A/N: Thank you for your support of this story. I wrote this chapter about three different times before I was happy with it, which is why this update was such a long wait. I hope it turned out okay. Enjoy!

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

Spinning in a circle, Hermione took stock of her surroundings. She stood in the hallway of the Museum of Natural History in Nashville, Tennessee. To the left there was a mammoth skeleton. To the right, a room of priceless gems, and at her feet, lay a dead security guard.

"See anything out of the ordinary," one of the uniforms asked her curiously.

"It's certainly an unusual method of killing," Hermione commented on the obvious.

"Never seen anything like it especially in these parts," the young man responded.

Together they both stared at the Ethiopian spear that protruded from the corpse's chest. It looked like a weapon of opportunity, having come from a nearby exhibit. Hermione paced around the room one more time, admitting to herself that something felt off about the scene. Since they'd stepped into the building fifteen minutes earlier the hair on her arms had been raised and her stomach had butterflies. It was very odd and she hadn't been able to figure the sensation's source.

"Spears represent directness and honor in spiritual contexts," Spencer said, coming up behind them. "They also represent power and will in dream interpretation."

"Well, this is one type of power and someone's will was expressed," the officer noted.

"I'm not sure that's a relevant observation," Hermione interjected. "What did you find with security?" she asked Spencer.

"There was no tampering with the security system at all. It just went down." He shook his head. "Nothing about this makes sense. Why would anyone go on a killing spree of museum security guards?"

"I think they're looking for a particular item," Hermione said.

"We haven't considered that angle," Reid admitted, mulling it over.

"From the beginning we thought that security guards were an excessively narrow target pool," she stated. "Our unsub has moved all over the Deep South, killing security guards in three different museums. However, he's never taken anything or set off any alarms."

"Or left evidence as to how he gets in," the genius added.

"Exactly. There's no camera footage, yet all of the museums had camera systems. No one hacked them and as far as we can tell they all just went on the fritz as soon as he walked in. Who goes to all that trouble and doesn't steal a thing? Someone on a mission. I'm beginning to think the killing is just a means to an end."

"He's eliminating witnesses so that he can search the museum without being caught," Reid said. "It makes sense in a weird way. Only someone very callous about human life could do that though. We're probably dealing with a psychopath."

"Why isn't he finding what he's looking for," Hermione wondered aloud.

"We were scheduled to get a new exhibit yesterday," the cop spoke up.

"Were?" Reid questioned.

"It got delayed because the museum in Jackson was delayed packing it up." He explained. "The whole town was really excited about the opening."

"What was the exhibit of?" Hermione asked.

"Jewelry." He nodded to the hall of gem stones behind her. "It was supposed to replace that."

"I'll call Garcia and ask where that exhibit has been," Reid said.

"So you're telling me the unsub is looking for a piece of jewelry," Hotch asked, looking unconvinced.

"We've seen obsessions turn to killing before," Reid insisted.

"Garcia gave us a manifest of what's in the display," Hermione said. "The only article that has any real significance is a pair of ancient Egyptian cuffs. They're supposedly the cuffs featured in a myth about a sorcerer who was enslaved to do his master's bidding."

"Is there anything significant in the myth that would intrigue the unsub?" Hotch asked.

"In the myth a Hebrew sorcerer gets sold to an Egyptian framer who discovers his powers. When he finds out, he realizes that the cuffs the slave was sold to him in were preventing the man from practicing magic. Naturally, he wanted this power for himself so he called on the local magician to create a spell that would give him the man's magic, but the spell backfired. Instead of transferring the magic it made the slave only able to do magic when asked by the master. The cuffs were fused to the slave's skin, becoming the mechanism of control over him. It was these cuffs, supposedly that kept the slave under the complete mental control of his master."

"We think that the unsub believes the myth," Spencer said. "It would explain why he's been stalking the collection."

"He's looking for a weapon," Hermione added.

Hotch shook his head, frowning. "Why hasn't he already found the jewelry? There's been three killings."

"It's moved unexpectedly twice and was delayed arriving in Nashville. Originally the pieces started on display in Atlanta at our first crime scene and were moved the morning before the crime. The moving company had its manifests mixed up, but the museum allowed them to pack it up early since the exhibit was already closed. After that it was in Jackson, Mississippi, our second crime scene. There they moved the jewelry to a secure location every night because of concerns about robbery. The pieces were supposed to arrive here this morning but they're still in Jackson because the company they belong to is having them cleaned."

"Our unsub's violence is growing because he feels frustrated," Reid put in.

"It makes sense," Hotch agreed, his eyebrows drawing together.

"I have a historian friend who worked in Egypt on a pyramid excavation," Hermione said. "I'd like to ask about the myth. It's not one of the better known ones, so I want to make sure we didn't get the twenty-five cent version."

"Good idea," Hotch permitted. "Do that. We'll give the profile."

Without being told Hermione knew she wasn't part of giving the profile. That job was regulated to the members of the team who were actually profilers.

Hotch and Reid disappeared around the corner leaving Hermione to go make her call. Knowing that she would need privacy for what she was about to do the witch went to the police station break room and isolated herself in the closet. There she withdrew her wand and preformed a lumos spell, lighting the room. Surveying her surroundings Hermione decided she had enough space and took off her jacket to dig out the instruments she would need for a magical call.

First she set up a caldron, lit a smokeless flame under it and mixed her ingredients. When steam began to waft into the air she did the charm over it, calling Bill Weasley's fireplace at Shell Cottage. Almost immediately he answered, his thin face appearing in the dense curtain of steam the hung over the caldron.

"Hermione! How have you been?" he asked with a grin.

"Good, how's Victorie?" Hermione asked, of his daughter who had been born six months ago.

"She's wonderful," Bill replied. "Fleur took her into town for a while. She's meeting her mother for lunch and Mrs. Dealcour never misses a chance to dote on her first grandchild."

"I would imagine that Molly doesn't either."

"Of course not, and it's becoming something of a competition. We'll have the most spoiled child in Europe if they don't tone it down," he admitted. "But I'm sensing this isn't a pleasure call, is it?"

"No. I'm in need of some advice on ancient Egyptian artifacts."

She filled him in on everything that she knew, explaining about the cuffs, the murders, and the information Garcia had managed to gather.

Bill frowned. "I'm actually very familiar with that myth," he said. "The muggle version of it is a bit different than the wizard's story. But from what you've described the cuffs are the same ones that feature in the magical tale."

"How is the muggle version different?"

"It leaves out the ending," Bill said. "In the wizard's interpretation of the myth the master dies, freeing the slave from his mind control. He becomes so enraged that he kills the man's family. When he finishes he becomes conscious of the fact that he enjoyed the killing. Over the years of his master's control, evil had seeped into his soul. He went on to kill hundreds of people until he was eventually stopped by another wizard. But the cuffs are a magical artifact, that have been infused with his magic. They were given to muggles because the residual magic has no effect on them. On a wizard however, it has devastating consequences."

"How so?" Hermione questioned.

"If a wizard wore the cuffs he would be under their owner's influence forever, and inherit the slave's bloodthirst."

"That explains why someone wants them so badly."

"You should call Harry. This is a precarious situation, Hermione," Bill said. "Only a wizard would know the true value of the cuffs and they obviously have plans for them."

"I will," she promised. "I do have another question, which is unrelated to this. Do you remember a wizard who was able to do magic without a wand, spells or incantations?"

"You mean silent magic that flows without a medium?" Bill question her, his brow furrowing. "The only person ever capable of that was the Sorcerer Merlin. There's speculation however that was simply a myth. No one has been able to do it for centuries." Well, Harry most certainly had.

She left the closet, avoiding scrutiny, and got a cup of coffee from the break room. She doctored it with cream and sugar, pondering what to do next.

This was exactly the sort of thing she was supposed to be dealing with, but she wasn't sure how to work around the team. If Hotch found out she had the authority to go over his head he'd be furious. While Agent Hotchner had some problems with her, he'd set them aside and they'd worked together seamlessly on the last few cases. She took a sip of her coffee, wondering if that delicate peace wasn't about to be destroyed. There was no way she could let them know about her regular mission, Hermione decided. The only option was for her to have someone else go over their heads while making it look like she wasn't involved. An idea began to form.

"What do you mean the patriot act," Agent Hotchner demanded, glaring at the man in front of him.

"I mean that under section five of the patriot act, I have a right to claim jurisdiction from the FBI," the grey haired man responded.

"The NSA isn't qualified to investigate a serial killer."

"We've discovered ties to terrorism. I assure you this case is not what it appears to be and we're more than qualified to handle it from here. I'm also requisitioning Captain Granger. She's supposed to be here with you, correct?"

"Yes," Hotch bit out. "Why exactly will you be needing her?"

His eyes drifted behind the NSA agent to the small squadron of agents that flanked him.

"She's the expert on this kind of activity," was all he got in response. Aaron scowled, having no clue what that statement meant.

"We'll collect your files now and take Captain Granger along with us. Send her to the third floor conference room when you find her," the NSA agent said. "Your team's plane has already been prepared to return to Virginia."

"And don't let the door hit us on the way out," Aaron said coldly.

The NSA agent shrugged. "They have an automatic door, so I think you'll be fine. They're usually quite slow to close unless you're dawdling," the agent quipped before walking away.

Hotch stalked off in search of Granger. His hunt quickly yielded results in the break room. She had a note pad spread out, which she was scribbling on. Pausing in the doorway he took a moment to appreciate her work ethic. For all of his protests against her Aaron was forced to admit that he'd been handed a woman who was capable of doing the work of three people in half the time. It helped that she fit in nicely with the other members of the team, much to his surprise. Looking up from her notes she caught sight of him.

"I was just making notes over my conversation. It looks like the myth is a lot more intense than the internet suggests," she greeted.

"That's none of my concern now," Hotch replied. "The FBI is off the case and we're turning over our files to them."

Her brow furrowed. "Okay."

"You're still on it. The NSA specifically requested you."

"The NSA?" she asked.

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No," Hermione responded immediately. "Not at all. I'll go meet up with them."

She handed him the files she'd gathered before walking out.

"Wait," Aaron said. "Did you have any prior knowledge of this? Were you aware we were going to be ordered out?"

"I realized what was going on when I called my historian friend. I just wasn't expecting it to happen this soon."

Hotch watched her with scrutiny and realized she was telling him the truth.

"Why?" he asked, unable to resist.

"I'm sorry, I can't reveal that information," Hermione said before heading upstairs to the conference room.

"I didn't expect you guys to get here this fast," Hermione announced when she walked in.

"Harry ordered us to get here as fast as we could. You're supposed to brief us," the grey haired NSA agent said.

"Thanks for the quick response, Seamus," Hermione told the disguised Irishman.

"What do you mean leave?" Morgan demanded. "We just got here. This is our case!"

"We've been ordered to leave," Hotch said resolutely. "This is now the NSA's jurisdiction."

"And how do they figure that?" Emily interjected. The brunette looked as peeved as Morgan.

"This has been reclassified as a terrorism case and we have been removed from it. That's all I know."

"So that's just the end of it? Can't we offer our help? We're the ones with the expertise," Spencer said.

"We leave in twenty minutes, gather your things." Hotch ordered, ignoring the protests.

Resignation settled over the team and they dispersed to gather their belongings. Hotch boxed up their files before collecting his overnight bag. Deciding that he wasn't going to walk their files up to the jerks who'd taken their case, he headed outside to the SUVs. The team was standing in a circle waiting for him.

"Where's Hermione," Rossi asked when he was within hearing range.

"She won't be coming with us. The NSA decided to keep her here as an asset."

"What?" Morgan and JJ demanded at the same time.

Hotch resisted the urge to sigh as he saw the outraged expressions form on the team's faces. "They asked for her and she went with them."

"They can't take a member of our team!" Spencer said.

"Technically Hermione is a member of the British Army and not the FBI. If her commanding officer agrees to it, she goes."

"Aren't you her commanding officer," Rossi asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Hotch said. "Which is why I don't particularly like having her on the team. Her first loyalty isn't to us."

"Isn't that a little harsh," Emily ventured. "She saved JJ's life with a nearly impossible shot last month. Between her and Reid they have an IQ of about a million."

"I agree that she's quite skilled and even charming sometimes. But Hermione has interests that may not align with those of this team in every situation. This being a prime example."

Morgan, Hermione's closest friend on the team crossed his arms defensively. "How do you know that she isn't out there protecting our best interests right now? We're not the only ones who fight crime."

"I didn't say she was a bad person. I just noted that the authority of the FBI is not of great importance to her. We profile serial killers and she fights terrorists. Those are two very far apart job descriptions, yet she remains on our team."

"She's monitoring crime waves, using our team as a base," Spencer inserted. "In the process she's helping us. It's a symbiotic relationship," he defended.

"What does she do about it though?" Hotch challenged.

They all glanced at each other, realization dawning.

"She went to call her friend the historian right before the NSA showed up. I asked her about it and I don't believe that they had any interaction beforehand. She was genuinely surprised that they were there. But she had already figured out the terrorism connection based on that phone call. What information does she have access to connect the events so quickly?

"Does it matter? It's above our security clearance. I trust Hermione to handle it," Morgan said, holding firm.

"Just keep it in mind," Hotch predicted ominously.

"Hey, guys, look!" Emily pointed across the parking lot. From where the team was standing they could see the side entrance of the police station, where a convoy of black government SUVs were idling.

Hermione stepped out with the agents.

The group had changed from their suits into a utilitarian uniform of cargo pants and long-sleeved shirts. Hotch took note that the grey haired agent who'd clashed with him before was no longer there. A new addition to the group was a compactly built man with short brown hair, who hadn't been with the original group.

"She's giving the orders," Rossi stated.

Once he said it, it was obvious. The team members stood around her, listening attentively to instructions of some sort. Captain Granger stood with her hands on her hips with her feet braced shoulder width apart, the common dominant body language of leaders. As quickly as they'd emerged the team got into their vehicles and drove off, in the opposite direction, leaving the BAU in stunned silence.

"Well I'd say there's something she hasn't mentioned," Rossi pipped up.

"That was a black ops unit," Emily spoke sounding shocked but certain.

The entire team faced her, seeking more information. "When I worked for Interpol we saw units like that. Hotch is right. When she finds a threat, I'd say she goes and after it directly."

"Are we sure that the unsub will respond," Hermione asked glancing at the crate in the back of the vehicle through the rear view mirror. It housed their bait, the Egyptian cuffs they'd just picked up. She felt like they were taking a big risk, dangling such a powerful object in front of a crazed killer. At the same time, the practical side of her acknowledged that it was their best shot at resolving this situation quickly.

The SUV was moving at a quick pace over the mostly deserted road, heading west towards the interstate. In the distance ahead she saw something dark in the middle of the road. Squinting for a closer look, she tried to bring it into focus. The car raced closer and she still couldn't make out what the spot was.

"Seamus are you seeing that?" Hermione asked, wondering if she wasn't losing her mind as the dot began to move towards them.

"Yeah."

From the back, Lee Jordan and Anthony Goldstein leaned forward, staring out the windshield. They squinted for a better look as they all watched with confusion at the figure grew closer.

"Bloody Hell!" Lee exclaimed. "It's an apparition!"

Hermione realized he was correct. The blackness rushing at them was a wizard who had dissolved himself into smoke, as Snape had been fond of doing.

"If he hits us going that fast, we'll flip," Seamus pointed out. "He'll bring a force field with him and we'll go flying like a gymnast off a springboard."

"I know," Hermione agreed. "We'll have to play chicken."

"With a force field?" Anthony asked, sounding doubtful.

"We're going to apparate out of the car to the side of the road just before we hit him. Somebody grab that box and take it with you," Hermione ordered quickly.

There was a shuffling in the back as one of the men grabbed the carte.

Seamus didn't slow down as the black cloud came hurtling towards them, its force field so strong it could be seen by the blurring of air around the smoke. The apparition was fifty feet away, and Seamus punched the gas to the floor. The car's engine roared and Hermione tensed, fear making her heart race and adrenaline flood through her veins. Thirty feet, coming even faster; ten feet, then five, then so close she couldn't see anything but blackness ahead.

"Now!" Hermione shouted and apparated away.

They each appeared on the side of the road, soon enough to watch in horror as the SUV was crushed by the force field. Metal screamed as it twisted into unnatural forms. The smoke destroyed the vehicle in a mere second, tearing it apart like it was wet newspaper.

Flashing by them, the smoke concentrated itself beside the flaming heap of metal. A flash of light and then the smoke became a man, clad in a long black leather trench coat.

The wizards drew their wands at the same time, both the D.A. and the stranger.

"I believe you have something of mine," the man said, his American accent clear.

"Come and get it," Lee shot back, stepping in front of the crate he'd dropped drawing his wand.

The stranger arched an arrogant brow, tilting his head to the side in consideration. He shrugged. "Alright."

That was the only warning they got before he released a barge of hexes and spells. Seamus was hit by a stunner, Anthony by an unidentifiable blue hex, before Hermione was able to block a bombardia spell directed at her and Lee. The man was quick, having halved their numbers almost instantly. Hermione threw a bat boogey hex at him watching as the pack dive bombed him, seeking his eyes with their claws. He threw up a shield and desperately shot killing curses at them.

Seamus, recovered, rolled from his prone position to his feet, and shot a well-aimed expellaramius at the American wizard. The wand flew from his hand and the remaining bats finally found their target. Before they scratched him up too badly Hermione preformed a binding spell on him and waved away the bats. Lee rushed forward and grabbed their charge as he struggled in his restraints. Hermione returned to the crate, cracking it open and removing the protective spell around it. She pushed aside the curator's bubble wrapped padding and found the cuffs were still in their rightful place. She tucked the cuffs away into the pouch on her belt for safe keeping and walked back to the road. Lee had a strong grip on the furious wizard. Hermione approached him, looking the tall thin man up and down, coming to a stop in front of him.

He spat at her, missing by a mile. Hermione didn't flinch which made him even angrier.

"You stupid mudblood!" he growled, eyes glowing with hate.

"Isn't it a bit warm for that coat," Hermione asked mildly as if she hadn't heard his taunt. "I mean it's April, which is almost summer in Tennessee. How are you not drowning in sweat?"

"None of your business," the stranger snapped.

"So, trying to lift a pair of fancy bracelets?" Seamus asked, drawing the attention away from Hermione.

The man laughed. "You idiots have no idea what I'd be capable of with those cuffs. You're too stupid to imagine the consequences of what's about to happen. The reckoning is approaching!" He shouted at them, becoming almost feral and lunging forward at Seamus, only to be jerked back by Lee. "The D.A. will be destroyed and England will be under righteous authority!"

"Righteous authority, huh." Anthony commented drolly. "When did Death Eaters start using big words?"

The prisoner spat and cursed again, but didn't struggle.

"So you're going to take over the world with a pair of pretty bracelets?" Hermione asked. "The whole mind control thing might be cute, but they only control one person. That's hardly going to turn the tide of the war."

He snorted at her but held his peace. There was a wariness about him that Hermione could sense from being in so many FBI interrogations and watching the BAU work.

"Let me level with you Mr…"

"Smith. John Smith," he offered smugly.

"Mr. Smith," Hermione echoed calmly. "I already know your plan."

Smith raised his jaw looking down his nose at her from his superior height. "You couldn't possibly comprehend the plan of a Death Eater, Miss Granger. We're a higher breed than you mudbloods, in every way, but particularly in intelligence."

"The reason you're not sweating in that coat is because you just got here. For the past day you've been in the Death Eater State in southern England working with their leaders who recently told you your mission. Until today you didn't know who they intended to put them on."

"That's absurd!" John Smith hissed. "I just killed someone here yesterday! I had no portkey to get to England with."

"The D.A. is aware that it was provided to you by the Death Eaters, who you've worked for since you were fifteen. Like your father before you did, trying to spread their message here in the U.S. But unfortunately for you, you've outlived your usefulness. Why else would they send you into a trap?"

"A what?" the prisoner demanded, looking flummoxed.

"A trap, Mr. Smith. Where's that higher intelligence you were talking about?"

"It wasn't a trap! They'll have me out by morning!"

"You got sent directly to the only squadron of D.A. soldiers in this country by accident?" Hermione asked. "We're the only people who could take out a wizard of your skill, but somehow you inadvertently found us, by random coincidence? If you believe that, you're dumber than a sack of rocks. They never wanted to use the cuffs on Harry. They set a trap for you to test the D.A.'s presence in the U.S."

"They don't intend to use the cuffs on Harry," Smith protested, much too quickly.

The D.A. laughed and their prisoner looked frantic. "They don't!" he insisted.

"There's only one individual who could turn the tide of a war," Hermione said, "and that's Harry Potter."

John Smith's bluster faded as he realized that he'd been taken for a fool.

"Take him to our site," Hermione ordered with finality.

"Yes, ma'am," the men chorused.

"Wait? I'm not going to Washington D.C.? I'm an American citizen! You can't take me to Azkaban!"

"You've admitted Death Eater ties," Hermione said. "That means you're ours."

"Hey don't worry, man. We're not taking you to Azkaban," Lee reassured him cheerfully.

"We're taking you somewhere much worse," Anthony told him.

"Here," Hermione said as she gave Seamus the portkey that would take him back to Magical London. "Thanks for coming."

"Anytime," the Irishman smiled. "I have a feeling things are about to get a lot busier for you and me over here."

"It looks like it," Hermione agreed.

A knock sounded on the door of Hotch's office late that night, just as he made the decision to head home. He looked up to find Hermione Granger standing in his doorway looking a bit dusty. The agent took in her ruffled appearance and the grime clinging her boots, realizing that she'd come directly to his office.

"What can I do for you, Captain," he offered politely, hoping this wouldn't take up too much of his time.

"I'm just dropping off my report," Hermione said, entering the office.

Hotch took the file she offered and she took a seat. With interest he opened the file, only to be greeted with the black streaks of censorship. Aaron flicked a few pages, coming to the conclusion that he had about half of the document.

"This is a report?" he demanded.

"I asked my boss for permission to bring you in the loop on some of our missions, seeing as I'm under your command here at the FBI."

"Half of a report doesn't make me in the loop," Aaron shot back.

"I have no control over that. I asked and he did what he thought was best."

"How long have you been on black ops?" Hotch threw back unpredictably, expecting it to illicit a reaction from her.

Instead the woman smiled serenely. "If that's what you'd like to call them, I've been on them for a while."

The profiler in him heard an insinuation in her voice that he couldn't help but latch on to. "That's a fairly ambiguous term," he pressed.

"Yes it is," Hermione said, the smile dropping. "And that's all I have to say on the matter."

"This thing is a joke," Hotch said, flipping a page of the file she'd given him.

"It's more than you had this morning and it's all I have to offer," Hermione said, rising from her seat. "I'd hoped to build some trust between us, but I've now come to the realization that's impossible. Have a nice night, Agent."

Hermione stalked out of his office.

He watched her leave through the window of his office, as an unpleasant feeling of guilt stirred inside of him. "Wait!"

Hotch grabbed his briefcase and coat and rushed after her. She paused next to the doors to the lobby and was waiting expectantly.

"I apologize for being unfair to you," Hotch said when he reached her. "I'm not entirely comfortable having someone on my team whose motivations I can't account for. Everyone else is in this department because they want to catch criminals. You're here to do whatever you're commanding officer tells you to do, and it's not a situation I feel comfortable with."

"I am here to catch criminals," Hermione said. "Ones that hangout in areas your team frequents. If you read the report I gave you, I think you'll find enough in there to make you comfortable with my being on the team. If not, you can fire me tomorrow, no questions asked."

"I can't fire you," Hotch objected. "You know that."

"I can request reassignment," Hermione said. "If you are so sure that I'm a threat to the team, after reading my report I'll leave at your request. I won't tell my commanding officers why, but I will secure placement on another unit in the FBI."

Hotch stared at the Captain, searching her for signs of falsehood. There was nothing.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I like the members of your team. I realize that you've built an efficient team that won't work long term if you always have a problem trusting me. This is where I would like to work, don't get me wrong, but if I'm going to ruin this unit I will leave it."

"You know what it's like to build a team," Hotch said, understanding hitting him.

"And see it ruined," Hermione replied.

The senior agent nodded. "I'll review this file. If I want you off the team, I'll call you before eight tomorrow morning."

Please review.