The five adults passed an uncomfortable few minutes with no words exchanged. The toes of Brennan's left foot tapped impatiently but she remained silent, staring at each of the three people facing her.
"So," Booth spoke finally, his voice loud in the quiet room. "The deal is, we figure out who your dead body belongs to and then we're done, right? You'll leave."
Ron and Harry shared a look that mirrored the confusion in Hermione's voice. "We'd like your help, yes, but we can't force you, sir." Her smile was hesitant. "If you don't want to help us then . . ."
Booth waved a hand in the air. "You put us on top of that clock!"
"Big Ben."
"The Clock Tower."
Brennan and Hermione spoke simultaneously and glanced briefly at each other. Hermione threw a side look at Ron, who shrugged his shoulders. "You weren't in any real danger," he said offhandedly.
"Never in any . . ." Booth spluttered. "That thing has got to be 300 feet tall! No!" he pointed to Brennan when she opened her mouth to give him the exact height of the Clock Tower at the Palace of Westminster. "I don't need to know exactly how high up we were to know what would have happened if we'd fallen off."
"Scared of heights, are you?" Ron smirked.
Booth glared back.
Hermione interrupted quickly. "Sir," Hermione smiled gently. "I wouldn't have allowed you to fall."
Booth considered her words in silence for a minute, looking as if he wanted to argue, and then shook his head rapidly. "Never mind. So basically, if we tell you that we won't help you, you'll just turn around and leave?"
Hermione's expression betrayed her resignation, her shoulders dropping when she answered, eyes on Brennan. "Yes."
"Well, then, goodbye," Booth said and moved to shepherd them to the door.
"If I say no, what will you do with the bones?" Brennan's voice halted the forced exodus.
"I don't know," Hermione turned back. "I didn't consider that. But they deserve a name, don't they, the bones? They used to be somebody's mother, father, son or daughter. We can't just ignore them now that they've been found."
"Oh, you had to put it like that," Booth muttered. Hands on hips, he shook his head at the ceiling.
"We thought . . . well, I thought," Hermione continued, "that you would be the best person to help us. My father is quite impressed with you. He says you're the best in the world at this type of thing."
"Yes, I am," Brennan answered matter-of-factly.
"Bones . . ."
"Maybe I could just take a quick look, Booth," she shrugged. "If I could reschedule my lectures . . ."
"We can arrange that, Dr. Brennan," Hermione offered eagerly.
"At least you'd have my permission this time," she responded with a bite to her tone that brought a blush to Hermione's cheeks.
"Bones . . ."
"You've been complaining about being bored since we got here. This," she waved at the three wizards, "is at the very least not boring." The sound of a cell phone ringing in the bedroom interrupted whatever he might have said. "That's probably Angela," Brennan said. "I'll be right back," she threw over her shoulder as she hurried into the next room.
Once again, an awkward silence filled the room. Harry's voice broke the quiet this time. "Perhaps if we sat down?" he asked, motioning to the seating area grouped in front of a fireplace. Booth pointedly avoided the chair he'd seen go up in flames; with a grin at Ron, Harry took that seat while Ron and Hermione sat next to one another on the small settee opposite both chairs.
Another long moment passed.
"Angela," Hermione began somewhat timidly. "Is that your daughter?"
Booth shook his head. "No, Angela is one of our best friends. Our children are staying with her while we're here. And," he added off-handedly, "she also works with Bones."
"Strange career to be so popular," Ron murmured to Harry.
Booth frowned momentarily then grinned widely. "No, not bones, Bones. Well, she works with bones, too, but I meant, she works with Bones. My Bones." Knowing he'd just confused them further, he chuckled and continued, "Dr. Brennan. She works with Dr. Brennan. Angela is an artist and some kind of computer genius. When she sees a skull, she can tell you what the person looked like."
Hermione shot a smug look at Ron and Harry. "And you're a police officer, is that right? And with Dr. Brennan and . . . um, Angela you solve old murders?"
In familiar territory, Booth sat back in his chair, relaxed. "I work for the FBI and they're not always old murders but yea, you're mostly right."
"If they're not old murders, why would you need to rebuild someone's face?" Harry asked curiously.
Booth raised a brow. "There are a lot of ways to die that don't leave much behind to help identify the victim. That's usually where we come in." He cast a curious look at the three of them. "Not many people get killed in your neighborhood, I guess?"
A look passed between his guests he couldn't interpret. "Not recently, no," Harry responded for them, his voice quiet.
"So," Hermione chirped into the heavy silence that followed. "You refer to Dr. Brennan as Bones? That's rather a clever nickname for someone in her field."
The rakish grin was back. "I thought so when I came up with it."
"You mentioned children?" Hermione succumbed to the charm of his smile and sat back, relaxed, ignoring Ron's scowl.
"We have four," Booth replied. "My 18-year old son, a six-year old daughter and four-year old twin boys."
"Ron and I have two, a son and a daughter," she volunteered. "Harry has three, two boys and a girl."
"Your kids, are they . . . can they . . ." Booth waved one hand in the air, his question fading into silence.
It was Hermione's turn to smile broadly. "Can they do magic? Well, they're underage so technically they aren't allowed. But accidents happen, of course."
"Accidental magic," Booth repeated slowly.
"Yes. Children are sometimes unable to master their impulses," she explained. "They learn as they grow up. And of course, once they're in school they learn to control and channel their abilities."
"School."
"Yes. The oldest are already at Hogwarts. The younger children will be attending next year."
"What has warts?" Brennan asked, rejoining the group, perching on the arm of Booth's chair..
"No, sorry, nothing has warts," Hermione explained. "We were talking about Hogwarts, the school our children attend. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Oh." Brennan looked at them for a few seconds before pointedly turning to Booth. "That was Angela. Do you want to know about the paint?"
His eyes narrowed as they looked into hers. "I don't know . . . do I want to know about the paint?" She considered for a moment, then made a face and shook her head. "Then no, I don't want to know about the paint."
"All right," Brennan changed subjects abruptly. "When can I examine the remains you found?" she asked Hermione.
"We can take you now, although you might like to change first," she answered with a nod to the dress the anthropologist wore.
"How long will it take us to get there?" Booth asked.
The three wizards exchanged a glance. "About 15 seconds." Ron answered.
"You mean, we have to do that whoosh thing again?" Booth grimaced. "Can't we just take a cab?"
"Hogsmeade isn't exactly on a travel map, mate" Ron smirked, earning an elbow in the ribs from Hermione.
"There might be another alternative," Hermione murmured, thinking. "The Knight Bus?" she offered.
"No." Ron and Harry said together.
"Floo?"
"Carry floo powder in your pocket, do you?" Harry asked.
"No," Hermione admitted. "We could go through the Leaky Cauldron to Diagon Alley and use the floo network there."
Ron shot a brief look at Booth and Brennan who were clearly confused as they tried to follow the conversation taking place in front of them.
"Take this lot to Diagon Alley? Their heads would explode!" he said snidely.
"You know, buddy, I don't like you," Booth interjected.
Ron returned the glare. "You put your hands on my wife. The feeling's mutual."
"Your wife put mine on a roof!" Booth jumped to his feet.
"Yea and maybe next time she can just leave you there!" The two men faced each other with only a small oval table between them, irritation sparking the air around them.
Hermione and Brennan exchanged a glance filled with a familiar understanding.
"Ron."
"Booth."
"What are you going to do," Booth jeered. "Get your little stick out and turn me into a frog?"
"Don't you dare, Ron," Hermione ordered.
"You mean he could?" Brennan asked incredulously.
"Yes," the witch answered. "It's a simple spell."
"That's impossible," Brennan stated. "There are concrete differences in the nervous system and the skeletal structure, not to mention the fact that a frog is amphibious and can remove oxygen . . ."
"Really, Bones? This guy is threatening to turn me into a toad and you want to stop and give everyone a biology lesson?" Booth expression and tone were filled with exasperation.
"Frog, not toad, Booth, and technically it was your suggestion and not his threat."
A chuckle from Harry diffused the situation. Hermione bit her lip to prevent herself from joining in, tugging at Ron until he sat back down beside her, continuing to stare narrow-eyed at Booth who resisted a similar pull from Brennan for a few minutes longer.
When everyone was seated again, Harry leaned forward. "I know this is difficult for both of you," he began, "but the first thing you have to understand is that everything you thought was impossible, isn't." He looked at them earnestly. "I didn't know about the wizarding world until my eleventh birthday and it was a shock to find out that magic was real. But it is." His gaze was straightforward and honest. "Magic is real. If you come with us to look at the body we found, you're going to see our world. It's not pretend. It's not slight of hand or a trick of light. It's just . . . magic." He glanced at Booth. "You're really not in any danger. We're here because we need your help." He focused on Brennan. "We came to you because you're the best person to help us, and because we hoped to involve as few people as possible. If you can help us, we can avoid telling someone who might then tell half of Britain."
"How do you know I won't tell anyone?" she asked curiously.
Harry shrugged. "We can't be sure, obviously. But Hermione believes you're trustworthy, and she's usually right."
"So what happens now?" Booth asked.
"Once you're both ready," Harry answered, "we'll take you to Hogsmeade using Side-Along Apparition. The whoosh thing," he added at Booth's questioning look. "It really is the best way to get there. The village is some distance away and the other alternatives would be even less to your liking."
"We can't just hop on a broom?" Booth joked.
"Even if Ron and I had our brooms with us, it's a long flight and you'd be very uncomfortable," Harry replied seriously.
Whatever Booth may have replied was lost when Brennan spoke up. "I believe it is only fair to tell you that despite what you have shown us and what you have said, I do not believe in magic. I believe there is a logical, rational explanation for everything we've seen, even though I haven't found it yet. That being said," she rose, "I'm going to change clothes. Booth?" she added, with a look at his suit.
Booth tossed a last glance over his shoulder at the three wizards before firmly shutting the door to the bedroom behind him.
"Tough egg," Harry said.
"Well, we knew it wouldn't be easy," Hermione responded. "At least she's going to help us. The rest will take care of itself."
Ron frowned at the closed door. "Hermione, what's the spell to turn someone into a frog?"
.
.
Personally, I think Booth would make a very handsome frog. *lol*
Thanks for reading and for the alerts, which I'm counting as anonymous positive reviews. :-)