Hermione sat, pouring over her statistics textbook. Why physics graduate students needed statistics, she had no idea. She ranked it with Divinations for her least favorite subject of all time. Well, at least there was a mathematical basis for this, it wasn't just a bunch of people sitting in an attic pouring over tea leaves, and listening to endless droning about how Harry was going to die in some horrible way.

Suddenly, Ron came up behind her, wriggling into her chair between herself and the back. His arms snaked around her. "Hullo," he said.

"Ron, I'm busy!" she giggled.

"So am I. Terribly busy. Doing this." He began kissing her neck below her ear. "And this." He softly nibbled on her earlobe.

"Ron!" she protested meekly. "Your parents will be calling any moment."

"That's alright. Mum's already started after me for grandchildren. I guess she's bored with the ones she has."

Hermione turned and gave Ron a deep kiss, sinking into his surprisingly strong embrace. Two sharp raps on the door broke their revelry. "FBI! Open up!"

Hermione sighed and headed towards the door. This was what she had been dreading...more questions. More questions that had flimsy answers. Her only hope was that they could catch Nikka Fowling and find the documents in her possession, thereby proving that Ron and Hermione were innocent.

Instead of two agents, there were a whole slew of them. It was as if the entire office had taken a holiday and come here. Agents Eppes and Sinclair were among them. "Ma'am, is Ron Weasley here?" demanded Sinclair.

"Um, yes," she said, stepping aside. "But, he doesn't attend university. He's never even been on campus."

"Ma'am," he barked again, "this is official business. I'm going to have to ask you to stand aside." Three men approached Ron, threateningly. Ron took a step back nervously. "Ronald Weasley? You are under arrest."

"For what?" he exclaimed. "I don't bloody well know how things work in America, but in England the person has to have done something to get arrested!"

One of the agents turned Ron around and began to pat him down. "You are under arrest under suspicion of terrorism," Sinclair answered.

"Are you bonkers?" Ron cried as they wrenched his arms behind his back and slapped on the handcuffs. "Terrorism?"

"It's okay!" Hermione called. "I'll raise some money. I'll bail you out."

Eppes walked over to her as they led Ron down the hall. "That's not how this is going to work. As far as we can tell, he's in the country illegally and he's under suspicion of terrorism. There's not going to be any bail and there's not going to be any speedy trial. At this point, we can pretty much hold him indefinitely. Your best option is to cooperate fully with us and we'll see what we can do."

"What is this? Blackmail?" Hermione cried. "I do what you say or you keep him locked up for the rest of his life?"

Eppes leaned a little bit closer to her. "I'm not sure you're really in a position to argue. We found your fingerprint on the lamp. We know you lied. You did a little bit more than go into that office and faint. So I suggest you come with us to the station and we'll have a talk about what really happened in Dr. Fleinhardt's office."

--

Don stood near the doorway of the small apartment and watched the crime lab go over it inch by inch. If there was anything here, they'd find it. Ron was being processed and Hermione was currently being interrogated.

David entered behind Don. "I got the phone records," he announced, holding up a piece of paper.

Don took it from him. "This is it?" he said, surprised by the few calls listed. He flipped to the back of the page. It was blank.

"These calls," David said, indicating a cluster of incoming calls, "were Charlie and Larry trying to get in touch with Weasley when they found Granger. The rest of the calls are all outgoing to the same number. It's Frankie's Pizza on Sixth. Frankie's said they ordered a large pepperoni every couple of days."

"Yeah," Don said, "I've eaten there with Charlie. They have great pizza." He handed the paper back. "Any cell phones?"

"None registered to either one of them."

Don nodded. He secretly distrusted people who didn't have cell phones. He also distrusted people who had them but didn't use them. "We haven't found any in the apartment and neither one had one on them. No computer either."

"Weird," David said. "And that. A fire in the fireplace? It's a pretty warm evening."

"Yeah," said Don. He turned to one of the agents. "Let's analyze the ashes, okay? See if they were burning anything." He looked at the fine for a moment. From there, his eyes went up to the mantle. A small decorative box sat there. Don walked over to it.

Don slipped on a glove and opened the box. A glittery powder was inside. Don had never seen anything like it. He dipped his pinky inside and retrieved a small amount. He touched it to his tongue. It wasn't cocaine or heroin or meth. It wasn't sand or ashes. He gently shook the box and watched the substance move. There was something strange about. It was almost as if it were floating in the box. Larry would probably know what it was. "Let's get a sample of this," he said to the same agent, who nodded.

Don squinted into the fire. Had he just seen, out of the corner of his eye, a head? In the fire? He looked closer. No, nothing was there. I must be overworked, he thought. Now I'm officially seeing things.

"Anything wrong?" David asked.

"No. Nothing," Don answered.