Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and Harry Potter do not belong to me.


July 29, 2009 (10:45pm)

"I love that reaction," Harrison's voice was teasing, jolting Derek and the others out of their astounded stupor.

"What was that?" Emily gaped at the two men.

"Apparation," Agent Moffat said evenly, "the near instantaneous transportation between two points. I'm afraid I must apologize, Agent Jareau. To expedite bringing Ms. Garcia here I garnered the image and location of her office from your mind."

"You read my mind?" JJ blinked in amazement.

"Just a cursory scan, when you thought of the office back in Quantico." Moffat admitted. "Legilimency is not a common branch of magic and a strict discipline to master. Not many Wizards are capable of it, so there is little to fear of psychic assault."

"Wizards?" Hotchner arched an eyebrow stoically.

"There are going to be a thousand questions you will have that we could spend the next several months answering," the magical agent explained. "But as this is a pressing matter, perhaps for the time being, I'm hoping we can accept that "magic is real" and carry on."

"Maybe just one more demonstration, Agent Moffat," Harrison suggested with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Very well," the man sighed, and a moment later had transformed into a fully grown snow leopard. The animal let out a throaty growl when Penelope all but cooed at it, and quickly reverted back his human shape.

"Okay, that was pretty cool," Derek muttered.

"What can you do, Mr. Evans?" Penelope asked eagerly, turning her bright eyes toward him expectantly.

"Right now, not a hell of a lot," he answered with a frown. "My core is damaged, so my magic is basically hibernating while it repairs itself."

"Damaged?" Spencer eyed the man with concern.

Harrison swallowed noticeably. "My wand was snapped."

"A wizard, or witch, uses a focus to tap into their magic." Moffat explained to the agents, and with a subtle flick of his wrist a slender, smooth, carved piece of wood fell into his palm. He held it up for them to inspect. "Some use staffs, or crystals, but nearly ninety percent of the world's magic users utilize a wand. They are made of natural and magically enhanced woods and their cores can be any number of components. It's said that no two wands are exactly the same just like no two people are exactly the same. When a wand chooses the witch or wizards it's because the innate mage of the various components of the wand are compatible with the natural magic of the individual. The longer a wizard possesses a wand, the more in tuned it becomes to their magic, the more a part of the user's magical core it becomes."

"Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather core," Harrison told them with a sigh of regret. "It was the wand that chose me when I was eleven years old. I'd had it for nearly eighteen years. When it was snapped it broke the connection between it and my magic."

"Weakening you and leaving you vulnerable to your abductor," Hotchner speculated to which the younger wizard nodded.

"When I'm at my peak I am capable of some small wandless and silent casting" He held out his hand toward the phone across the room and a small card of paper made it half way to his palm before it fluttered to the floor, leaving him pale and with sweat on his forehead. "But, as you can see, I'm a little off right now. I summoned Agent Moffat's card from upstairs less than an hour ago and I still feel like I've been run over."

"You shouldn't have done that," Moffat said quietly, flicking his wand and sending the card back next to the phone. "Any healer worth their magic would tell you no magic for at least three days." He pointed his wand toward the direction of the kitchen. "Do you have any pepper-up potion in stock? Or is there any chocolate in the house?"

Everyone looked at the man incredulously. Harrison chuckled softly. "That's no to the potion, but there's eighty percent dark chocolate on the second shelf in the back of the pantry. Be careful, or you're likely to summon the entire stock."

The American wizard nodded and muttered, "Accio Chocolate," and a few seconds later several large bars floated through the living room and into Moffat's awaiting palm. He unwrapped one and handed it to Harrison.

"Why chocolate?" Prentiss asked as the weary man snapped a piece off and placed it on his tongue.

"Theobroma Cacao, or Cacao tree, is actually a magical plant indigenous to Mexico and South America," Moffat explained to them. "The seeds, bark, roots, and leaves are used in several common healing and calming draughts. The process of fermenting, drying, then grinding the cacao seeds to cocoa mass – pure chocolate in rough form – it's actually a magical formula that has been adapted and assimilated by non-magical society."

"Have you ever wondered," Harrison said, not looking as peaked as previously, "why you feel better or lighter after eating even a single bite of chocolate?"

"It's been proven that when eating chocolate it releases the same endorphins in the brain as sex," Spencer provided factually.

"Yes, but why is that?" Harrison quirked an eyebrow at that and placed another piece in his mouth.

The young genius opened his mouth to respond but apparently had no answer. Reid look consternated while both wizard's laughed lightly.

"Back at the situation at hand," Moffat motioned to the files and papers that had been placed on the coffee table centered between them all. "There's a lot that can be explained and questions answered with the knowledge of the magical world. Between Harrison and me we will be able to touch on the pertinent parts."

"Like 'Muggle-Born'?" Derek questioned. "Harrison called the victims that when he looked over the files."

"Over the last few centuries, European magic users have become obsessed with Blood Status," Moffat began the explanation.

"There are three classifications," Harrison continued. "Purebloods are those whose parents were both magic users as were all four grandparents. Of course, in Pureblood circles, the more generations back you can go the 'purer' you are. A Half-Blood, like me, is a witch or wizard who had one or more parent, and/or grandparent, who were non-magical. For the record, my maternal grandparents were not magical. If I were to have a magical child with a Pureblood or another Half-Blood then that child could claim to be a Pureblood."

"The politically correct term of the third," the magical agent told the others, "is First Generation Magic User, which is exactly what it sounds like: a magic user who is the first in their family history to possess magic. However, in most European countries they still use the derogatory term of 'Muggle-Born", where a 'Muggle' is non magical."

"And does this blood status actually mean anything?" asked Hotchner.

"Not in the least," Harrison admitted. "Pureblood, Half-Blood, or First Generation, your blood does not determine your magical abilities."

"Special Schools around the world approach any magical child on their eleventh birthday," Moffat carried on. "By this point, the degree of magical control over their own core is enough that they can begin studying the ways of magic without damaging the still developing core. A witch or Wizard will attend school for seven years before they move on into apprenticeships or employment in the magical world."

"There are some," Harrison clarified, "who for one reason or another, leave the magical world and return to the mainstream world."

"Like you?" Penelope prodded gently.

The Chocolatier nodded but did not elaborate.

"It'll take time to corroborate," Agent Moffat told them, "But if what Harrison suspects is true, then all of your victims were once members of the Magical Community. Their magic naturally makes them charismatic individuals, and grants them several advantages in the non-magical world. So long as they did not break the laws regarding secrecy they could, for all intents and purposes, disappear from the Magical World by integrating themselves completely in the non-magical."

"All of them were very successful," Spencer reiterated. "Lawyer, Actor, Politician, entrepreneurs; all of them were in the top of their fields. You're saying they accomplished this by utilizing their magic?"

"Take me, for example," Harrison leaned forward in his chair. "When I first returned to non-magical society, I was woefully unprepared. By using skills I learned in magic, I was able to study more efficiently, remember things better and quicker. When I went on to Culinary School, my background in potion brewing gave me an understanding of how and why ingredients work together as they do. I was able to incorporate some of those techniques into my work while still maintaining the Statute of Secrecy."

Moffat had been riffling through the casefiles on the coffee table and pulled one to the top "Another example: The Lawyer. He would be able to use Legilimency to read the immediate thoughts of his clients or a witness. Drops of Veritaserum – an unbeatable truth serum – in a cup of coffee or soda would reveal the truth in seconds. Mild compulsion charms, to a jury or a judge, while not even remotely ethical, would be minor enough not to garner the attention of Magical Law Enforcement agencies."

"All spells, charms, hexes, potions, everything we are taught in school give us a – I'll admit – complete unfair advantage against those who can't use magic." Harrison confessed. "I'm not ashamed of my heritage, or my abilities, but they're not something to be advertised in Mainstream society. Not only is it against the law, but it could lead to the exposure of the Magical World and lead us into another era of Witch Trials and Burnings."

"No matter the individual," Moffat went on, "any magic user returning to Mainstream Society will hide their magic at all costs."

"So how would Justin Hill – and his father before him – have known about Magic and how to identify someone with magic?" Rossi raised the all important question.

Agent Moffat looked over to the older BAU agents. "You may be familiar with the Terrorist attacks throughout the UK in the 1970s?"

"I was in high school at the time," Rossi nodded.

"For obvious reasons," the other agent explained to them, "it was never revealed that the terrorists were led by a man – a Wizard – who was calling himself 'Lord Voldemort'. His real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, a half blood who believed himself a descendent of one of the four greatest wizards in European history. In October of 1981 he was gravely injured and went into hiding. His followers were either arrested or went to ground. In the spring of 1994 he resurfacing and his terror campaign started again."

"Riddle was a megalomaniacal psychopath who blamed his non-magical father for the death of his mother and his abandonment to an orphanage. And, after killing his father and grandparents, decided the world was going to be his oyster no matter the cost to everyone else around him." Harrison shook his head disgustedly. "Under the persona of Voldemort, he was able to prey on the aristocracy of the Wizarding world who believed in the purity of blood and their own importance. He gained followers, hundreds of Death Eaters as he called those loyal to him, some of them rich and powerful in the magical world and so able to further extend his influence."

"When Harrison contacted me about Alisabeth Hill nee Carrow," Moffat said to the group, "I agreed with him it was possible that she was a squib sister to two known Death Eaters that followed him in the Seventies and again when he came into power again in the Nineties. I had my office begin a magical background check on Alisabeth Carrow, and I won't know anything for a few more hours yet, but after I explained the possibility to my superiors it was easy to get you the necessary clearance for this debriefing. If she was related, this is a breach of the statute of secrecy and will come under jurisdiction of the MCA."

"What's a squib?" Hotchner asked curiously. "It sounds derogatory somehow."

"That's because it is," Harrison agreed. "A squib is someone born to a magical family yet incapable of performing magic. It's a mark of shame on almost all Wizarding families, particularly those who view themselves as Purebloods. Some of the darker families have been suspected of killing their non-magical children rather than having the stain on their family name. Most, however, disown those children and abandon them in the non-magical world. The only problem is that these kids don't know how to survive in that world and more often than not end up dead or in situations like Alisabeth's."

"The Carrows," Moffat explained for the other agents, "were a very dark family. They readily followed Voldemort during both wars. They believed that only the Purebloods were worthy of magic and anyone of non-magical origins or mixed blood were lesser beings that deserved to be wiped out. They murdered, raped, and tortured with impunity."

"If Alisabeth was raised in that kind of environment," Spencer extrapolated, "she may have grown up resenting 'Muggle-Born' magic users. They were lesser creatures to her and yet they possessed the one thing she desired most of all – magic. Her resentment may have manifested into violent tendencies as she aged and it's probably safe to assume she was killing any she came across while living as a prostitute."

"We'll never know if she did," Harrison told them with a shake of his head. "That was during a time when the Death Eaters were at their strongest and hundreds of non-magicals, first-generations and half-bloods were killed. Any that she may have been responsible for would just have been lumped in with the rest."

"This is all well and good, and explains a lot of questions we still had about the killer," Rossi said bluntly, "but how does all this help us find Hill before he makes a second attempt at you, Mr. Evans?"

"Emma Tinkerton," Harrison sifted through the papers on the coffee table and withdrew the youngest victim's file from the mess. He dropped it on top and pointed to it. "She was thirteen years old when she went missing two years ago, meaning she was still in school. Nine month out of the year, maybe ten, she would have been away at boarding school. So, sometime between the end of June and when she went missing in August is when she would have garnered this son of a bitch's notice."

"Talk to her parents again," the magical agent suggested. "Find out where she went, who she talked to, I'll go back to DC and look into any potential underage or accidental magic incidents. This girl is going to be the key to finding out who Hill is masquerading as."

: - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - : - :

Derek shifted on the surprisingly comfortable sofa at the soft sounds coming from the kitchen. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he tried to regain his bearing.

The impromptu meeting of the minds had come to an end several hours ago after a plan of action had been agreed upon. Garcia had been giddy when Agent Moffat took her back to Quantico via magical teleportation, undoubtedly the only one of the BAU to accept the reality of magic with such ease. For the rest of them, well, it was hard to deny what they had seen with their own eyes.

A faint clinking sounded again in the kitchen and the agent grabbed his weapon from its place on the coffee table before he made his way to the room. Harrison had explained that there were 'wards' and charms in place around his house that kept his home secure and only those that had been invited in or had the key could gain access. Still, Derek had the safety off but the gun pointed down with his finger off the trigger, and carefully pushed the door open.

The homeowner was standing next to a gas stove, a ceramic spoon stirring slowly in a small pot while he was adding flakes of shaved chocolate into the pot. He glanced over his shoulder at the FBI agent when the man stepped into the kitchen.

"Sorry," he said quietly, despite them being the only two in the house. "I hadn't meant to wake you."

"Couldn't sleep?" Derek asked gently as he tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

Harrison shook his head and admitted, "Too tense, I suppose. I thought some hot chocolate might relax me. Would you care for some?"

"So would this be considered a magic potion?" He asked the wizard with a wry grin, and was rewarded with a small smile from the other man.

"If you want to get technical," he answered. "Though it tastes better than any other potion I've ever had. It must be the lack of eye of newt and Bubotuber pus."

Derek chuckled and moved to lean against the cupboard next to the Chocolatier. He watched the other man for a moment before speaking again. "I realized something, after everyone else left and you retired, supposedly, for the night."

"What was that?"

"You never explained your role with Riddle," the older man said cautiously. "Or what made you leave the world of Magic behind and rejoin us normal people in the mainstream world."

"It was simple, really. I died."

Thinking the man was joking Derek wanted to laugh, but then he saw the look Harrison's face. "Care to explain that one to me? You died?"

Harrison stopped stirring the spoon and reduced the blue flame beneath the pot. "I never finished my magical education. Riddle had won and had taken over the British Magical Government, his first step before moving on to the Non-Magical Government. I spent what would have been my seventh and final year in a tent and on the run with two of my best friends. Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and I had information on how to destroy Voldemort and we were the only ones that knew about it. Undesirables Numbers Two, Three and One, respectfully.

"We were so close to finishing it and ready to face him when we had to return to Hogwarts – the Magic school in the UK. Except Voldemort learned we were there and came after us with everything he had. We ended trapped inside the school with a small student led resistance. He had more than a thousand wizards, witches, and monsters at his beck and call, while our side barely had a hundred. We fought, valiantly, but we were still losing. Then Riddle gave those trapped in the school with us an ultimatum. They had one hour to hand me over to him or everyone would die."

Derek was horrified at the thought and had to ask, "They didn't…?"

With a shake of his head, Harrison reached for the spice rack next to the stove. "I offered, but they wouldn't hear of it. So, they all started planning, trying to shore up what defenses were left and getting the younger years out of the castle. Only thing was, Dumbledore's spy was able to pass information to me before Voldemort killed him. That's when I learned about a magical connection between Riddle and myself. So long as I was alive, he couldn't die."

"How did you remove the connection?"

"There wasn't time to figure it out," he told Derek softly as he added a few spices to the pot. "And there was only one way I knew of for certain that would sever the link between us."

There was a heavy silence between them as Derek understood. "You gave yourself up."

Harrison nodded and started stirring again. "I left before anyone could stop me. I walked out of the school, into the surrounding forest, and right into Voldemort's camp. He didn't waste any time in hitting me with a killing curse, and I was dead."

"Magic can do that?" the agent gaped. "Bring someone back from the dead?"

"No, nothing can do that." The Chocolatier reduced the blue flame again and removed the ceramic spoon. He turned fully to Derek. "The connection was created when Riddle first tried to kill me when I was toddler – only fifteen months old. He'd murdered my parents but something my mother did caused Riddle's killing curse to fail horrifically and rebound on him."

"The injury in 1981 that sent him into hiding for thirteen years," Derek recalled from Agent Moffat's comments earlier.

"When he shot me with the second killing curse that night in the forest he really had killed me but he also killed that connection to me.

"Except, at the end of my fourth year I had been abducted by a pair of Riddle's followers. My blood was used in a ritual to heal Voldemort and bring him back to power. When he did that, he inadvertently created another bond between us. His now mortal body kept me tied to this plane of existence. As long as he was alive, I had a choice: I could move on to the next great adventure, or return to my body. I couldn't very well leave him to go after what remained of my friends so, I came back."

His green eyes were haunted, lost in the remembering, and Derek didn't push for more. After a moment, Harrison spoke again.

"The battle was… horrible," he said, turning off the element and removing the pot from the burner. "Our side lost so many, but then again so did theirs. In the end I defeated the man. I sometimes wish I had let someone else do it, but in that moment I became the most idolized Wizard in all of Britain."

"Is that why you left?" Derek asked, watching as the other man reached for two large mugs in a nearby cupboard.

"I put up with it for almost two years," Harrison told the agent, dividing the molten beverage. "But it wasn't just the notoriety and fame."

"Kidnapped four times in six months?" Derek accepted the warm mug and quirked an eyebrow when Harrison moved to the table and sat on the edge.

Harrison nodded and took a sip of his cup. "There were factions of Death Eaters that had escaped the final battle – some marked, some not. But, it wasn't just Voldemort's followers. There were attempts at my life from people on our side of the war too. They saw me as too powerful; said that since I defeated the Dark Lord I was going to become the next one."

"That's ridiculous!" Derek exclaimed.

The man took a longer drink of the chocolate then placed the mug on the surface of the table. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "I will be the first to admit, that yes I was a bit more powerful than the average witch or wizard, but my lack of training and the fact that I only every survived by luck was never taken into consideration. They saw me as their savior and expected me to fix everything. Or they were afraid of me and wanted to take that preemptive strike. Or they blamed me for their failures and wanted me dead. There was no middle ground: Love me, or hate me."

"So what happened?" Derek asked, placing his untouched mug beside him. "Two years is a long time to put up with all that."

"I could deal with it as long as the people I cared about knew the truth, and I though they did." Harrison took in a shaky breath and let his hands fall into his lap as he stared at them. "But the last time… I had been in Diagon Alley, the Wizarding World's shopping district, with Ron shopping for my fiancé's – his little sister – bride gift. We were getting married in just days and it was probably the happiest I had been in my life. We were ambushed by some of Riddle's remaining followers. They were trying to capture me, not kill me, and they were getting some lucky shots in. They had managed to pin us down in the apothecary shop and one of their spells caused a chain reaction of the ingredients in the shop. The explosion…"

The silence that descended was heavy and Derek had to swallow the lump in his throat at the sight of the tears glistening in vivid jade eyes. "Your friend was killed?" He asked in a careful whisper.

"Ron had leapt on top of me," Harrison choked and a tear fell onto the back of his shaking hand, "when he saw the trajectory of the spell. He pushed me to the ground and took the brunt of the explosion. He saved my life, but at the cost of his own."

Derek watched the distraught wizard take a deep breath and wipe at the moisture in his eyes before reaching again for the mug beside him and taking a deep drink. The agent waited as the man collected himself and when the conversation began anew it was with a steady voice.

"Hermione had been engaged to Ron at the time," Harrison told Derek. "She was… disappointed that I had survived. I couldn't blame her, then, and I still don't. She sided with Ginny – Ron's sister – when she first postponed our wedding and then outright cancelled it. They were both angry with me. Most of the Weasleys were angry with me and even now I can't bring myself to be upset about it. I was supposed to be this great Wizard and I couldn't even save my own best friend from a couple of has been dark wizards."

"You said it yourself to that Granger woman," Derek reminded him gently, "you're only human."

"Yes, well, that Granger woman had the full support of the Weasley family when she told me I should leave England – for my own safety of course."

"And that's why you left?"

"Partly," Harrison took another drink and sighed. "But it was what I learned about two weeks after we buried Ron that was the final straw. I was out in Mainstream London when I was arrested-"

"Arrested?! What the hell for?!"

The younger man chuckled. "Nothing, actually. I was taken to Her Majesty the Queen. She had been trying since the final battle to speak with me, but the Ministry of Magic kept giving her excuses and all attempts through the Wizarding world were refuted. It seemed that the Magical Government was determined to keep me under their control and didn't want me having anything to do with 'unimportant muggles'."

Derek couldn't help but smirk. "I'm sure that went over well."

"Like a ton of bricks," he sighed. "I had tried to stay out of politics after the battle, but in the conversation I had with The Elizabeth I learned that the Minister of Magic was using my votes in the House of Lords for his own political agenda. I spent days as a guest of the Royal Family, while the Queen and Prime Minister cleaned house in the Wizarding world. By the time it was over, I was once again persona non grata and completely fed up with everything. When The Elizabeth offered me an out, I took it.

"I became a Ward of the Crown, claimed my titles, cleared my Godfather's name, changed my name, and went back to school. I spent eighteen months as an honorary member of the Windsor Family and it was hard to leave. William took the longest to convince," Harrison wore a fond smile and chuckled again. "Even then I had to promise to call him at least once a month, visit twice a year and allow him to visit me wherever I was whenever he wanted. He's very possessive of those he sees as family since his mother died. I'm sorry I never got the chance to meet her; I heard she was a wonderful woman.

"But, back to the topic at hand, I settled my affairs and went abroad. I've stayed out of the Wizarding world as much as possible, but I've kept in contact with Neville and Luna Longbottom, friends I had from school, and Minerva McGonagall, one of my former professors and current Headmistress of Hogwarts. Your victim profile of me should have told you what's happened since, as it's all been in Mainstream society."

Derek was shaking his head in amazement and picked up his still full mug of now cooled chocolate. "All that and before you were twenty; I'm amazed that you're still sane!"

Harrison outright laughed at that. "Who says I am?"

Derek joined him with a soft chuckle and took a slow drink from the cup in hand. His eyes widened and he licked at a drop at the corner of his mouth. "Wow, this is really good. Dare I ask what's in it?"

"Half and half cream, fifty percent dark chocolate, a little bit of vanilla, cinnamon, dhania and a pinch of chili powder."

The older man took another drink and smirked. "No eye of newt or Bubotuber pus?"

"Maybe next time."

Derek snorted and shook his head, savoring his next sip before speaking. "Do you really use things like that in potions?"

The man nodded. "Venoms, blood, leaves, body parts; everything and everyone contains a bit of magic and every bit of that is useable in potions and other rituals, to an extent."

"Even us 'Muggles'?" he inquired, genuinely curious.

Harrison got up from his chair and picked up his cup, taking it to the sink. "In your line of work, have you ever had a sense, a gut feeling, about someone or a situation? Like, you just knew that you or someone you cared about was at risk or in danger? Or that you could trust a perfect stranger implicitly with your deepest secrets and you would keep there's? There was no reason for it, no evidence that it was true, you just knew it intuitively? That's your innate magic warning you."

"But everyone has those moments, not just cops or FBI agents."

"True," the wizard agreed. "And that just proves what I said: everyone has a bit of magic in them. Some people are more aware of it than others, like Mainstream psychics or those paranormal investigators."

"A lot of those people are quacks though," Derek pointed out, finishing the last of his beverage. "They fake it all."

Fair enough," Harrison conceded and took the empty pot from the stove and the cup from the agent. "What about falling in love?"

"You're saying love is magic?"

"It's probably the most powerful magic there is," the other man shrugged with a smile. "Have you ever fallen in love with someone the first moment you met them?"

"Love at first sight?" Derek scoffed. "You're telling me that it's magic?"

"Somewhat." Harrison nodded. "Magic… it's been theorized that magic is, in some ways, sentient. In the Wizarding world magic can form a bond between two people in an instant. Their magics are compatible and their offspring will almost always be more powerful than the parents. It's been speculated that Magic is trying to strengthen itself in a world where the Mainstream and technological aspects of it are steadily eliminated the magical element."

"You're talking about soul mates?"

Harrison laughed, "No, nothing as clichéd as that! In a world of more than six billion people, what are the chances that you would actually find that one person? No, Agent Morgan, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of people that you are compatible with. That's why the human species is capable of falling in and out of love. Magic, however, can sometime take the guesswork out. It can draw you to someone you would never have considered as a potential lover or spouse."

"Has that ever happened to you?"

"Oh god, yes!" Harrison blushed and turned back to sink as he ran the hot water. "When I left England and went over to Switzerland, I was completely satisfied with heterosexual relationships. Then I met Anders Niklasson. He was one of my instructors at the culinary institute I studied at. He was more than twice my age and, at first, it horrified me that I was attracted to him! However, he was one of the kindest men I have ever met and so very easy to fall in love with. It was because of him that I realized why my relationships with women were never as effortless."

"Why is that?"

Steam radiated up from the sink as he rinsed the dirty dishes. "Every woman I was involved with, save one, was soft and, for lack of a better word, weak."

"One?"

"Ginny," Harrison admitted and turned off the water, leaving the semi-clean dishes in the sink. "I would have lived a very happy life with her if we had married. She was probably the only woman in the world it would have worked with."

"Why is that?"

"Because, after everything I had been through, I needed someone who was strong and capable of taking care of him or herself as well as me when I needed it. The night terrors and flashbacks were never for the faint of heart, and even now a lot of the men I've been with weren't able to handle it."

"So your magic looks for someone who can 'handle it'?" Derek glanced over at the other man. "Does the magic draw them to you as well? Are they even aware of it?"

"You mean, is it consensual?" Harrison asked. "Always. Just because I, and my magic, am attracted to someone doesn't mean that they reciprocate. It's never forced on either side. If I had not been open to the idea of Anders and me as a couple, and had he not been open to it, it would never have happened. All the magic does is make you aware of the possibility."

"So the… electricity I feel when I touch you… is that what it feels like?"

Harrison paused and after a moment of shocked silence he took a slow breath. "Agent Morgan, what is exactly that you've been 'feeling'?"

Derek shrugged. "The morning we found you, it was like a build-up of static electricity. One minute, it was there and the next it was gone. It's happened a couple times whenever I'm around you, or touch you. Is that what it's like when you're magic draws you toward someone?"

"Sometimes," the wizard admitted. "You could just be more sensitive to magic than you realized. With my wand gone, and my core healing, my magic is a little erratic. You may be just picking up on that."

"But is it?" Derek pressed. "Or are you feeling it as well?"

With a sigh, Harrison turned to him. "Are you gay, Agent Morgan?"

"No."

"Are you attracted to me?"

"Do you mean do I find you attractive? I'm comfortable enough to admit that you are rather good looking."

"Thank you, but I meant what I said. Do you find yourself attracted to me?"

There was a pause before Derek answered. "I don't know."

Harrison closed the scant distance between them until there were only a few inches separating them. Before Derek could react, the smaller man had raised himself onto his toes and pressed his lips against Derek's. The kiss was soft, unassuming, and lasted only a few seconds. It did, however, sent a jolt of something through his body which coiled pleasantly in his gut.

When it ended, Harrison took a step back, allowing the somewhat stunned agent the moments to collect his thoughts. When Derek looked at the man again, there was a warm smile on the other man's face.

"My magic tells me I can trust you; otherwise I wouldn't have told you what I did tonight," Harrison said quietly with a small bow of his head. "Thank you for the conversation, Agent Morgan, when this is over and done with, you can walk away and never look back with a story to share with Penelope."

Before the agent could respond the other man left the kitchen and Derek could hear the soft footsteps climbing the stairs. Derek was left with the same stunned expression on his face wondering, what the hell had just happened and did he want it to happen again?