A/N: First off, a Merry Christmas and/or Happy Holidays to you and yours.

This is a Christmas gift for my beta, Maria Binger. I'm debating adding two chapters, for which I have a couple ideas swimming around my head, but since I didn't have the time to put them down just yet I thought I would get this out for Christmas. I can hit a deadline!

Also, I've never written this pairing, nor have I ever written NCIS before. Be kind, and enjoy.

"I hate these things," Timothy McGee grumbled, straightening his bow tie and sitting at a spare seat at the table containing all his co-workers.

"Don't have one for yourself," warned Gibbs, smiling and taking a sip from his beer.

"Don't worry about that," he grumbled.

"Relax, McGeek," Tony DiNozzo smiled widely, clapping him on the back before he took his seat. "As the bride's brother you mean exactly nothing to this wedding because your job of threatening any man who dares threaten your sister's innocence and virtue are over. You failed mis…"

Ziva slapped the back of his head.

"Thanks, Ziva," Tim smiled.

"Anytime," she promised. "You made it through the ceremony. The hard part is over."

"The hard part has yet to come," Tony corrected her. "It's a wedding. 'Tons of opportunities to meet gorgeous ladies who are so aroused by the thought of marriage that they'll throw their inhibitions to the wind'. Wedding Crashers, Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn. Two men who…"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs interrupted.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Shut up."

"Sure thing," he cringed.

"You are a groomsman," Ziva said, brushing some lint off Timothy's shoulder. "And you don't have to make a speech, no?"

"No, thank God," Tim sighed in relief.

"Then enjoy yourself," she said.

"Excuse me," a soft voice cut in, and Tim turned to see a beautiful woman wearing a wine-colored dress standing next to him. His breath hitched as he looked her over; she had warm chocolate eyes, soft brown curls framing her face, and the dress was cut low enough to draw the eye of several nearby men, especially Tony, but not so low it was inappropriate. Just above the neckline he could see an old, thick scar but she wore a shorter necklace to draw eyes away from it.

"You must be Hermione Granger," the woman said.

"What?" he asked, looking around, then his eyes fell on the table card for the seat he was in, and saw it bore that name. "Oh, no," he said, jumping up out of the chair as quickly as if it had burned him. "I was just sitting there. You know, talking. I was just… That's not my name."

"Pity," she said with a smile. "I've never met someone else named Hermione, and I was so hoping today might be the day."

"Well, I, um… I guess if you are, it's not going to be me," he stumbled, wincing at how the words came out.

She looked at him expectantly for a moment before saying, "Maybe I should call you that? Or are you going to tell me your proper name?"

"Timothy McGeek… er, McGee," he replied, offering his hand.

"You already know I'm Hermione Granger. You must be Sarah's brother," she said, shaking it.

"I am. Are you a friend from school?"

"No, I'm actually a step-cousin of the groom."

"Oh. James didn't mention he… um, that he, you know, had cousins."

"Step-cousin. It tends to happen when one's aunt marries a man with two children," she chuckled.

"Yeah. I know," he said, trying not to cringe at himself. "I should probably just stop talking."

"I kind of like you talking," she smiled, but before he could reply he felt someone tap his shoulder.

"It's time to do the entrance," the DJ informed him.

"I, um, I gotta go," he smiled nervously at Hermione.

"Nice to meet you, Timothy," she smiled back.

He started walking out of the ballroom, and looked back towards Hermione. Tony had taken over his spot, and was holding the seat out for her. Tim felt a bubble of jealousy build up inside him, but he didn't have time to go back and say anything. When he entered the room again he was relieved to see that Ziva had seemingly refused to give up her seat next to Hermione, and despite Tony's best efforts to get her attention Hermione was smiling over at him. He managed a smile back before nearly running into his great-aunt's chair.

The dinner and speeches took up the next hour, and he didn't have a chance to get out of his chair until after the first dance. As couples filled the dance floor Tim returned to the table, but Hermione wasn't there, though he was relieved to see Tony was, looking distinctively irritated.

"Looking for Hermione, McGoo?" Tony asked as Tim came over.

"No, yeah. What?" he replied.

"Tony tried all through dinner to impress Miss Granger, but she gave him the cold elbow," Ziva told him with a smirk.

"Shoulder, David!" Tony snapped. "She should have had the decency to mention that she doesn't own a TV and hasn't seen a movie since she was thirteen before we were half done with our entrees."

"I think she tried to get you to stop, but you lack the capacity to realize when a woman is completely disinterested. After that, I think she got a kick of you looking like a jackass."

"You need to stop getting those phrases right," he grumbled.

"I like her," she smiled as she nodded towards Hermione, who was dancing with James. "There's something about her. I can tell she's been a fighter, but she hasn't let it get to her. That's not easy to do. It's something special," she added before forcing Tony to take her out for a dance.

Tim found himself watching Hermione dance, smiling when she smiled. Several times he made a funny motion to go towards her, but each time his brain would refuse to give the order to his feet to move. He tried having a conversation with her in his head, but he couldn't even make that sound anything but awkward.

"McGee!" Gibbs snapped, appearing at his side.

"Yes, boss?" Tim said, straightening up, wondering briefly what he had done.

"Go cut in," he ordered softly but firmly.

"Right away, boss," he said, moving stiffly towards Hermione until he was right next to her.

"Um.. do you, I mean would you…?" he started.

"I would love a dance," Hermione said, giving James a kiss on his cheek and sending him back towards his bride. She placed a hand on Tim's shoulder, and motioned for him to take her waist. When he seemed unable to move she gently started leading him.

"Your friends told me you work for NCIS?" she started.

"Yes. I'm a field agent there, and part of the Major Case Response Team."

"What does that entail?"

"We go out to crime scenes, collect and process evidence, and solve the case."

"You make it sound so simple," she smiled.

"It is, well, it's not always simple. Most people don't sign their names to crime scenes or anything, but once you do the same things several times it becomes second nature to do them. Plus it makes it easier to think ahead when Gibbs is your boss."

"He seems the strong and silent type," she nodded. "I'm assuming he's a no-nonsense type of boss."

"We deal a lot with murdered sailors or Marines. As a former Marine he never takes the death of one lightly," he told her.

"I understand. Murder is never something to take lightly."

"Someone could tell Tony that," he grumbled.

"He is a character," she rolled her eyes.

"He can be," he chuckled in agreement.

"Does he ever stop talking about movies?"

"No. And if you ask him to he'll probably think of a movie quote as to why he should watch more movies."

"I would think that people in your profession would need an escape."

"Yeah," he replied softly.

"May I ask what yours is? What does Timothy McGee like to do when he's not out catching bad guys?"

"I do a little writing..."

"Ziva mentioned that as well. She said you were a published writer."

"Yeah, I have a couple books out there," he said modestly.

"She said they seemed very familiar to her."

"Yeah, I just… You see, I write… They're kind of similar to my co-workers."

"As in based on?"

"Kinda," he muttered, then quickly asked her what she did to change the direction of the conversation.

"Law enforcement as well," she replied vaguely.

"Are you a cop, a detective, a federal agent, parole…?"

"A detective of sorts," she replied.

"And do you live in the area?"

"I have a little place to stay nearby," she replied, again with no offer of elaboration.

"Well, where is it that you work?"

"Government," she said simply, and normally red flags would be going up at her lack of any type of information in her answers, but for some reason he felt like she was telling him as much as she was allowed, that there was some big secret she was holding. For a brief moment he wondered if she was part of the CIA or MI6.

"A woman of few words," he observed.

"Some men prefer their women to say few words."

"Not me," he shook his head. "I think it's important for two people to be able to communicate freely."

"Of course," she said as the song ended.

"My turn," Sarah said, appearing at his side.

"You can't say no to the bride," Hermione smiled, stepping out of Tim's embrace and shooting him a soft smile before disappearing into the crowd. When he was done dancing with Sarah he went searching for Hermione again, but didn't find her until Sarah and James were saying their goodbyes before climbing into their getaway car.

"Some party," he heard her voice say behind him, and he spun around to see her standing in the shadows.

"Yeah," he smiled. "Some party."

"Walk with me?" she asked, offering a hand and gazing towards a dimly-lit path that wound around a fountain, past a gazebo and ended with a couple benches overlooking a small pond.

"Sure," he replied, and she took his arm and allowed him to lead her onto the path and away from the sound of the crowd starting to disperse.

"You said you stayed near here, but do you live near here or do you just come visit on occasion?" he asked.

"I stay here, but I have no reason to call it home. More a flat that is convenient to my workplace," she shrugged. "I still keep a place across the pond, as you might say. Close to my friends and family."

"Why would you come over here if your friends and family are back there?"

"I woke up one day and realized I was working at a place that, a few years prior, had done their damnedest to discredit and harm my friends and myself. And when we were proven right they hired us and tried to cover up the fact that they had ever spoken ill of us. And that didn't settle well with me. So I looked over here, and was immediately hired by… pretty much the equivalent, though this one had nothing to say but positive things about me, and agreed with my assessment that my former employers were self-serving prats."

"You know most governments are so-called self-serving prats, right?" he asked as they said sat in the gazebo.

"Yes, but the people I work for now know how to kiss my ass and recognize my genius," she said with a wide smile he couldn't help but return.

"How long have you been in the area?"

"A few months."

"Made any friends or anything?"

"I work my arse off. I haven't had much time or energy for socializing, not that I'm against it. I honestly never met James before today, my aunt is more my Mum's second-cousin, she just took me in for a couple weeks until I got a place of my own and apparently there was a shortage of family on the grooms side, so they took what they could get."

"I see," he said, trying to sort what she had just said in his head. "Well, I'm glad you came over, and glad you agreed to come to the wedding."

"I am, too," she said, gently placing a hand on his knee.

"And I would, you know, love… I mean like to see you again. Maybe just show you a few things to do in the area."

"I'd like that," she nodded.

"Are you free next Friday night?"

"I'll make sure I am."

"Great. So, I'll see you then?"

"Of course," she said, biting her lip. Then, before he realized what she was about to do she leaned forward, catching his lips with hers. Surprised he only had a couple seconds to register what she was doing and realize he was really enjoying it, but too soon she was pulling away and standing up.

"I'll see you Friday, then," she said, giving his hand a squeeze before turning and walking down the steps and towards the pond.

He watched her go when he suddenly realized something. "I need your phone number or e-mail or something to contact you."

"Check your breast pocket!" she called over her shoulder.

He fumbled inside his jacket and pulled out her seating card. Underneath her name she had written her number. He could not remember a moment where she could have possibly put the card there.

"How did you…?" he looked up, holding up the card, but she was already gone. Smiling to himself he replaced the card in his pocket. It wasn't until late that night he realized that she had walked the opposite way of the parking lot, and there were no apartment buildings for miles in that direction.