DISCLAIMER: Neither the TV show 'NCIS' nor the 'Harry Potter' book series belong to me.

After an interrogation about working in a Muggle federal agency, how that difficulted personal relationships, and finally and most embarrassingly, men (at which point McGee had pointedly excused himself, standing up with Palmer and dragging an unwilling Tony along) they found themselves sitting at the table with everyone there – even people they hadn't been introduced to.

The Quidditch players had dropped to the ground at the first sight of food – and, even for twenty people, there was quite a lot of that –and ran to the tables like a wolf smelling pray. After Molly – there were too many Mrs. Weasleys to call her that – had threatened bodily harm, brandishing her wand, to anyone who didn't wash their hands, they'd hurried to enter the house, and the velocity with which they came back out made Ziva wonder if there was some sort of magical, faster system for washing up. Or if they just hadn't bothered to do it.

As soon as they'd sat down, however, the NCIS' focus had been diverted: they had quickly noticed Fleur Delacour. Even pregnant, she immediately caught the attention of anyone within fifty feet. And suddenly, all the men (including, to Ziva's mild shudder, Gibbs and Ducky) had been fascinated with her side of the yard.

Jenny wasn't amused, and she demonstrated that by leaving a perfectly drawn half-moon of fingernail marks on Gibbs' hand. Ziva made Tony exhale a very loud and strangled breath with an elbow to his ribs, and Abby somehow found something to make a suspicious, though mild, burn on McGee's wrist.

Ducky chuckled, breaking his concentration on the young woman, and, with rather flaming cheeks, pointedly avoided looking in her direction again. "Well, I'd say it is your own fault for finding infatuation on dangerous women."

Gibbs rolled his eyes, but Ziva could see his neck burning. McGee – fully red – sputtered incoherently and made Abby pat his back reassuringly as he shook his hand vigorously against the new mark.

Tony, however, had the nerve to grin unabashedly, so Ziva decided to stomp on his foot as hard as she could. Jenny remained impassive, and anyone who might have heard the exchange around them just smiled in understanding sympathy (mostly the males) and brushed it off. Palmer was still staring, however, and no one seemed about to shake him out of it.

But no one made to deny the old man's words.

"Don't worry." Hermione said cheerfully, awfully amused at the display. "Fleur tends to have that effect on people – well, men, actually. Her grandmother was a Veela."

"Veela?" If Ziva hadn't known Gibbs better, she'd say he was desperate to change the conversation theme.

"Yes. They're quite… persuasive, in attracting male attention." Hermione snorted in irritated derision. "Ron almost choked on his own voice when he first met her."

"I did not!" The man on question yelped from next to his wife. "I was just… imagining her as a sister!"

"That" Ginny drawled, disbelief oozing form her expression. "has got to be the worst excuse ever."

"Hey, Harry wasn't much better!"

"Oh, I can deny that. I was present, and I vividly recall him laughing at your drooling face."

"Thank you, Hermione. You probably saved the couch from having to handle me tonight."

"Then again, I'm not exactly sure who was worse when you met the actual Veelas."

"I withdraw my words."

"Good, because the couch isn't safe from a thing."

Well, at least the attention was off of them.

Tony leaned over to whisper in Ziva's ear, after popping a small piece of bread in his mouth. "And they're married?" He asked jokingly.

"They remind me of two idiots I work with." Gibbs said mildly. Then he looked away, drinking something Ziva didn't recognize and acting as though he hadn't said a thing. His words, however, effectively stopped their exchange, and Ziva was left wondering if he – somehow – knew something.

It was Gibbs. That fact alone worried her.

"Well, they do, actually." Ducky was, however, not exactly looking in Tony's direction. His eyes were rather visibly aimed at Jenny and his long-time friend. Gibbs ignored him, and Jenny faked hearing loss.

Ducky wisely dropped it.

"So, do you have dinners with these many people every day?" Jenny prompted, attempting to engage in easy-going conversation with a smile.

"No." Hermione shook her head. "Usually we have six people less. Besides you, of course." Ziva did a head count, and she calculated that there were, besides themselves, about twenty-two people there. Three of which were visibly pregnant. Six people must've made a lot of difference, indeed. "Today, a few old friends came. You've met Luna." And how.

"Have you now?" A cheerful voice said from behind them. Ziva turned, and instinctively did a double take, eyes zeroing in on the lack of ear that marked the man speaking to them.

He was handsome – no doubt about that – and he carried himself with the flair of someone who'd make a pact with the devil just for the sake of a couple of more laughs. There was a distinctive Tony-like air about him, which would mean she needed to hide from him any food or drinks that she would possibly still want.

He smoothly slid a chair between Ziva and Abby, and plopped down on it, happily throwing each of his arms over their shoulders. "Well, hello ladies. I'm George!" His smile reminded Ziva of Tony's again. Without most of the appeal, however (for some reason).

Ziva's hand pulled his arm forward and over her head, and he was suddenly pressed face-first against the table. Abby picked the other arm lightly from her own shoulder and dropped it. Ziva let go of him quickly, though (she was aware that she was a guest in his parents' home, and physical injuries were probably considered rude).

"Sorry. I believe I do not know my own strength." She said as apologetically as she felt (literally), watching him trying to right himself with a groan. "Hello. I am Ziva David."

"And I" Another voice, female, said with even more glee. "am Angelina. And you" She gave Ziva a hug, dropping down on another chair. "are my new best friend."

The dark-skinned girl harshly rubbed George's shoulder (the one Ziva had made sure to maul), and his groaning increased as he stood up. "He likes to hit on every woman he sees, poor thing. Don't take it personally." She added to Tony, who blinked in faked confusion and mild, real, panic.

"Why would I take it personally?" He asked, rubbing his neck. Maybe he shouldn't have done that, if he wanted his words to mean something.

Angelina raised her eyebrows slowly. Then she shook her head with a small smirk. Was every wizard and witch so meddlesome? And, while she was at it, why did all of them act as great friends the moment he saw them? "No reason. Anyway, don't take it personally." She told Ziva and Abby this time.

"I think I should take it personally." George whined, mock-glaring at Angelina. "My own wife - which she should be very proud of being, since it's not a word I would ever associate with my gorgeous self – is against me!"

"Maybe it's because you were hitting on women other than your wife." She shrugged, making a helpless face. "Honestly, I don't know. It's just a theory. It's most likely because of some deep-buried insecurities that I have, though." She patted his cheek with a little more force than strictly necessary.

He gave her a grin, and he seemed under the impression that that was all he needed to melt her. To Ziva's surprise, it actually was. Then she remembered how that worked for her with Tony too, and she looked away.

George pecked Angelina on the lips, and she was perfectly happy again. "Either way – nice move." He grinned at Ziva, scratching the hole on the side of his head. She found herself staring slightly.

"How did you get that?" Gibbs asked suddenly, leaning forward – everyone from NCIS, used to short breaks for food, had already finished eating, so he pushed his plate aside as he spoke.

George looked surprised that he was asked that – so, either it was a known story, or no one was usually brave enough to actually ask about it. Then he grinned in absolute delight, and Ziva knew that anything that left his mouth from then on would be total bull-crap.

He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Oh, that's a story. There were these women, you see-" He began – but it didn't last long. Angelina hit his hand, effectively shutting him up.

"It was an accident." She stated promptly, like a well-rehearsed line she was forced to say.

Gibbs dropped the interrogation.

"She never lets me tell the real story." He confided, opening his arms like he was gathering pity. "It's too embarrassing, in her opinion. See, she was involved, and-"

"If you want to shut him up," Gibbs interrupted, mildly twirling a spoon in his tea as he stared at it mistrustfully. "I've found that hitting the back of people's head works wonders." He looked up at Angelina briefly, before he settled himself to watch his under-caffeined beverage again.

George's expression morphed into outrage at that. "Oh, so you're the one responsible for the new weapon in my sister's arsenal?!" Ginny smirked, crossing her arms and leaning back, content in keeping quiet in favor of watching them all argue because of her.

"George," Harry called, leaning over Ginny to give them a harassed grin. "Play nice, now. You're not the only one affected by that tragedy."

Ginny gave them all a demonstration, using her husband as her test subject.

"You're all an incredibly weird family." Tony announced in his usual brashness. Ziva swatted his leg under the table, and he winked at her suggestively in response, so Ziva made sure there were nail marks too close to his special bits for comfort in retaliation. He didn't seem very bothered by it – at least not in a bad way. A sneaking suspicion – that might have had something to do with her locked memories or not – told her that Tony liked nails and teeth. Her ears were burning as she looked away.

"Thank you!" George performed a mock bow. "We do try."

Tony grinned – he'd finally found someone just as childish as he was. Ziva nervously scooted away from the instantly chattering pair.

"Should I be worried?" She wondered aloud to Ginny, who grimaced in response. She didn't like that answer.

"So," Someone sat down next to them. "I hear you're the Muggles that arrested my brother." He was grinning, which shook the foredoom that his appearance brought on. "I'm Bill, by the way." He shook hands with the whole NCIS troupe before leaning back and looking perfectly at ease.

He was tall, lean and muscular, with long hair and all the appearance of a smooth and charming man. The only thing that shook the image was the heavily scarred face. It looked as if a large animal had scratched him in a fit of rage. They were visibly claw marks, and even Ziva, who had seen much worse, found herself startled.

"Yes." Gibbs was the first to snap out of it. "My agents found them trespassing at a crime scene."

The guy's grin only broadened. "Right. I'll have to add that to their ignored offences."

Harry mock-scowled in his direction. "Next time, you save the world legally. I had a headache! I couldn't think of any other way to do things without breaking into a bank!" He protested.

"You broke into a bank?" McGee asked, half-amused, half-horrified.

"Only because I needed to destroy a priceless artifact hidden there."

"Right." Gibbs said dryly – even he'd gotten used to the young man by then. "Did that happen to the other one too?" For a moment, Ziva saw panic and confusion flare in Harry's eyes, and she imagined he was thinking of something else – but then, he seemed to understand, and his whole body relaxed slightly as he laughed.

"Nah. The Amortentia's already with the Ministry." He grinned, and Ziva couldn't help but notice that his voice was a little weaker than before.

There was a temporary lull in the air, and they all drank something in lack of anything to do. "So," Bill started up conversation again. "How did Harry force-bring you to England?"

"I did not 'force-bring' them here!" He protested, elbows resting on the table. Then he grinned, as if he only needed his own will to tell the truth. "Portkey."

Ziva didn't ask what the word meant in favor of her eagerness in hearing Abby's next question and its sub-consequent answer. "We're in England?" She squealed, looking around in awe as if everything had suddenly changed.

"Oh, yeah." Harry said, as if he was suddenly remembering he should have told them that a little earlier. "Forgot to tell you that." His smile wasn't very apologetic.

The rest of the evening went surprisingly pleasantly. Eventually, they were introduced to everyone, and the conversation gradually became one around the entire length of the table. Everyone was very interested in the details of the latest adventure of the 'Golden Trio', though Ziva couldn't figure out why for the life of her.

After that, they dispersed, something Ziva figured was routine with a group that big. The Longbottoms took a liking to McGee, and the Creeveys happily struck up conversation on photography of dead bodies with Palmer ('It's all about the lighting. Their skin is clearer, so you can't just do the same thing you'd do with living people.'). Abby quickly fell in love with the Scamanders, and Arthur formed a trio with Gibbs and Ducky to exchange stories and knowledge of each world. Molly played the amicable host with Jenny - Ziva could hear many 'lovelies' and 'thank yous' from their direction. Tony obviously joined the men – just about all of them - talking about Quidditch (they weren't allowed to play after sun-set, which made Ziva wonder if their mother controlled them in their homes too).

Which left Ziva with the rest of the women, something she wasn't very experienced with. She'd learned all their names by then – there was Fleur, Audrey, Angelina and, obviously, Hermione and Ginny. Being outnumbered five-to-one wasn't leaving her any less nervous either, and she found her fingers twitching apprehensively in her usual nervous habit.

"So," Hermione began with a smile, once they'd sat down on the grass, watching the three kids play a few meters away. "how are you finding the Wizarding World so far?"

Just after she spoke, Teddy's hair became longer and blonder, and his face morphed into that of Victoire's. Mockingly, he began walking around like a chicken, flapping his arms in a poor imitation of his friend. Mary shrieked with laughter and Victoire scowled, nose upturned, at him.

"Strange." She answered truthfully. Victoire jumped over Teddy and pinned him to the ground. Mary joined them, and, in unison, the two girls mercilessly tickled the boy into a mess of tearful and breathless giggles.

Hermione's smile turned into a grin. "Yes, I remember when McGonagall nearly gave my parents a heart attack. I couldn't sleep straight for a week. I'm a Muggleborn, like Mary." She explained to Ziva's confused look.

The word reminded her of the 'case' they were investigating. Her eyes focused on the afore-mentioned girl, gingerly petting the purring stuffed animal that Ziva had seen Victoire running around with earlier. "Why would someone hate a little girl like that?" She asked quietly, lips turning up as Mary took up Victoire's earlier quest of keeping the toy away from Teddy. Ziva hoped that this period of blissful forgetfulness would last a long, long time – when reality crashed down and Mary went home without her parents, it would be bad enough.

Hermione's sigh was as good as a verbal answer, but Audrey said the unvoiced words the action had transmitted. "Because there will always be people with overinflated egos – even if they're law runaways and smell like they haven't had a shower in months, they're still better than us." Ziva wrinkled her nose as the memory of the men they'd brought into interrogation assaulted her senses again.

"You are a Muggleborn too, then?" Ziva questioned, looking at Percy Weasley's wife – the man had joined Tony and his brothers, but it didn't appear as though it had been willing.

Audrey nodded, fidgeting to become more comfortable. "Yes – Percy helped me, when…" She trailed off, her eyes unfocusing and her hand lightly tracing her covered arm. She shook her head to return to the present. "Anyway, I have no doubt that everyone behind this will go down." Her face was serene, and Ziva deduced that it wasn't the first time that her family members had thrived through impossible situations.

"Of course they will." Ginny said cheerfully. "And then, Harry will let me go kick their disgusting, fat arses for having dared to threaten me."

Alarmed, Ziva snapped her head to the pregnant woman. "You have been threatened? When was that?"

Ginny shrugged uncomfortably, frowning at her unhappily. "Yesterday." She sighed when Ziva's glare ordered her to elaborate. "Harry received a letter, and, after he made a copy and did all sorts of unspeakable things to it, he was ready to use the original to track and do a repeat performance on the writer. I stopped him, though, and it was protected against that anyway." She assured the Israeli.

"Why have you or Harry not told us?" Ziva asked – this was not information they ought to be withholding, if they were to be working together.

"It was an empty threat!" She protested defensively, hands resting on her belly. "No one would dare to come near the wife of the Boy-who-lived." Ziva made a mental note to ask about the nickname later.

"Be that as it may," She said, her voice reproachful. Fleur, who had been keeping an attentive eye on the three kids, ready to intervene if anyone got hurt, glanced at Ziva at her tone. "You still should have told us. Forensics would be able to find things where magic cannot, given that the sender was likely more worried about the second than the first – if he even knew what the first was."

Ginny was about to reply with a usual rebellious instinct-driven retort when she paused, tilting her head in acknowledgement of the idea. "I… hadn't thought of that, actually." She admitted, apologetically grimacing at Ziva. "Sorry. I'll see that Harry makes sure it gets to you, avoiding any further contamination." She promised, and Ziva relaxed, satisfied with that arrangement.

"Okay!" Angelina said with forced bubbliness. "Now that that's settled, shall we talk about some actual, and more important, matters?" Her eyes gleamed with the same glint as her husband's, and Ziva figured that that wasn't a good thing.

Fleur and Ginny smirked, Hermione and Audrey rolled her eyes, and that confirmed it. The conversation turned to Tony's… attributes (he was the only one they could agree on talking about without becoming uncomfortable – Ziva didn't count, apparently) and the rest of the day was spent with the Israeli pretending not to hear a lot of things.

Every time something unexpected happened, someone wasted no time in explaining it to them. When a rusty old cauldron by the door exploded, Harry pointed to the bickering (again) of Victoire and Teddy, which a scowling Molly was already hurrying to break up, much to Mary's onlooker amusement. When a glowing purple ball suddenly appeared in mid-air, right over Ginny's head, and exploded, showering her with what appeared to be (and was probably not) glue and chicken feathers, she explained, between hexes in her innocent-looking brother's direction, that George owned a joke shop, which delighted Tony.

Those were two of the occasions out of the edge of Ziva's head, but she knew there had been many more. By the time they were ready to leave, even Gibbs was looking frazzled.

"We hope you come again soon!" Molly had beamed at them all with such a truthful expression, that, even though Ziva now held deep belief in the idea of refusing dinner invitations, she didn't even have the heart to form an actual thought regarding it.

They had nodded mutely and uncompromisingly, and Harry, sporting a knowing grin, had led them back to the alley.

He'd waved his wand and, sure enough, there were the cars, as spotless as how they'd left them. Without another word, Gibbs left for his, and Jenny, rolling her eyes, properly said her and his goodbyes and appreciation for the meal. There were only two reasons, actually, that made their boss stay parked there: first, they were all aware, he wouldn't leave without his team right in front of him, and second, he was also the ride for two of them.

Harry leaned against Tony's hood, observing them all, and looking for something Ziva ignored. "So... Intense experience?"

Tony just raised his eyebrows, and she had a feeling that was answer enough for the wizard. Mary was cocooned, fast asleep (Ziva wondered when that had happened) to his side, and he popped the back door of his car open to deposit her there. He took care in lying her down, she noticed – the cap came off, so that it wouldn't hurt her, and his jacket was covering her whole body by the time he gingerly closed the door.

Ziva rubbed her arms, though she didn't feel any cold at all. She was just bone tired. But she knew her day was far from over. She could count at least two more stops before she was able to rest in her near future.

"You could say that." Ducky said, crossing his arms against the lightly chilly air. He was leaning against Jimmy's vehicle, which had been his ride there.

Harry shrugged, but she could see through the apparent indifference that he knew how they were feeling. "I would have brought Hermione or Audrey, or even both, since they're actual Muggleborns and have the added bonus of being girls, and I imagine they'd give great advice as to how you can deal with it. If I were you, though – and I'm speaking from experience - I'd mull it over." Everyone gave him blank stares as a reward, and he puffed out a breath. "I'm just saying - you'll have to deal with it sooner or later, and every different person has a different way of doing that. Your brain - I'm assuming you all have one – interprets things in its own way. You have a better chance of understanding and processing it all when it's fresh and you're not trying to pretend it never happened."

"Very wise." Ducky complimented, but his tone was too monochordic for Ziva to understand what he meant with it.

Harry sighed warily, looking tired and no longer cheerful. "Look – I get it. I'm not among your impeccable mate list right now, and I suppose you won't be warming up to wizards any time soon-"

"Actually," Tony interrupted, casually crossing his arms and twirling his car keys in his finger. "I don't really have a problem with Mary." The implied meaning was quite clear.

Harry didn't seem fazed. He rolled his eyes. "And you'll beat up anyone who does, so maybe you're a little biased." Ziva could swear she saw Tony start at that, but by then – even if she'd never say it aloud – she was already agreeing with the wizard. "Speaking of which – what time should I be at the Navy Yard tomorrow?"

The unimpressed scowl on Tony's face was informative as to how much Harry's first comment had been appreciated. "Aren't you a magician? Guess."

Harry rolled his eyes – apparently attributing Tony's mood to lack of sleep. The young man did spend a lot of his time with his young godson – he was probably used to it. "I'll be there at seven-thirty in the morning. And, by the way," He added, and Ziva thought that the way he was backing up was rather suspicious, as was the overly casual tone. He was running. "don't be too concerned if your suspects are gone by morning. Nor if anyone you work with is suddenly ignorant of their existence. I'll see you tomorrow!" And he swiftly turned and disappeared into thin air.

"He waited until Gibbs was gone to say that." McGee said immediately.

"You think, McGee?" Gibbs barked from a cracked window. He was impatiently glowering at them all and the place Harry had just disappeared in. "You wanna get in the cars, or are you planning to wait until morning?" Jenny rolled her eyes from the passenger's seat (when had she gotten there?) and everyone else scrambled to get the engines started.

Abby made a bee-line to Gibbs' car, and McGee scrambled to get into Palmer's back seat. He'd come with Tony, but since there was a little girl fully spread across the back of the car, and Ziva was already claiming shotgun on that one, he'd gotten the next best thing. Tony sighed and dropped into the driver's seat, popping in the seat belt. They were headed, he knew, to Gibbs', and he only prayed Abby was telling the man about that now (this way of carrying out the let's-tell-Gibbs-that-we're-using-his-home part of the we're-going-to-have-a-heartfelt-conversation plan – that was obviously Abby's doing - had seemed the safest, for some reason), because he'd be in the line of fire if they didn't.

It had been a long day, and the evening was far from over.