Brennan wasn't speaking to Booth.

Hermione wasn't speaking to Ron.

Despite the noise in the kitchen, crowded now with wizards seated around the long table discussing and arguing over the upcoming Quidditch match, their silence was a deafening roar that rose above everything else. On opposite sides of the table the two women stood, arms crossed, faces expressionless. Mostly they stared at their respective husbands . . . who carefully ignored them and even more carefully refused to meet their gaze. Occasionally the women glanced at each other, sighed heavily then resumed their pointed stares.

Finally, George turned around. "You two are about as lovely as a couple of Dementors," he groused to Hermione. "You're bleeding all the fun out of a friendly game of Quidditch."

"I'm trying to stop him," Hermione glared at Booth, "from bleeding all over the Quidditch pitch!" she answered smartly.

"Ah now, that's not fair," George shook his head in mock sadness. "And here we are, coming up with all these new rules just so the Muggle won't get his fragile self hurt and you doubt us." He sighed dramatically. "No faith, these women. No faith."

"We're going to let James and Freddie play," Harry pointed out. "That should tell you we're not worried the game will be dangerous."

"They. Are. Wizards," Hermione bit out. "And skilled players themselves! No, it doesn't reassure me!"

"Yea, but we put Freddie on Ron's team," Lee Jordan spoke up from his seat at the table, "and since he knows he can't hit the bludger directly at the Muggle . . ."

"It's simple, really," Ron spoke up finally, pulling a sheet of parchment from a pile in the middle of the table. "See?" He read from a numbered list. "Bludgers are not to be aimed toward the Muggle's head or upper extremities."

"Upper extremities are off limits," George repeated sagely. "We'll only aim for his lower extremities."

"Not too low," Booth inserted, grinning.

"Of course," Hermione answered snidely. "We'll just have Bill stop in mid-flight so the bludger can be aimed according to the rules. You idiots!" She grabbed for a handful of pages and smacked the back of George's head. "What if he falls off the broom?"

George scratched his head. "Why would he want to fall off the broom?" he asked. "Much safer to stay on it."

"Yea, I'd rather stay on," Booth shook his head, his grin indicating his lack of fear. Behind him, Brennan growled her frustration then repeated Hermione's actions when she snatched a sheaf of paper from the table and rapped him sharply on the head.

"You don't know how to ride a broom, Booth!" She dropped the papers on the table and closed her eyes. "I can't believe I just said that," she mumbled, shaking her head.

Lee frowned. "That's a fair point," he said, looking at the American. "You should practice."

"What?"
"That's probably a good idea."
"Brilliant idea!"
"No!"
"Where should we go?"
"Are you listening to yourselves?"
"Should we get Bill?"
"That's not what I meant!"
"We could pick up the brooms now and use the field behind the shop."
"We should practice riding double, too."
"Stop!"
"I can take Booth to Diagon Alley."
"I don't believe this."
"Not a chance. I want to keep my toenails."
"Wonder if he can use the Floo network?"
"They grow back."
"Hey, d'you think we could get James and Freddie out of school and practice with them, too?"
"Toenails?"
"I'll take him."
"What is wrong with his toenails?"
"I need all my body parts, kid."
"Ron sometimes leaves his behind . . ."
"What network?"
"We could meet them in Hogsmeade . . ."
"What do you mean, he leaves his toenails behind?"
"You are not sneaking those children out of school!"
"The women can meet us tonight at the Three Broomsticks and we'll finalize everything."
"Too bad the secret tunnels aren't secret anymore."
"I don't know what that means."
"Look, they grow back."
"Harry, do you still have the map?"
"So it's settled, then?"
"What's settled?"
"Dad might know some cushioning spells, you know, just in case."
"Oh, good idea."
"What is settled?"
"Hermione, bring Dad."
"I refuse to humour you in this insane idea . . ."
"Are we ready, then?"
"Who am I going with?"
"I don't believe this . . ."
"I'll take you. Last time I checked, I had all my toenails."
"Is anyone listening to me?"
"THEY GROW BACK!"

Chairs scraped as they were pushed back from the table while papers were sorted and gathered up. As everyone headed upstairs, Booth pulled Brennan into a quick hug.

"I'll see you later at . . ." he turned back to Ron. "Where did you say we're meeting?"

"The Three Broomsticks," Ron answered, still avoiding Hermione's eyes. "It's a pub in Hogsmeade."

"What he said," Booth nodded toward Ron and bent his head to drop a quick kiss on her lips, ignoring her glare.

"Fine. I'll just go back to the hotel and see if Angela has any news on the remains," she huffed. "That is why we were invited into this community, remember?"

He smiled at her ruffled demeanour. "Sure. You can give me the full report tonight. Tell her I said hello."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'll call our attorney, also," she added, "to make sure your last will and testament is current."

"Ah, now, no one's going to die," George smiled cheekily, stopping to pat Booth on the shoulder as he passed by on the way to the stairs. "No one's died playing Quidditch in at least six months." Laughing, he skipped away.

Booth eyed Brennan uncertainly. "He's kidding, Bones. He's kidding." He grabbed Harry as he walked by. "He is kidding, right?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. You're much more likely to break an arm or a leg than you are to die. Ready?"

"See? I'll be fine." He gave her another hard squeeze. "Relax, Bones. I promise not to get killed." Another kiss and he bounded away after Harry.

.

.
"Sweetie, you look awful." Angela's voice matched her concerned expression. "Didn't you sleep well last night?"

"I may never sleep well again," Brennan mumbled, looking away from the camera. "Never mind," she said when she noticed the puzzled expression on Angela's face. "Did the remains arrive this morning?"

"Yes," Angela nodded. "It was a little strange, actually. Clark said the crate was sitting on one of the exam tables when he arrived. No one knows how it got in here or who signed for it. If it hadn't had your handwriting on the label, we wouldn't have opened it."

Brennan chose to ignore that avenue of discussion. "Have you made any progress on the reconstruction?"

"I've started in-putting the measurements from the skull and Hodgins is working on the soil samples you sent. I should have an image for you in a couple of hours."

"Good. I'll be here in the hotel for a few more hours and it would be helpful if you could send it before I have to leave again tonight."

"Are you having reception problems?" Angela asked.

"Something like that," Brennan murmured. "I haven't been able to get a signal when I'm with . . . never mind. Just let me know when you have something for me. Oh, and we may be leaving later than originally scheduled tomorrow."

"Why? Because of this new case?"

"Not exactly," she answered, massing her temples. "But I've been told our flight will be delayed tomorrow by unforeseen circumstances."

"Well that's weird."

"Ange, you have no idea."

.

.

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What, you're going to just read and run? tsk tsk tsk