My beta-readers, fredfred and InquisitorCOC, deserve a huge thank you. They helped a lot.

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 Met."

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 false 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."