The Granger Principle

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter books or movies. I do not own The Professionals or any of the characters of the show.

Author's Note: This story is set in an Alternate Universe. Therefore, a number of canon events in Wizarding Britain didn't happen or happened differently.

I'd like to thank fredfred and InquisitorCOC for beta-reading.

Chapter 1: The Routine Assignment

South Kensington campus, Imperial College London, London, July 5th, 2005

"And here I thought we'd escaped school for good!" Ron Weasley exclaimed as he looked at the entrance to the South Kensington campus. "But, like in a bad movie, our dark past has finally caught up with us after a scant few years of freedom."

"Very funny," his partner and best mate, Harry Potter, replied. Ron didn't have to look at him to know he would be rolling his eyes. "You know why we received this assignment."

"Bones thinks that it's a safe assignment so you won't end up in the hospital again, forcing her to reassign half a dozen people to cover your absence?" Ron smirked. "She should know better; you've gotten hospitalised on a trip to the supermarket, after all."

Harry snorted. "I recognised and arrested a wanted suspect." And killed two of the man's accomplices, Ron knew, while wounded.

"Well, keep your gun holstered here; Bones takes a dim view of killing students."

"She's obviously too old to remember what they're like," Harry shot back, "or she'd order us to cull the campus of the worst idiots."

"Malfoy graduated in our year," Ron remarked.

His friend snorted in response. "He wouldn't be caught dead in a physics department, anyway. Unless it's to 'pick up birds'."

"Well, not this bird," Ron said, pulling out her picture from his pocket. "She's far too plain for his taste." And probably far too smart, too - Dr Hermione Granger was his age, and already leading a research team at the facility.

"Dash my hopes that whoever took an interest in Ms Granger would turn out to be Malfoy, and we could shoot him in the line of duty, will you?" Harry sighed.

"That would have made this boring job worthwhile." Ron shook his head. "For someone with her past, she certainly leads a very boring life."

"I can understand that," his friend said in a flat voice.

A glance told Ron that Harry had narrowed his eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to wince - he had put his foot in it there. "Sorry." His friend didn't like to be reminded, however inadvertently, of the reason he was famous, at least among certain people in their line of work. "You're not living a boring life, though," he pointed out.

"I wasn't kidnapped at the age of eleven, disappearing for seven years before being found," Harry retorted. "And however unpleasant our school was at times, we weren't tortured and abused."

"She doesn't remember any of it," Ron observed. That had been in the news back then, too, he recalled.

"She claims that she doesn't," Harry said. "Her answers during interrogation weren't that convincing, though."

His friend would have read those files, of course, Ron thought. He had stuck with the CI5 file they had received.

"Do you think she's a plant?" The older officers had told them tales from the Cold War, and what the Soviets had been up to… And it would explain how someone could miss years of formal education during her teenage years and still become a top researcher in record time.

"No. DNA tests confirmed her identity, and her reunion with her parents went off without a hitch. That means she is Hermione Granger. Kidnapping an eleven-year-old girl, then sending her back as a spy and having her become one of the best physicists in Britain? That wouldn't make any sense." Harry shook his head. "But Stockholm Syndrome is a thing."

Ron glanced at his friend again. "You think the kidnapper is back."

Harry slowly shrugged. "They never found out who kidnapped her. So, it's that, or someone's really interested in her work. But experimental quantum physics isn't exactly highly classified work. They could get her findings by buying a subscription to a journal."

"Our orders also specify that we should investigate her," Ron pointed out. One of the most famous kidnapping cases, still unsolved despite the victim having been found? No branch of the police service liked that sort of black mark.

"And we'll do so. If she's involved in anything shady, we'll find out." Harry's tone told Ron that his friend didn't think that was the case, though.

"Well, let's get started, then," Ron said, getting out of their car. "But let's just hope Ginny doesn't catch you flirting with a suspect again."

Harry's comment on that would have made Ron's mum gasp.

Dr Granger really was a plain woman, Ron thought half an hour later, watching her step out of the faculty building in which she worked. And that hair… Though she didn't make any effort to dress up, either - her clothes were boring, straight out of a catalogue for business drones. Even Percy was a sharper dresser. The only item that stood out was an old, beaded bag. The same type of bag, he realised, that she had been found with, back in 1998. Peculiar.

He exchanged a glance with Harry. Granger would be in a meeting with the faculty for at least an hour. Plenty of time to bug her lab and poke around a bit. The two of them stood up from the bench on which they had been sitting and started towards the entrance.

They hadn't taken more than a few steps, though, when Granger looked in their direction - and went deathly pale. He was about to whirl round and look for whatever had spooked her when he heard her stammer:

"Ron? Harry?"

Ron refrained from cursing. How had she made them? Why did she know their names? He was certain they had never met before - something was amiss here.

"I'm sorry? Have we met before, Ms…?" Harry - as usual, smoother than Ron - asked, his head slightly tilted to one side.

Granger shook her head. "No, sorry, I… I was mistaken." Granger smiled, but Ron noticed how tightly she was gripping her bag - her knuckles were turning white. She nodded, then ducked her head and quickly walked away.

Ron watched her go, then looked at Harry. "She recognised us, mate."

"Yes. There must be a leak," his friend replied.

Ron nodded. There was no way Granger would have recognised them unless someone had shown her their pictures. And they wouldn't have done that unless they knew about their assignment. "They moved very quickly," he commented - they had only received their orders the day before.

"Yes," Harry replied. "We need to find the leak yesterday."

Ron knew what he meant. They should alert Bones at once, but that would mean they would be taken off the case. But if they managed to find out how Granger knew… "Bones will blow her lid," he said.

Harry grinned in response.

Ron sighed and shook his head. But he agreed - he wanted to get to the bottom of this himself. He didn't fancy getting ribbed by the other officers about being made by their target, even if it wasn't their fault at all. Well, Creevey would probably be sympathetic - and try to get them to wear his stupid latex masks on their next investigation.

Ron looked at the faculty building Granger had entered. "Think she'll do a runner?"

Harry frowned, then nodded. "I'll take the front."

Ron nodded. "I'll cover the side entrance." They could search her lab later.

"Professor Smith just left the building," Ron heard Harry through their radio. "Their faculty meeting must be over."

"Only an hour?" Ron snorted. "If that's not suspicious…"

He heard Harry chuckle at his joke. "I haven't spotted her, though."

"Alright." Ron was leaning against the wall next to the side entrance - almost impossible to spot from inside the building.

The door opened, and he tensed, but it was only a couple of students. They stared at him, startled, and Ron flashed his cigarette. Smoking was a great cover to be hanging around outside a building. Not that he smoked, of course. Mum would have his hide and Ginny wouldn't let him hear the end of it, either. But a lighter could come in very handy. Had done so on a very memorable occasion that Bones still brought up when she was mad at them.

He flicked some ash off the tip and watched the couple leave. If Granger wasn't climbing out of a window, she'd have to use this door or the front one.

And there she was! He spotted her brown mane at once when the door opened again. A moment before she saw him - she hadn't walked out, but stopped, he noticed.

He nodded at her. "Ms Granger." Harry would hear him as well, of course.

"Doctor Granger," she corrected him, raising her chin. But he saw her glance around at the other people nearby before she left the building. Checking for witnesses and potential help? It wouldn't be unusual, given her traumatic past.

He pushed off the wall and joined her with a few quick steps. "Going back to your lab?" he asked, to let Harry know they were moving.

"What's it to you?" she shot back.

"Your work sounds interesting," he said.

"Really?" She couldn't have sounded more doubtful if she had tried.

He knew that tone. Greengrass had sounded exactly like that when he had asked about her math class. Ron grinned widely at Granger. "Experimental quantum physics? That sounds like Star Trek!" he declared as enthusiastically as he could.

Judging by the glare she sent him, she didn't like getting mocked. Well, he didn't like her attitude. He was no genius, but he wasn't stupid either.

She sniffed and looked straight ahead, then froze for a moment when she spotted Harry coming towards them from the other side. "The laboratory is off-limits to non-faculty members," she said. "There's a security guard."

They were still thirty yards away from the entrance, Ron noticed. She must feel threatened, he realised, despite her attitude. He made a decision and reached into his jacket. Then he saw her eyes widen as she tensed up, and cursed himself. "We're the police, Dr Granger," he quickly said before she could try to run. He slowly pulled his ID out. "Criminal Intelligence 5. We have a few questions for you."

He wasn't entirely surprised that this didn't seem to reassure the woman.

Ron ignored Harry's glare - their cover would have been blown anyway as soon as Granger yelled for help and they were mistaken for kidnappers. And Ron was certain that the woman would have done so; she had kept an eye on the nearby potential witnesses the whole time. "How about we visit your lab for a more private talk?"

She pursed her lips, and, for a moment, Ron expected her to demand a warrant and refuse to cooperate, to make a scene. But she nodded, if rather curtly. "Don't touch anything," she told them, "some of the instruments cost more than your salaries for the next ten years - combined."

"We're paid a little more than the average police officer," Harry said.

"I assume you are," she retorted. "But these instruments are very expensive and quite delicate."

"Should we break something, I'll buy you a new one," Harry shot back with a scoff. Ron knew his friend didn't think his money meant he was better than anyone else, but Granger's snippy comments and attitude were a little too close to Malfoy's snobbery, at least in Ron's opinion.

Granger didn't seem to be impressed, though. "I'll expect to be reimbursed for the time lost waiting for the replacement parts to arrive as well," the woman said with a sniff as she opened the door to her lab.

"No Tardis?" Ron joked as they entered a rather narrow hallway. She didn't laugh, but the way she jerked… well, perhaps his first joke hadn't been completely off the mark.

And the laboratory proper… It didn't quite look like it had been lifted straight out of Dr Who, but it certainly looked far more interesting than he had expected. And the faint smell of ozone hinted at rather large amounts of power being used.

"My office is over there," she said, walking at a brisk pace.

She obviously didn't want them to look around. Which, of course, made Ron want to look around. "What's this?" he asked, pointing at a large frame made of metal.

"A quantum mirror cage," she replied. "Don't touch it."

He was about to ask what it did when he noticed her faint smirk. "So you do have a sense of humour," he said with a grin.

She pursed her lips again, frowning, and held the door to her office open without a further word.

Ron wanted to poke the 'cage', but Harry nodded and entered the office, so Ron followed him.

The office was more cluttered than he'd expected of the prim and proper Dr Granger. Almost chaotic, and he would have sworn that she was the type to organise her pencils three times a day. But her desk almost broke under stacks of paper and… "Parchment?" he asked, reaching out towards a scroll.

"Don't touch that!" she barked. "And, yes, it's parchment. One of the only copies of Flamel's notes."

"Flamel?"

"A famous alchemist," she replied, and he thought he caught a hint of a smirk and something else before she schooled her features again. "But you aren't here to talk about history, are you?" She leaned against her desk and crossed her arms.

"We're here for a few reasons," Harry replied. "Someone's interested in you or in your work. Someone with ties to the underworld."

Most would comment on that. Granger, though, tilted her head slightly, silently waiting for Harry to go on. Quite a cool reaction for a kidnapping victim.

Of course, Harry upped the ante. "It could be the same person who kidnapped you before."

That made her flinch. "And you're here to protect me?"

Harry inclined his head.

"Well, I guess additional security won't hurt."

Ron really didn't like her dismissive attitude. "We're also wondering why you knew our names."

"I read a news article about you two when I was looking for the best school to finish my education," she replied. "Two boys helping to catch a wanted criminal? That kind of feat tends to be remembered."

She met his eyes without flushing. Her reason was sound - catching Pettigrew certainly had made the news for a few weeks, and their school had milked it for all it had been worth, so it wasn't too far-fetched that Granger would have read an article about them while looking into schools.

But Ron didn't believe her for a second. She had been shocked when she had spotted Harry and him. She had recognised them, even though they had been kids at the time. And she had used their first names.

He glanced at Harry, whose expression told Ron he had come to the same conclusion. "I see," Harry told her. "That explains it."

A hint of a smile appeared on her face for a moment. "Thank you."

"There's still the issue that someone dangerous could be interested in you or your work," Harry went on.

"I don't think theoretical quantum physics attracts the kind of attention you suggest," she replied.

"I wouldn't go that far," Ron cut in. "Quantum computers are supposed to render all our electronics obsolete. If your work can help with their development, a number of corporations would be willing to spend a great deal to gain access to your research."

Her eyes widened for a moment, and Ron felt irked again. Who did she think he was, an idiot like McLaggen?

But she was already cool and collected again. "In any case, that's your problem now, isn't it? Sorry, your assignment."

"Our assignments don't come with the option to refuse them," Ron told her. He hid his grin at the flash of anger his veiled barb caused.

She raised her chin again. "Well, I've got work to do. Feel free to guard me."

And with that dismissive comment, she sat down and started shuffling papers.

Ron exchanged another glance with Harry. He really didn't like this assignment.

Apparently, Granger didn't believe in finishing her working day at a decent time. It was now ten pm, and she didn't seem like she was going to stop any time soon. Ron was tempted to ask her if she planned to spend the night in her lab, but refrained from doing so. She probably would do it just to spite him.

After all, the woman had heated up an MRE when Ron had offered to get her a takeaway while getting some grub for Harry and himself. Granted, he had been a little sarcastic, but it had been an honest offer.

MREs… who in their right state of mind would voluntarily eat those? Just to save some time? Granger wasn't a workaholic; she was a workaddict.

"That's not a word," he heard her mutter, half-hidden behind several stacks of paper.

"It'll be one, once the editors of the Oxford English Dictionary hear about you," Ron shot back.

"My hours aren't exceptional at all," she retorted. "Many of my colleagues have similar work days."

"They probably don't want you showing them up," Ron said.

Instead of a biting comment, she snorted. Dear Lord, he had been joking!

"Besides, you're one to talk," she said. "Your friend is sleeping so he can take over for you later."

There had been a minuscule pause before the 'your friend'. What had Ganger wanted to say instead? 'Harry'? Ron shrugged. "We're just doing our job."

"And you think I'm not?"

He almost said that he thought she had no life - but that would have been cruel, given her traumatic past. "I think you're overdoing it a little."

That earned him another snort, and he didn't know why.

"What exactly are you doing?" She hadn't used any of her oh-so-expensive and fragile instruments. She had just made notes. Lots and lots of notes. And with a pen, not even on her computer.

"I'm doing calculations."

"For?"

"Calibrating the quantum mirror cage."

He snorted. "Funny. What are you really doing?"

"I just told you."

If she wanted to play games… "And what does your quantum mirror cage do? Break down the barriers between the dimensions and let the lizard people invade?"

"What?" She seemed more than a little surprised.

"You never watched 'The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai', did you?"

"My interests don't extend to cheap science fiction movies," she replied.

"You've never seen Dr Who?" He took care to sound suitably shocked.

"That's a TV series."

"And that makes all the difference!" He laughed - of course she'd watched Dr Who. What swot like her wouldn't? "So, do you prefer the classic series or the new one?"

"I prefer to think of it as a single series that had a lengthy hiatus," she replied.

"Ah." He couldn't think of a funny comment. "You've got taste, Dr Granger," he said after a moment.

"Thank you," she said, hesitating as well, or so he thought.

She wasn't scribbling down notes any more, either, he noticed. He couldn't resist. "Are you finally done?" he asked. "Since we are here to keep you from harm, we were about ready to drag you out of the lab before you collapsed and got crushed under an avalanche of paper…"

"It's good to know you're a police officer, Mr Weasley," she replied. "Since you wouldn't be a good comedian."

"Ouch!" He put a hand on his chest. "Your wit cuts to the bone. The funny bone."

"You'd have to have one for it to be cut."

Once more, he swallowed a comeback - 'you must have been the life of the party in your teens' - because of her past. "So, are you done for the day?"

"Might as well go home. You're too distracting."

From anyone else, he'd have taken that comment as an invitation to flirt.

Greenwich, London, July 5th, 2005

"You live alone?" Harry asked as they got out of the car near Granger's address.

"Don't you already know everything about me?" she replied.

"Contrary to popular belief, the police do respect your privacy," Harry snapped.

She snorted. "Took you long enough. I felt like a prisoner for a long time after my escape - the police just didn't want to let me go."

"You were a special case," Harry retorted. "And your kidnapper is still at large. Of course we'd try everything to catch them."

She snorted.

"So… do you live alone?" Ron asked.

She looked at him. "Yes." Her expression dared him to comment.

He didn't.

They reached her door. It was an old, cosy-looking building. Three floors, one flat per floor. Granger turned to face them. "I'm leaving for work at half past seven. Just so you don't have to waste your time waiting outside my flat."

"We were planning to wait inside your flat," Ron said.

"The kind of people whom we suspect to be 'interested' in your work could easily break into your flat," Harry added.

"They might have done so already," Ron went on, "and be waiting inside for you to return."

"Really." She gave them a flat stare. Then, after a moment, she sighed. "Whatever - I'm too tired to argue with the professionally paranoid. Let's go. And don't forget to check under the couch for assassins!"

She mumbled something like 'stupid overprotective louts' under her breath, or so Ron thought, as they climbed the stairs to her flat on the second floor. He shook his head behind her back - academics were the worst people to protect. They always thought they knew better than the professionals. Until they were proven wrong, of course.

Although, Ron couldn't help thinking when he spotted the burly man, pistol in hand, moving to block their way, Granger didn't have to be proven wrong quite so quickly. He grabbed her at once, pulling her back and behind him as he drew his own gun.

At the same time, Harry, gun in hand already, yelled: "Police! Drop your weapon!"

The man didn't, so Harry dropped him with a quick double-tap to the head.

Ron turned at once, checking their rear and covering Granger with his body.

Not that she appreciated it. "Take your hands off me!" she snapped behind him.

He ignored her. One man, moving so openly? That screamed 'ambush'. But he couldn't see anyone else.

"Let me go!" Granger yelled.

"We need to get her to safety!" Harry snapped.

Ron nodded, letting his friend pass to check the next floor. "Stay close," he told Granger before releasing her - thankfully, she didn't seem to be panicking.

She scoffed in return, but he was busy sending a message to headquarters to report the shooting. People would have called the police already after hearing the shots - it wasn't the kind of street where that would be ignored - but it was best to avoid misunderstandings. Shooting a police officer in self-defence because you were mistaken for a criminal didn't do wonders for your career prospects.

"Clear!" Harry reported from below.

"Let's go!" Ron moved to guide Granger down the stairs, but she was already moving towards Harry.

That wasn't how civilians reacted to a shooting, he noted. But he had no time to ponder it - they had to get out of here.

"I'm on the ground floor," he heard Harry through the radio. A few seconds later, he and Granger joined him.

"Let's take the back door." If anyone was waiting outside, they would be easy targets.

For a change, Granger didn't comment or protest as they moved through the hallway to the back of the house. The garden behind it was lined with hedges - they'd provide some concealment.

"Left," Harry whispered. That would lead them towards their car. But they had to cross a few fences and hedges.

Ron's phone vibrated. He checked - it was Scrimgeour, Bones's right hand. "Help's on the way," he told Harry. "We can fort up in the hallway and wait."

"No." Harry shook his head. "If there are more of them, we'll be at a disadvantage."

"Crawling through hedges it is," Ron said with fake cheer.

"And breaking and entering afterwards, to pass through my neighbours' houses, I assume," Granger added.

"Exactly!" Ron beamed at her. "You do this often?"

"Can the comedy act," Harry snapped before Granger could reply. "Let's go!"

Ron swallowed his comment about his best trousers getting ruined and motioned for her to follow Harry. He'd be bringing up the rear. "Leave the bag," he told her. "It'll snag on branches."

"I'm not going to leave my bag!" she hissed.

"Suit yourself," he shot back before he remembered that she had had the same bag when she had been found. Another one of his gaffes.

A few minutes later, they had passed through three almost identical gardens, and both Ron's trousers, as well as Granger's, had been completely ruined. Her hair looked even worse now, too, though she didn't complain. And she had kept her bag from snagging on any branches. He was tempted to ask again if she did this often, but Harry motioned towards the back door.

It didn't take him long to pick the lock, and a minute later, they were at the front door, Harry, who somehow looked the most presentable despite having led the way, peering out.

"Car's right across the street," he whispered.

Ron sent Scrimgeour an update. The response came quickly.

"We're to stay put," he told Harry. "Reinforcements are almost here."

"Lost too much time going under the hedges," Harry said. "Moody'd have our hide."

"Moody?" Granger asked.

"Our old instructor," Ron replied. Harry, of course, was glaring at him for that minor breach of security.

"Ah."

Ron was tempted to tell her that Moody was the best damned police officer in England and that his training had saved Harry and Ron's lives several times, but that wouldn't have been a minor breach of security any more. He still loathed her dismissive attitude.

About a minute passed in silence until they heard the sirens, and Ron started to relax a little.

"So much for a safe, simple assignment," he said. "Must be your fault," he added, nodding at Harry.

Granger's snort seemed to surprise her as much as it did Ron and Harry.

By the time Scrimgeour arrived and took charge, the Metropolitan Police were already busy keeping reporters away from the crime scene.

"Look at the vultures," Ron heard Harry, who was watching through the small window in the door, mutter.

He snorted. "Vultures would have some decency."

"I take it that you've had bad experiences with the press," Granger commented with a slight frown.

"You might say that," Ron replied. "There were a few journalists who took Harry's refusal to give interviews as a personal insult."

"Bloody muckrakers," Harry said.

Ron expected Granger to pry - she seemed the type who couldn't leave something alone until she knew everything about it - but, to his surprise, she merely nodded. Of course, she had had her own experiences with the press, and more recently. He frowned when a disturbing thought came to him. "Better not be seen together, or the Daily Mail will claim you're having an affair." Two semi-famous people with tragic pasts, put together? The tabloids wouldn't be able to resist.

"Damn!" Harry spat. Granger didn't say anything, but judging by her expression, she clearly agreed with the sentiment.

"Scrimgeour won't throw you to the press," Ron said. Partially because the man wanted all the publicity for himself so he could succeed Bones once she was promoted or retired.

"I should certainly hope not!" Granger cut in. "I would rather not suffer further disruption to my work due to the press."

Harry snorted. "They'll find your name soon enough. One of your neighbours will let something slip."

"I'm aware of that," Granger replied with pursed lips. "But that's no reason to make matters worse."

"You're not seriously expecting to go back to work any time soon, are you?" Ron asked. "If we hadn't been with you, you'd have been…" He trailed off. It wouldn't do to trigger her. Even though he really wanted to rub in the fact that they had been correct about her being in danger.

"I'm aware of that, thank you," she snapped. "But I won't hide in some hole and leave my work unfinished!"

"You won't be able to do any work if you're dead or kidnapped," Harry retorted. "Until this situation is resolved, you'll be in protective custody."

"I most certainly won't be locked up 'for my own good'!" She bared her teeth. "That is out of the question!"

"Do you really want to risk your life just so you can continue with your work?" Ron asked.

Granger pressed her lips together and glared at him, and he couldn't help thinking that her reply, if voiced, would have been 'yes'.

The woman was mental.

CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 5th, 2005

Bones looked like she always did when working - deux-pièce, pressed sharp enough to serve as a weapon, not a hair out of place and her weird monocle seemingly glued to her face. So much for the rumour that she had been asleep when Scrimgeour called her.

"So, Dr Granger recognised you at first sight." Bones steepled her fingers and leaned forward a little, looking Harry and Ron over. "And you didn't then see any reason to inform headquarters at once."

Ron didn't flinch. But he couldn't help growing tense in the face of Bones's icy glare.

Harry, though, shook his head. "We didn't want to jump to conclusions. As it turned out, she had found an article about Pettigrew's arrest when she was investigating schools to finish her education."

Bones's expression didn't change. "And do you think she was telling you the truth?"

"We found no evidence to the contrary," Harry replied. Ron didn't look at him, but he hoped his friend wasn't smiling. That never worked on their boss.

"That's a textbook evasive answer, Potter," Bones said. "You're not on trial," she went on, "so don't try and of your sophistry. Tell me what you think of her explanation."

"It wasn't too convincing," Harry admitted, "but not enough to bring her in."

"Not by a long chalk," Ron added.

"Arresting Granger would be ill-advised," Scrimgeour cut in.

Bones glared at him. "I'm not in the habit of allowing politics or the press to dictate how we enforce the law."

Scrimgeour nodded in response. Of course, everyone knew that politics mattered. And that the press mattered in politics. Which was why good money was on Scrimgeour succeeding Bones sooner rather than later.

Bones scoffed. "I should take you off the case." Which meant she wouldn't. Ron refrained from smiling. Granger - the case - intrigued him. "But you've established some sort of rapport with Dr Granger," their boss went on, "which is more than anyone else investigating her case has ever managed."

And didn't that paint a lovely picture of the woman? Mental, indeed. Or, Ron added to himself, she had something to hide. Probably both.

"Yes, ma'am." Harry nodded, and Ron felt like sighing as Bones glared at them again. His friend should know better than that.

"So, you keep protecting her and investigate her as much as you can without compromising your primary assignment. Now, put her up in the guest quarters for the night and get some sleep!"

Ron struggled not to wince. That wouldn't put Granger in a better mood. And once she realised that they were repurposed holding cells...

Meanwhile, Bones turned to Scrimgeour. "Rufus, you're in charge of the case."

"Yes, Amelia." Ron saw the man's eyes widen just a smidgen as he nodded - he had probably expected Bones to take over. But was that a sign of trust and favour, or was she using him as a possible scapegoat in case this blew up in CI5's face?

Probably both, Ron thought. Bones might scoff at politics, but you didn't rise to her position without knowing how to navigate them.

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

"Ron! I heard everything! Harry got into another shoot-out!"

Ron barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Four hours of sleep weren't enough to face Colin Creevey first thing in the morning on entering CI5 headquarters.

"So, what happened? Did he try to kidnap Dr Granger? Do you think he was working for the original kidnapper? Perhaps there's a ring of paedophiles behind it, and they want to silence the only victim that got away before she recovers her memory!"

"That sounds like something straight out of the Daily Mail," Ron replied with a frown. "And watch the speculation - at least while Granger's here."

"Oh!" Colin blinked. "She's still asleep in the guest quarters, don't worry."

Ron frowned. "You didn't violate her privacy by spying on her through the security cameras, did you?"

"Ah… I only checked if she was awake?"

Ron sighed. "And why did you do that in the first place?" Colin was a lab technician and computer wizard, not a guard or psychologist.

"Are you kidding? She's the most famous kidnapping victim in Britain! And someone just attempted to kidnap her again! What if the trauma caused her lost memories to resurface?" Colin shook his head wildly. "We could finally solve her case!"

Ron narrowed his eyes at the other man. "Delete all the recordings you took from her quarters."

"How did you… I mean… why?" Colin blinked at him.

"Because you didn't get a warrant." Ron sighed. If Granger ever found out… "So, did you identify our kidnapper?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, we did." Colin nodded. "Harry didn't damage the face too much and we ran his fingerprints through our database and got a hit: Vincent Crabbe. Former member of the Welsh Guards. Dishonourable discharge in 2003, after he and a friend were caught working as guards for local smugglers in Bosnia during SFOR."

"Looks like he decided to make a career of it afterwards," Ron commented. "What's the name of his friend?"

"Gregory Goyle."

Ron made a note. They would have to look up the guy, in case he was involved.

"So… where's Harry?" Colin looked around. "You usually arrive together."

"Wimbledon's over, so Ginny's got some time off," Ron told him.

"Oh, I see." Colin slowly nodded. "Of course…"

"Yeah," Ron said. He didn't want to see Colin mope on a good day, and this wasn't a good day. "Have you finished your report already?"

"I'm waiting for the autopsy," Colin said, perking up.

"Send me what you have." Ron doubted that the autopsy would add anything to the case - they already knew how the man had died, after all.

"Alright, I'll… Oh!" Colin pulled out a vibrating cell phone. "Dr Granger's screaming."

They were coming for her. From her cell, she could hear footsteps on the stone stairs. She tried to steel herself. She could take it. They wouldn't break her. They wouldn't. She could take it. She wouldn't break. Not now. She would be saved. Someone would be coming for her.

Then she heard the giggling and trembled. Her. The madwoman. No. No. No. She was panting. Before she realised what she was doing, she found her back pressed against the cold stone wall, as far from the door as she could manage.

The sound of heels hitting the stone floor grew louder. And the way they… was the woman skipping?

She swallowed, shaking now despite her efforts to control herself. She could take this. She had to. She couldn't break. She wouldn't break. She wouldn't break. She would go insane before they broke her.

Why was it taking so long? She knew how long it took them to reach the door of her cell from the stairs. Was the woman dragging it out deliberately? Increasing the psychological torment? That would fit, of course.

She felt something run down her cheeks. Was she crying? She shook her head, biting her lower lip and wiped the tears off her face. She had to be brave. She wouldn't break. Not now. Not ever.

But then the door to her cell was pulled open, and she whimpered at the sight of the cackling madwoman smiling down at her.

"Hello, my little mudblood!"