But they let you,” Harry retorted.

“They had no choice. The Dark Lord’s followers were hunting us - many of us - anyway. And my Harry was… linked to the Dark Lord. As his best friends, we wouldn’t let him face that monster alone.” Granger once more met Harry’s eyes. “We’ve been fighting against him in one form or another since we started school together.”

“Crazy,” Harry muttered.

Well, Ron could understand not leaving a friend alone. “Fleur Delacour?”

“Bill’s wife.”

The other Bill was married? “Is she French?” Ron asked.

“Yes. And the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Granger added.

Probably some sort of siren, then. Ron nodded. That would do it - his Bill wouldn’t marry any time soon, no matter how much Mum tried to prod him.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley. Ernie MacMillan.” Both deceased.

“They were in our year.”

Neither had been at Ron and Harry’s school. He read on. “Colin and his brother died?”

“Yes,” she replied in a flat voice.

Ron skimmed the list and winced. No wonder Luna was so mad at him and Harry - there really were a lot of dead people on this list.

*****​

Dumbledore was already seated at the head of the table when they entered the dining room - or salon, as he called it - but there was also another man present, standing to the side with a trolley loaded with covered plates. The first member of Dumbledore’s staff they had seen so far - though Ron was certain that there were quite a few bodyguards - or assassins - in the manor. You couldn't keep such a building ready for visitors, much less safely guarded, without a lot of people. “This is Johann,” the old man told them. “He’s handling the cooking and serving.”

A sort of butler, Ron guessed. He was certainly dressed to fit the part. And while he wasn’t young by any measure, he didn’t move like an old man either. Military or similar training would be Ron’s guess.

“I hope you had a pleasant morning,” Dumbledore went on. “I apologise for not joining you for breakfast, but I was detained by a few minor yet pressing matters.”

“No problem,” Harry said in a bland tone as he took his seat.

“We managed,” Luna told him. “My compliments to you,” she added, smiling at Johann. “The scones were delicious. The bread was a little too dark, though.”

“That would be my fault,” Dumbledore apologised as the other man nodded and started to serve lunch. “Gellert has pretty much banned white bread from our table - he has strong opinions on bread and the documentation to back them up. I stopped challenging him on this point long ago.”

“Dark bread is healthier as well,” Granger added.

“So people say. I’ve never quite acquired a taste for it, but please don’t tell him that,” Dumbledore said with a wink.

Whatever his other skills, Johann was a great cook, Ron found out as the first course - Alsace tarte flambée - was served. Luna shared his opinion and made no secret out of it - at least Dumbledore found her moans amusing rather than rude. Unlike Aunt Muriel.

“A speciality of his,” Dumbledore commented. “Alas, Johann’s recipe is one of the secrets I’ve never managed to acquire.”

A hint that he was working on Granger’s secrets, of course. Well, while he had undoubtedly put them under surveillance, they weren’t about to discuss the truth openly anyway. Although… they might attempt a double-bluff: talk about magic and make Dumbledore think they were using ‘magic’ as code for something. No… Dumbledore knew Granger was from another world; he wouldn’t simply dismiss the supernatural. And Moody had always cautioned them against being too clever for their own good - not that Ron had needed much cautioning with Fred and George as negative examples.

The main course - roast with a variant of hollandaise sauce - was served with a small card for Dumbledore. The old man read it, then frowned.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked at once.

“It seems Mr Yaxley has disappeared,” Dumbledore replied. “I didn’t expect this so soon.”

“‘So soon’?” Ron asked. Had Dumbledore suspected Yaxley? And why hadn’t he told anyone?

“It was obvious that this was, at the very least partially, an inside job. Mr Yaxley was among the most obvious suspects, and in light of the attention this has gathered, it was inevitable that the culprit would be discovered. However, I expected it to take a little longer - Mr Yaxley doesn’t seem to have covered his tracks well enough.”

“He could have been murdered by the kidnappers,” Granger pointed out.

“Theoretically possible - but the murderers didn’t bother to hide their first victims, did they? So, if he was killed by them, then it’s still more likely that he was their inside man and they dealt with a loose end. Ruthless, but efficient. If they are playing the long game, they might even use this to frame others - and sow some more discord amongst our various departments.” Dumbledore sounded almost impressed.

“And if he wasn’t?” Luna asked.

“Then he wasn’t cautious enough despite two dramatic examples of the danger. Although under the circumstances, I don’t think he could have been easily killed unless he was deliberately avoiding the police and MI5 operatives and, therefore, bereft of their protection,” Dumbledore told her.

“He’s running,” Harry said.

“That would be my assumption as well - though is he running from his accomplices or superiors, or from the authorities?” Dumbledore spread his hands.

“Those could be one and the same!” Luna interjected.

“They could be, yes - but if our government were behind the attacks on Dr Granger, I dare say they would have gone differently. More competently, for one thing.” Dumbledore sounded almost offended at the ‘tradecraft’ of whoever was hunting them, or so it seemed to Ron.

“The government isn’t infallible - quite the contrary!” Luna insisted.

Ron cleared his throat - he had heard that rant before. “If he’s running, the police should uncover his involvement soon.”

“At which point you will have to decide whether or not you’ll return to CI5,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“We’ve discussed that. We’ll stick with Dr Granger,” Ron told him.

“Splendid! Such loyalty should be rewarded! Allow me to cover your expenses.” The old man beamed at them.

Ron had seen more subtle attempts to bribe him. But they could use the money - provided it wasn’t dirty. Which, he had to admit, was a distinct possibility. But to refuse would probably cause more trouble - the police would be trying to track their and Sirius’s money. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

“It’s my pleasure. With that settled… Dr Granger, do you have an idea where Mr Yaxley’s counterpart might seek refuge?”

“No, I don’t. He didn’t manage to escape us.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore sighed. “That would have facilitated matters.”

“I don’t think you can rely on such details,” Granger told him. “For example, your counterpart was the headmaster of a boarding school as well as an internationally famous politician. At the same time,” she added.

Once more, Dumbledore looked surprised for a moment. Then he chuckled. “How curious, yet fitting, in a way. But do you know what friends and allies the Yaxley of your world did have?”

Granger drew a hissing breath.

*****​

“Justin and Ernie are dead.”

“What?” She looked at Ron, blinking. Had he just told her…?

He shook his head and held out the Daily Prophet. “They’ve got pictures on page two. Not front-page news, I guess,” he added with a hollow chuckle.

She took the newspaper and turned the page, then hissed through clenched teeth. The Death Eaters had taken pictures of the two dying. And the Daily Prophet had printed them - claiming Justin had killed Ernie. Another ‘rabid mudblood’ killing a poor, trusting pureblood while ‘trying to steal his magic’. It had to have been the Imperius Curse! This was… this was… She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“We can’t let them get away with this,” Harry snarled - when had he entered the tent?

“We’ve got our mission,” she replied immediately. They couldn’t start attacking Death Eaters - other Order members would be doing that.

“I know!” he spat. “But this… We can’t let them get away with it,” he repeated himself.

“We won’t. But for now we have to focus on our mission.”

“But once we’re done...” Ron bared his teeth. “According to the Prophet, Runcorn’s in charge of these ‘investigations of muggleborns’. He’s a friend of Yaxley’s.”

So, Runcorn was responsible for this. She nodded. “Let’s make a list. So we won’t forget.”

*****​

 

Chapter 10: The Black Lake

Mould-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, Britain, July 12th, 2005

Granger had another flashback. She didn’t cry out, or even tremble, but the way she tensed and blinked after staring at the wall was telling - Ron knew her well enough by now.

“Dr Granger?” And, of course, Dumbledore hadn’t missed it, either.

She sighed. “I was trying to recall with whom Yaxley associated in my world.” A blatant lie, Ron thought.

“Ah. I apologise if that brought up unpleasant memories.”

Granger nodded in response. “Don’t worry. Yaxley wasn’t a… particularly bad memory.”

If that wasn’t a polite lie, then Ron wondered what Granger’s worst memories were. And whether he wanted to know. She hid it well, but she was like one of those soldiers who had been in Iraq. Or, given her age, like a recovering child soldier.

“Ah.”

“Not because he wasn’t an irredeemable mass-murderer, but because we got him,” she added with a smile that utterly lacked any humour.

Luna was covering her mouth with both hands now, eyes wide - she really didn’t deal well with these kinds of things, despite her wish to know all sorts of dark government secrets - but Dumbledore merely nodded again. Probably reclassifying her, Ron thought.

“In any case, I don’t know who he considered friends, but my version of Yaxley was working closely with Albert Runcorn and Dolores Umbridge when he was having civilians murdered. Presumably, he was friends with other Death Eaters and bigots.” She pulled out a copy of her list of enemies. “However, and I stress this, our worlds are different enough that you cannot assume that people are the same.” She smiled grimly. “You and your partner are the best examples we’ve seen of that so far.”

Dumbledore’s smile didn’t waver at the implied criticism. “Quite so, my dear. However, it’s still useful information from which we might glean some insights. When I was still in Her Majesty’s Secret Service, I was often forced to work with far less information.”

Ron ignored the glance Granger sent to Harry and him. It was sound reasoning, after all, so it was to be expected that other people would use it as well. “That was our thought also.”

Once more, Dumbledore smiled at him as if Ron were a student who had just answered a teacher’s question correctly.

The old man skimmed the list. “There are some quite prominent people on this list and a few infamous ones, as well.”

“A fish rots from the head down,” Luna said. “Such conspiracies as well.”

“Not all of them were part of the conspiracy,” Granger pointed out. “Many merely switched allegiance to the new regime once the government had been toppled.” With a deep scowl, she added: “And they proved to be far more skilled at murdering the innocent than they had been at battling the traitors.”

“Murdering civilians is usually far easier than fighting terrorists,” Dumbledore commented.

To Ron’s relief, Luna didn’t ask if the former spymaster had practical experience with both.

“In any case, I don’t think we can cover all those people,” the old man went on. “Although I trust that the police will be investigating all of Mr Yaxley’s friends and family as a matter of course. According to my sources, they certainly have the resources to do so.”

“They better,” Harry mumbled, “or Moody will make them regret it.”

“Officer Moody tends to leave an impression,” Dumbledore said, nodding at Harry.

Did he know Moody, or just of Moody and was trying to appear more knowledgeable than he actually was? Ron couldn’t tell.

“However, I think a few anonymous tips might point the police to possible allies of Mr Yaxley of whom they are as yet unaware.” Dumbledore grinned. “And I expect that in a few cases, a little police attention might uncover something unrelated to the current scandal but nevertheless incriminating.”

“Oh, include the Malfoys,” Harry told him. “We’ve got two possible links to the family now.”

“Which aren’t reliable,” Granger quickly pointed out again.

Harry shrugged. “As long as Malfoy gets into trouble, who cares?”

Ron nodded in agreement.

“If nothing comes of it, it might result in the source of said accusation losing their credibility,” Granger retorted.

“Oh, don’t fret about that, my dear,” Dumbledore said in a patronising tone that set Ron’s teeth on edge. “I’ll make sure that it is stressed that the original source is untried, and that the only reason such untested intelligence is being passed along is the severity of the current situation. No actual source will be compromised by this, I can assure you of that.”

Granger pressed her lips together - she was probably annoyed at the man’s attitude as well - but she didn’t contest his words. Not directly. “That presumes that Yaxley hasn’t fled to his supposed backers.”

“Indeed. Though they might be people whose counterparts are on your list,” Dumbledore replied. “It’s certainly a decent hypothesis and makes it well worth going through a few names on the list.”

“As long as that’s limited to investigating,” Ron said, wondering how often the old man had given orders to eliminate someone, based purely on suspicion, with the same smile.

“Of course,” Dumbledore replied, sounding so sincere, Ron almost believed him. But, after a moment, the old man continued: “More information about the people on the list might help us narrow down the number of likely suspects.”

“It might also make you miss the real culprit based on preconceptions,” Harry replied, cutting off Granger, who scowled at him.

“I can assure you that I know how to handle such information, Mr Potter. I’ve done so for decades.” Dumbledore inclined his head. “In any case, with Mr Yaxley on the run, it shouldn’t be too long before his plot is unravelled. However, you might be expected to give testimony as well.”

“We are the key people in this case, I suppose,” Granger acknowledged. “But can we afford to do that?”

“It would be more difficult for you to evade the various organisations who are already, and will become, interested in your work, should you talk to the police,” Dumbledore told her.

“Dawlish would want to lock you up,” Ron admitted. “And we’d be under investigation for a while.”

Harry scoffed at that.

“And the press would hound you,” Luna added. “Unwittingly, or knowingly in some specifically despicable cases, working for the people pulling their strings!”

“The press can be far more easily handled than professionals,” Dumbledore pointed out. “But without presenting yourself to your colleagues and fellow police officers investigating this affair, you might find it hard to be cleared, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. Les absents ont toujours tort, n’est-ce pas?”

“The absent party is always to blame,” Granger translated without being asked.

“We learned French in school,” Harry told her, sounding a little peeved.

“Sorry,” she replied, looking a little embarrassed.

“In my experience, few English schools will teach you a foreign language to a competent level,” Dumbledore interjected. “It’s quite reasonable to assume that you might have forgotten what you learned since your A-levels. I certainly had to have private tutoring, and had to spend quite some time with a number of French refugees, before I mastered the language.”

“Well, I don’t speak French very well,” Luna said. “So, thank you, Hermione.” She beamed at the woman while Harry scowled.

“Anyway,” Ron spoke up before Dumbledore could continue trying to divide them, “what shall we do now? Stay here until the laboratory in Scotland is ready?”

“I think Dr Granger’s presence while it’s being set up would be helpful. You know best what you need, after all, Dr Granger, and so you could have things arranged just how you like - within reason, of course. However, your entire group might be a little less than inconspicuous. It’s not a serious threat - I trust the employees assigned to that task - but a slight risk would remain. And the threat of boredom, of course.” Dumbledore spread his hands with a smile. “I understand, though, that you feel safer while staying together. I would as well, in your place.”

Ron refrained from glaring at the old man. That was an obvious ploy. Make it sound logical to split up? Less trouble for everyone while Granger was alone with him and his men? On the other hand, Dumbledore would know that they would see through such an offer. So why would he make it? Just to appear more honest?

“Why would we be bored? I, for one, have never been to an actual black site!” Luna piped up with a wide grin.

Was Dumbledore’s smile growing strained? Or was that what he wanted them to think? Ron couldn’t tell. Not yet. “To Scotland, then?” he asked. “Or do you need a little more time to prepare lodgings for us?”

“That depends on how much comfort you expect,” Dumbledore replied. “The current accommodations for staff are a little spartan, since the laboratory is not currently used for anything sensitive.”

“We can rough it,” Harry said at once.

Ron stopped himself from narrowing his eyes at Harry. His friend wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean they had to rough it. But Granger, who had been prepared to spend years in the wilderness, or so it seemed, would never disagree with that claim, and Luna was too eager to see the secret laboratory of a weapons research corporation. “We can go after we’ve spoken with Dad,” he announced.

“Splendid!” Dumbledore beamed at them.

*****​

“You won’t return to CI5, then.”

Dad didn’t sound thrilled - Ron could tell even through the phone. “No,” he replied. “We’ll be staying with Dr Granger. Too much has happened to leave her before the whole affair has been resolved.”

“Isn’t the main suspect on the run?”

“Yes. But we don’t know who’s backing him.” Ron started pacing in his and Harry’s room.

“Are you planning to investigate the case by yourself?”

“No. We’ll be protecting Dr Granger.” Although if they found a lead…

“CI5 won’t like it. Your mother won’t like it.”

“Mum’s always nagging me to stick with a girl,” Ron joked, “and now that I’m doing it, it’s not OK, either?”

Dad laughed, but it sounded forced. Then he sighed. “I’ll tell her.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Be careful, Son.”

“Always,” Ron lied.

*****​

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 13th, 2005

It was an idyllic location Dumbledore had chosen for his - and probably Grindelwald’s - secret lab in Britain. At least Ron thought so. A decent sized lake, surrounded by forests and hills, mountains rising a little further away. The closest village was an hour away by car - they had timed it when they had passed through on the way here, in Dumbledore’s car. Quite isolated, indeed.

And well camouflaged - from here, the lab looked like an unassuming historic manor on the shores of the lake, probably built with stone taken from the nearby ruins. Spending time here might almost feel like a vacation. At least during summer - he wasn’t keen on all the snow and ice that would replace the lush vegetation come winter.

“To think such a peaceful place hides a black lab!” Luna exclaimed next to him, shaking her head before she suddenly froze for a moment. “On the other hand, ‘Black Lake’ - it’s almost a sign! Perhaps this is merely disinformation… or a double-bluff! We might need to explore the lake.”

Ron checked, discreetly, once more that there were no microphones hidden nearby - or aimed at them. Their ‘guide’ was far back, out of hearing range, and they were too far away from the building itself - that was the reason they had taken a walk around the lake, after all. But it was the bug you didn’t look for which would usually ruin your plans. So far he hadn’t found anything, though. That didn’t mean anything, of course.

“I’m more interested in how they managed to construct a lab here,” Harry said, “without anyone noticing. There’s only so much you can mask as ‘renovations’.”

“You can hide a lot,” Ron told him. “And hardly anyone would bother to track the exact amount of building materials when there isn’t a border crossing involved. Add a fake ‘unstable shore’ you need to stabilise with concrete, and you have a cover for a lot of excavation work as well. And an explanation for concrete walls under the soil.”

“How cunning!” Luna nodded. “I should have known that English Heritage would be part of the conspiracy!”

Ron suppressed a chuckle - he knew she was serious. And, truth be told, he wasn’t entirely certain English Heritage - or, rather, Historic Scotland in this case - wasn’t involved. They visited a lot of old manors where the rich and powerful were often found. What better cover for a spy?

Granger was uncharacteristically silent. They had expected that, of course - ever since she had discovered their destination. And recognised it. She was staring at the house across the lake. No, at the hill behind it.

“So, that’s where your boarding school was?” he asked, in a low voice. He hadn’t found any microphones, and the odds of Dumbledore having bugged the entire area were slim, but it felt better to lower your voice.

“Yes,” she replied, slowly nodding. “Over there. What a coincidence!”

He shrugged. He didn’t think it was a coincidence. And he didn’t think Granger thought so, either. “It might be a location that’s important in every world,” he said.

“Fixed points in geography?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Adapted from Dr Who’s fixed points in time?”

“Not quite, actually,” he replied. “But there were similar concepts in some books I read.”

“Fantasy books.” She made it sound as if they were pornography.

“Yes. About magic and dimensional travel.” He didn’t hide his smirk overly well when she pursed her lips.

“If that’s true, then this might be an ideal location for my work.”

He blinked. She wasn’t dismissing it out of hand?

Before he could say anything, though, she rolled her eyes. “I’m not so stubborn as to reject a decent hypothesis without testing,” she said.

“Only nearly as stubborn, then?” he asked, grinning.

She snorted. “Not as nearly as you are annoying,” she shot back - her grin taking the sting out of her words. Most of it, at least.

He laughed. “I try my best.” After a moment, he added: “My counterpart wasn’t fond of reading?”

She frowned at him. “Why would you say that?”

“You always seem a little surprised when I mention my hobby.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “He wasn’t an avid reader - unless it involved Quidditch. But we all had to read a lot for school. I can’t judge him for choosing not to spend the rest of his free time on reading.”

But perhaps she had done so anyway? Should he ask? It was a sensitive topic - almost everything about Granger’s home world was.

“Did Ginny and Luna’s counterparts fight?” Harry asked before Ron could find the right words.

“They weren’t in a front-line cell,” Granger replied.

“But they fought,” Harry went on. Ron saw he was clenching his teeth. How long had his friend been wanting to ask?

“Luna helped her father run an underground newspaper,” Granger said. “I told you that already.”

“Yes, you did!” Luna piped up.

“And Ginny?” Harry’s jaw was set - he wouldn’t leave this alone, Ron knew.

“Helped Luna and others, mostly as a courier.”

That sounded rather dangerous. “Courier?” Ron asked.

“On her broom. She’s an excellent flyer. Everyone said she’d fly for a professional team after school - if not for the war.”

Ah, yes. Flying brooms. Granger had mentioned them, but Ron still had trouble accepting that they were real. Brooms.

“She wasn’t trying to smuggle weapons through roadblocks and past patrols, if you were imagining such things,” Granger went on.

“No. She was just trying to outfly patrols in the sky,” Harry retorted. “As a sixteen-year-old.”

“She fought Death Eaters at fifteen. As did Luna,” Granger replied matter-of-factly - which Ron thought was a front since he could see that she was tense. “Harry killed a possessed wizard when he was eleven. Ginny was possessed at eleven. She almost killed several students, myself included, and was nearly sacrificed in a dark ritual before Harry and Ron saved her.” She nodded towards the hill on the other side of the lake. “It happened right there. At school.”

What the hell! “You didn’t mention that before,” Ron said, frowning at her.

She shrugged. “I prefer to remember the good times,” she told them with a smile. “I was happy at Hogwarts.”

“Even with all the fights and the war?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“The war really started after we had left Hogwarts.”

Which said a lot about how much worse it must have gotten, Ron realised.

“It was a civil war,” she said with a sad-looking smile, “with all that entails. Death squads were hunting down anyone who might resist the new regime - and anyone who had been born to the wrong parents - while the government covered the country with its vile propaganda, riling up the majority of the population against the minorities. And we - the Order - fought back with everything we had, using every dirty trick we knew. We had to. Defeat meant death, or worse.”

Ron wasn’t about to ask what she meant by ‘worse’. He had a pretty good idea.

“Sounds like the partisans in World War Two, just with magic,” Harry remarked.

“It’s an apt comparison. The Death Eaters classified people like the Nazis did - purebloods, half-bloods and ‘mudbloods’. And they planned to murder all those of ‘tainted blood’.” She scoffed with an expression of loathing on her face.

“And we’re currently staying in a building co-owned by a supposedly former Nazi spy.” Harry was looking at Granger out of the corners of his eyes while facing the lake, Ron noticed.

“You agreed that it was the best option,” Granger replied. She sounded rather defensive.

“We all did,” Ron said before Harry could reply.

“Yes.” Luna nodded emphatically. “We knew the risks! And we have a goal! Exposing the truth about their secret arms research! And getting Hermione home.”

Harry frowned but nodded. “As long as you can handle it.”

“I’ve handled worse,” she told him. “Besides, in this world, I’m not a member of a persecuted minority.”

“That’s not true,” Luna pointed out. “You’re the only witch in our world, and witches were and are persecuted.”

Granger seemed at a loss for words, Ron noticed. He chuckled at her expression. “So… let’s finish our walk?” They were about halfway around the lake, after all.

“Yes,” Granger quickly agreed, then led them on.

“Was all this part of the school?” Luna asked a few minutes later.

“It belonged to Hogwarts, but it wasn’t part of the school proper,” Granger replied. “That means it wasn’t protected by the school’s defences, either, though we had an actual path to walk around the lake, not a trail.”

“Ah.”

“We didn’t really leave the castle that often, apart from visiting the village on special weekends, and, in summer, spending time at the lake. The Forbidden Forest was dangerous - hostile centaurs, a pack of magic wolves, an entire colony of Acromantulas…”

“Acromantulas?”

“Giant, intelligent, man-eating spiders.”

Ron shuddered and eyed the forest she had indicated. There were no magic creatures, much less spiders, here. Giant spiders would collapse under their own weight without magic. Or suffocate. It was… Damn. He pressed his lips together: “Remember: No testing the Shrinking Solution out here.”

“I’m not wasting an irreplaceable resource for your amusement,” Granger told him with a huff.

“The thought of being a tiny human surrounded by dangerous animals that would be giant-sized in comparison isn’t particularly amusing,” he retorted.

“Oh.” She blinked, then shrugged. “It’s a moot point, anyway - if we’re forced to use our escape plan, we won’t care about a possible threat by animals.”

Ron disagreed on principle, but it wasn’t worth making an issue out of it.

“Did you often go swimming?” Luna asked after a moment.

“Occasionally. Not too often - most of the year, it was too cold for that. Also, the lake was the home of a village of merpeople,” Granger replied. “And they were territorial.”

Her expression told Ron that this was another sore subject. He shook his head - despite all that, she wanted to go back. She was too stubborn for her own good.

*****​

By the time they returned to the laboratory, it had started to rain, though it was barely more than a drizzle - not enough to require an umbrella. It still felt nice to get out of it, of course.

“Welcome back,” the head of the facility’s security greeted them with all the warmth of a robot.

Another difference to Granger’s world, Ron thought. Argus Filch had been her school’s janitor. And a ‘squib’ - someone born to a wizard family, but lacking the talent for magic. He had been ‘understandably embittered by his treatment in Wizarding Britain’, as Granger had explained. This Filch, though, didn’t seem embittered at all. Just cold. And he was carrying at least two guns.

And Ron was certain that the middle-aged man knew how to use them. He had the look of a veteran soldier. Or a career criminal.

“Would you like a tour of the projected lab area?” Filch asked.

“Yes, please,” Granger, predictably, replied at once.

“Are you coming along?” Filch asked, tilting his head fractionally towards them.

“Of course!” Luna piped up, pulling out her notebook.

Harry and Ron nodded. They had to stick together here. Granger was correct in assuming that if Dumbledore wished them harm, he didn’t have to go to these lengths to get them to lower their guard, but Ron didn’t trust the old man not to pull something underhanded.

After all, situations and plans changed all the time.

“Follow me, please,” Filch said, then turned and led them towards the lifts in the back. The man didn’t seem concerned about being attacked from behind, so he was either very trusting, convinced Harry and Ron wouldn’t suddenly turn on Dumbledore or had someone covering him.

Ron hadn’t spotted a hidden shooter or guard, yet, but he didn’t take Filch for the overly trusting type - someone like Dumbledore wouldn’t have hired the man as head of security if he were. Well, neither would Ron in Dumbledore’s place. That didn’t mean Ron would trust either of the two men.

They entered the lift - which, Ron noted, had doors with a much better seal than regular lifts, and larger air ducts as well - and descended to the basement. About two and a half floors, Ron guessed.

The doors opened with a slight hiss - overpressure in the shaft? That was a thing in a number of books Ron had read - and entered a room that seemed to cover the entire footprint of the building.

“It’s pretty bare right now, but furniture’s on the way. And the generators are in working order,” Filch announced, pointing towards three huge generators in the corner.

Granger looked impressed for a moment before she schooled her features. “That looks like it’ll cover my power needs - provided you can keep them fueled. And soundproofed.”

“That won’t be a problem. We have ample storage capacity,” Filch replied.

Which, of course, begged the question of what Dumbledore had been planning to do with this building before he had offered it to Granger. Ron studied the floor for a moment. It was freshly cleaned - no dust on it. But there were scratches on the floor, and the generators had been here for a while.

“What did you use this room for before turning it into Hermione’s lab?” Luna asked. “Advanced weapons research?”

“I’m not privy to that information,” Filch deflected her question with an utterly bland expression.

Luna frowned at him, pouting. “Really? Wouldn’t it be part of your duties as security chief to know that? How could you protect the staff otherwise, if anything went wrong?”

“We’ve got procedures for everything,” Filch replied.

“Everything? Even spills of radioactive mutagens?” Luna asked.

“Yes.” Filch’s grin was anything but friendly, and even Luna seemed taken aback - for a moment.

She perked up at once. “So there are such compounds!”

“I didn’t say that,” Filch back-pedalled. “Director Dumbledore has a sometimes eccentric sense of humour.”

“I bet!” Luna replied, nodding several times. She was still taking notes, of course. And if Filch thought that that was the end of it… Well, he didn’t know her as well as Ron did.

“Alright. With the generators there, and this much power…” Granger was walking through the room, pacing it. “The quantum mirror cage needs to be here.” She pointed at a spot on the ground. “Otherwise, it might be influenced by the magnetic fields of the generators. And I’ll need ample free space around it, with walls here and here. Office space, two standard desks, three filing cabinets, the best computer you can buy - here.”

“And a cot or two, for quick naps,” Ron added with a grin.

She blinked, then nodded. “Excellent idea!” Turning to Filch, she went on: “Yes, I need a bed here as well.”

“You have quarters above.”

“Yes. But sometimes, I’ll want to take a nap without leaving the lab and wasting time,” she retorted. “There’s enough space for a good bed.”

“Alright.” Filch sounded bland as before, but Ron thought he caught a glimpse of annoyance in the man’s eyes.

Ron grinned behind the man’s back. Granger had that effect if you didn’t know her well. But she grew on you. Well, probably not on Filch. Ron still didn’t have the man’s measure - could be a former spy, former soldier or former criminal - but he was pretty sure that the man would never like being ordered around by a girl half his age, no matter her brilliance.

“So, how long will it take to get the lab up and running?” he asked, making a point of looking around the bare room.

“Two weeks, as far as I know,” Filch replied. “I’m no expert, though.”

“As soon as the computers arrive, I can start working. Most of the heavier equipment is required for practical experiments, but there’s still some theoretical work to be done. However, even that sort of research will involve experiments at some point,” Granger said. “You’ll have to be careful, though, or some of the specialised equipment will lead others to us.”

“That’s being handled.” Filch didn’t quite snap, but it was obvious that he wanted to tell Granger off for telling him how to do his job.

Granger, though, either missed that or ignored it. “Good. Now, we’ll also need to purchase some personal effects. Books, clothes, those sorts of things.”

“Just give us a list,” Filch told her.

“Oh, free stuff!” Luna exclaimed - as if she’d trust anything purchased by Dumbledore’s agents without checking it thoroughly first. “What about conjugal visits?”

“What?”

“Conjugal visits, you know, when your spouse…”

“I know what they are!” Filch snapped. A possible hint that he had been in prison, perhaps?

“Good!” Luna continued, seemingly unflappable. “It only concerns Harry right now, but any one of us might find a life partner in the future, so how’s that being handled?”

“Not by a list, I hope,” Harry added with a grin.

“This is a secure site. No visitors are allowed.”

“So we’ll have to go out to meet our respective and prospective sexual partners? I guess it’s traditional - many people go clubbing for that purpose…” Luna pulled on her lower lip with the fingers of her left hand.

Ron smirked - behind Filch’s back. Luna was a treat, even though he couldn’t tell how serious she was right now, either. But that was part of her charm.

“Clubbing?” Filch blinked.

“Yes. Young people - and we are still young by most sane definitions - often go clubbing. The nightclub and dance venue thing. Not the killing baby seals thing, you know.”

“That’s a security risk.”

“That’s why we’re asking you as the Head of Security,” Luna went on. Her tone added a clearly understood, if silent, ‘you dummy’ to her sentence.

Ron glanced at Granger. She was not even bothering to hide her own smirk, he noticed.

He approved.

*****​

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 14th, 2005

“Allons enfants de la Patrie-i-i-e! Le jour de gloire est arrivé!”

Luna was in better shape than Ron had expected. Even after a light jog - or, for half the route, a more or less quick march - halfway around the lake, she still had enough breath to sing the French national anthem. Granger, however, could barely keep up, Ron noticed.

He called a break. “Let’s rest a little.”

Granger collapsed on the grass, chest heaving. “I need to get in better shape,” she wheezed.

“Yes,” Harry told her in a flat voice, which earned him a glare. She didn’t say anything, though. Just pulled on the black top of her sweatsuit to let more air through and fiddled with the straps on the backpack containing her magic bag.

Luna sat down next to her. Her own sweatsuit bore all the colours of the rainbow - she had, apparently, managed to find one that had been used in a paintball match with stains that hadn’t come out in the wash. At least Harry and Ron had sensible grey sweatsuits. “We need to tell Mr Miller to pick a menu in honour of the fourteenth of July,” she said. “Something French.”

“Last I checked, most of his menus were based on French cuisine,” Granger remarked.

“Well, something extra-French, then,” Luna replied, undaunted. “Dinner was excellent.”

Ron nodded. He preferred his chips thick and with vinegar. But the pommes frites had been tasty. And the filets…

“Don’t drool,” Harry said, in a dry voice.

Ron frowned at his friend. “Mum’s a much better cook.”

“Of course she is. But that doesn’t mean that the food here’s bad.”

“The Mrs Weasley I knew cooked much better, too,” Granger cut in.

“You’ll have to visit Mum and Dad,” Ron said without thinking, “so you can compare their meals.”

“I’d love to,” Granger replied before blinking. “Well, if it’s possible one day,” she added, “without endangering your family, of course.”

“Of course,” Ron said, nodding.

“You’ll have to visit when Molly’s making her roast,” Luna told her.

“She’ll do requests when Ron’s bringing a girl.” Harry chuckled.

Ron frowned at him, then started to stretch. Although Harry wasn’t entirely wrong - Mum went all-out if any of her boys brought home a girl. Which was part of the reason none of Ron’s brothers had yet married.

Granger was stretching too, now. Though she wasn’t doing it right, he noticed. He stopped and went over to her. “You need to lean in more,” he told her.

“What?”

“You need to lean in more.” He demonstrated. ”Like this.”

“I’m trying,” she snapped.

“Let me help.” He reached out and adjusted her foot. “You won’t twist it like this.”

“Ah.”

He ran her through a few more stretching exercises. She wasn’t really in bad shape - Harry and Ron were simply in top shape. And Luna… well, Ron knew that she had kept up the running she had started when they were dating.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile as they got ready for the second leg of their run. “You’re good at that.”

He nodded at the compliment. “You just lack endurance. That’ll change soon enough.”

She looked at him for a moment, lips pressed together, then started to run.

A little too fast to talk.

Although, as Luna demonstrated, not too fast to sing.

*****​

It was a good thing that the group needed to go on runs to talk freely, or Granger would probably never leave her room. Ron certainly hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her since she had gone to her temporary office after lunch. Which made keeping guard in the ‘lounge’ down the hall leading to their rooms more than a little boring. Especially since the one seat with a good view down the hallway, and, therefore, of Granger’s door, was a little too exposed for Ron’s taste.

Dumbledore probably had several ways to deal with them without having them jumped by armed assailants, but Ron couldn’t help wishing he had some cover. At least he had his back to a wall - which he had checked for concealed firing ports or other surprises, of course.

“You look bored!”

Luna had returned from her foray to the kitchen, carrying a big basket full of snacks. And sweets, knowing her.

“Guarding someone is almost never exciting,” he told her.

“Unless things go really wrong, right?”

He nodded - these had been his words, after all. Years ago.

“Sandwich?” She pulled out what looked like a roast beef sandwich. White bread, fortunately - Ron wasn’t a fan of the dark, sour bread the kitchen seemed to offer by default.

“Thanks.”

“Even boring work is hungry work,” she commented, letting herself fall into the seat next to him. “Harry’s asleep?”

“Yes.” Resting, at least.

“And Hermione’s lost in her work.” Luna shook her head. “Did you check that she’s taking enough breaks?”

“I don’t want to disturb her.”

“You’re not a good bodyguard, then.” She was smiling at him as she quoted another line of his and grabbed a sandwich of her own. Tuna. Probably her own recipe - she had managed to get Mum to use that recipe, so hired cooks wouldn’t stand a chance, in Ron’s opinion.

“Circumstances were different back then,” he replied. Luna had been working herself to the bone with her bunker project.

“Mhhh.” She didn’t look convinced.

“I’ll step in once she starts falling asleep at the table.” He grinned at her, remembering that incident. In hindsight, it was pretty funny.

“Does that mean you’ll take her out on a date?” Luna leaned forward, finishing her sandwich in a few quick bites.

“What?” He blinked, then shook his head. “She’s dating her Ron.”

“Ah.”

Or she had been - seven years was a long time. His counterpart might even be dead. Ron took another bite and forced the thought away. No sense dwelling on that sort of nonsense.

*****​

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 15th, 2005

The weather was cloudy, but it wasn’t raining. Perfect for a morning run in summer. A cross-country run, of course - the best they had were trails in the forest parts of the route. Ron liked the challenge - running on a track was usually mind-numbing, unless you were competing.

Granger, though, wasn’t enjoying the experience any more than their first run. “Do we need to run through the forest?” she complained at their first break. “I’m not fond of roots and other stumbling hazards.”

“We need to vary our routes,” Harry replied. “Otherwise, Dumbledore’s men will bug them so they can listen to our conversations.”

“Given enough time and resources, they could cover the entire area, eventually,” Ron added, “but it’s not yet an urgent problem.”

Granger sighed. She looked tense, Ron noticed - tenser than yesterday. He stepped closer to her, ducking under a branch. “Bad memories?”

She pressed her lips together, which was answer enough.

*****​

Hogwarts. From her spot at the edge of the forest, she could see the school on the hill across the lake. At night, the lake matched its name perfectly - it was pitch black, with the dim reflection of a few lights from the castle only emphasising its darkness.

For years, it had been her home. Hers and her friends’. But that had changed. It wasn’t her home. Not any more. Muggleborns were banned from Hogwarts. McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Vector… all the good teachers, everyone who opposed Voldemort’s ideology, were gone. They had quit or disappeared. By all accounts, the school had been turned into a Death Eater training camp, with the half-bloods serving as the training dummies for the Dark Arts.

She shuddered, remembering her time as a prisoner in Malfoy Manor. Her torture at the hands of… She shook her head, clenching her jaw. It was over. She was free. And Lestrange would never hurt anyone ever again.

A sudden touch on her back made her gasp. But it was warm - a hand.

“You don’t have to come.”

Ron. She slowly turned to face him. “I have to.”

“Snape’s sneaking us in. We just have to search the Room of Requirement. Harry and I can do that.”

“We’ll be faster with one more set of eyes. And one more wand.” Even if it wasn’t her original wand. Even if it had been used to torture her. But they needed her. They didn’t have very much time to find the Horcrux.

“Dobby could get elves to help. Hell, Snape could order some to help us.”

She shook her head. “They can’t help with the search.” House-elves couldn’t deal with Horcruxes. Couldn’t even be near them without being corrupted. A second Kreacher would doom them all. “They can act as lookouts, nothing more. You need me.”

He stared at her. Then he slowly nodded and hugged her.

And for a moment, she was at peace.

*****​

 

Chapter 11: The Dinner

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 16th, 2005

“Oh, Ron…”

He felt arms wrap around him from behind. A nude body pressed against his back. A chin on his shoulder, hair tickling his ear. Taking a deep breath, he smelt her scent. “Yes, love,” he whispered, slowly turning around.

Then they were on the bed, him on top of her. Kissing. Her bushy hair covering the pillow...

Ron woke up, alone and feeling disoriented. Had he had that sort of dream, featuring Granger? Bloody hell, he must have had a pint too many last night. No, he’d only had the one pint Luna had liberated from the kitchen. Had it been tampered with, perhaps? Luna was smart, but she wasn’t exactly a master thief, so, odds were, the kitchen staff were aware of her ‘pilfering’.

He blinked. His room looked the same. No trouble with his eyes. His sense of balance was fine, too.

He sighed. Well, it had been a while since his last relationship. Or one-night stand. His work made having a relationship a little difficult. And Granger was about the only woman with whom he’d been spending time lately. Apart from Luna, of course. And Luna was his ex.

Totally normal. Probably.

A shave and a shower later, he went to the lounge, which served as their ‘private’ dining room as well. Harry was already buttering a scone at the table.

“Morning,” Ron said, sitting down and grabbing the teapot.

“Morning,” Harry replied. He didn’t look or sound too chipper, Ron noticed.

“Did you have trouble sleeping?” he asked.

His friend shook his head. “No.”

That didn’t sound convincing. But before Ron could think of a way to dig a little without making Harry mad, Luna arrived, Granger in tow. Literally - she was holding her hand and dragging her along, from the looks of it.

“Good morning!” Luna announced. “Oh, scones!”

“We had scones yesterday as well,” Granger said, frowning. “Morning.”

“That’s no reason not to enjoy them!” Luna replied, grabbing two before she had taken a seat.

Granger snorted and looked around. Ron handed her the teapot - he knew what she wanted first thing in the morning.

She didn’t look like she had in his dream, he noted. And not just because she was dressed. Her hair wasn’t free, but up in her usual messy ponytail. And she was grumpy and growling, not moaning. But the way she stood fit. And the proportions seemed to match, as far as he could tell with her wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

“Is something wrong?”

Ron blinked. He had been staring at her! He quickly shook his head. “Oh, no. Just wondering if Luna dragged you out of bed to here.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and he saw her baring her teeth when she frowned at him.

“Oh, no, I would never do that!” Luna said. “Unless it was an emergency, of course. But I dragged her out of her room.”

Fortunately, the news started on the TV in the lounge before Granger had enough tea to tell him off.

*****​

“... and the Metropolitan Police have just confirmed that the main suspect in the murder and missing person case that culminated in a shoot-out leaving half a dozen dead in the middle of London a week ago is Chief Superintendent Corban Yaxley, a subordinate of Deputy Commissioner Rufus Scrimgeour and Commissioner Amelia Bones, the two murdered police officers. Officer Yaxley’s current whereabouts are unknown, and he is considered armed and dangerous. Should you recognise him, do not confront him. Remove yourself to a safe place and inform the police at once.”

Ron snorted at the picture that illustrated the news report. Someone had found the most unflattering shot of Yaxley for the press release. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “It was about time…”

“Shhh!” Luna interrupted him, pressing a finger against her lips. “It’s not finished yet!”

And, indeed, Granger’s picture - quite a bit more flattering - appeared on the screen. “There has been no news regarding the fate of missing scientist Dr Hermione Granger, though usually informed sources claim that she, like her parents, was in protective custody and that the police officers guarding her haven’t yet come forward because Commissioner Bones warned them about possible moles in the force before her death. The Metropolitan Police have declined to comment.”

“Anyone want to bet Dumbledore had a hand in how quickly they changed their tunes about us?” Harry asked. “We’ve gone from ‘suspicious police officers with a troublesome past’ to ‘diligent bodyguards’.”

“That’s a fool’s bet,” Luna replied. “The question should be: Who arranged for you to come under suspicion in the first place?”

Ron shrugged. “Wouldn’t take much. We’ve made our share of enemies. Both in the police and outside.” And they had some - minor - incidents on their files which someone could blow out of proportion.

“The Skeeter I knew,” Granger said, “thrived on this sort of scandal-mongering. And she’d do it just to sell more newspapers. Completely amoral.”

“Our version is a little more careful,” Ron pointed out. “And her name didn’t appear to be connected to the news reports.”

“That doesn’t have to mean anything. She could already be writing a new book, and any scandal centred on you would help with advertising,” Luna said.

Ron could imagine that. On the other hand, Dumbledore probably had a lot more influence - and Ron couldn’t tell what the old man might think would serve his goals best: them being fully cleared or them remaining under suspicion. Both situations had their advantages and drawbacks.

He’d have to gather more intel about Dumbledore - and about Grindelwald.

But first, he had to talk to Harry. His friend was… looking happy now? Ron suppressed a frown. Talking to Harry without anyone listening would be a little tricky. “Better eat a light meal,” he told Granger and the others, “we have our morning run to do.”

Granger groaning he had expected. Luna’s lack of enthusiasm he hadn’t. “But it’s raining!” she protested.

“Fitness doesn’t care about the weather,” he replied.

“Fitness does care about getting a cold!” Luna retorted. “And it’s raining.”

“There’s no bad weather, only unsuitable clothing,” Ron told her.

“That was Percy’s line when he chased us out of your home to play,” Harry said. “And you know he only did that so we wouldn’t bother him when he had Penny over.”

Ron hadn’t known it back then, of course. “That doesn’t make it wrong,” he pointed out. He wasn’t about to wink; Harry already knew why he wanted to go on a run. “Besides, since we don’t know what we’ll face once Dr Granger finishes her portal, it only makes sense to be physically fit. Just in case.”

That convinced her; he could see her pressing her lips together as she inclined her head. She didn’t like it, but she saw sense. But then she suddenly frowned. “You plan on coming with me?”

Of course. “Yes. We’re your bodyguards, aren’t we?” he added, to sound less pushy.

“And I’ll come because I’m your friend!” Luna piped up. “And because I want to meet my counterpart! It’ll be fascinating! Like having a twin sister! And a second Daddy! We’ll be a whole family!”

Ron suppressed a wince - the loss of her mum was still hurting her and her dad. He was almost glad her counterpart had lost her mum as well - if there was a Pandora Lovegood in Granger’s world, Luna might not want to come back.

Like Granger, he thought, pressing his lips together. Her family and friends were waiting for her. Or so she hoped. And her world, in more than one sense.

“Let’s meet outside in five minutes,” he said, finishing his tea. A fast run was just the thing to clear his mind of these depressing thoughts.

*****​

“So… what was so important that you had to run them into the ground?” Harry asked in a low voice behind Ron as they stretched.

Ron felt a little guilty - and dirty - as he glanced at Luna and Granger. They had collapsed and lain down on the grass in the small clearing where they had taken their first break, uncaring of the drizzle hitting their faces as they struggled to recover their breath. “Technically, they did that to themselves, trying to keep up,” he defended himself. The pace Ron had set had been challenging, indeed - for him and Harry.

“Yeah, right. As if we’d let them run at their own pace by themselves,” Harry replied.

Ron cleared his throat. “What are you going to do now that we’re about to be cleared?” he asked, changing the subject.

Harry shrugged. “What we agreed on: staying with Granger. And Luna, now.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Ron said. Though it was nice to have confirmation that there hadn’t been a change of plans. “Will you be meeting Ginny?”

“That wouldn’t be smart,” Harry replied.

Ron snorted. He knew an evasive answer when he heard one.

Harry glared at him. “I want to, but it would endanger our cover.”

“Well, she’s pretty famous,” Ron remarked. Which was a slight understatement. And which was, in hindsight, a little odd. “I wonder why the newspapers didn’t bother her about the affair.”

“She’s probably gone to ground,” Harry said. “But they should have mentioned her, you’re right.”

Ron muttered a curse under his breath. “Do you think Dad got Dumbledore to pull some strings?”

“We’d have to ask him.”

“You’re training in dodging today, I see,” Ron remarked. He ignored Harry glaring at him again.

“I want to see Ginny. Happy now?” his friend spat.

“Well, we should be able to arrange that, once we’re fully cleared and Yaxley’s caught.”

Harry scoffed. “That would be putting her in danger. Whoever’s behind Yaxley will follow her. And even if Dumbledore manages to protect her, it would mean that he’s got more leverage on us.”

That was true, Ron knew. But he also knew that it didn’t really matter. “He already has Dad in his pocket. And do you think he wouldn’t offer to arrange for Ginny to visit us if he thinks it’ll make us feel indebted to him?”

Harry’s curse would have even gotten Mum, who adored the bloke and still saw the poor orphan boy Harry hadn’t really been, to scold him.

“So, might as well meet her anyway - she’ll be furious if she thinks you didn’t want to meet her,” Ron told him.

Harry scoffed again, but Ron caught a faint smile on his face as they went to get Granger and Luna so they could continue their run.

At the second break, near the shore - not planned, but necessitated by the pace Ron had set at the start - Granger approached him. “Did you have to run us into exhaustion just so you could talk privately with Harry?”

He didn’t try to deny it. She wouldn’t buy it. “When did you figure it out?” he asked, instead.

“Just now,” she admitted. She looked a little embarrassed, but after running three-fourths of the route, she was red-faced from the exertion, so he couldn’t tell if she was also blushing.

“Ah.”

“Couldn’t you have just told us that you wanted to have a private talk?”

That made him feel embarrassed. “Now that you mention it, yes. I could have.”

“And why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Habit. I grew up with six nosy siblings. Fred and George were especially bad - still are, actually, just in case you ever meet them - so if I’d told them I wanted to have a private talk with Harry, they’d have gone to even greater lengths to listen in. And you and Luna would behave more naturally if you didn’t know the reason for the run.”

“More naturally out here, where we weren’t under surveillance?”

He grinned at her. “Would you believe me if I told you that I was taught to pay attention to the smallest detail when creating a cover story?”

“Yes.”

Right, she knew Moody’s counterpart. “Let’s blame my instructor, then.”

“As long as you don’t repeat this stunt,” she replied.

“Alright.”

The looked at each other for a moment. Just long enough for the sudden silence to become awkward. “You should stretch,” he told her. “You pushed yourself hard today.”

“You pushed me,” she retorted.

“As I recall, it was more like leading. I ran, and you followed. No pushing was involved - on my side.”

She glared at him, then sniffed. “You told us to keep up.”

“And you always do what you’re told?”

“You are in charge of our training,” she retorted.

“And now I’m telling you to stretch.”

He could almost hear her jaw snap together and feel the heat from her glare. But she was stretching.

His smile slipped a little when he remembered what she had told him about ‘accidental magic’. Perhaps he really shouldn’t push her too much. Or lead her, in this case.

“I’ll hold you responsible if I don’t make as much progress in my work today as planned!”

A little late, but she had retorted, he noted. Well, he already knew that she was passionate and stubborn.

*****​

Too stubborn for her own good, Ron thought hours later, when he looked into her room and saw that Granger had fallen asleep at her desk, not on the bed right next to her. Shaking his head, he went in.

Once again, he noted how she looked softer when asleep. Usually, she was always pushing. Herself, or others. Driven. But when she was sleeping… He snorted. She wasn’t drooling on her notes, but she had an ink smudge on her cheek.

He could tuck her in - she wasn’t as slender as Luna was, but he wouldn’t have any trouble lifting her, and the bed was right next to the desk. And she certainly needed the rest.

But it was dinner time, and she needed food as well. So he reached out and gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up!”

She didn’t shoot awake but slowly opened her eyes, blinking and looking confused as she saw him. “Ron?”

He felt a small pang of guilt. And jealousy. “That’s Officer Ron,” he joked.

“Oh. Sorry. I was… Dear Lord, I fell asleep at the desk!” She started to check her notes, ignoring his reassurances that she hadn’t ruined them.

He knew better than to stop her and waited until she had stashed the notes in her beaded bag. “It’s time for dinner.”

“What? Already?”

“A few minutes past dinner time, actually,” he told her with a smirk.

“Why didn’t…” She bit her lower lip, trailing off. “Let’s go, then.”

“After you, Dr Granger.” He held the door open with an exaggerated flourish.

“Officer Weasley.” She walked past with a curt nod and toss of her head that could have fit into a number of fantasy novels he had read.

Which reminded him. “Say, Dr Ganger…” he said as he followed her out of her room, “did you read a lot of fantasy when you were younger?”

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. He grinned - he wasn’t talking about magic, even if he was skirting the line a little.

“I haven’t read a fantasy book since I was eleven.”

“Ah.” He forced himself to look embarrassed and add: “Sorry” - Dumbledore would assume they were talking about her kidnapping, not her entering magic school.

“It’s OK. It’s in the past.”

“Ever tried picking up the habit again? A lot has changed in the last ten years.”

“I’m too busy for such diversions,” she replied as they entered the lounge.

“Hi, Hermione! Ron, what took you so long?” Luna asked.

“I had to wake her up.” That earned him another glare from Granger and a giggle from Luna, but it was worth it to shut down any off-colour jokes about needing a chaperone from Harry before his friend could make them.

It wasn’t like that, anyway. A wet dream didn’t mean anything. Certainly not at his age.

*****​

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 17th, 2005

Ron groaned after waking up. A second wet dream involving Granger didn’t mean anything, either. Other than that he was probably going stir-crazy. Which a good run would help with. Should. The shower wouldn’t help, though. Too close to the dream. Perhaps a cold shower… Yes.

He nicked himself while shaving, his concentration broken when he had a disturbing thought: Was this perhaps some ‘bleed over’ from her Ron? Some connection across the dimensions? A psychic or magical link? Granger had mentioned something about Harry - her Harry - being tied to the Dark Lord, hadn’t she?

He’d have to ask her for more details. Without letting her know the reason. After breakfast. Well, the light breakfast they took before the run.

*****​

His chance came an hour later, at their break. He hadn’t set a punishing pace this time, but he hadn’t gone easy on her, either. So she wasn’t exhausted but still needed a short break. He watched her stretch - correctly, as he had shown her - then glanced around. Harry and Luna were a little too close. “Did anyone spot a bug? The electronic kind,” he clarified.

“Oh! You think they started hiding them in the forest?” Luna perked up. “That would be just like a corporation built on blood! Spying on people and harming the environment at the same time!” She got up from where she had made a ‘grass snow angel’ and started to look around for listening devices.

Harry sent him a look, and Ron nodded at Luna, then at Granger. His friend shook his head at him but turned to follow Luna, as Ron had known he would. Which left Ron to talk to Granger in peace.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t try such stunts any more.” She wasn’t amused.

“I didn’t. You didn’t have any trouble keeping up, did you?”

She scoffed. “You would make a good lawyer, weaselling your way through loopholes.”

He ignored the barb at his name - after seven years in the same school as Malfoy, there weren’t many insults that he hadn’t heard often enough to grow bored of them. “Knowing how to bend the rules is essential to be an effective police officer.”

“I notice that you didn’t say ‘a good police officer’.”

He shrugged with a grin. “We get results.”

“And your colleagues don’t, I guess. Yaxley is still at large, after all.” Her smile wasn’t that friendly.

“He might be already dead, the body dissolved in acid. Or dropped into wet cement.”

“Do you think so?” She changed positions, hands on the trunk and bending her knee while stretching her other leg.

He shook his head. “No. He’s too smart for that. If he were that dumb, he wouldn’t have been in CI5 for this long. If he’s really smart, he’ll be on some tropical island by now, with a fake ID and some dirty money he’s laundered.”

“His counterpart wasn’t very smart.”

“Which is why I don’t think he left Britain,” Ron said. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Something you don’t want anyone to overhear.” She nodded. “Go ahead.”

“You said Harry’s counterpart was tied to Voldemort through his scar.”

She pursed her lips and stopped stretching. “I didn’t exactly say that.”

“Cursed scar, ties to the Dark Lord, fated to face him…” He smiled at her glare.

“Yes.”

“Did that happen to others?” he asked.

“I’ve never heard of another case - but few would have made such an event public.” She shrugged a little, then rubbed her shoulders. “Why do you want to know?”

“I was wondering if someone could have a tie to their counterpart. It would be a huge security risk if one of our enemies had such a source of information.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “That would be a problem. Although most of the people who could do us much harm were dead when I left - or are dead here.”

“That didn’t stop the Dark Lord, did it?”

“He was a special case. And he had a link to Harry through his cursed scar.” She smiled thinly. “In order to duplicate that feat, a dark wizard would have to curse someone from this world. And if they could do that, they would be here - and would have used magic against us already.”

“Ah.” That was comforting. In a morbid way. “Are prophetic dreams real in your world?”

She frowned at that. “No. Divination is nonsense. Real prophecies are very, very rare.”

She sounded quite invested in this, he noticed. “Speaking from experience?”

“No,” she spat. “Or, yes, sort of - I took Divination until I realised it was nonsense. Harry and Ron - my friends - took it as well, and they made up all their dreams and visions, and the teacher never noticed.”

“Ah.” Ron smiled. It was reassuring to hear that he wasn’t being influenced by the soul or spirit or psychic echo of Granger’s lover.

But that meant that he dreamed of her because he was attracted to her or because he was so randy, his subconscious was fixating on the closest woman.

Neither was a very reassuring thought.

*****​

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 18th, 2005

Ron had to hand it to Dumbledore: The man had kept his word. At least to Granger - she was currently ordering a dozen men and women around in order to get her new lab set up just as she wanted it. Like a queen ruling her realm.

“No, no - that terminal needs to be all the way back at the wall. Move it!”

“Hey! Stop that - that needs to be in the exact centre of the room. And you! Don’t drill a hole there!”

“What did I say about the computers? You need to run their power lines around the room, not through the centre! The magnetic field they could produce might ruin an experiment otherwise!”

A queen that might be inciting a revolution among her subjects - Granger wasn’t the most diplomatic woman on a good day, and this wasn’t a good day. Too much stress. Ron shook his head as he leaned against the wall next to the entrance to the lab. Perhaps he’d have to act as a bodyguard and protect her from angry workers. Workers, he reminded himself, who Dumbledore trusted to keep a secret - they weren’t just the hired help. And they weren’t used to being micromanaged, either.

Granger glowered at the last worker she had addressed, then walked over to Ron, sighing. “This will take longer than planned,” she said. “I didn’t expect that I would need to explain everything twice. Dumbledore should have sent people who can follow directions!”

Ron glanced around, but they were far enough away that, with the noise from the drills and other power tools, no one seemed close enough to overhear her. “They are experienced employees,” he told her, “and they’re probably used to just getting told what they have to do, not how to do it.”

“Hmph. That only works if they know what they need to do. And they don’t! I’m the physicist here!”

He shrugged. “It’s not their fault - you are breaking new ground, aren’t you? I doubt that most physicists would know what you need.” And she was planning to use magic as well.

She frowned, but then bit her lower lip. “I guess I might have been a little too harsh.”

“A little bit.” He didn’t quite grin at her, but judging by her scowl, his tone had given his thoughts away.

She huffed and turned to look at the workers in the centre of the room.

“Not going to apologise?” he asked.

“No.”

“Ah.” He shouldn’t have taken such a condescending tone. But he couldn’t resist.

She glanced at him with her lips pressed together. After a moment, she sighed again. “I might have been a little rude, but it wouldn’t have happened if they had been following my instructions to the letter.”

“And you don’t want to admit that you were also in the wrong,” he replied.

She huffed and went to her temporary desk without another word.

Watching her go and shuffle paper, he felt both satisfied and disappointed. And a little bit guilty.

*****​

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 19th, 2005

“Someone important is coming to visit,” Harry said as they approached the building on their morning run.

“Either Dumbledore or Grindelwald - or both,” Ron agreed. They were running at a quite comfortable pace; Granger would be insufferable if he ran her into the ground right when she was about to finish her new lab. More insufferable.

“What?” Granger asked.

“There are more guards than usual, and Filch was up already, inspecting his crew,” Ron explained. “And weren’t the workers in your lab making more of an effort yesterday evening?”

She didn’t answer that. He hadn’t expected her to, either - she hadn’t talked to him much since yesterday. The woman could hold grudges. “Ah,” she said after a moment.

“Oh, the spymaster returns!” Luna cut in, blurting out a sentence per breath while she ran. “Will he arrive in a submarine? Did you have magical submarines, Hermione?”

“No, we didn’t. There were spells which let you breathe underwater. We had a giant squid, though.”

“A giant squid?” Ron blurted out. He hadn’t heard about that. Was she taking the mickey?

“Really?”

“Don’t squids need salt water?” Harry asked.

“Normally, yes,” Granger replied. “This was an exception. He served as a lifeguard when the first-years used the boats.”

“What?” Ron shuddered. To be dragged out of the water by a giant tentacle with suction cups...

“Oh!” Luna exclaimed. “Was he sapient or just well-trained?”

“I don’t know,” Granger replied. “It’s sometimes hard to tell with magical creatures. Or with some wizards and witches,” she added and Ron could hear her smirk.

“Your school was crazy,” he told her.

“Yes, it was,” she agreed.

And she was missing it anyway. Ron felt guilty again. But they reached the building, and there was no more time to talk about magic.

*****​

Ron frowned at the mirror as he adjusted his tie. Unlike the suit he was wearing, which fit him well, the tie was proving a little difficult to handle. His first attempt had resulted in the tie being too short, the next had left it too long.

He snorted. Why did he care about the length of his tie? They were in a secret lab, not at a gala. And it wasn’t as if he were wearing a tailor-made suit, either.

But he wanted to look good. With the effort being spent on this dinner - suits had been provided for Harry and himself, dresses for Granger and Luna - he didn’t want to look like he shouldn’t be there. Mum and Dad had raised him better than that. It wasn’t the money, but the manners - something Malfoy had never wanted to accept.

And Ron didn’t want to look bad next to Harry, who cut a dashing figure in a suit, as he knew from experience. And from Ginny’s pictures and stories.

His tie finally adjusted, he brushed a piece of lint from his shoulder, checked if his guns were showing - they weren’t - and left his room.

Harry was already waiting in the lounge, looking sharp, as Ron had expected. And grumpy, too. “What a load of… whatever,” his friend complained. “We look like we’re going to a ball. We’re even waiting for the girls. It’s just a dinner invitation.”

“Did you ever tell Ginny what you think about balls?” Ron asked with a faint smirk.

“Do I look like I’m a fool?” Harry shot back.

Ron chuckled. “Well…”

His friend rolled his eyes. “She loves them.”

Indeed, Ron’s sister liked being the centre of attention. As the youngest of his siblings, and the only girl, she was used to being treated like a princess. And becoming a - minor - celebrity in her own right hadn’t exactly helped there.

Harry, though, loathed balls. Ron’s friend was frowning at him, he noticed. “We don’t go to many balls,” he said.

“Unless you count fancy parties as well,” Ron pointed out.

“Those are different.”

“Just because there are no formal dances?”

“Yes.”

Ron was about to point out that those dances were what little princess Ginny loved the most at balls, but then Luna and Granger finally appeared in the hallway.

He blinked and almost whistled. Granger cleaned up really well. Luna, too, of course, but he already knew that. But Granger almost seemed like a different person in her little black number instead of her usual clothes. Sensible shoes, he noted - not flats, but the high heels weren’t too high. And nice legs. Even her hair looked nice, framing her face in soft waves instead of being tied back in a bushy ponytail.

“You two look nice!” Luna announced. “Don’t they, Hermione?”

Granger nodded, a little stiffly, Ron thought, as she said: “Yes, one could say that.” She did seem a little too self-conscious for the occasion. “I guess Dumbledore wants us to make a good impression.”

“Well, you’ll certainly succeed at that,” Ron told her. “Both of you,” he quickly added, ignoring Harry’s snort.

“Indeed,” his friend remarked.

“I would prefer to impress people with my mind,” Granger replied.

“You can be pretty and smart,” Luna said. “Don’t let old men - and some young ones - tell you otherwise! That false dichotomy is just another tool of the conspiracy to divide us!”

Ron cleared his throat before Luna could go into details - her unhappy experiences at school hadn’t been solely because of blonde stereotypes, but they had certainly contributed. “So, shall we?” He offered Granger his arm without thinking, and, for a moment, both of them seemed to freeze.

Then she took his arm. “Let’s go, then.”

As they walked down the hallway towards the lift, he kept an eye out - and one on her. “Say…”

“Yes?”

“Did you adjust the dress?” She’d know that he meant ‘with magic’.

“No, I didn’t,” she replied. “I don’t have the necessary tools, even if I wanted to alter a dress.”

Ah. “It fits you perfectly,” he pointed out. And it looked nice on her, which didn’t matter, of course.

“Thank you.” She flashed him a smile - a pleased smile. She didn’t understand.

“As if it had been tailor-made for you,” he went on.

“Oh.” Now she got it.

He nodded. How had Dumbledore’s men managed to get her sizes without her - or him - noticing?

“I guess my tailor’s computer security is poor,” she said.

“You had dresses tailored for you?” Ron asked before he could help himself.

She frowned at him. “Once. At my... family’s request. For a celebration.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t see the need to spend more money on tailor-made clothes,” she continued.

“I didn’t think you would.”

And there was the glare he was so familiar with - until she suddenly laughed.

He blinked. Oh. “What did my counterpart do?” he asked.

“You don’t want to know,” she said, with a slightly sad-looking smile.

But Ron did want to know. Very much, actually. Even though he didn’t know why.

*****​

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Dumbledore greeted them as they entered what Ron had overheard the staff call ‘the Presidential Suite’. “May I introduce you to my dear friend Gellert Grindelwald?”

“Good evening.” The other man in the room, which was quite a bit bigger than their lounge, nodded at them as he stepped closer.

Ron looked him over. Dumbledore had a slight paunch, but Grindelwald made him look almost fat; the former German spy was rail-thin. And looked tough as leather - a far cry from his jovial partner.

“Mr Potter. Mr Weasley.” The man met Ron’s eyes but seemed to dismiss him at once, focusing on Granger. “Dr Granger. I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance.” He had a slight German accent. Probably put-on, Ron thought - a spy turned CEO would have learnt perfect English, especially if living with Dumbledore.

“Good evening, Mr Grindelwald.” Granger looked and sounded composed and polite, Ron noticed.

“Gellert’s been badgering me to arrange this visit,” Dumbledore cut in with his usual smile.

“It’s a fascinating tale. And a priceless opportunity,” Grindelwald said, nodding. His lips twisted slightly, subtly signalling some doubt.

For all her occasional lack of social graces, Granger, of course, had to pick up on that. She was probably used to people at Imperial doubting her. Ron saw her raise her chin and frown at the German. “I will deliver what I promised.”

“Don’t you trust your partner’s judgement, Mr Grindelwald?” Luna spoke up. She was frowning as well, and much more noticeably, with an added pout.

“Trust but verify, Miss Lovegood,” Grindelwald replied with a slight sneer.

“Words to live by,” Dumbledore cut in. “Shall we sit down? I’ve found that most meetings run more smoothly if people are more comfortable. And I have it on good authority that our meal deserves to be eaten at a proper table.” He smiled, seemingly unfazed by the latent hostility, and gestured towards the table in the back.

As soon as they had taken their seats, a waitress started serving the hors d’oeuvres - bite-sized meat pies. Quite delicious, as Ron discovered.

“One of the few pieces of English cuisine of which Gellert ever grew fond,” Dumbledore commented.

His friend snorted. Once. Ron wasn’t sure whether that was affected as much as the man’s accent - Ron knew the stereotypes about Germans - or if it was genuine.

“My compliments to the chef,” Granger said. Luna signalled her agreement with an appreciative noise.

Ron nodded. “It’s very tasty.”

Dumbledore beamed at them, though Grindelwald soon did his best to ruin the mood again: “While Albus, as usual, deduced a great deal, I do think it all sounds a little fantastic. Another dimension? A parallel world? Counterparts so close to us, even the DNA matched, so you could pass for a kidnapping victim?”

“If you remove the impossible, what remains is the truth,” Dumbledore said.

Grindelwald scoffed in reply. “Or the impossible. I haven’t seen any proof so far.”

“If I could prove it easily, I wouldn’t be here,” Granger retorted.

“Really?” Grindelwald scoffed. “What about the device you used to save Mr Weasley?”

“What?” Granger froze for a moment, and Ron barely kept himself from wincing.

“You claim you have no proof, yet you cling to the same ugly, ratty bag you were found with after your arrival - you even take it with you on your runs,” the German said before picking up and eating another pie.

“You searched my room!” Granger shot back.

“The staff uses your absences to clean it and do the laundry,” Dumbledore cut in. “Like in a hotel.”

And then reported to him. Which had been obvious - at least to Ron. That was part of the reason they only talked about magic on their runs. And once more, Granger was spilling information.

“I analysed the reports and records from the shoot-out in the park. There’s no known method to achieve the ‘cloud of darkness’ that covered Mr Weasley,” Grindelwald said.

“There you have your proof, then,” Granger retorted.

“A deduction. Not quite proof.” The old man’s smile was a far cry from Dumbledore’s. Hard and triumphant.

“What I used was a limited resource,” Granger told him.

“And I’m very grateful she used it, despite it being irreplaceable,” Ron cut in. “I was in a sticky situation.”

“Sticky indeed,” Dumbledore said. “There was a lot of blood on the ground - I would have assumed that you were gravely wounded, if not for seeing you here, hale and healthy.”

Ron forced himself to keep smiling and nodded. “Yes.” He wouldn’t show any reaction. Even though the two old men were already aware that he had been hurt.

“Another irreplaceable resource, I assume,” Grindelwald said with obviously fake sincerity.

For a change, Granger didn’t reply.

But it wasn’t because she had managed to bite her tongue, Ron realised with a glance.

*****​

“Episkey! Episkey! Episkey!”

It wasn’t working. The wounds weren’t closing. It was a dark curse.

“Vulnera Sanentur!”

She all but yelled the incantation, then sighed with relief as she saw the wounds close. But he had lost a lot of blood. She reached into her bag and pulled out a Blood-Replenishing Potion.

“What are you doing?”

She froze at the acerbic tone. Snape.

“Saving Neville,” Harry spat.

“You’re wasting time.” The professor - she would never call him ‘Headmaster’ - sneered. “Time your friends are buying for you with their lives. What use is it to waste a valuable potion on him if he’ll pointlessly die anyway so long as you don’t accomplish your task?”

“You bloody git! He’s our friend!” Ron roared.

“He’s not going to bleed out any more.” Snape sneered and flicked his wand. A moment later, Neville opened his eyes and groaned. “There. Healthy, if not hale. Now go and destroy the last Horcrux before the last of your allies falls to the Dark Lord!”

“What?” Neville asked, blinking. Then he focused on Harry. “Go! We’ll hold them.”

She bit her lower lip. But Harry nodded - with clenched teeth. “He’s right. Let’s go!”

And she stashed the potion in her bag again as she followed her friends to the Room of Requirement.

*****​

 

Chapter 12: The Cover Story

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 19th, 2005

Granger recovered quickly, but not quickly enough for the two old men to miss what had happened. Ron saw Dumbledore smile in apparent sympathy - which was probably faked - and Grindelwald’s lips twitch a little as Granger took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” she said. “Memories.”

“I see how you managed to convince people that you were a kidnapping victim.”

Granger glared at him. “I was a kidnapping victim.”

Ron kept himself from reaching over to touch her hand or shoulder. She wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Not for long, though, according to your story,” Grindelwald said in a very clinical tone. Had he sounded like that when he had interrogated people for the Abwehr?

“Long enough to be tortured extensively,” she spat.

Luna gasped, and Ron winced. He hadn’t known that, though he had suspected. Some of the nightmares had been a little too specific.

“Gellert.” Dumbledore inclined his head, and Grindelwald leaned back. Was the old man pouting? Was that a hint at who called the shots in that relationship?

Ron focused on Granger. She was trembling and tenser than a bowstring. But she kept staring at Grindelwald, her jaw clenched and her teeth bared. Too stubborn for her own good.

And too gullible to keep such information secret. Ron cleared his throat. “Do you really want to waste an irreplaceable, possibly life-saving resource on satisfying your curiosity?”

Grindelwald’s expression told Ron that he did - but it was Dumbledore who replied. “Perish the thought! Although if you have access to any renewable resources, we’d be delighted if you were able to provide a demonstration. Or if you could manufacture a small device.”

Granger pressed her lips together. They really should have thought of a good cover story for magic. Well, there was always Clarke - but technology was replicable. Generally. Perhaps... “The resources needed for her advanced technology aren’t available in our world.”

Granger shot him a look he couldn’t read, then nodded. “Yes. I’m focusing on opening a portal to my world since I know how to do that with the resources available. But to recreate most of my world’s advanced technology, I would have to know how, first of all, and then have access to resources unique to my home world.” She hadn’t stumbled over ‘advanced technology’. “And, seeing as I barely managed to save Ron’s life, I’d be loathe to waste what devices I have left on demonstrations. That I packed for a fight doesn’t help, of course - most of what I have left is meant for emergency use in combat.”

And there she went and said too much, again. Ron suppressed a sigh.

“And your healing technology?” Grindelwald asked.

“Limited to wounds,” she replied.

“Ah.” He slowly nodded.

Was the man sick? Ron wondered.

“All we - all of us - need is a portal to your home world, I think,” Dumbledore said.

“And hope that your doctors accept what we can offer,” Grindelwald added.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Granger said. “If my friends are still fighting, they should be able to grant you access to advanced healing in exchange for material support. And if they won, I’ll get you access myself.”

“And if they lost?” Grindelwald asked.

She clenched her teeth again. “Then we’ll see if the French have a taste for what you can offer. But someone will want this world’s luxuries.”

“Luxury goods are a quite common start for trade relations, if I remember my history lessons correctly,” Dumbledore said.

Was the old man planning to open a trade route through the portal? How would that play with the ‘Statute of Secrecy’ Granger had mentioned? Probably not too well, Ron thought. Something they couldn’t let the two men know or there would be problems.

“I would be interested in hearing more about your home world, Dr Granger,” Grindelwald said after the main course - excellent ‘schnitzel’ with pommes frites - was served. “Nothing that would trigger traumatic memories. Just a basic overview - how advanced is your world? I would prefer not to emulate the Indians selling their land for glass beads.”

“It’s ‘Native Americans’,” Granger told him. “And I can assure you that I wouldn’t let you be tricked like that.”

“That’s laudable of you, and your help is appreciated,” Grindelwald replied - though he didn’t sound particularly grateful, at least in Ron’s opinion. “But surely you understand that we’d prefer to make our own informed decisions? As you would in our place, I think.”

“Yes, I understand.” Granger sounded reluctant. But Ron knew this had been well-played by the old man. “Now, in my home world, it’s mainly the elite who have access to such advantages. Unless born into the right family, you have to be extraordinarily talented to join the club, so to speak.”

“Like yourself, Dr Granger?” Dumbledore said.

“Yes. My parents were, like the Grangers in this world, dentists.”

“I presume that you faced a lot of resentment and jealousy,” the old man went on.

“Yes,” Granger confirmed in a flat voice.

“Up to a war against you and your peers?”

“Yes. And against everyone who’d stand with us.”

“Such as Albus’s counterpart,” Grindelwald commented, finishing his schnitzel.

“He was our leader,” Granger confirmed what Grindelwald would already know.

“And defeated my counterpart in a duel when he was poised to conquer Europe in the 1940s.” The old man snorted. “A tall tale, if ever I heard one.”

“That’s the official story,” Ron cut in before Granger could reveal more clues about magic. “Shooting his lover from behind probably wouldn’t have made for a good story.”

Dumbledore chuckled at that, then sent a wry glance at Grindelwald. “While I like the thought of my counterpart saving his country single-handedly, killing his beloved seems a little too pragmatic.”

“I like the thought that my counterpart only lost because of love,” Grindelwald replied.

The smile they shared was creepy, in Ron’s opinion, though it was also clear that there was more behind the exchange.

“Your counterpart didn’t kill Grindelwald. My Grindelwald. He imprisoned him in a prison Grindelwald had built,” Granger said.

“Ah.” Dumbledore nodded. “That changes things, I believe.”

Grindelwald snorted. “My counterpart was kept in his own private prison? That’s certainly a better fate than what awaited the leaders of the Reich.”

“You make it sound as if there was no trial, Dr Granger,” Dumbledore commented.

“I don’t know. But I think that if there had been a trial, it would have been both public and would have revealed their personal relationship,” Granger replied.

“So much for due process,” the old German commented.

“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed. Once more, it sounded like hinting at a shared event. “Though I presume that such revelations would have put a crimp in my counterpart’s political ambitions.”

Ah. That might explain why Dumbledore hadn’t been knighted after his service as ‘C’ twenty years ago. Ron nodded.

“It was revealed after his death to attack him posthumously,” Granger said.

“Ah.” Dumbledore’s smile turned wry again, and he glanced at Grindelwald with another unreadable expression.

“Err.” Granger bit her lower lip. “The attack wasn’t aimed at the homosexual nature of the relationship, should that be your assumption. It was the fact that the famous Albus Dumbledore had been the lover of one of the most infamous people in the world that was meant to wreck his reputation and demoralise our side.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore nodded again. “And that only happened after my counterpart’s demise, not before. So it didn’t impact his political career.”

“No, it didn’t. For decades, your counterpart was an internationally-famous politician and the headmaster of our most important boarding school. At the same time,” Granger said.

Dumbledore looked surprised for a moment, and Grindelwald cackled. “I was a headmaster?”

“And a teacher before that.”

The old man slowly inclined his head. “Shaping the future leaders of the country, I presume. And recruiting operatives - like yourself.”

“Yes,” Granger confirmed.

“I have to admit that I never contemplated that course of action. Although I probably wouldn’t have been a very good teacher.” But probably a good recruiter, Ron thought.

“I believe I mentioned before that we cannot trust my knowledge about someone’s counterpart in order to draw conclusions about them,” Granger pointed out with a smug smile.

“Ah, but the temptation to do so remains as strong as ever!” Dumbledore replied. “The ultimate game of ‘what if?’, so to speak.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad I wasn’t sentenced to life in Spandau,” Grindelwald said. “Hess would have been a very boring cellmate, I think.”

“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed.

“Were you ever tried?” Luna asked.

“No. Not by the Reich nor by the Allies after the capitulation.” Grindelwald smiled with a cold expression. “I was a mere junior officer doing my duty in the Abwehr during the war.”

Luna frowned, but before she could push the old spy, Dumbledore stepped in. “And when he was forced to choose between his duty and his love, he couldn’t decide.”

“I might have managed to make a decision if someone hadn’t pushed me out of a window.”

“On the first floor.”

“Yes.”

Both chuckled. Ron glanced at Harry, who hadn’t said anything in quite a while. His friend was staring at the two old men with a very guarded expression.

As expected, Harry hadn’t been fooled by the ‘harmless old men’ act the two were putting on for them.

*****​

“And did you never use your influence or your access to privileged information to help your business interests?” Luna asked with a frown.

“My dear, that would have been unethical,” Dumbledore replied, finishing his dessert - a rather conventional mix of various flavours of ice cream; apparently, Grindelwald wasn’t fond of ‘fancy desserts’.

“I doubt that you ran the Secret Service with ethics in mind,” she retorted.

“Oh, but that was in the interest of our country; ethics are a little more flexible in that case.” Dumbledore nodded with a very patronising expression. He found this as amusing as Grindelwald, Ron realised, but was a little less blatant about it.

“And yet you haven’t actually denied it,” Harry pointed out.

“Habit, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore told him. “I have had to neither confirm nor deny any speculation in the press for a long time.”

“I’m not the press,” Luna said. “I’m just a concerned citizen.”

“A very concerned citizen, I’d say,” Grindelwald commented.

“Are my questions making you uncomfortable?” She frowned at him.

“I’ve dealt with such questions for decades - as a weapons manufacturer in Germany, the press is a regular concern.”

“It’s only fair to answer questions of yours after asking so many ourselves,” Dumbledore said - as if they had actually answered any questions, instead of deflecting them.

Then again, they would have realised that Granger was giving evasive answers as well. Which, Ron realised, was probably the reason they were treating Luna like this. A subtle hint.

*****​

Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 20th, 2005

“We need to think of a cover story for magic,” Harry said during the first break of their morning run. “Otherwise, they’ll figure it out. Quickly.”

Granger was still catching her breath, as was Luna - they had stepped up the pace, to explain the longer breaks they would be taking. Not that Ron expected to fool Dumbledore, but getting sloppy was a bad habit to develop. But Granger managed to reply, if a little choppily: “Easier… said… than… done.”

Ron watched her rest while he stretched. Truth to be told, he could use a break as well, if only to be fully ready should someone attack.

“Difficult or not, we have to do it,” Harry retorted. “If they realise that it’s magic, and not technology that could be copied and controlled, they won’t be pleased.”

“They’ll have to be told when I open the portal,” Granger said. “I won’t be able to conceal the ritual’s nature.”

Granger had made it clear that she didn’t like the ‘Dark Arts’, as black magic was called in her world, but that still sounded a little worrying.

“You need to keep magic secret until you can return to your world!” Luna cut in. “If they find out that you need to be born with magic, they’ll try to start a breeding program!”

And that was a very disturbing thought. Though Ron had no doubt that Grindelwald would be all for it, and Dumbledore would at least entertain the idea - and probably try to subtly arrange a relationship with one of his agents. Or try to clone her.

Granger seemed to turn slightly green. “That’s…”

“Not too far-fetched,” Ron cut her off. “Do you think a country wouldn’t go to such lengths to secure wizards and witches for themselves?”

“To such lengths, and more!” Luna told her, nodding repeatedly.

Granger sighed, then also nodded. “I guess they would.”

“Which is why we need a cover story that will hold up,” Harry said, rolling his shoulders. “At least so you can make chit-chat without revealing crucial secrets.”

Granger glared at him, but Harry ignored it. “As I already said,” she replied through clenched teeth, “it’s not easy to cover up magic. It’s not the same as advanced technology, no matter what certain fantasy authors claim. You can’t just replace a spell with some machine when telling a story.”

Ron nodded despite the dig at Clarke. “Using spells instead of machines causes distinct differences in the entire society. Like a war being decided by a duel between the two most powerful wizards.”

Granger blinked, then nodded. “Exactly! Most of what I could tell them about Wizarding Britain wouldn’t make any sense if magic were a form of technology. And they would realise that very quickly if they haven’t already,” she added with a gloomy expression.

“No thanks to you telling them too much. You don’t have to answer every question,” Harry told her.

Granger scowled at him. “If I don’t say anything, it’s even more obvious!”

“Old men are stuck in their ways,” Luna said. “They will have trouble accepting the existence of magic, especially without a demonstration.”

Ron glanced at Harry. They certainly had taken some time to accept magic despite a demonstration. His friend shook his head. “Don’t count on that. They’re former spies, and they’ve already accepted dimensional travel.”

Ron grinned. “We’ll make a sci-fi fan out of you yet, Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he continued. “But we need to have a cover story.” He looked at Ron. “One that will at least seem plausible.”

Ron realised that all three were looking at him.

“You’re the one most experienced with fantasy and sci-fi books, Ron,” Luna told him.

“I’m not a wizard, though. You’re a witch,” he addressed Granger, “You know how actual magic works.”

“Which won’t help overly much with hiding it. Without memory-wiping spells, at least,” she retorted. “You probably know more about creating a convincing society that uses advanced technology than I do.”

“Probably, yes,” he admitted. Certainly, actually - but it was probably already hard enough for her to admit relative ignorance on any subject.

“So it’s up to you!” Luna declared. “Our fate, the fate of Hermione’s world, depends on you!”

“No pressure,” Harry commented with a smirk.

Ron glared at him, but his friend’s smirk only grew more pronounced. Git.

*****​

By the time they were starting their evening run - or late afternoon run: there was another dinner with the two old men scheduled - Ron hadn’t yet found a good cover story. Any kind of technological explanation he could think of that would explain magic without revealing that it was magic wouldn’t explain the sort of society Granger had already laid out. Or why there hadn’t been a revolution or a large-scale civil war.

“An aristocracy?” Granger sounded incredulous.

“Well, not officially. More like a hyper-capitalist society with a very steep class divide between the rich and the poor, where the rich have access to advanced technology and the poor live in squalid slums. And where the best and brightest of the poor get a chance to join the rich, which serves as a pressure valve to keep them from starting a revolution,” Ron explained. “And any conflict between the rich is kept ‘in the family’, so to speak.”

“So… like our society? Just without the magic technology?” Luna asked.

“More like every cyberpunk novel, ever,” Harry commented.

“Those are basically our world, just with the blinders removed. Cyberpunk is classic social criticism disguised as a fantasy story to make it more palatable to both the masses and the shadow conspiracy,” Luna retorted.

Granger looked a little lost. Ron smiled at her. “I can tell you which are the best novels to read from the genre. So you know what you should be talking about.”

The way she seemed torn between surprise and annoyance at the fact that she might have to read ‘such diversions’, as she had called them, made her look very cute.

*****​

“...so, your civil war was not an open war, but fought in the shadows?” Dumbledore rubbed his beard. “A struggle for dominance amongst the country’s leadership, with all means short of the military being used?” He probably was very familiar with that sort of conflict.

“More or less,” Granger replied. “It was mostly covert actions on both sides. Death squads and strike teams. You had to hide since if you were discovered, you were usually dead.”

“That should have kept the overall death toll low, though.” The old man nodded. “If all conflicts I had to meddle with had been so contained… I almost envy my counterpart. A lot of conflicts were… messy.”

Granger frowned, but, fortunately, didn’t reveal too much as she replied: “There was still some collateral damage, and some of the hired guns had some disgusting habits more suited to the era of the Landsknechte.”

Her dessert was slowly melting, Ron noticed - between answering the two old men’s questions, she had barely eaten half of her ice cream. But at least she hadn’t let slip more crucial information, and it seemed as if their cover story was holding up so far.

“Ah.” Grindelwald nodded. “That’s quite typical for mercenaries. No discipline. Remember the Congo?” he asked Dumbledore, who chuckled at the question.

“Were you involved in the coup?” Luna asked.

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” Dumbledore replied.

“Ah.” It was clear that Luna saw that as confirmation. “And is that your opinion of your own mercenaries?”

“We do not employ mercenaries,” Dumbledore told her. “Though you might have a mistaken impression that we do due to the fact that many former soldiers tend to work as security guards or bodyguards.”

“They have a rather proactive view of ‘guarding’, if I recall correctly,” Luna retorted.

“If you’re facing terrorists and pirates, you won’t be able to do your job with a club and a taser,” Grindelwald said. “And we prefer employees who take the initiative if needed.”

Luna wrinkled her nose. “That’s scant consolation to the ‘collateral damage’ they cause.”

“Sometimes, such tragic incidents happen despite the best precautions,” Dumbledore replied. “I don’t doubt that Dr Granger has had similar experiences.”

The old man was getting better at changing the subject back to Granger’s world, but Ron knew Luna was too stubborn to stop and would continue her ‘interrogation’ at the next opportunity - as she had done for the entire meal.

“I wasn’t part of the teams that went out and attacked our enemies,” Granger said.

“But you did fight. Several times.”

“Yes. But I didn’t attack civilians,” she retorted.

“Not intentionally, at least.”

Granger glared at him with her lips pressed together but didn’t deny the implied accusation.

“Besides,” Grindelwald spoke up again, “unless you plan to abandon Dr Granger and Miss Lovegood, you’ll be quitting the police and entering the private security sector as well, won’t you?”

“I think after surviving those shootings, we could easily get a few months of leave to recover from our ordeal,” Harry said.

“Faking combat shock?” Grindelwald didn’t bother to hide his sneer. “You expect your superiors to fall for such a transparent ploy?”

Bones and Scrimgeour would have seen through it, but both of them were dead. Who knew who’d be put in charge of CI5 now? None of the remaining superintendents would have made a good impression.

“And what would Officer Moody think about that?” Dumbledore asked. “Not to mention the effect it would have on your future prospects. And people suffering from PTSD are rarely allowed to carry weapons.”

Ron clenched his teeth. The old man was correct. Using such a loophole wouldn’t work out well for them. He forced himself to shrug. “We’re still hiding with our charge, so that’s not an immediate concern.”

“I don’t expect that situation to last much longer,” Dumbledore said. “As the investigation uncovers more of Mr Yaxley’s past, it will soon reach a point where you’ll have to be officially cleared - although you will have to testify to settle the matter, I believe. As will you, Dr Granger.”

Ron wasn’t worried about that himself - he and Harry had had to testify several times in the past. But Granger… if she was as uncooperative as she had been with them, it might result in a problem.

“I think a good, discreet solicitor would greatly facilitate the process,” Dumbledore suggested - of course, he would be aware of Granger’s past interrogations. He had probably read her entire file already. “I’ll cover their fee, of course.”

“A lawyer?” Granger seemed surprised. “Could they be trusted?”

“Oh, you won’t have to tell them the truth.” Dumbledore smiled widely. “And they usually know not to ask too many questions.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

“The unfortunately named, but quite skilled, Cornelius Fudge.”

“What? Him?” Granger gasped, then wildly shook her head.

*****​

Near Ipswich, Suffolk, Britain, July 22nd, 2005

“Well, Fudge can’t be an incompetent lawyer if he can afford this sort of vacation home,” Ron commented, studying the small manor as their driver, one of Dumbledore’s employees, drove the limousine towards the parking area. He couldn’t see any signs of an ambush or trap. Neither did Harry, or Ron’s friend would have said something.

“He could have inherited the house,” Granger replied.

“He didn’t. We checked,” Harry said. Fudge wasn’t one of the best solicitors, but certainly one of the most discreet.

“Or he could be corrupt.” Granger sniffed. “Selling out his clients for the right price.”

“I don’t think Dumbledore would have referred you to Fudge if he were that corrupt,” Luna said, straightening the summer dress she wore. “He’s an evil corporate tycoon, but he’s not naive or stupid.”

“Well, it’s just as you said: You can’t judge people based on the actions of their counterparts,” Ron remarked.

The glare Granger sent him was very impressive. “I agreed to meet Fudge,” she said, “didn’t I?”

“You did,” Ron agreed. “After a heated argument, though.”

“I merely voiced my doubts,” she replied.

Ron suppressed a chuckle at that blatant understatement. Harry wasn’t as successful - or didn’t bother.

“You voiced them very vigorously and passionately,” Luna said, nodding.

Granger huffed in response, shook her head, then walked towards the manor’s door a little faster than before, forcing them to catch up. Not that it took Ron much of an effort. Nor did he mind - he was starting to feel a little exposed out in the open, especially as the sun was setting.

The door opened a few seconds after Granger had rung the bell, revealing a slightly corpulent middle-aged man with a receding hairline. “Good evening, Dr Granger! Officer Potter. Officer Weasley. Miss...” he blinked.

“Lovegood. Luna Lovegood,” Luna told him.

“Ah. Good evening, Miss Lovegood. I’m Cornelius Fudge. Pleased to meet you all! Please come in!”

The entrance hall was decorated with a few too many paintings and a few too many antiques. Trying too hard, Dad would call it. Sirius would make a comment about the ‘nouveau riche’. Still, what it fell short of in style it certainly made up for in impressing upon visitors that Fudge had money. Of course, the kind of people he probably wanted to impress wouldn’t be impressed at all by such a display. But they weren’t here to judge the man’s interior decorator.

“Please join me in the salon,” Fudge said, gesturing towards the door to the side, next to a landscape painting.

The ‘salon’ sported too many stuffed animal heads. They sat down on a couch below an elephant and a rhinoceros staring at each other.

“Please serve yourself,” Fudge told them, pointing at the low table where several bottles and two bowls with crackers stood. “Unfortunately, due to the discretion this meeting requires, I had to send the staff away for the evening.”

Which meant they would be aware there was something important and secret occurring. Not the safest way to handle this, Ron thought. But Dumbledore was vouching for the man.

“Thank you,” Granger said - she wasn’t even looking at the refreshments, Ron noticed. Luna, though, was already happily munching on one of everything. Sometimes, she was far too trusting.

“Do you know why we’re meeting with you?” Granger asked.

“Well, even if I hadn’t been told by my very good friend Albus, I would have deduced the reason for your visit by now - you’re famous, after all. Most of you.” Fudge flashed pearly-white teeth.

“Of course. As you’ve deduced, I need a solicitor for my upcoming interview with the police.” Granger managed to say without losing her polite smile.

“And the gentlemen and Miss Lovegood?” Fudge asked.

“We’ll be fine,” Harry told him, “and Luna’s not involved.”

“Well, not in the criminal case,” Luna said. “I’d like to think I’m involved in the lives of my friends.”

“Quite. If you change your mind, my partner is an excellent solicitor and would be happy to assist you in your interviews.” Fudge widely smiled at them. “Just in case - one can never go wrong with competent help, after all, and any money spent on keeping oneself free of legal entanglement is worth spending, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ron kept a polite smile on his face even though he’d never let Fudge or one of the man’s partners represent him in an interrogation. A former Chief Superintendent who had switched sides and become a solicitor after a scandal? His colleagues would assume that he was guilty as sin with that sort of solicitor.

Which, he realised, might also be the case for Granger. Might - she wasn’t under investigation, after all. But to show up all lawyered up with Fudge? That would leave an unfavourable impression. And Dumbledore would have known that.

“To business then,” Fudge said, putting his glass down. “I’m afraid that I need some privacy for my talk with Dr Granger. Procedure, you understand - it would be unethical to discuss anything pertaining to the case with two persons of interest in the same case present. So, feel free to avail yourself of the rest of the refreshments while my client and I confer in my office.”

Ron nodded. “Of course. Although one of us will have to wait in front of your office. Procedure, you know.”

“Albus mentioned something like that,” Fudge replied, apparently unfazed by the dig at his former career. “Please follow me, then.”

At least the man seemed to be a competent lawyer.

*****​

CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 25th, 2005

Dawlish was leaning against the wall, glaring at them as they approached the waiting area for their interviews. A number of their colleagues had done the same since they had stepped into the building, but he was one of the few doing it openly, Ron noticed.

“So you finally stopped hiding.” Dawlish didn’t bother to conceal his sneer, either.

“Yes,” Harry replied. “We would have resurfaced sooner, but we had to wait until you lot figured out that you had a traitor in your midst - wait, it wasn’t you who figured that out. You had to get help.”

“No thanks to you,” Dawlish retorted.

“You had all the clues,” Ron told him. “Bones and Scrimgeour couldn’t have been killed without inside information. And who benefited the most from their deaths?”

“Really? You want to tell me that Yaxley had them murdered to get promoted? He wasn’t that dumb.” Dawlish shook his head. “And you have a lot of nerve to talk like that - you were present at both murders, and vanished afterwards.”

“Because we realised that there was a traitor,” Harry said.

“And we were almost killed,” Ron added.

Dawlish scoffed. “So you say.” He glanced at Granger, who was talking with Fudge behind them. “You going to hide behind him as well?”

Dawlish knew as well as they did that Fudge couldn’t represent all of them. This was just another dig. Ron shook his head anyway. “We’ve got nothing to hide,” he lied.

The other officer shook his head and walked away without another word.

Perhaps quitting CI5 was a good idea for other reasons as well.

“Why are we being interviewed here?” Granger asked after catching up to them. “I thought the entire department was under suspicion.”

“Not officially,” Ron told her. Officially, the various other organisations were only providing assistance to CI5.

“But anyone in CI5 will be seen with suspicion for some time,” Harry added.

“Or derision for not spotting the traitor.”

“Well-deserved derision!”

Ron whirled around with a sinking feeling in his gut. Moody was standing in the door to one of the interrogation rooms, glaring at them. And he had gotten the drop on them.

“We fucked up,” their old instructor said. “Rufus, Amelia, you two, myself.”

“How could you have detected Yaxley’s treachery?” Granger asked.

Moody narrowed his good eye at her. “Dr Granger.”

She didn’t flinch - she was even smiling, a little at least. “Yes. And you are…?”

“Alastor Moody. But you knew that already.” The older man turned to glare at Ron. “Been telling stories, have we?”

“Not many,” Ron defended himself. Granger knew Moody because she had known his counterpart. Who had, apparently, lost more in the line of duty than an eye.

“Just enough to recognise you,” Granger added.

Ron glared at her, and she flinched. Good. This wasn’t her Moody.

“Did they tell you how I lost my eye?” Moody’s hand rose to touch his eyepatch.

“No.”

Ron tensed. The other man wouldn’t… He would. With a practised motion, Moody pulled his patch off, revealing the scars and empty socket beneath.

But Granger didn’t shriek or gasp. She probably had seen worse in her world. Had definitely seen worse, Ron corrected himself.

Moody sniffed. “They warned you.”

Granger tilted her head in response. “Constant vigilance?”

That earned her a chuckle. “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? Or a cold one.” Moody nodded at the room behind him. “Get in. We’ve got a lot of questions.”

“As long as you refrain from any attempt to scare or surprise my client,” Fudge spoke up. “Dr Granger didn’t take the risk of revealing herself while the main suspect in the attacks on her is still at large to be abused by the police.”

“Fudge.” Moody bared his teeth.

“Moody.” If the solicitor was nervous, then he hid it well, Ron thought.

After a moment, Moody snorted again and repeated his invitation: “Let’s get started, then.”

*****​

“...did you recognise any of the attackers in the park?”

“No.” Ron refrained from adding ‘as I told you before’ - he knew that wouldn’t help. Quite the contrary, actually - he had been in the place of the detective from the Met himself.

“Were you wounded during the fight in the park?”

“I was knocked down and briefly knocked out,” he answered. Lying and claiming he hadn’t been hit would be foolish - they had to have footage showing him and Granger retreating.

“Knocked down? Were you shot?”

“I wore a bullet-proof vest, which saved my life.” That was a blatant lie. His first in the interview. “I ditched it afterwards - the trauma plates were broken. Some of the shards cut my skin.”

“That must have been a large-calibre hit,” the detective commented.

“It certainly felt like one,” Ron agreed.

“Was the bullet stuck in the vest?”

Ah. “I don’t think so - we would have noticed. But it might have fallen out during our retreat - we weren’t exactly paying attention to anything other than the attackers.” He was talking too much. But it was better than to answer with single words. Ron knew how to make a testimony sound plausible. But the detective did as well.

“How did you escape from the park?”

“We took our car.”

“Did you expect an attack in the park?”

“Yes. We were trained to always expect the worst.”

“Did you attempt to warn Commissioner Bones?”

He winced. “We assumed she was aware of the threat herself.”

“Ah.”

Ron pressed his lips together. Getting angry at the man was pointless. The detective hadn’t been there. And didn’t understand the situation.

“When did you become aware that you were under attack?”

Ron didn’t sigh, even though he felt like it. He should be the one asking the questions, not the one answering. “When Harry warned me about a car approaching us.”

“What did you do in response to the warning?”

“Not much. Before I could do anything, the Commissioner got shot and…”

*****​

Half an hour later, the interview was finally over, and Ron could leave and return to the waiting room. Harry wasn’t done yet - Ron could see the room Harry had entered was still occupied - but Granger and Fudge were waiting. Both were reading - The Times in Fudge’s case, a thick physics textbook in hers.

Ron let himself fall into the seat next to Granger’s with a theatrical sigh.

Granger slowly looked up from her book and glanced at him. “There you are. What took you so long?”

“Unlike you, I didn’t have a solicitor with me to tell the interviewer to shut up.”

“By choice, as I recall,” Fudge cut in. “The offer stood.”

“Where’s Harry?” Granger asked.

“He’s going to be a while longer,” Ron explained. “They’ll have a lot more questions for him since he shot half a dozen of them - unlike me.”

He saw her tense. Her jaw muscles slightly twitched. “You were shot,” she said. Ron heard the unsaid ‘and you almost died’.

“The vest stopped it,” he replied with a smile. “As you know.”

She sniffed in return. Not quite a huff.

“Did everything go well?” Fudge asked.

Ron shrugged. “I’d say so.” He didn’t know Brown, but Ron hadn’t given the other officer any cause to suspect him - and who would even suspect magic?

“Good, good,” Fudge replied. “Once Mr Potter is done, this whole affair should be settled.”

“For us,” Granger said. “There’s still the matter of Yaxley being at large.”

Or dead, Ron thought.

“That shouldn’t be a source of concern for you,” Fudge told her. “He’s alone and on the run. He’s probably halfway to Brazil by now, though I dare say he’d receive a far different welcome there than a famous train robber.”

“I certainly hope so,” Granger replied.

Ron’s money was still on Yaxley having been killed by his backers. But he couldn’t mention that here or he’d run the risk of another interview - or interrogation. “So do I,” he said instead, wishing they had stopped by a bookshop on the way to headquarters - he hadn’t checked for new novels in a while. At least he had a battered copy of ‘A Civil Campaign’ to pass the time. Bujold never failed to entertain.

After half an hour spent reading in silence, Harry finally showed up. He didn’t look relieved - he looked angry.

“Those idiots!”

He also sounded angry.

“What happened?” Granger asked.

“Do you need a solicitor?” Fudge added, looking eager.

“What? No. They didn’t openly accuse me,” Harry snarled. “But the comparisons between my shooting and the shots the sniper took to murder Scrimgeour and Bones…” He shook his head. “Someone at least thinks I could have killed them.”

Well, technically, Harry could have done it - he was an excellent marksman. But he wouldn’t have done it. And he had an alibi - although it rested on Ron and Granger’s testimony. “You know how investigations by other departments are,” Ron told his friend.

“Yes. But want to bet some idiots like Dawlish believe it as well?”

That was a sucker bet. Ron shook his head.

“I don’t think too many will be sad to see us go,” Harry went on.

Ron remembered the glances they’d received coming in and nodded. Some would be envious, some would blame them for CI5 getting investigated and humiliated - and some would blame them for Bones and Scrimgeour’s deaths. “Colin will be sad, though,” he said.

That didn’t do much to console Harry. And Granger… Ron frowned as he glanced at her. She wasn’t looking at anyone or anything.

*****​

“You’re being accused of murder? Of Diggory’s murder?” She couldn’t have heard correctly. Harry had tried to save the other boy.

“They’re ‘investigating’,” Harry told her, shrugging. “Dumbledore said they’re trying to frame me so he’ll have to expend political capital and open himself to accusations of corruption when he intervenes. They’ve been dragging up Sirius’s disappearance from Hogwarts last year.”

“Percy said the same thing,” Ron added. “Malfoy’s spending gold like crazy to sway the Wizengamot. And he pretty much owns Fudge.”

“But Diggory?” She couldn’t believe it.

“As long as they can point at me, they won’t have to explain who killed him,” Harry said.

“Those…” She pressed her lips together, clenching her teeth to keep from cursing the Ministry. How could they do this to Harry? Her friend was… She blinked. “You’re taking this quite well…” she trailed off, not wanting to insult him by criticising his temper.

Harry chuckled, but without any humour. “Dumbledore warned me about this. Kept me up to date during the holidays.”

“Oh. So… it’s being handled?”

He inclined his head. “He’s got a plan. If all goes well, it’ll put a crimp into Malfoy’s scheming and expose his allies.”

Ron nodded. “And he’ll get leverage on Fudge.”

That sounded promising. But Harry was the one under investigation. For murder! “And if it doesn’t go well?”

He grimaced. “Well… then Dumbledore will have to step in and prove their accusations about him right.”

“Probably end up in an open war,” Ron added, looking grim.

So that was why they were in Grimmauld Place instead of The Burrow. “What can we do?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Harry told her. “It’s out of our hands until the DMLE decides to put me on trial or drop the investigation.”

She really didn’t like hearing that. She hated being unable to do anything. “I’ll study wizarding law, then,” she announced. “Just in case.”

Her friends knew her too well to point out that she wouldn’t be allowed to speak in his defence. She knew it as well. But she couldn’t just wait without doing anything.

*****​

 

Chapter 13: The Tank Commander

CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 25th, 2005

Granger shook her head and muttered something Ron didn’t catch despite being sat next to her.

“Pardon?” Harry frowned at her.

“Nothing.” After a moment, she added: “I’ll explain later.” Meaning: once they were outside.

But as they stepped out of the building - into the interior yard, where their car was parked - Ron spotted Moody leaning against the wall near the corner, arms crossed, and watching them. No, waiting for them.

Granger had spotted him as well - Ron heard her curse. “He wants to talk,” he told her.

“I’d advise against speaking with any police officers at this stage of the investigation,” Fudge spoke up. “At least without a solicitor present.”

“It’s not that kind of talk,” Harry told the man.

“He was our instructor,” Ron added.

“I’m aware of that,” Fudge said. “I’m also aware that he’s a very obstinate man.”

There was no point in denying that. Ron glanced at Moody again - the man hadn’t moved, but was staring at them with his good eye. They should talk to him. Not only did he deserve some sort of explanation but he’d probably track them down if they simply quit and vanished. Although he might do that anyway. On the other hand, they couldn’t leave Granger alone.

“Well, get on with it,” Granger told them. “We can wait in the car.” At Ron’s glance, she sniffed. “I’ve spoken to Officer Moody quite enough for this week.”

Ron nodded in sympathy as Harry snorted. They checked the car before letting Granger get in, then walked over to Moody.

He scoffed. “Took you long enough.”

Harry shrugged. “Had to check for traps and ambushes.”

Moody grunted in response. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Ron replied.

“Really.” Moody pushed off the wall. “Perhaps you did. This time.”

“Neither Scrimgeour nor Bones was our fault,” Harry spat.

Moody looked at him. “Yaxley was too eager. Should have noticed that.”

Ron couldn’t tell if Moody meant them or himself. Probably both.

“That’s hindsight,” Harry said, frowning.

Moody shrugged. “And it shouldn’t be hindsight.”

“We weren’t around much when Yaxley got involved,” Harry retorted. His friend was still wound up by the accusations levelled against him, Ron realised.

“I’d tell you to do better next time, but you’re not going to stay, are you?”

How had he…? Ron pressed his lips together - if Moody had been guessing, then their reaction had just given the game away.

The older man chuckled. Once. “As I thought.”

So Moody had been guessing. Swell.

“What would be the point?” Harry said, scoffing. “They blame us for the whole affair.”

“You’re no quitter, Potter. And neither is Weasley.” Moody grinned. “Matter of fact, you’d stay on to spite everyone, wouldn’t you? Unless you had another reason to quit.” He turned his head to stare at the car.

Bloody hell! Ron almost felt bad for telling Granger off for spilling information. “Someone has to protect her,” he told Moody.

“And you want to be the one.”

“She needs someone she can trust and who can do the job. Not too many of them around, are there?” Ron replied.

Moody snorted. “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?” He glanced at Harry, then looked at Ron again. “You wouldn’t have told her to hire Fudge. In fact, you’d have told her not to hire the man. And Fudge isn’t cheap.”

“Granger’s the most famous kidnapping victim in Britain,” Harry pointed out. “Good publicity.”

“Fudge isn’t after publicity. There won’t be a trial, anyway. Someone’s paying him, and the Grangers don’t have enough money to cover his fees. Fudge quickly shut that question down when I asked the girl.”

Well, that mistake wasn’t their fault, but Dumbledore’s. “Can’t tell you,” Ron said, showing his teeth. “Loose lips sink ships.” Moody had taught them that.

“Good lad.” The older officer nodded. “Looks like you remembered at least one lesson.” He cocked his head. “But you forgot my lesson about women and work.”

“It’s not like that,” Ron told him. He wasn’t mixing work and his private affairs.

Moody shook his head with a twisted grin. “And you forgot what I told you about politics.”

“We’re just protecting a woman,” Harry told him.

“Against Russian ‘mercenaries’?” Moody shook his head. “And a woman who’s hiding something? You’re fools, lads.”

Ron clenched his teeth. They were doing the right thing.

“Unless you already know what she’s hiding.”

They didn’t react to that probe.

“Better.” Moody grinned again. “I don’t know who’s paying you - or will be paying you. But I know enough to tell you that they’re bad news. They always are, in this sort of business.”

Well, Ron couldn’t disagree with Moody there - he didn’t trust Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

“Keep your wits about you, lads. What’s left of them, in any case.” Moody nodded at them.

“We will,” Harry replied, nodding firmly.

“You better. I don’t want to hear that all that time I spent training you was wasted,” the older man said, then turned away.

*****​

No 12 Grimmauld Place, London, July 25th, 2005

“That’s different,” Granger remarked as Harry drove their armoured car - they’d switched cars, with Fudge being driven home in the original car - down the ramp that led to the garage of Sirius and Harry’s home.

Ron didn’t know how Sirius had managed to get planning permission for it in this neighbourhood, but he was glad for the privacy and security it granted them. If they had had to park in the yard, they would have been too exposed. Too vulnerable - Yaxley still hadn’t been caught, and Ron didn’t think that the man’s sniper was among the people Harry had killed in Clissold Park.

“Well, you don’t need a garage for brooms, do you?” Harry said as he parked the car.

Granger snorted. “Wizards don’t use brooms in the middle of London - not many are able to cast the Disillusionment Charms needed to hide them from muggles, and invisibility cloaks are expensive and don’t last long. Most use the Floo Network or the Knight Bus.”

“The bus?” Ron asked.

“An enchanted bus that covers all of Britain, providing transportation for wizards and witches who couldn’t use the Floo or apparate for one reason or another,” Granger explained. “Fast, but very uncomfortable.”

“Ah.” Ron nodded. “Do people enchant cars as well?” he asked as he got out.

“Your… I mean, my Ron’s father did. A Ford Anglia that could turn invisible and fly.”

Ron wanted one. No, he wanted his Ford Capri enchanted like that.

“I can’t do that,” Granger told him as if she had read his thoughts.

Well, perhaps he could ask the man himself, once Granger managed to open a portal.

“Harry!”

Ron jerked, almost going for his gun when he heard the yell. Who would…?

“Ginny?” he and Harry said in unison just before Ron’s sister tackled her boyfriend. Well, technically, she hugged him, but Harry had to take a step back or he would have fallen down.

“Ginny…” Ron heard Granger mumble next to him.

“How did you…?” Harry managed to say before Ginny silenced him with a kiss. A very French kiss.

The answer, of course, was standing in the door of the lift. Sirius. And Luna.

“Hi, everyone!” Luna said, waving.

“I arranged her visit when you contacted me about staying over,” the older man told them as he approached. “Sirius Black. Enchanté!” he announced as he bowed with a flourish to Granger.

“Good afternoon, Si… sir,” she managed to say. “Thank you for having us over.”

“It’s Harry’s home,” Sirius replied. “Of course he can bring friends. Ron practically lived here for a time.”

Until he had managed to get a flat of his own.

“That was dangerous.” Apparently, Harry had finally managed to tear his face away from Ginny’s.

“I picked her up in a parking garage in the City,” Sirius said. “Just like Luna.” Whose pickup had been planned by Harry and Ron. “And I’ve got the tickets to prove that I wasn’t followed.” Which meant he had been speeding again.

“Ah.” Harry nodded - a little reluctantly.

“Yes, so you can’t complain,” Ginny told him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t visit?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Granger and stuck her hand out. “Hello, Dr Granger. I’m Ginny.” Of course, she would assume everyone already knew her. Well, she wasn’t wrong with regard to Granger, but not for the reasons she probably thought.

“Hello.” Granger nodded. She was quite tense, Ron noticed.

He cleared his throat. “Shall we head up? I don’t know about you, but I think the living room would be more comfortable.”

“Oh, of course!” Sirius grinned. “Unless Harry and Ginny would prefer their room.”

“Sirius!” Harry frowned at his godfather.

Ron was looking at Granger, though. She didn’t seem surprised by the remark, so she probably had expected something like that. Or she was too tense to react.

A few minutes later, everyone was settled in the living room and, apparently, the roast for dinner was in the oven. Ginny had claimed Harry’s lap, of course, but that was pretty normal for the couple.

“So, have you quit CI5 yet?” Sirius asked while he was serving drinks. Apparently, Luna had told him their plans.

“No. We’re suspended anyway; we’ll quit once the investigation is over or it’ll look as if we’re guilty,” Harry said.

They’d look guilty anyway, Ron knew. They couldn’t tell the truth, and their soon-to-be-former colleagues would know they were hiding something.

“But you love your work!” Ginny exclaimed.

“I might love the next job more,” Harry told her. “We might be going private - that way, I would have more time travelling with you.”

“You want to become private detectives?” Ginny frowned. “Does that pay well?”

That was aimed at Ron, of course - between his inheritance and being Sirius’s heir, Harry didn’t need money. And Ginny’s job paid very well. “Private security pays reasonably well,” Ron replied.

“Really.” Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, then looked at Granger, who had been uncharacteristically silent so far. “Private security for Dr Granger.”

Ron glanced at Luna, whose smile looked a little guilty. Well, he had only himself - and Harry - to blame for that; they had arranged for Luna to stay with Sirius while they went to CI5. Of course, leaving her alone in the lab would have been out of the question.

Granger sighed. “Please excuse us for a moment. I need to talk with Luna, Mr Weasley and Mr Potter in private.” She marched into the hallway, leaving Ron and Harry to follow her.

“I think we need to tell them,” she said as soon as the door had closed behind them.

Ron saw Luna looking relieved while Granger glanced at him as if she wanted his approval.

Well, even if they weren’t the Ginny and Sirius she knew, Ron trusted them, of course.

So he nodded in agreement. They had checked the room for bugs, anyway. Harry nodded as well, though he didn’t look relieved.

They went back to the living room, where Ginny received them with narrowed eyes, frowning at Ron as if it was his fault, then at Luna. “You knew their secret already!”

“Yes,” Luna replied. “Well, one of them. The most important one, I think. I’m sure they have more secrets.”

“Do tell!” Sirius cut in with a wide grin. “Harry is usually so close-lipped about his work. Well, I guess if he’s planning to quit, that will change.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “There’s also the matter of revealing classified information being illegal.”

“As long as you don’t get caught, who cares?” Sirius shrugged.

“This is more important than any police file,” Granger said in a clipped tone. “This cannot be told to anyone, under any circumstances. Lives depend on it. Our lives.”

To Ron’s surprise, Ginny seemed impressed - for about a second.

“Our lips are sealed,” Sirius declared, then mimed zipping his mouth shut.

Granger studied them both for a moment - was she reconsidering her decision? - then slowly nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m not from this world. I’m a witch from a parallel dimension where magic exists and was transported to this world against my will in 1998. People mistook me for the Hermione Granger who had been kidnapped here in 1991.”

“A witch. From a parallel dimension.” The doubt in Ginny’s voice couldn’t be more obvious.

“It’s true,” Ron told her. “It’s not a prank.”

“Magic?” Sirius seemed more amused than impressed, although he didn’t openly doubt their claim. Yet.

“Magic.” Granger nodded at him. “I lost my wand, so I cannot demonstrate much - witches and wizards need specially-made wands to do most magic. But I can do this.” She held out her hand and yelled: “Accio pen!”

At once, a silver pen left Sirius’s pocket and started to fly - slowly - towards her.

“That’s… that’s…”

Ron really enjoyed Ginny’s expression. “Go on, check for magnets or wires!” he told her.

She did, glaring at him the whole time. When she didn’t find either, she huffed. “That doesn’t prove the existence of parallel dimensions or magic!” At Harry raising his eyebrows at her, she pouted. “Ron was always watching those series on the telly and telling me about his books.”

“And you liked them,” Ron reminded her. Until she had grown ‘too old’, in her own words.

“As impressive as this demonstration is,” Sirius spoke up, “it doesn’t prove her story.”

“Dr Granger also has magic potions and a magic bag,” Ron told him.

“And she knows our counterparts,” Harry added.

“Who aren’t identical to you,” Granger pointed out, pen in hand. “But there are similarities.” She looked at Ginny and Sirius. “I knew both of your counterparts very well.”

“Not as well as she knew our counterparts, though,” Ron pointed out.

“We are both witches in Hermione’s world!” Luna exclaimed, beaming at Ginny. “And all of us were fighting an evil fascist regime!”

“What?”

Granger explained before Luna could: “Your counterparts in my world are witches like me - we all went to the same boarding school in Scotland - and when I was transported here, we were in the middle of a civil war with a dark wizard and his followers who had taken control of the country - well, the magical parts which formed Wizarding Britain; the United Kingdom wasn’t much affected - and wanted to kill all those they considered ‘impure’. Which included me.”

“Exactly!” Luna nodded several times as if this were a good thing.

“What? How old were we?”

“I arrived here on the same day I left my own world,” Granger told her. With a grim expression, she added: “We had no choice, even as children - they wanted to kill us. Well, me for being born, and my Harry for defeating the Dark Lord when he was a baby. Harry, that is - the Dark Lord was an adult at the time.”

That made both Ginny and Sirius focus on Harry. Ron’s friend wasn’t happy about it, of course.

“And the Weasleys are purebloods, but still opposed the dark wizards,” Ron said while Ginny ran a hand over Harry’s back. “Their Ginny is a courier on a flying broom.”

As it turned out, flying on brooms apparently was a little too clichéd for his sister, and Granger had to demonstrate her bag of holding to convince Ginny that this wasn’t a hoax, psychic powers or not.

As if Ron would do such a thing. Now, the twins, on the other hand...

*****​

“You were shot and would have died without a magic potion?”

Ron winced - like their mother, his sister had a strong pair of lungs. Perhaps they shouldn’t have told her the full truth. Sirius looked rather taken aback as well.

Well, what was done was done. Ron shrugged. “I survived. All of us did.”

“And the enemies didn’t. Well, most of them didn’t,” Harry added.

“You almost died! If Dr Granger hadn’t been there, you’d have been killed!”

“Well, you saved me,” he defended himself, looking at Granger.

“You didn’t know that I could save you,” Granger pointed out.

“Anyway, it happened. Let’s talk about something more productive, shall we?”

“How about we eat first?” Sirius asked. “The roast should be done now.”

Ron agreed at once. A good meal would soothe Ginny’s temper.

*****​

“...and we became a couple in my fifth year?” Ginny asked over pudding.

“Your counterpart’s fifth year.” Granger corrected her for the umpteenth time.

Ron wondered - privately - if he should tell her that his sister was now probably only doing it out of sheer stubbornness.

“See, your magical counterpart was smarter than you were,” Ginny said, turning to face Harry with a smirk.

Sirius laughed at her joke - or at Harry’s slightly forced smile. “Now that we’ve heard everything about our dear celebrity, how about some information about my own counterpart?” Ginny had the grace to blush at the slight admonishment, Ron noticed. If he had said that, or Mum, she would have gotten mad. Or made a scene. “Harry might not have told you, but I’m a retired officer in the British Army,” Sirius told Granger. “A tank commander, to be exact. I gather my counterpart held a similar position?”

“Ah.” Granger grimaced. “Not exactly. Your counterpart fought in the First Wizarding War and the Second Wizarding War - or the First and Second Blood War, as we called them - but as a private citizen. And in between, he was imprisoned on false charges until he broke out shortly before the Second War started. He died in our seventh year in one of the skirmishes.”

“Oh.” Sirius lost his smile.

“Sorry,” Granger belatedly added. She looked more tired than sorry, though - but then, after being interrogated first by Moody and then by Ginny, not many wouldn’t be tired.

Sirius waved her apology away. “Don’t worry about it. Though are you certain that you want to return? Your world sounds like a nightmare.”

Ron rolled his eyes. Sirius sometimes was terribly blunt, and Ron had never managed to find out if it was by design or if was merely carelessness.

“Yes,” Granger stated in a flat voice, “I’m certain. Deadly certain. I’m not going to abandon my friends in the middle of a war.”

Luna nodded in obvious agreement as Ron refrained from pointing out that Granger had, involuntarily, of course, done exactly that.

“Very noble,” Sirius said. “Although are you planning to drag Harry and his friends into your war?”

“What?” Granger shook her head, sending her ponytail whipping about. “Of course not! This isn’t their war. And they couldn’t do much, anyway, without magic.”

Ron clenched his teeth. He wasn’t useless.

“You don’t strike me as bulletproof,” Harry commented with a glare. “And I didn’t get the impression that you were a particularly weak witch.”

“Many places are protected by Muggle-Repelling Charms,” Granger shot back. “You wouldn’t be able to enter those areas, much less fight anyone. And those spells can be cast in combat as well. Imagine suddenly forgetting that you’re fighting and wandering off in the middle of a battle!”

That was a terrifying prospect, Ron had to admit. And yet, there were more ways to fight than directly attacking the enemy. “That doesn’t make us useless,” he told her. “We just need to pick our fights. And you can protect us against such spells, can’t you?”

“Not very effectively,” she replied. “It’s easier to cast such spells than dispel them.”

“You aren’t seriously planning to fight in a magic civil war?” Sirius asked, staring at them.

“Of course he is,” Ginny replied - rather snidely, in Ron’s opinion. “It’s like one of his books, but he gets to take his guns with him.”

This wasn’t the time to educate Ginny about fantasy and science fiction novels. Ron shook his head. He turned to Granger. “You don’t have your wand. You were, in your own words, one of Britain’s most wanted witches. How long will you last, alone, if your enemies are still fighting - or have won?”

She glared at him and raised her chin. “Longer than you would!”

“And do you really think Dumbledore and Grindelwald would let you enter alone?” Ron pointed out. “We’re not wizards, but you’ll need us.”

“And me!” Luna piped up. “I’m no witch, but, as you said, most of your world isn’t any different from our own. I know how to fly under the radar.”

“Unless it’s literally flying under the radar,” Ginny added with a grin. “On a broom.”

Sirius shook his head. “Jokes aside, this is a very, very dangerous course of action.”

“Yes, which is why they should stay here,” Granger quickly said. She looked at Ron. “I’m very grateful for your help - I owe you my freedom and possibly my life - but this isn’t your war. You’ve got your family and life here.”

That was true. But it was his life. And Ron was the one who decided when to risk it. And for what or whom. “So?” he said. “Mum and Dad taught us all to do what’s right, not what’s easy.”

Contrary to his expectations, that line shut her up.

It didn’t shut up Sirius, of course - there wasn’t much, if anything, that would shut up the man, in Ron’s experience. “Boys! I’ve been to war. It’s not heroic, it’s not fun - it’s bloody dangerous! And this isn’t even a proper war - it’s a damn civil war. Insurrections. Death squads. Like that mess in Iraq. And with magic! Not even a tank would protect you, I wager!”

“Hermione’s going back to war,” Luna pointed out.

“Into a witch war, where we couldn’t do anything. We wouldn’t have dragged civilians into combat in the Falklands,” Sirius replied.

“We’re not civilians,” Harry shot back.

“You’re not a soldier, either,” Ginny told him. “You’re a police officer.” Who had killed more people in the line of duty than Sirius, as Ron knew.

“And we’re probably better prepared for this kind of war,” Ron said. “We’ve fought terrorists before.”

“You haven’t fought wizards,” Granger told him.

“The basic principles are the same,” he told her, hoping that he was correct.

“You don’t know anything about magical combat,” Sirius said. “How can you prepare for a war if you don’t know what the enemy can do?”

“Dr Granger can tell us,” Harry said.

“You could probably give us a lecture on magical combat,” Ron added with a grin.

No one seemed to find that funny, though. Granger glared at him, though he had expected that.

“I don’t want you to go to war,” Ginny told Harry. “I already worry about you when you are at work.”

“We don’t know if there’s a war,” Ron said. “It’s been seven years since Dr Granger left.”

“The First Blood War lasted a decade, depending on what you consider its start” - Granger proved his earlier joke correct - “Most put the start at the first use of the Dark Mark following an attack, but some - correctly, I believe - attribute several killings of key government officials in the months before that to the Death Eaters, and, therefore, consider the war to have started with those murders.”

“And what if the war’s over and the enemy won? Won’t they detect the portal, gate, whatever you’re building? And what if they invade us?” Sirius changed tack.

“They haven’t invaded muggle Britain. Why would they go after a whole new world without magic?” Granger retorted. “There’s nothing here that they couldn’t get in my world. There’s precious little that they would want in the first place.”

“There’s you,” Sirius said.

Ron saw her purse her lips before she answered: “They wouldn’t know it was my doing. I’d leave the country - go to France, probably. Claim I’d been hiding for seven years.”

“Would anyone who knew you believe that?” Ron asked her.

She glared at him, then spat: “I can’t leave my friends to their fates!”

He didn’t look at her while she wiped her eyes after her outburst.

“Of course you couldn’t!” Luna said, glaring at the others, including Ron. “And we won’t let you go back alone.”

“I said that all along, didn’t I?” Ron pointed out.

“I know why he’s going - he’s stupid,” Ginny snapped. “But why are you going?” she asked Harry.

“Ron’s my best friend,” Harry said as if that explained it.

Well, it did. It also made Ron the target of both Sirius and Ginny’s glares.

He met them with a smile. Sometimes, you had to do what was right, not what was easy. And it didn’t hurt that doing the right thing would let him visit another dimension - a realm of magic.

“And what about the risk to our world?” Sirius wouldn’t let this go.

“We’ll minimise it, as I said,” Granger replied. “We’ll sneak in. There are a few caches we had prepared, in case the worst came to pass. I can get a new wand there and other supplies. Then we can gather information - and stay in muggle Britain, where it’s safer.”

“Yes! We know all about hiding from the authorities!” Luna cheered.

“If the situation is… worse than anticipated, we’ll return at once and discuss further steps.” She cocked her head at Sirius. “Is that acceptable?”

“I want to be involved,” he shot back.

“We can do that,” Harry said at once. “Granger’s calling the shots, after all.”

“The Phoenix Gruppe is funding you.” Sirius shook his head. “I knew I should have bought a Scorpion for old time’s sake when New Zealand sold theirs.”

“They were broken,” Harry told him. “They never worked.”

“They could have been fixed. I’ve got the money.”

“And you wouldn’t have been allowed to keep the gun functional,” Harry went on.

“Phoenix Gruppe could replace it.”

“And you don’t have a crew for it.” Harry glared at him. “And no, we won’t play crew for you.”

“I could drive!” Luna piped up. “Daddy taught me how to drive tracked vehicles.”

Ron was suddenly very glad that Sirius didn’t actually have a tank.

“Well… Some of those Scorpions should still be available, for the right price.” Sirius rubbed his chin. “And it would be a nice vehicle to get around the estate with if it’s too cold or wet for the horses. Fastest tank, ever!”

“Sirius!” Harry all but hissed. “You just told us that this isn’t a conventional war. It’s an insurrection! A magical civil war! There’s no place for a light tank. Or any tank!”

“Tanks are very useful in insurrections. They protect you much better than other vehicles,” the older man retorted.

“A Scorpion’s not a Challenger,” Ron pointed out, ignoring Luna’s frown - presumably at having her tank driving dreams spoiled.

“Indeed,” Granger cut in, “a tank of any kind would be completely useless in the kind of war we fought. It’s not mobile enough to actually reach a fight before it’s over, and it would be quite easily dealt with by a competent wizard. Even if it were too large to be transfigured into cheese or something similar, a bog could be conjured right underneath it, sinking it in seconds.”

“You need to see the tank first before you can destroy it,” Sirius replied. “We were very good at hiding and preparing ambushes. And the gun will hit an enemy out to two thousand yards.”

“And what if the fight is in the middle of a city?” Ron asked.

“Hermione can turn it invisible!” Luna said. “They’ll never see it coming.”

“They’ll hear it,” Harry replied.

“She can silence it as well! Or shrink it and carry it with her!”

Luna was far too enthusiastic about tank warfare, in Ron’s opinion.

“That’s an excellent idea, Luna!”

And so was Sirius.

“I can’t just wave my wand - if I had one - to turn a tank invisible and silent,” Granger told him. “Well, I could, with serious effort. But that wouldn’t be a proper enchantment. And it might affect the tank’s electronics.”

“But others could do it?”

“Yes,” Granger admitted. “But that still leaves the problem of actually transporting a tank - first through a portal, and then to a hiding place - and it still wouldn’t be useful. Not to mention that driving an invisible tank on the road would be a danger to all the other road users.”

Ron could imagine that. But he could also imagine how enchanting the thing to fly would solve that issue - provided it kept low to the ground to avoid air traffic. And… “How fast could a vehicle fly?” he asked.

He thought Granger mumbled ‘not you as well’ under her breath, but he wasn’t sure. She certainly glared at him, though.

*****​

Two hours later, he licked his lips, took a deep breath, then knocked on the door to her room. “Dr Granger?”

After a few seconds - which felt much longer - he heard her voice. “Yes?”

“Are you decent?”

“That’s a peculiar way of asking if you can enter my room,” came the more than slightly sarcastic reply.

“Is that a yes?”

For a moment, he feared he had pushed too far, but then the door opened, and Granger was frowning at him. She was decent - sort of. Her tank top and shorts were a little more revealing than he was used to from her - not counting his dreams. It also made him, still in his slacks and shirt, feel slightly overdressed.

“Can I come in?”

She scoffed but stepped to the side. Bare feet - no wonder he hadn’t heard her steps.

“I’ll take that to mean yes,” he said lightly as he stepped past her, making her snort.

“So, why did you want to visit?” she asked as she closed the door.

He sat down on the chair at the desk - which was covered in parchment and smiled, if a little weakly. “I came to apologise. I got a little carried away. Sorry.” But who wouldn’t have been enthusiastic about a flying, invisible tank?

She sniffed. “You and everyone else but for Harry and Ginny.” She blinked. “Mr Potter and Miss Weasley, I mean.” Who had retired to Harry’s room shortly after dessert, for obvious reasons.

“You know,” he told her, “we’ve been in three shoot-outs together now. Shouldn’t we start using our first names?”

She laughed at that - though it sounded a little forced... no, reluctant - as she sat down on the bed. “I guess there are a few things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, hm?”

That sounded like a comment with a lot of backstory. “You seem to be speaking from experience,” he told her.

She snorted. “Did I ever tell you how I became best friends with my Harry and my Ron?”

He shook his head. “Not in detail. You were in the same year at your magical boarding school.”

“The same house. But that wasn’t the reason we became friends - well, in a way, it was.” She shook her head. “It started with a troll breaking into the school, and me having a cry in the bathroom...”

*****​

“You fought a twelve-foot-tall troll?” He couldn’t quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.

“I mostly cowered. Ron - my Ron - and my Harry fought it. And defeated it,” she replied.

‘My Ron’ grated on his nerves. It sounded so possessive. Or something. And all that after he made her cry? “And that happened at your school.”

“It was a diversion for an attempt to steal the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“That’s real?”

“Was real. It was destroyed after our first year. At least that’s what we were told.” She shrugged. “It might have been a lie to protect its owner. At the time, we didn’t question it.”

“Dumbledore told you that?” He raised his eyebrows.

“My world’s Dumbledore.” She narrowed her eyes at his expression. “He wasn’t like this one’s.”

“Or was better at hiding it,” Ron retorted.

She bit her lower lip at that, even as she glared at him. He refrained from smirking - it was obvious that she wanted to contradict him, but couldn’t. Not without lying.

“Anyway, that was a horrible experience.”

“Your school years weren’t exactly perfectly safe, either,” she told him.

Pettigrew. He remembered that she’d read about the incident in that stupid magazine. Shrugging, he said: “We were just facing a man. Not a monster.”

Her sniff told him that she wasn’t falling for his attempt to downplay the incident. But she wasn’t pushing, either. He nodded. “Well, I can see why you three became best friends.” Events like that forged bonds. Like combat.

She smiled in return. She looked nostalgic - a little sad as well.

He stood. “Well, I should head to bed.”

She slipped off the bed. “It’s getting late.”

For a moment, they faced each other without saying anything. Ron had the sudden urge to lean forward and embrace her. Instead, he nodded again. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

“Goodnight, Ron.”

He kept smiling all the way to his room.

*****​

No 12 Grimmauld Place, London, July 26th, 2005

Between Harry’s odd hours as a police officer, and Ginny’s career leading to her travelling the globe, they were effectively having a long-distance relationship. Ron knew that. He also knew that neither of them liked it, even though they wouldn’t consider changing careers, either. And he was no stranger to seeing both of them tired but very happy at the breakfast table.

But he couldn’t help envying them. He hadn’t had a steady relationship since Luna - few women could handle his working hours and the danger. Harry was very lucky that Ginny could.

He sighed as he refilled his cup and grabbed The Times.

“Is something wrong, Ron?” Ginny asked.

“Hm?” He raised his head and looked at her, hoping very much that she was wearing something under that robe. Unlike the time she had surprised Harry at home, and Ron had happened to visit as well. She didn’t sound smug, he noted. Which meant this was Ginny trying to help him. Damn. “I’m fine. Just a little tired - I didn’t sleep too well,” he lied.

“Oh?” She looked at the empty spot at the table.

He rolled his eyes. “Not like that.” Not like them.

“So nothing happened?” Harry asked.

Ron frowned at his friend. Harry had been very much occupied, so how had he noticed Ron’s visit? “Did you bug the hallway?”

“Luna didn’t want to disturb you two,” Ginny revealed.

“Where is she, anyway?”

“Checking the net,” Harry replied. “She wanted to catch a friend of hers before they went to bed.”

Ron pressed his lips together. Luna didn’t have friends on the net - she had contacts.

“Don’t try to distract us!” Ginny cut in. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Ron told her. “I just apologised to Hermione for annoying her with our talk about flying tanks.”

“Oh! It’s ‘Hermione’ now?” Ginny smirked.

He rolled his eyes. “There are a few things you can’t share without ending up liking each other...” he started to quote Hermione.

“Oh, really? It’s not the other way around?”

Of course she would misunderstand what he meant! And Harry was chuckling.

Ron shook his head and focused on The Times.

*****​

“So, which shop are we hitting first?” Ginny asked an hour later, as they gathered in the entrance hall. “You have to pretty much buy a whole household, right? For your new home? Clothes, furniture, cosmetics, bedsheets, favourite mug and teapot...”

“Books,” Ron said. He didn’t think A Feast for Crows was out already, but perhaps...

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, nodding.

“Seriously?” Ginny shook her head, though she seemed amused rather than annoyed. “Well, I should have expected that. When Ron moved out, he bought shelves for his books before he bothered buying non-essential stuff like pans, pots and dishes…”

Perhaps she was a little annoyed, Ron corrected himself. “Well, my favourite book shop is on the way to whatever other shops we need to visit.”

“Only if you’re driving,” Harry said.

“You’re not driving with Ginny around,” Ron replied with a grin.

“Hey!” Ginny glared at him.

“And they have all the magazines I need, too!” Luna chimed in, if a little belatedly. Well, she had visited the shop often enough when they were a couple, Ron reminded himself.

“Let’s go then,” Sirius said. “We can take the SUV.”

Which would fit all six of them comfortably and leave enough room in the boot for essential purchases.

“So, are you a fan of fantasy novels?” Ginny asked as they descended the stairs. “Or do you think they are weird, having real magic?”

“I prefer non-fiction books, actually,” Hermione told her.

“That covers a lot since magic has been revealed to be real,” Luna said. “How many fantasy novels could be considered ‘based on a true story’?”

“Those aren’t exactly non-fiction,” Hermione replied.

“Certainly not if written by Skeeter,” Harry added.

And that killed the conversation until they reached the garage. “I’m driving,” Sirius announced. “It’s my car.”

“His replacement tank,” Ginny stage-whispered to Hermione.

“It actually has better all-round armour than his tank,” Luna pointed out. “This car’s got B7-level of ballistic protection.”

“It lacks a gun, though,” Sirius complained. “And it’s not quite as able in rough terrain.”

“Because it weighs almost as much as a tank,” Harry said.

“Speed isn’t armour,” Ron told him. The Royal Navy had learned that at the Battle of Jutland.

“Stop complaining about my car and get in, everyone!” Sirius exclaimed, clapping his hands. “We don’t have all day!”

Ron ended up in the middle row, next to Hermione, with Harry and Ginny in the back and Luna riding shotgun.

“At least we’re not behind the lovebirds,” he told Hermione as they stopped at the first crossing.

She laughed, briefly, and nodded. “Oh, I’ve seen worse.”

He saw her smile fade a little and her eyes unfocus as she remembered - right before a bullet struck the windshield and Luna screamed.

*****​

“What?” Harry all but yelled. She controlled herself better, but she felt the same.

“I said I’m not going into hiding.” Ginny glared at him, hands on her hips. “You haven’t gone deaf over the summer, have you?”

“But…”

Ginny cut him off. “If you can risk your life fighting them, I can do my part, too.”

“You’re sixteen,” she pointed out to the other witch.

“I fought Death Eaters when I was fifteen!” Ginny retorted. “You were there, Hermione!”

She knew that. “But that was before they took over the Ministry. Now they can use the Trace to track you. You’d be a liability.”

Ginny scoffed. “The Trace? Please! Bill got rid of it.”

“What?”

“What did you expect? He’s a Curse-Breaker, and it’s a standard enchantment. Easy to dispel if you know how.” Ginny grinned. “Mum and Dad asked him to do it so I would be able to use magic if I was in danger.”

“I don’t think they want you to risk yourself,” Harry said.

“Tough.” Ginny scoffed again. “I’m already in danger as a blood-traitor. And you need all the help you can get.”

She stiffened. Did Ginny know about their task? How?

“Oh, relax!” The other witch shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re supposed to do. But I know Harry has an important task - I know him, after all,” she added, smiling at the still scowling Harry. “So, I’ll be joining you.”

She shook her head. “No, you won’t!”

“The hell I won’t!”

“We’ve been training for this for a year. You haven’t,” she told her. “You wouldn’t be risking just yourself, you’d put all of us at risk. And especially Harry.” Without Occlumency, Ginny wouldn’t be able to resist the Horcruxes’ effect. Not after what she went through with the diary.

“This isn’t about being able to fight,” Harry explained.

“What?” Ginny exclaimed.

She glared at Harry. He was coming close to revealing their task. Dumbledore had been quite clear about the need to keep it a secret - from everyone.

“Please. You can’t come with us.” He embraced her. “I’m sorry.”

She turned and left them when Ginny started to cry.

*****​