Thank you for all the activity on this story! The response has been awesome. This is the fastest a story has ever taken off for me, so a big thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed or reviewed. I realize this update was a bit slow, but school is making me busy. All I can promise is that I'm still into this series as much as you all are, so please stick with me!

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. I do not own Harry Potter.

Hermione snuck out of the Hogwarts grand ballroom through one of the many entrances. When she was safely away from the party, she slipped off her heels and walked barefoot through the hallway until she found a quiet alcove hidden behind a curtain. In the small area she performed an expansion charm that enlarged it to a comfortable size. All it needed was a sofa to be complete. Wandlessly, she did the spell and a well stuffed couch appeared. Without regard for manners, she flung herself onto the comfortable piece of furniture and groaned. Tonight had been an exercise in patience. Scipio Welles had been pursuing her all night.

Welles was one of the post war leaders of industry in magical England.

Among his numerous contracts, his company provided Dumbledore's Army with the bulk of their supplies. His products ranged from flying cars (only recently made legal) to dragon skin armor that was surprisingly effective. Tonight he'd had his sights set on her to be his next spell crafter, and had been hounding her with job offers.

The curtain of her hiding place was jerked back. Hermione started, coming up with her wand raised.

Harry held up his hands in surrender. "I take it you aren't enjoying Hogwarts' First Annual Military Ball?" he questioned mildly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and put her wand away. "That was unintentional. How did you know I was here?"

"I saw you sneak out and thought it was a good idea."

He pulled out his wand and wordlessly produced a coffee table. On it the fixings of a proper tea appeared, along with a platter of sandwiches.

"Food," Hermione said reverently, grabbing a sandwich. "I was getting ready to eat my napkin!"

Harry pushed her feet off the end of the couch and claimed it. He propped his feet on the coffee table and snapped his fingers. A sandwich flew into his hand.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Fancy."

"I thought so too. Don't tell Ron he'd be jealous."

"I'm jealous," she protested. "How did you do that? When did you learn it?"

"I'm not sure, and it started happening a few months ago."

Now that was interesting, Hermione thought. Harry was able to do magic- wandless magic- without even thinking about it. The ability was a rare one, and she'd never met anyone capable of such a thing before. She'd read about it, though where exactly she couldn't recall.

"This a much better party," Harry said as he contentedly munched on his sandwich. "This ball was a much better idea in theory than it's turned out to be."

"I totally agree," Hermione said with feeling.

Harry turned knowing green eyes on her. "Welles giving you a hard time?"

"Five job offers in just over an hour."

"He's nothing if not dedicated," Harry said.

She glared at him. "You're on my side, remember?"

"I'm just saying that he knows a good spell crafter when he sees one," her friend soothed.

"The man has never heard the word no before," Hermione complained.

"He heard it from me last week," Harry contended. "I turned down his contract to build a battleship."

He took a bite of the last sandwich with gusto.

"A battleship?" Hermione demanded.

Harry froze. Then he mumbled a swear word through a mouthful of cucumber sandwich.

"What could we possibly need a battleship for?" she exclaimed. "Haven't we militarized magical society enough?!"

"It's complicated," Harry hedged.

"Then explain."

He sighed. "Are we really going to do this right now?"

"Yes!"

"We need more fire power," Harry began. "Nothing we've thrown at the Southern State trips them up. The citizens are becoming angry and the press is feeding them a bunch of garbage about how this is because we're too weak. The Death Eaters are latching on to it like a bunch of leeches. Their propaganda is out of control."

"You're building a Navy because of bad press?" Hermione hissed.

"No. Two weeks ago three agents from the Order of the Phoenix turned up dead. Four days ago another one was murdered. This morning we couldn't make contact with our agent inside of the Death Eater's main compound. We're under attack, 'Mione. It isn't public but it's there, and the people can sense the atmosphere."

"What happened?" she demanded. "Do you have a mole?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably. But even so, the situation points to a bigger problem. We can't allow the State to grow anymore. As it is they've had too much time to consolidate and the army needs to catch up. We've decided to build a prototype gunboat because much of the Death Eaters' territory boarders the ocean. If we can launch an attack from the north over land and another from the ocean, pouring troops in from both directions, we'll overwhelm them. A strong Navy could reduce our time at war by years."

Hermione sat silently, mulling over what he'd said. Her emotions railed against an increased military presence because of what it meant for society. Having a big stick made other people think they needed a big stick too, didn't it? Were they inciting an arms race in Europe that would build into a situation like the muggle World War I?

By the same measure, what would it mean if they didn't do this?

She trusted Harry and knew he made good decisions, especially about military matters. In many ways, he was born to be a soldier. He was right. Devastating the Southern State with a coordinated attack from both sides would tear it to shreds. It was clear that the Death Eaters had built a comfortable and organized administration in their territory, if they'd established a mole in the Order of the Phoenix. Her mind shuddered to think that the entirety of their intelligence organization was compromised.

"What are you doing to locate the mole?"

"McGonagall is feeding false information into various reports. Things that would be too juicy for a double agent not to report. We're working through the order department by department to try and root out the source. It would be easier if we hadn't added so many positions," Harry grumbled.

"Intelligence is the key to avoiding another war," Hermione quoted herself from five years ago. When she'd said that it had seemed to easy. They would surround the Death Eater's tiny claim in Southern England and beat it into submission. When they had no support left and no income, the Death Eaters would disband for good. How they had miscalculated, she thought.

"So we're building this gunboat," Hermione said finally. "How does it even work? Guns and magic don't exactly mix."

"I don't entirely understand it but George certainly does. He's built several model cannons that are capable of launching a variety of spells and other weapons."

"Weapons? Spells?" Hermione stared at him incredulously. "What did you two even build?"

It all sounded very improbable to her.

"You remember when Professor Quirell jinxed that bludger to go after me?"

Hermione nodded.

"Imagine a really large one of those with a location as its target, say a certain building in the Southern State. How much damage do you think it could do?"

She'd never considered it and as she tried to think of such a possibility it boggled her mind.

"It could take out ten whole city blocks," Harry said. "And there are designs of cannons that could launch spells against their protective enchantments. Olivander has been helping design them."

"I feel kind of sick," Hermione said.

Harry said nothing. He reached for his tea and calmly took a sip.

Suddenly Hermione was furious with him. What had happened to her best friend who didn't want to teach a defense club? Where was her best friend who was the kindest person she'd ever met? When had he started blowing up cities and thinking it was a good thing?

"I can't get behind this," she said finally.

"Sorry?" Harry asked blankly.

"We can't do this. We're destroying the balance of power in magical Europe. It will only lead to harm. I have to go," she said and stood up.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed following her as she strode away. Behind them the spell reversed itself, turning their sitting area back into an alcove.

She stalked down the hall, away from the ballroom. Harry's long legs quickly caught up with her.

"I realize you're thinking in terms of international consequences, but we have to think of our people. Right now, there are citizens of magical England living under Death Eater rule. We have no idea what they're going through, but from what little we've gleaned it's not pleasant. I'm thinking of them. There is no room in this country for violent, genocidal maniacs to have a safe haven!"

"I agree with what you're saying mentally, but my heart can't back it," Hermione argued, rounding the corner. Harry kept up with her hurried pace, and when she stopped on the stairwell, he nearly ran into her. Hermione whirled around and faced her best friend down. "We're ruining a peaceful world," she said empathetically.

"Peaceful?! Tell that to everyone in the Southern State! They're murdering muggle born people in the street, men, women, and children alike. That's not peace, it's totalitarianism. We have a responsibility to stop these fanatics! You know who said that to me? You're the one who said that to me!" Harry's voice rose on every word until he was shouting.

"We're revolutionizing magical warfare and constructing a militant society that will have a domino effect until we're all posturing like the muggles! War will be normalized to the point it's an inevitability! They'll just have a war every twenty years or so. Because that's what we started!" Hermione shouted back. "I want to leave a legacy of peace, not one of systemic violence!"

Harry planted his hands on his hips and glared at her. "You live in a dream world. When you can get off your soap box of delusion and come back to the real world, let me know."

With those cutting words, Harry stalked away.

Hermione took a port key back to Washington D.C.

She sat on her couch staring into space for a while and wondering how her life had deteriorated into this. Was it a gradual thing, or had it happened suddenly and she just hadn't noticed?

Her mind went around in circles, arguing that the D.A.'s expansion was a good thing and then that it would ruin the magical world. A full hour of this and she was beginning to get a headache. Without bothering to change out of her evening gown, Hermione left her apartment. Outside she realized that the time change meant it was past midnight in D.C. A walk was out of the question at this time of night no matter how safe her neighborhood was. Hermione dug out her car keys from her clutch, opting for a drive.

She drove aimlessly until she saw the neon lights of a bar and parked. A drink was just what she needed right now. Since she was driving and alcohol was never a solution, she'd only have one drink. Inside, the bar was sparsely populated. Her eyes scanned the patrons out of habit.

A couple sat on barstools, lost in their own conversation. Behind them a group of wall street types hung out at a circular table. In the far booth, she caught sight of the back of Derek Morgan's head. He appeared out of sorts and his shoulders were slumped. For a moment she debated approaching. They'd grown fairly close but there were still certain boundaries she wanted to maintain. It would be a disaster if she accidentally was caught in a lie and her true identity was revealed to the team. Hermione knew they would never trust her again. It was a short internal debate. Morgan needed a friend and a ride home. As she walked to the tables, a half dozen empty beer bottles came into view. In his hand was a tumbler of amber liquid.

Apparently he'd started on the hard liquor.

"Hey Derek," Hermione said, striving for casual.

The handsome agent looked up, eyes bloodshot. "Hey there," he said with a goofy smile as his somber mood evaporated. "What are you doing here?"

"I was going to have a drink, but you may have sold them out," she replied with a nod at his collection of empty bottles.

Morgan giggled. She'd never heard that sound from him before.

"That's a good one, Granger. I'll have to remember that. Have a seat," he motioned at the seat across from him.

She sank into it, sweeping the voluminous skirt of her dress with her. The movement caught Derek's attention. He raised an eyebrow.

"Fancy dress," he slurred.

"It was a fancy party," Hermione returned.

"And you ditched it for this place?" Derek motioned around to the half empty bar. He leaned over the table. "They water down the liquor," he whispered. Hermione caught the strong smell of bourbon on him before he settled back on his side of the table, throwing back the rest of his drink in one swallow.

"The food was microscopic," she blithely deflected.

"Oh. You want onion rings?"

"No thanks, I snuck out and got some food with a friend. So what brings you here?"

A shadow passed over her friend's face. "You ever trust somebody and then have them throw it all away?"

"Yes."

"It sucks," Derek said, motioning to the bartender for a refill. Hermione was silent while the drink came and watched as Morgan took a healthy drink from his replenished glass.

She was at a loss of what to say, when the bartender announced last call to the patrons and informed them they were closing in thirty minutes. Hermione looked at her watch and was surprised to find it was two thirty.

"Would you like a ride home?" Hermione offered.

"Nope. I don't want to go home," Morgan said bitterly staring down at his hands.

She couldn't hide her surprise and he glanced up in time to catch it.

"Savanah and I broke up," he explained.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said automatically.

Morgan's lips twisted bitterly. "There are only so many options when you come home to find her in bed on top of her coworker."

Hermione was aghast.

"He's married with a kid on the way, which is the real kicker. It's kind of funny that my whole world's fallen apart and all I can think about is the woman he cheated on. Savanah hasn't crossed my mind all night. What kind of scum screws around on a pregnant woman?"

She said nothing, because Morgan needed to get this out. He shook his head, looking angry.

"If I had a pregnant wife, I'd be going crazy over her," he said. Hermione could hear the longing in his voice as he spoke. "Ten years ago, I was the ultimate player. Now, I'd give anything to have what that man does. Or did, I suppose."

Hermione reached across the table and took the hand that wasn't wrapped around his drink between her own. "I'm sorry. No one deserves that."

"I thought she was the one," Morgan confessed.

Helplessly she squeezed his hand.

"We're closing in ten minutes!" the bartender announced.

"Come on. If you want my guest room it's yours," Hermione offered. "Or I could drive you to Garcia's."

"I'll take your guest room over Garcia's couch," Morgan said. "Besides, Sam is staying over most nights now and she doesn't have a door on her bed room."

"I don't want to know," she said, lips quirking.

Morgan paused, his drunkenness confusing him. After a moment his wording dawned on him.

"No! It's not like they're getting frisky or anything. Sam snores!"

Hermione laughed, prompting Morgan to join her. Their plans decided they stood from the table and exited the bar. She led him to her car surprised, yet grateful Derek was so steady on his feet. Carrying two hundred pounds of FBI agent wouldn't be possible for her without magic. The ride back to her house passed in silence as Morgan seemed lulled by the motion of the car. She was almost worried that he would fall asleep on her, in which case she would have to carry him up to her apartment. When they finally reached her parking garage, he came back to himself. Without incident they got to her apartment. The first thing Hermione did was try to get Morgan some fluids.

"Here drink this," she told him, pulling a cold bottle of water out of the fridge.

"Fine," Morgan said. "But I'm not drunk you know. I only had a few."

"Of course not," Hermione soothed. If Derek wasn't totally plastered then she was a Tibetan Monk.

She went to the guest room and double checked that there were sheets on the bed before returning to the kitchen where she found Morgan rifling through her fridge.

"Do you have any not healthy food?" he asked.

"In the pantry, third shelf. Get me the goldfish crackers while you're in there."

Derek found the door and returned with a box of s'mores pop tarts and her crackers. "Those are for kids," he informed her, with the sage authority only someone three sheets to the wind could manage.

"I don't care. They come highly recommended- my godson Teddy won't snack on anything else."

"I wish I had kids," Morgan sighed. "Nobody wants to have them with me though. Will you have kids with me if I turn fifty and I'm still childless, Granger?"

Hermione snorted. "You are hammered, Derek."

"I'm serious," he said, becoming cantankerous. "I want kids!" He took a bite of pop tart. "Don't you?" he asked through a mouthful.

"I'm only telling you this because I'm eighty percent sure you won't remember it in the morning," Hermione said with a sigh. Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath. "I can't have kids."

Derek froze, his eyebrows coming together. He stood like that for a long moment, and then sat the pop tart down on the counter. Crossing the kitchen to where Hermione leaned against the counter, he swept her into a bear hug.

"I'm sorry," Morgan said.

He smelled of beer and smoke from the bar. His hug was too tight, but Hermione felt something inside of her settle when she hugged him back.

Her infertility stemmed from surviving the Cruciatis curse in such severe amounts. Healers had only discovered her condition when a comprehensive check was done after she was rescued from the Death Eaters a second time. There was absolutely no hope that she'd ever bear children of her own.

"I didn't mean to make you feel bad," Morgan said. "I'm sorry."

"It's something I can live with," Hermione said with finality pulling out of his embrace. "I'm not offended at all; you couldn't have known."

"Let's go to bed before I say anything else," Morgan said.

Hermione snickered.

"Not together! Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"Tomorrow's going to be a fun morning."

"Not for me," Derek said as he shuffled off to the guest room.

Hermione woke up promptly at seven, even though it was a Saturday.

Rolling out of bed she took her time with her morning routine and headed to the kitchen to start breakfast. She fixed herself an omelet and decided to wait for Morgan before she fixed anything for him. With that in mind she grabbed a Gatorade from the pantry and put it in the fridge to chill, so he could replace his electrolytes.

She took her omelet to the living room and turned on the TV. Bypassing the news, because it was Saturday, she turned on an episode of the Big Bang Theory. After watching the recent episode she'd missed she went back to watch reruns of a season she hadn't seen. Ten o clock came and went before Hermione heard stirring from the guest room. A few minutes later Morgan stumbled into the living room looking wrecked. She muted the TV.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked.

"I'm alive. That's as much as I can say."

"You want breakfast?"

"No." Derek shuddered. "Food repulses me."

"There's a cold Gatorade in the fridge."

"You're a saint, I love you, Granger."

Morgan picked up the drink and came to sit on the couch with her, taking notice of the TV. "This is from what, season four?"

"Yup. Reruns," Hermione said.

Her friend began to fiddle with the cap of the bottle, a tell when he had something on his mind. She waited, watching the silent TV set, and he eventually spoke up.

"I'm sorry about last night."

"It's fine," she reassured him.

"You didn't need to hear all of that though."

"If you'd like I can forget some of it," Hermione offered, thinking he might be uncomfortable with all that he'd shared last night.

"I trust you," Morgan said immediately, turning to face her. "I just get the sense that you've got a lot on your plate too."

Hermione didn't know what to say. No one had noticed her struggles for so long that she didn't expect them to anymore. "Oh," was all she managed.

"Nice dress last night," he offered, waiting for a reply.

"I had an event."

"Something in your tone tells me it didn't go well."

"I had a fight with my best friend. We just can't see eye to eye these days."

Morgan smiled. "Keep talking. That's all there is too it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hermione said. "I'm sorry about Savanah. Do you want me to go slash her tires or anything?"

He laughed.

"I'm serious! I'll do it, just say the word!"

"Not a chance," Morgan said. "Garcia would insist on tagging along. Then you'd get caught and who would bail you out of jail? Me."

"I'm an intelligence operative," Hermione defended herself. "I could evade Penelope."

"No one can evade Penelope," he replied. "I've tried everything. Nothing works. Besides, I don't want you putting your career at risk just because my life sucks."

"Your life doesn't suck. Your taste in women, maybe, but I haven't known you long enough to make that judgement."

"Hey, she was a doctor. She went to Harvard!" Morgan argued.

"That says nothing about her character. I've known a lot of smart people, I'm one of them."

"You're all humility, aren't you?"

Hermione continued as if he hadn't spoken. "You need someone who cares about you more than they even care about themselves. Someone who handles conflict like an adult and has good communication skills. Don't let yourself fall for a person who doesn't have those qualities."

"Let yourself?" Derek asked. "Isn't that an unromantic view of love?"

"No. It's a realistic view of love. Some relationships should end before they start."

He cocked his head. "The voice of experience, huh?"

"Ron didn't cheat on me. But he couldn't talk about a problem to save his life. We were over before we even began."

"How long did you last?" Morgan asked curiously.

"A year and a half," she replied.

"Savanah was my longest relationship."

"You'll find another woman," Hermione promised.

A silence fell between them and she ended it by flicking the TV's sound back on.

Derek propped up his feet and sipped his Gatorade, watching the show with her for the better part of the morning. On the taxi ride to pick up his truck though, he couldn't help but think about her last words. You'll find another woman. Someone who cares about you. Someone who handles conflict like an adult. A person with good communication skills.

Maybe he had already found that woman.

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