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

Chapter 4: The Inside Job

Kingston Upon Thames, London, July 8th, 2005

Ron entered Granger's room with his gun drawn, looking for a threat. There wasn't any. But thanks to the light from the hallway, he could see Granger sitting up in the bed, hands furiously wiping her face. Though there was nothing on her face. And she was panting. He could see her chest heaving.

A panic attack if he had ever seen one. Or a flashback, part of his mind whispered.

She blinked, finally noticing him. "Ro…" She broke off, swallowing. "Officer Weasley," she said, more calmly.

"Dr Granger. Nightmare?"

She nodded. "Yes." Her hand rose, almost touching her left cheek before she dropped it again.

Harry arrived a moment later, wearing his trousers and not much else. He looked at Granger, then at Ron and sighed. "False alarm?"

"I had a nightmare," Granger said. She was staring at Harry's chest, Ron noticed. Most people did when they first saw his scar.

"I wasn't hit by a cannon," Harry told her in the same slightly annoyed tone he always used when explaining his infamous mark. "It was a normal gun - the scar just grew with me."

"Ah." Granger didn't ask any questions and stopped staring at Harry. Only one person had reacted like that in this situation, as far as Ron knew: Luna, when she had met Harry swimming a few laps in the pond at Ron's home. And Luna was pretty much the antithesis of Granger.

He glanced at his friend and found Harry looking surprised. Perhaps even a little disappointed that Granger wasn't pushing for more details - Harry didn't like talking about the events that led to him getting the scar, but he liked telling off nosy people. Well, it seemed that Granger wasn't going to give him the opportunity.

"So…" She was looking at him. "You have ascertained that I merely had a nightmare and am not in lethal danger."

Ron nodded. "Yes."

"Then there's no reason to stay in my room any longer, is there?" She pulled her sheets up as if Ron had been staring at her. He hadn't, though - not that she was naked, in any case; she had taken a nightie from the safe house's stock.

"No, there isn't," Harry agreed, glancing at Ron.

Ron merely nodded curtly and left the room. "I don't know what's wrong with her," he said in a low voice once they were back in the hallway. "She goes from scared to considerate to abrasive inside of a minute."

"There's nothing in her file about any mental health issues - apart from trauma related to her kidnapping," Harry said, heading back to the bedroom.

"Whoever examined her might have missed something. Or it could be a recent development," Ron replied. "When I went in, she was about to call me 'Ron', and a moment later, she was all distant."

Harry stopped at the door and looked at him. "She was about to call you 'Ron'?"

"Yes." Ron knew what he had heard.

"Are you able to read minds now?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "She said 'Ro…', then stopped."

"That's not very conclusive," Harry retorted. "Could have wanted to call you a rotten bastard."

Ron chuckled at that. "Perhaps she did," he admitted. But he didn't think so. "Anyway, we should…" He blinked. Had that been…?

"That was the alarm we placed on the door," Harry confirmed. "Someone's breaking in." And they hadn't triggered the regular alarm.

"Could be a burglar," Ron said as he pulled his cell phone out. The cover story claimed that the house was unoccupied for long periods, and the special curtains kept the lights inside from showing outside. A burglar might think the house was unoccupied.

No signal. That was… "Someone's jamming the cell phones." No burglar would do that. Moody had been right again - always expect the worst, Moody liked to say, and so far this assignment had been one mess after another.

Harry cursed.

"Get your shoes and get Granger, I'll cover the stairs," Ron whispered, already moving towards them.

A moment later, he was crouched at the top of the stairs, pistol aimed at the door below. Any moment now… Behind him, he could hear Harry go into Granger's bedroom.

It took a little longer for the perps to pick the lock than he had expected. Harry would have gone through it in half the time - and he wouldn't have triggered the alarm. Whoever this was, they hadn't been trained by Moody.

Then the door was pushed open - slowly - and the first thing Ron saw was the muzzle of an AK-47. Definitely not a burglar, then. And not - as had happened before to a CI5 team in a safe house - Met officers investigating a possible burglary that the neighbours had reported.

No need to call out a warning, either, against that kind of firepower. When the head of the criminal, face covered by a ski mask, appeared, Ron squeezed the trigger and fired a 9 mm bullet into it. The man dropped dead in the doorway, his assault rifle clattering on the ground. Pushed by the falling body, the door swung open, and Ron spotted someone moving outside, but they took cover before he could snap off another shot.

What would they do now? They had lost their point man and the element of surprise. Smart criminals would retreat in this situation. But smart criminals didn't carry Russian assault rifles. Or murder police officers with sniper rifles.

Footsteps behind him! He glanced over his shoulder. Harry was in the doorway of Granger's room, with Granger herself behind him. She looked like he had dragged her out of her bed - still in her nightie, but clutching her bag. Nice legs.

He focused on the door again. "Got one," he said in a low voice, "but there's at least one more outside."

Harry pulled Granger down at once. "We need to get to the car."

Which was in the garage. They could reach it without leaving the house, but going down the stairs would put them into the field of fire of a sniper covering the front of the house. And Ron would bet that the same man who had murdered Scrimgeour was out there.

"Someone has to have heard the shot and called the police," Granger said.

"Cell phones are jammed," Harry replied. "They wouldn't have forgotten to sabotage the landlines either."

"Who would be able to do that?" she asked.

"The same sort of people who could find out which safe house we picked," Harry replied.

Granger's gasp told Ron that she realised who Harry meant.

Traitors within CI5.

Something flew through the door, trailing flames, and hit the floor in the entrance area, shattering. A moment later, flames sprang up.

"They're trying to smoke us out," Ron yelled, squeezing off two shots in the general direction of the door - just in case the enemy was planning a charge.

"Where's the fire extinguisher?" Granger asked.

"Don't!" Ron heard Harry yell. "They'll be waiting for us to go down so they can shoot."

"But they want me…"

Ron cut her off. "Even if they want you alive, they won't expect you to be first and will shoot anyway."

Below, the fire was spreading. He could already smell smoke. They needed to get out of here - but the enemy would be waiting for them.

"We need to get to the car," Harry repeated himself.

Ron agreed. It was their best chance - as far as they could tell, since the alarm they had placed there hadn't gone off, no one had broken into the garage yet. They just needed to get down to the ground floor and into the garage without getting shot.

He heard glass shatter, and the flickering light below grew stronger. Someone had thrown another petrol bottle into the living room. Time was running out. "The fire extinguisher!" he yelled.

"What?" Harry and Granger asked, but Ron was already running past them, towards the corner of the hallway. If it was… yes! It was a powder extinguisher!

He grabbed it and sprinted back. "Harry, grab Granger and follow me! I'll cover us."

"What? But you said they'll…" Granger started.

Ron ignored her and pulled the trigger on the extinguisher, quickly covering the stairs, then the entrance area, in a thick cloud of fine powder before holding his breath and sprinting downstairs. They wouldn't be able to shoot if they wanted Granger alive, but if they wanted to kill her…

He reached the ground floor without stumbling or getting shot and sent a powder cloud out the door, then covered the hallway and stairs again before moving towards the garage.

A shriek behind him made him stop, but a moment later, Harry yelled: "I've got her, go on!"

Ron reached the entrance to the garage, dropping the sputtering extinguisher and entering the garage with his pistol out again, quickly covering and checking the area while taking a deep breath. "Clear!" he announced as Harry arrived, Granger in tow. Both were covered in white powder - like Ron himself.

Harry let go of her hand and rushed to the driver's side of the Audi while Granger bent over, coughing and wheezing.

"Come on!" Ron told her, grabbing her and all but stuffing her into the car. He spotted someone moving in the hallway through the thinning clouds of powder and fired off two more shots, pushing the car door closed with his hip.

Another shot for good measure followed, then he jumped into the passenger seat as Harry gunned the engine.

Ron managed to pull the armoured door closed a second before Harry crashed through the opening door, wrecking it and their paint job. "Get down!" he yelled.

Granger shrieked as shots rang out, armoured windows getting covered in shallow craters where bullets failed to penetrate the glass - mostly on Harry's side, Ron noticed.

His friend put the car into a narrow turn, narrowly missing a parked SUV, and Ron felt the slight shock when one of their tyres got shot. That wouldn't stop the car, though, certainly not with Harry behind the wheel. Ron's partner accelerated and drove the Audi down the road. A far too tight turn round the closest street corner later, they were clear.

That didn't mean that they were safe, of course. Ron pressed his lips together as he started to come down from the adrenalin high of combat, reholstering his pistol - after a tactical reload, of course.

"How did they find us?" Granger asked. "Who knew that we were there?"

That was the crux of the issue. "No one outside CI5 knew of that safe house. Even fewer knew we were there," Ron said.

"There's a leak, then. Probably the same leak that caused Scrimgeour's death." Granger went on.

"It's possible," Harry agreed.

Granger scoffed. "Do you honestly think that you have two leaks in your organisation?"

If CI5 had been penetrated by two different organisations, they would be the laughing stock of the police service, Ron knew. Worse than they already were, of course - many would love to see CI5 taken down a notch or two. Especially the Met - Bones and Scrimgeour had a tendency to run roughshod over them when solving a case. And Ron would be lying if he claimed not to have enjoyed their special status at times.

"In either case, I don't trust CI5 any more," Granger went on. "As an organisation. You two are above suspicion, of course."

"Why, thank you for the vote of confidence," Harry drawled.

Ron chuckled.

"You saved me twice," Granger replied. "But I worry about my parents."

"And you don't trust Yaxley," Ron said.

"No, I don't. But I don't have any logical reason for my suspicion."

"Female intuition?" Ron joked.

Granger snorted at that.

"We'll have to call Bones. We can trust her - if she were compromised, she would have simply replaced us with other agents," Ron said. But would Bones know who to trust?

"And we'll need burner phones," Harry added.

"Pardon?"

"Too many know our cell phone numbers. Any traitor would be able to track us through them," Ron explained. "They'll be tracking us already, but Harry's driving too fast for them to find us."

"Ah."

Harry had to stop at a red light. "Yes. But that's only a temporary solution. Call Bones and fill her in."

Ron pulled out his phone. He had a signal again.

Soho, London, July 8th, 2005

Ron checked carefully for any tails or witnesses before he approached the rental lockers near the hostel and Tube station. He didn't spot anyone suspicious, though, before he reached the locker they had rented - on Moody's advice. Ten seconds later, he was walking away with a sports bag in hand. Just another young man coming home late from a trip.

He snorted - it was a little too late at night for that.

"Trouble?" Harry asked as he approached the side alley where his friend was hiding with Granger - they were slightly underdressed for clubbing.

"No," Ron replied, putting the bag down and opening it. "Let's get you two dressed." They'd have to get one of their weapon bags, later - whoever was behind this had too much firepower to rely on their pistols. Bones would loathe it, but they had no choice.

"You've got female clothes in the bag?" Granger sounded sceptical.

"Unisex," Ron replied with a grin, handing Harry a phone and pocketing one himself. "You can wear some jeans and shirts of ours. Might be a little loose on you, though."

Granger nodded. "I'll manage."

For a certain definition of 'manage', Ron thought a minute later. Ginny wouldn't have been caught dead wearing rolled-up jeans - even Harry's were far too long for Granger - and a loose shirt. Well, not so loose in the chest, he noticed. Though it wasn't as if he were staring - but as a police officer, he was trained to notice details.

"So, Bones said to 'lay low and contact her in a day or two'," Harry summed up as they were walking down the street five minutes later. "We've already ditched the car with our phones." Well, they left it in a car park. Bones would recover it from the Met. "Which means we're on our own for now."

"Seeing as you have a private getaway bag hidden in London - and I doubt that you only had one - I assume that you're prepared for this," Granger commented.

Ron chuckled at Harry's pout. "We've got a few options," his friend said. "You might not like them."

"I'll manage," Granger replied, patting her bag. Did she expect them to go camping for a few days and rely on her MREs?

"Good, since you're the weak link here," Harry told her with a grin. "We've got fake IDs for ourselves, but, obviously, not for you. Which means we'll have to find a hotel where they won't ask questions if a woman visits two men in their room. You'll have to dress up."

Granger gaping, finally at a loss for words - if only for a few seconds - was a sight Ron would treasure.

Even after being told that she wouldn't be posing as a prostitute, just a party girl, Granger was still fuming. The woman couldn't take a joke.

"And where will you get 'appropriate clothes'?" she asked. "Unless you think jeans and a shirt are the height of fashion in the club scene. Which, I'll have you know, they aren't."

"Second-hand shop," Ron replied, checking for tails while Harry took point.

"I wasn't aware that there were any open at this time of the night," she commented.

"There aren't," Ron told her. "And if there were, using them might draw attention." Unlikely, but not impossible, as Moody liked to say.

"Breaking into a shop will also draw attention," she retorted.

"Only if they notice." He grinned at her. "Which they won't, I'll have you know."

She really didn't like having her own words quoted back at her. Or she loathed his imitation of her. Either way, her glare was a sight to see.

"Knock it off, you two, and get with the programme. People are staring," Harry cut in. "We're here, anyway."

"Here?" Granger had to ask.

"At 'Fabolous Frankie's'," Ron said. "The second-hand shop which will help us turn you hip. Or at least get you into clothes that were fashionable this millennium."

"You don't exactly dress like a model either," she shot back.

"Not yet." He grinned.

"So that means you will commit fraud as well as petty theft?"

He had to laugh at the implied insult. "Good one. You'd almost think you have a sense of humour!"

"I do have a sense of humour," she retorted, proving Ron right, "it's just a little more sophisticated than yours."

"I see. You must have left it in your flat, then? Or did you feed it to your quantum mirror cage?"

"Dial down the flirting, you two," Harry interrupted. "We have a shop to break into."

"Funny," Granger commented in a tone that meant the opposite.

Ron chuckled, though, and went to help Harry with the lock on the back door of Frankie's. This wouldn't take long. Well, breaking in wouldn't take long. Finding clothes that made Granger look trendy would be a challenge.

It didn't take long. Frankie hadn't changed the lock since the last time they had checked for stolen goods without a warrant or his knowledge. Lazy - but then, most people able to easily pick his locks wouldn't waste their time on his cheap clothes.

"Come," Ron whispered, holding out his hand to Granger as Harry opened the door.

She scoffed and ignored it, walking past him. He frowned behind her back. If she stumbled and broke something...

She didn't, and they reached the back room of the shop without trouble. Unlike some of his competitors', Frankie's storage area had no windows. It was perfect for some after-hours shopping - Ron wasn't keen on picking clothes in the dark, or in the dim light of a penlight, just so the passers-by outside wouldn't notice them.

"And here we are! Clubbing clothes, self-service!" Ron announced as he flicked the light switch on and revealed rows and stacks of clothes.

Granger picked up a shredded 'Sex Pistols' T-shirt from the closest stack and frowned. "Punk has been dead for a quarter of a century," she said.

"It's vintage now," Ron told her, "but I don't think torn fishnets would look right on you." Although her hair certainly fit the punk look.

"And what would suit me, then?"

"Leather?" He grinned at her.

"I don't ride a bike," she replied, a moment before her eyes narrowed. "I think a gimp suit would be fitting for you."

"I didn't think you knew what a gimp suit was," he said. Or that she had understood his veiled dig.

"I know a great deal more than you imagine."

"I can imagine quite a bit."

She sniffed. "I doubt that if you have to quote movies as comebacks."

And Harry chuckled behind the row of older jackets.

"If not for Ginny, you'd be stuck in the 90s," Ron told him.

"Like you?" Harry shot back.

Ron scoffed. Then he saw the perfect outfit for Granger and grinned. "Hey! Take this!" He waited until she was about to turn around, then threw the torn jeans and bustier towards her. She managed to catch them, though, before they hit her in the face, but her expression when she held them up was still amusing.

"Are you serious?" She shook her head.

"No, that's Harry's godfather."

"That joke's older than these clothes."

"It's a second-hand shop. But this look's only about three years old," Ron replied.

"Britney Spears wants her clothes back."

"She's rich enough to buy new ones. Put them on - you'll be able to run in them as well if you need to. And the style fits your bag."

To his surprise, she agreed.

Some people had no fashion sense.

Although, Ron had to admit ten minutes later, Granger looked hot in tight, ripped jeans and a bustier that might have been a size too small - not his fault; Granger hadn't exactly flaunted her figure. Well, hot compared to her usual look, at least, he amended his thought.

And she was blushing a little, he realised, even as she glared at him.

"Perfect!" he stated.

Harry agreed, although Ron couldn't tell if his friend merely wanted to leave as soon as possible.

They found a youth hostel at the edge of Soho with a bored night clerk behind the reception desk. Bored and stoned, Ron corrected himself as he caught a whiff of the distinctive smell of marijuana. Must have had a spliff outside.

The man didn't even glance at their fake passports. However, the security camera in the corner didn't look broken - but it was mounted so high, just keeping one's head down would prevent it from recording their faces. Not that it was very likely that their enemies would get the recordings, but Ron wasn't about to get sloppy now.

"So… uh… you stay past noon, you pay for another night," the clerk drawled as he handed them their keycard. "That's noon, not half past noon. Got it?"

Harry nodded. "Got it. We'll probably be staying a few days anyway - depends on the 'scene', you know?"

"Birds," Ron added with a lecherous grin.

"Ah!" The stoner nodded. "Sure thing."

The guy was already looking for his next spliff, Ron saw as they went upstairs.

The room was passable. Solid door, though the lock wouldn't take a professional more than ten seconds to pick, the bed and bathroom looked clean and it was on the first floor - they would be able to jump down to the street if they had to.

After dropping their 'travelling bags' on the bed, they left again, asking the clerk - who didn't even bother to leave his smoking blunt outside this time - about the best club for 'chatting up birds'.

Granger was where they had left her - waiting in the replacement car, hiding behind the passenger seat. With the car parked in the darkest corner of the car park, the only way anyone would have been able to spot her would have been by shining a flashlight into the car. Still, Ron felt quite relieved to see her glare at them when they opened the doors.

"Am I allowed to leave the car now? Or have you decided to make me sleep in the trunk?"

Ron rubbed his chin, pretending to think it over, but Harry kicked his shin. "We got a room, and it'll be easy to sneak you inside without the night clerk noticing."

"You mean I didn't have to dress up like this?" she asked.

"You still needed to change your appearance," Ron retorted. "No one will connect a party girl with Dr Granger."

"Should dye your hair, though," Harry added. "Or cut it and get a wig. We should be able to get one tomorrow."

"My hair's fine," she replied in an icy tone, running a hand over her messy pony-tail.

"Fine's not the word I'd use." Ron shook his head. More like 'catastrophic' or 'in need of emergency hair care'.

"Your haircut doesn't exactly hint at any competence regarding hairstyling," she replied.

"That's enough," Harry cut in. "Let's head inside."

"You're starting to sound like Percy," Ron whispered as they walked back to the hostel. "If you get any more respectable, Ginny'll expect a proposal."

"Mind your own business," Harry shot back.

He must have touched a nerve. But then, Ginny had been hoping for a proposal since before she and Harry had gotten together.

The night clerk was busy getting high as they entered and not at his desk, so all they had to do was make Granger keep her head down and act drunk as they passed the camera and then they were safely inside the room.

With the single king-sized bed, Ron realised a moment before Granger did and loudly voiced her displeasure with the arrangement.

Ron woke up with a tangled mess of bushy hair in front of his face. What the… Someone was shaking him. Harry!

"It's eight am. Time to get up."

Ron rolled back to their side of the bed, away from Granger before she could wake up and take offence. "Why didn't you pull me back before I tried to use her as a pillow?" he complained in a low voice. Harry had been on guard; he would have noticed.

"It was funny to watch you move closer in your sleep," Harry told him with a smirk.

"Ha ha." It was as funny as the twins' spider pranks, in Ron's opinion. And, given Granger's temper, probably twice as dangerous.

Speaking of the devil… he saw Granger twist, roll on her back, then turn her head to glare at them. "You woke me up."

"It's time to get up," Harry said - far too cheerfully, in Ron's opinion.

"And you apparently let him almost molest me in my sleep." Her glare grew more furious. "That's exactly why I didn't want to share the bed."

"I would have pulled him back before he touched you," Harry replied. "But as long as you weren't actually touching, where's the harm?"

For once, Ron fully shared Granger's opinion. He'd have to get back at Harry - once they were done with this case.

She huffed. "So, what's the plan for today? Dress up as mimes and hide in the city? Join the circus?"

Harry ignored her sarcasm. "We'll get breakfast, then rest until lunch. Like normal partying tourists."

"And no, we won't go back to your lab," Ron added. "They'll be waiting there, and I don't fancy getting shot by a sniper."

"Won't you contact your superior?" Granger asked as she slid out of the bed.

"She said to wait a day or two; it's not even been half a day," Ron replied.

"Wouldn't she have asked you to wait for twenty-four to forty-eight hours instead, if she didn't mean the next day?"

Scientists! Ron sidestepped the question. "She was probably up all night. I'd rather not call her when she's going to sleep."

She scoffed in return and entered the bathroom.

Ron closed his eyes and leaned back. It would be a while until he could go take a shower. For all her lack of makeup and hairstyling, Granger did take her time in the bathroom.

"Can I ask you a question?" Ron asked an hour later, after the waiter in the street café they had picked had finally brought their order.

She looked up from her cup of tea. "Yes?"

No sarcastic comment. A good sign. Hopefully. "Why are you so fixated on your work? It's not curing cancer, or fusion power or anything that can't wait a few days or weeks, is it? Just experimental physics."

He could see her jaw set and her lips turn into a thin line for a moment, before she sighed. "It's personal."

"That's obvious," he replied, then winced. "Sorry. I don't want to pry, but..."

"Then don't."

He pushed on, ignoring Harry's glances. "But you're willing to risk your life for it." And Harry's and his own, incidentally. "I don't understand why you're doing this." She was acting as if lives depended on her success. As if people would die if she failed.

"It's personal," she repeated herself. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

She closed up again and stared at her teacup.

"It's not related to your past, is it?" He couldn't think of a reason it would be, but he didn't know what had happened to her. No one did.

"What?" For a moment, she stared at him with wide eyes. "No, of course not."

She was lying. He was certain of that.

"We're risking our lives for you," he went on. "We need to know why your work is so important."

She shook her head, rather violently. "As you said, as I told you, my work isn't really important to anyone other than myself."

"So the people sending killers after you are doing so because they made a mistake and think your work is important?" That was ridiculous.

"It's the only explanation that makes sense!" she retorted.

Ron doubted that. Her work wasn't a secret, and the kind of criminals - or spies - who had the resources to kill Scrimgeour and infiltrate CI5 weren't the kind of people who made such mistakes.

He bit into his slice of buttered toast, glancing at Granger. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces. But he'd solve it.

"She knows what this is about," Harry said after Granger had gone to the bathroom.

"I'm not sure," Ron replied, keeping an eye on the door. "She's lying, but I'm not sure what she's lying about."

"The kidnapping."

"That makes no sense." Ron shook his head. "What could have happened that she can't talk about but would lead to her becoming a wanted woman - wanted for her work as a quantum physicist?"

"Her work is the only reason anyone would be going to these lengths," his friend said. "After all these years, at least."

Ron wasn't convinced. "We're missing something. Something crucial."

Harry made a non-committal noise. Ron tore his eyes off the door and looked at his friend. He looked… concerned. "What?" Ron asked.

"You seem to be taking a personal interest in this case."

"What?" Ron blinked when he realised what Harry was hinting at. "I'm interested in the case, not in her."

Harry didn't look like he believed Ron. But he was wrong. Granger wasn't his type. Too snippy, too plain, too arrogant.

Clissold Park, Stoke Newington, London, July 9th, 2005

Ron didn't like this. They were too exposed. Too vulnerable. "Who arranges a meeting in a bloody park?" he muttered, eyes scanning the closest hedge. Especially with a sniper on the loose.

"Your boss," Granger, standing next to him in a floral-print summer dress even Luna would probably consider too tacky, replied. At least her ratty bag wasn't visible, having been stuffed into a larger linen handbag.

"I know that. I was asking a rhetorical question," he snapped. At her surprised, then rapidly darkening glare, he added: "Sorry."

"You said Bones could be trusted," she said.

"Yes." Ron forced himself not to look back at the tree in which Harry was hiding with the L1A1 they had taken from their private depot. His friend had his back. Their back. "She can be trusted. Bones would rather die than bend the law, much less break it."

"But you don't trust her subordinates."

He glanced at Granger. Her lips, pretty much the only thing visible of her face under the wide-brimmed hat she was wearing, were forming a thin line. "We don't know who the traitor inside CI5 is. We don't have any clues," he added.

"I told you that I had never seen Yaxley before," she snapped.

"I didn't mention his name," he pointed out.

"I know what you meant to say," she retorted. "And I'm telling you: I don't know anything about a traitor in CI5."

"But you think it's Yaxley."

"I have no proof nor any rational reason to suspect him."

"That's not a denial." He bared his teeth. Gotcha!

"Can you at least try to act like a couple out on an afternoon stroll?" Harry's voice interrupted his next line before he could voice it.

"We're a couple going through a break-up," Ron shot back. "We tried to talk it out in the park, and we failed." It was an even better cover than Harry's idea - who would expect a bodyguard to argue like this with his charge? Well, anyone who knew Granger, obviously.

"We're what? Ah." Granger, who couldn't hear Harry, nodded. "Good idea."

He smiled at her. "Thank you."

"Now they're getting along!" he heard Harry sigh over the radio.

"You're just…" Ron started, but, once more, Harry cut him off.

"Bones's arriving. East entrance."

Ron whirled around. Yes, there was a woman walking towards them in a sharp suit. About the right height and weight - though the hair was blonde. A wig, he realised once the woman came closer.

"Weasley."

Yes, that was Bones - Ron would recognise her annoyed voice in his sleep. "Boss," he replied.

"Are you alone?" Granger showed her usual tact.

"Of course," Bones replied. "No one knows I'm here. Not even Alastor - though he'll suspect."

"You didn't even bring a guard?" Granger blurted out.

"My trusted officers have more important tasks than playing bodyguard." Bones sneered. "Such as protecting your parents as they go into hiding and hunting down the mole in my department."

"I see," Granger replied. "Things are worse in CI5 than I feared, then."

Ron cleared his throat before Granger could make Bones even angrier. "What're our orders, ma'am?"

"You're reassigned. You and Potter will help Alastor hunt the mole. We need to find the traitor yesterday."

Ron gasped almost against his will. But that would… "Who'll take over for us?"

"No one. I'll take Granger to her parents - at a location only known by myself. That way, we only need one protective detail for the entire family."

That made sense. A lot of sense, actually. And Ron was happy to go on the offensive, instead of hiding and running. But… He glanced at Granger. She looked grim again.

"Any questions?"

"No, ma'am." He turned to Granger. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Yes." He saw her bite her lower lip as if she was unsure what else to say. "Thank you for all you've done," she said after a moment.

"Just doing my job," he replied - and winced when she flinched before nodding without any expression.

"Smooth," Harry added his unneeded opinion.

"Let's go, then. If I don't return in time, Alastor will assume the worst," Bones said, already turning around.

"Alright." Granger glanced at him, then took a few steps to catch up with Bones.

And he was watching her walk away. Cursing under his breath, he turned away.

"Company!" Harry yelled into his ear. "A car just pulled up next to Bones's with armed men!"

Ron whirled, sprinting towards Granger and Bones, while Harry started shooting. He saw the attackers appear in the entrance, one falling as Harry's shots found their mark. Bones pushed Granger down and opened fire as well. He was still too far away to hit anyone reliably, but just a few more seconds…

Bones went down, part of her head missing.

"Sniper!" Harry yelled.

Ron had almost reached Granger - Bones was beyond help - and started to weave while shooting at the attackers. He just had to make them seek cover until he had pulled Granger to safety. Harry could cover them - and spot the sniper. "Run!" he yelled. "Ru…"

Something hit his chest with enough force to make him stumble and fall. He rolled across the ground, coming to rest on his belly.

Then the pain in hit him. He had been hit. Sniper. Hit but not killed. He had to get up. Get Granger to safety. Get up. Shoot. Get up. Get up.

Suddenly, everything went dark.

"They've gotten in! They've gotten in!"

"What?" She gasped.

"Death Eaters! They've gotten in!" Neville came to a stop next to her, panting. "Coming through the defence classroom."

That couldn't be true. This was Hogwarts - the safest place in Britain. She shook her head. It was impossible!

"We have to tell the others! Tell them to barricade the dorms!" Neville regained his breath.

"Where are Harry and Ron?" She asked. They had been with him, headed towards the Room of Requirement to prepare for the next DA lesson.

"They went to tell Dumbledore. Luna went to Ravenclaw Tower," Neville replied.

"I'll tell the Hufflepuffs. Go to our dorm!" she snapped and broke into a run towards the kitchens. The Hufflepuff dorm was right next to them. The closest route was two stairs down, across the courtyard…

She took the stairs three steps at a time, jumping the last five and whirling without losing speed - not after more than a year's worth of training with the DA. She didn't dash across the courtyard, though - she stuck to the hallways, keeping under cover.

She was almost at the kitchens when she heard the screaming. Wand drawn, she stopped at the corner, then peered around.

And gasped again. There were two dead house-elves on the ground. Reductor Curses, she realised. And a Death Eater was standing there, over a student. Hannah.

The other witch was screaming, countless cuts sprouting all over her body. Hermione recognised the curse - Sectumsempra, from Snape's book.

Her Bludgeoning Curse smashed into the Death Eater's shield. The man whirled round instead of diving for cover, and her second curse hit him in the chest, flinging him into the wall with bone-breaking force.

She dashed forward, readying the counter-curse, but before she reached Hannah, her own shield was shattered by another curse - the Death Eater was still in the fight.

She dropped to the ground and cast another volley of Bludgeoning Curses that took the man down for good, then scrambled forward, wand flashing as she cast.

When she finished her counter-curse, Hannah had stopped screaming. And stopped breathing.