Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hotch releases a low sigh. This was not a good case – the entire team, bar Morgan, were revisiting the paperwork. They released the profile to the Police two days ago, just after the last two victims had been found, but they were still working on narrowing it down. As the unsub livestreamed the captivity of the hostages along with their torture and later murder, Morgan and Garcia were going over the footage again to see if anything had been missed.

Hotch, Rossi, Prentiss and Reid were going over the paper evidence and to see if anything further could be added to the profile; Rossi and Prentiss were spitballing ideas on profiles, Reid was working on refining his geographic profile and Hotch was looking through the autopsy reports and forensic evidence to see if anything had been missed the first time around.

All the team knew what they had to do; wait for more victims and more evidence when they found their bodies and hope that would help but going by the current timeline, they would have another five days before then – which is, of course, when Morgan burst in, shoulders tense but a small grin tugging at his lips. For a moment, Hotch hoped he’d found something, only to wince when the words registered.

“Guys, guys – we got another live video.”

“It’s only been two days – the timeline’s escalating,” Reid announced with a frown but obediently put down his papers to follow Morgan into the conference room.

“Then why are you smiling?” Prentiss asked as the team slid into the conference room where a video was already up on screen. The woman was petite and thin, with dark hair (black or dark brown – the lighting was rather dim) and green eyes.

The grin on Morgan’s lips widened.

“Because I don’t think our unsub planned this very well – and he definitely didn’t plan for her. And I’m not so sure she’ll need us at all.” The team exchanges a quizzical look at that remark, but Morgan ignores them and turns back to the phone Garcia is on. “Baby Girl, back to the beginning, please.”

She blinked, mind hazy and thoughts fuzzy as Harriet tried to recollect herself. Where was she? Last she remembered… she’d been in the US, somewhere. She’s travelled dimensions – not intentionally, of course, but in the usual fluke way which would have made Luna laugh hysterically and Hermione tear her hair out in frustration at how the impossible always seemed to be made possible solely around Harriet.

Nevertheless, she would like to maintain it wasn’t her fault. Deciding to go on a world travel holiday had been a great idea; what hadn’t been so great was Hermione handing her yet another book at the airport. This one didn’t even focus on what ‘Master of Death’ meant; it had like one sentence in it about that. Naturally, it had to be the one sentence Harriet had scoffed at. ‘What,’ she’d said to herself, ‘like all I’d need to say is ‘I want to be in a new dimension’ and it happens?’

Except, with her typical luck, that’s precisely what happened, of course and her plane was sucked into a new world – but none of the other passengers made it. She didn’t know if they remained in her old world or disintegrated or whatever else happened – all she knew was that the plane was empty of both pilots, crew and passengers and crashing to the ground.

Harriet has no idea how she survived – she was actually fairly certain that she hadn’t, in fact, survived the crash, but she remembers stumbling out, glad that her trunk with most of her belongings is around her neck not burning up with the rest here on the ground. The recollection is a bit hazy – she doesn’t know how she got away but the next time she’s a bit more there, she’s miles away from the plane crash. It’s only when she rents a room at a local motel that she finds out she’s still in the US but it’s nearly a decade later than she thought it would be.

And now, while this is a fairly typical thing to occur in her world, she hadn’t really expected it to happen here.

“Oh, you have to be frickin’ kidding me!” groaned Harriet, throwing her head back exasperatedly when she realised her arms and ankles were tied. “I will kill Hermione when I get out of here. Go on a holiday, she said. That I’d be safer away from home. No more kidnappings, she said. Well, this will show her.”

Harriet continued griping and mumbling, twisting her hands this way and that and finally resorting to magic to loosen the binds and slipping her wrists out.

“Ouch,” she moaned, moving her shoulder experimentally, and rubbing at her wrists before bending down to untie her ankles.

Finally free of the chair, Harriet steps away, stretching herself before taking a look around.

“Alright, where are we this time?” It looked like a cellar, dark walls, minimal light, small windows which most adult women – Harriet excluded – probably couldn’t fit through but which had bars across them. There were damp corners on the edges and the air smelled moist and mouldy.

“Lovely. Kidnapping 101. Lock the damsel in distress in your local slowly rotting wine cellar. They should start getting more imaginative at some point. I mean, after your third kidnapping or so it just gets embarrassing for the bad guys, am I right?” Harriet continued her litany of complaints without pause as she investigated further.

There was a small, darkened corner which was furthest from the light and hard to see into.

Out of all the things in the world she definitely hadn’t been expecting to see a small child sitting inside a cage.

“Merlin’s Bal-“ she cut herself off, realising how young he was and fumbled. “Banana, I mean.” She paused, frowning at herself. “Not that that’s much better now that I think about it.” Shaking her head slightly at her priorities, she focussed back on the child.

“Oh, hey, sweetheart,” her voice dropped into her Teddy-voice automatically as she knelt down beside the cage. “What are you doing here?”

The child looked like it hadn’t been in here that long – he was young, maybe four or so, and had clearly peed himself in the stress and there was dirt across his face from when he’d lain on the metal bars at some point.

Looking at the cage door and the lock on it, Harriet scowled slightly, eerily reminded of her second year.

“Well, sweetheart, we’ll get you out of here in a jiffy. My relatives tried this on me too, you know. Lock me in my cupboard for days, well joke’s on them. Once I was hungry enough after three days of no food and very little water, I figured out how to get out,” she winked. “So when they tried these locks,” she tapped the padlock, “when I was like twelve on the door and a catflap for food, well by then I’d gotten the hang of escaping.”

The little boy giggled then slapped his hands over his mouth and looked at her hesitantly like she’d scold him for laughing. Harriet winked again.

“However, our kidnapper’s an idiot. He definitely made this cage himself.” She eyed the iron bars encircling the cage. “Alright sweetie, I am going to turn this thing on its side so I can get to the bottom, here,” she tapped the wood the child was sitting on.

“I’ll need you to slide down with me, gently, when I move it until you’re sitting on the bars. That alright?”

“Yes,” the child looked a bit more bright-eyed already, eyes alit with curiosity as he watched her grumble and struggle to heave the heavy cage up enough to tilt it over.

“Lucky us,” she mumbled with another grin after she finished inspecting the bottom section.

“Alright kiddo,” she said when she focussed back on the child. “Give me a second, I think I saw something in the corner over there and we’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.”

It was a small metallic slat she’d spotted earlier, probably broken off a tool. The only reason she’d even seen it in the limited lighting the hanging lamp provided was its reflectiveness.

“While this bit here is screwed in, that over here is just nailed down and with the right leverage, easy enough to get out of. Sorry, if I were a bit more of a typical girl – and considering all my prior hostage and kidnapping experience, I probably should have, but in my defense, so far no one ever used a padlock for me other than my darling relatives. Anyway – I really should start carrying some bobby pins or just a lock breaking kit with me at this point. I’ll make a note for the future, but for now this is the better and easier method.”

Well, easier, not easy, per se. Leveraging the distance to get the nails out was a bit time-consuming and then Harriet further spent time pulling the nails out so she could grab the kid and lift him out without causing further injury.

“Alright, sweetie, let me get you out of here.”

The smell of pee was rather strong as he got closer, but Harriet had changed Teddy’s diapers and maintained that nothing could get to her after that. Worse than the Malfoy’s dungeons, Ron had joked and Harriet concurred.

“There, now we can move about and plan our daring escape.” She winked at the kid but had another look around to see if there was a safe escape for the child.

The iron bars on the windows were unfortunately a bit further out of reach and if she truly was in a cellar, while a bombarda could loosen the attachment of the ironbars to the wall, it could also bring the house down around them – so, not ideal.

And that’s how she noticed the reflective glass in the ceiling corner – a camera.

“Oh great,” she groaned. “either that’s a security cam with the creep watching,” she stuck out her tongue in that direction, “or it’s recording us. Neither sound good.” Because it would preclude her using magic. In front of little kids it was easier to get away with such things because they were adorable and no one believed them – imaginary friends and belief in magic was practically expected of them. It did make things more tricky for her now though because if this was being recorded, she’d be the only magic user in this dimension and she had no intention of being caught up in government experimentation.

The light outside brightened and for the first time Harriet got a closer look at the floor of the place. Her eyes snapped to the child beside her – barefoot, she noted – and lifted him up quickly (he was already nearly as tall as her, she griped in her head) making sure to secure his face against her collarbone.

“Alright then, kid,” she said with a forcibly cheerful tone, “keep your eyes closed for now, alright?”

She would have to make sure to clean his feet before he got a good look at them in daylight. While the dark stains had been previously visible, Harriet had dismissed them as water or mould stains. Only with the sunlight leaking in had she realised that they were rust brown – dried blood. Everywhere. That was not good – she wondered how many had already died in this place. But what she did know was that she didn’t want the kid to notice what she had – she wasn’t sure if he’d understand but if he did, or remembered and understood years down the line, she had no intention of him suffering that kind of trauma if she could help it.

“We’re just going to play a little game, alright?”

The easiest entry and access point was still the stairs leading up and the door there. The light shining in only reaffirmed what she’d already guessed – they were down and past the iron bars over the windows was some other kind of wall.

Breathing in deeply, Harriet deliberately relaxed her body slightly as she stepped up the stairs. While they had caught her by surprise when they captured her from behind, this time wouldn’t be so easy. And her magic would protect her, always, from a known threat. She’d protect the kid and worse comes to worst, she’d open up her trunk still on the necklace around her neck and use her wand. And she’d hide the kid under the invisibility cloak. Either way, they were getting out of here.

“Oh,” she said softly when she was beside the door and unlatched the kid from around her neck, turning him around to face the door.

“Now see how this looks like stone around the door? Yeah, I went to a school in the Scottish highlands which was inside a castle. I know stone – that’s not it. It’s fake – which is good news for us. See, most people always reinforce the door,” she told the child pointing at the hard iron door which was probably several inches thick. “but they forget a few things. One – the door is still installed and weak at the installation points and two – the plaster next to it can easily be broken. In our case, without tools, we’ll break through the plaster. Good thing our hostage taker left the chair behind, isn’t it?”

With a bright grin, Harriet left the kid on the top step and grabbed the chair. Breaking the wall next to the door down would be so much easier if she had more muscles – like Ron or Draco. Or hell, even Hermione had muscles from carrying books which weighed like a ton – each. Not Harriet; she’d somehow managed to retain her spindly noddle arms – good enough for chores around the house and absolutely useless for senseless acts of violence like breaking a wall. Especially after just returning from the end of the war and a year on the run, starving. There was no muscle whatsoever.

But luckily Harriet wasn’t completely reliant on her physical strength – she could add magic to the mix. A small confringo – which, wandless, took around five tries – aided her enough to create a hole big enough for the kid.

“Alright, sweetie. I’m going to scout the location up ahead. You stay here for a second while I make sure it’s safe.”

The kid still looked wide-eyed with awe and nodded obediently, sticking his thumb into his mouth. The scourgify came out automatically and hopefully cleaned his sticky little hands. Harriet hid her grimace as she held onto the banister and leaned sideways, looking through the hole before crawling out.

The kidnapper must be truly and well away from the house if all this noise had yet to bring him running – the video must be recording only or something. Harriet still hadn’t quite gotten used to the leap in technology, especially as she’d had very little to interact with since she grew up with the Dursleys and spent her teenage years at Hogwarts, well away from any technological advancements (or, really, advancements of any kind).

After a quick look around, a careful spell to reveal humans within, Harriet determined it safe enough and opened the door to let the kid out.

“Alright, now do you know the number for the Police here?”

She really hoped he did, because Harriet had no clue what the phone number of the US Police is. Or how to use the Internet and “Google” it.

“911,” the kid told her firmly and she nodded, as if he’d gotten it right (she hoped he had) and dialled it.

“That’s a first,” Reid says, eyebrows high up and hidden beneath the gentle curls of his hair.

“But I think we really should look into the prior kidnappings,” Rossi suggests with a frown.

“While there are statistics for repeat victimisations in cases such as rape and domestic violence, I have not heard of one for hostage taking or kidnappings,” Reid agreed.

“And I think we should have a look into her family,” Garcia argues, scowl audible even over the phone and the entire team agrees without hesitation. Child abuse cases were always difficult – even if the child had grown up, as this woman clearly had, and survived, none of them wanted to let the abusers slide underneath the radar and continue living their lives in peace when they had clearly harmed an innocent child.

“We got starvation, neglect, abuse, being locked into small spaces just to start with,” Hotch lists off rapidly, eyes dark and lips pressed tightly together, his mind having catalogued each instance even as she used them as cavalier anecdotes to make the child laugh.

“She’s British,” Prentiss adds, “so we may need to pass this case over to them.”

Morgan huffs, already frustrated with bureaucracy interfering with justice and Hotch knows that Garcia is likely already planning her own intervention of the more illegal and technological kind with her family once they find them. Reid isn’t handling it much better, brows furrowed and the corners of his eyes tight, his mind undoubtedly rapidly assessing her chances of successful prosecution and best methods. Rossi is already checking his phone and conferring with Prentiss for the best contacts to talk to in order to ensure the case is heard and handled well.

He watches the door open and sees her lift the kid out of the basement – it’s the last thing he sees before the door falls shut but he doesn’t doubt that she would have made sure the unsub wasn’t in the house before exposing the kid to any kind of danger like that.

It also means that they will not need to refine their profile or look out – the Police will likely receive a call at any moment from them to do their part of the rescue. Hotch slips out and lets his team keep planning their vengeance on behalf of the woman repeatedly kidnapped, apparently, to let the Police chief know what to expect at the scene.

The case is resolved quickly from there – at least the part of identifying the unsub, finding the trophies and handing him off to jail and the evidence to the prosecutor.

What isn’t so easy is that the woman is apparently not an unknown in this world – her repeated kidnappings make a little more sense once Prentiss unearths that she’s part of the Potter family, apparently a Lordship (Ladyship?) in England which she claimed about half a year ago after extensive DNA testing. Her prior history is so well hidden that neither Rossi nor Prentiss’ contacts overseas can unearth – or divulge them. Even Garcia’s discrete hacking has ended up with nothing. There’s a few schools she could have been referring to in Scotland, but all of them deny having had the girl attend. They’re at a standstill, for the moment, and will likely be unable to progress without Harriet Potter outright telling them.

Chapter Text

By the time the BAU team makes it to the scene, the Police is already there along with paramedics.

“-HELL! Not under my watch! How should I know you’re a real cop! I’m staying with that kid until the parents are right here and the kid says it’s them. Until then – go to hell! I’m not leaving this kid under anyone else’s fucking supervision!” Then she turns right around, pats the kid on the head and makes sure its tiny hands are still secure around his ears, before standing in between the kid and the police officer. The kid is staring at them but obviously feels very secure under the woman’s protection, swinging his legs on the paramedic’s bed he’s on.

Morgan’s barely suppressing a grin and elbows Reid gently.

“Told you she’s a firecracker,” he whispers as Hotch steps forward and the Police Officer’s gaze falls on him, looking relieved when he recognises the BAU team which had been at their station for several days now.

“Thank god,” he says loudly. “They’re your problem now,” he declares and takes a step back with his partner.

Hotch maintains his stoic gaze despite the disapproval he feels for the unprofessional conduct.

“Thank you. If you could please escort the child’s parents here, that would be helpful.”

The moment the call had come through, Garcia had forwarded the address and owner information and the only resident living in the household had been arrested according to Police radio and was on his way to the station. Remaining here longer while waiting for the parents would not open either of them up for further victimisation, so if that was the more comfortable alternative to either of them then Hotch had no objections and would do his best to facilitate.

The woman tilted her head at him.

“You do realise that I have no problem going with you to the Police station, right?” She questions, looking at them with a raised eyebrow. “As long as the kid and me are in the same car, I’ll happily come with you.”

Hotch blinks, turns at the receding police car and sighs quietly. Sometimes, he thinks, every police station should undergo intensive training with JJ just to learn some better communication than ‘I am an authority figure, do as I say’. He knows it’s a generalisation and Hotch has worked both in the BAU and in his legal career with some amazing Police officers – not to mention it’s where Morgan’s from, but sometimes he really feels like the training courses lately must be omitting a vital part of the career.

“Certainly. Would you be comfortable in a car with two of my female agents and Dr. Reid?” That leaves three of them to investigate the crime scene – too many, technically, but they’d driven here in only two cars, so there wasn’t much else to do at this point.

The woman quickly turns back, checks the kid is still covering his ears, returning her smile and getting another hair ruffle for his good behaviour, before turning back to him.

“Look, the guy who ‘napped me ‘n the kid, he didn’t do anything sexual. I have no problem with either women or men being in the car with me,” she asserts, looking at him curiously like he is doing something odd just for taking her needs into consideration. Hotch wants to roll his eyes heavenward and wonder just how badly the cop managed to communicate when the woman is this intuitive, insightful and accommodating. He’s rather glad her temper dissipated as fast is appeared now that the target of her ire was out of view.

Hotch nods.

“Morgan, Prentiss, Reid, you are taking the car back. Rossi and I will handle the crime scene. JJ, the press if you please. And thank you Miss-“

“Potter-Black,” she states, realising he’s asking for her name. “Harriet Potter-Black. Nice to meet you too – and sorry for not introducing myself sooner.”

British manners, Hotch presumes – why else would a person who has not only just been kidnapped but also been forced to rescue themselves apologise for letting her manners slide in the face of something like that?

“The pleasure’s all mine. Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” he introduces himself. “And as I said, thank you for your patience and accommodating us. Tommy’s parents should be waiting for him at the precinct already.”

She nods calmly as if that’s normal and lifts the kid onto her hip, carrying him to the black car Morgan is holding open for her. Reid looks hesitant but slides in on the other side so the kid is in the middle.

“Drive carefully,” Hotch tells Morgan, with a nod to the backseat. “We haven’t got a child seat.” The man blinks in surprise but nods and Harriet is already carefully adjusting the seatbelt and putting her own arm in front of the child.

“Can I let go of my ears now, Harry?” The kid questions and Harriet nods with a soft smile. Hotch steps back but still hears the “are you done telling off the mean man?” over the car starting up and it elicits a smile as he joins Rossi at the front of the house. Mean man, indeed.

“YOU COWARD!” She shouts and it’s only Morgan’s quick reflexes which stop her from reaching their unsub and, undoubtedly, assaulting him. “You fucking murdering little coward! You knew you could never kidnap me if you came up in front of me so you got me when my back was turned! You sniveling little rat! And going after a child? The height of cowardice! Do you even have a spine?” Then her tone changed from incandescent fury to a more quiet, silent fury. “But you had to, didn’t you? Because if you had come at me, face to face, you knew I would have beat you, didn’t you?”

“I AM NOT A COWARD!” The man shouts back, spittle flying as he reaches forward, handcuffs clanking loudly, before he’s easily yanked back in place by the two officers behind him. Harriet has a quiet calm about her, taunting grin on her face and he can see that it’s riling up the unsub. Morgan’s amusement in the face of the little woman’s ferocity he fades as he exchanges a quick glance with Emily. The interview tactic for the unsub just became rather clear.

“Come on,” Prentiss goads, following the man into the interview room, “I bet you can’t even get it up unless-“ the sound cuts out as the door closes behind her and Harriet relaxes.

Morgan lets go of her and apologises for holding onto her which she dismisses with a shake of her head.

“Nah, good think you did. Don’t know what I would’ve done to that pig,” she announces calmly, temper still bubbly just underneath her calm façade judging by the tenseness in her shoulders.

Morgan thinks it’s lucky the kid’s parents were just outside the police station – they’ll need to interview the kid as well, later, but for now he at least missed out on the cursewords, shouting match and seeing the unsub face-to-face.

“So,” she asks, sitting down in the chair he leads her to, “what happens now?”

“I will be interviewing you,” states Reid behind him and Morgan hands her off with a nod, hating that they left Prentiss even for a moment without supervision alone with the unsub.

“Thanks again, Agent Morgan,” she tells him as he leaves and he gives her a quick smile before leaving. Despite no sexual assault occurring, according to her, he doesn’t quite feel comfortable flirting with her and so keeps to a short “you’re welcome”, before leaving them alone.

“What can you tell me about before the abduction took place?” Reid asks, looking at her intently.

Brows furrowed and scratching her cheek slightly, Harriet shakes her head.

“Not sure. Got hit over the head – when I first woke up I didn’t even remember the last half a year. It’s kind of back. I remember flying to the US. And I think I’m in… Maryland? I was headed for the Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge and then onto Ocean City. But it’s all a bit foggy, still.”

Reid stared for a moment, taking in an all-over glance at her before asking, “the medics haven’t looked at you yet, have they?”

“I-“ Harriet blinks then admits, “no. But it’s no big deal.”

Reid’s jaw tightens and he clenches his teeth, exhaling forcibly calmly as he resists the urge to yell at both the paramedics who were at the scene and the police officers, before pushing back his chair.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

When it looks like she’ll protest, he adds, “we may need evidence of the injuries to aid in prosecuting the unsub.” At that, she subsides as expected – abuse and low self-esteem have a strong correlation but Reid doesn’t like being right. Not in this, but it does get her to comply and Reid is strongly suspecting a concussion at this point with the way her eyes unfocus at times.

Morgan peeks out when he sees them walk past, lifting an eyebrow in an unasked question so Reid presses out, that they are headed for the hospital, the anger in his voice and posture alone would have made it clear to his fellow profiler already but the implication of her needing the hospital made it clear that she had not been seen by the paramedic. They exchange a dark glance and a nod.

“Do you need backup?”

Reid knows Morgan would pull Prentiss from interrogation but just shakes his head. Morgan hesitates for a moment but nods.

“I’ll tell JJ to meet you there.”

Reid agrees with relief to that suggestion – JJ is much better at diplomacy and with the potential of Harriet being a public figure having a media liaison on hand at the hospital would be a much better alternative. Morgan starts texting immediately while Reid guides Harriet to the passenger side of the car before sliding into the driver’s side himself.

“What?” He asks when he sees her smile as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Nothing. Just still not used to everyone drivin’ on the other side,” she says quietly, with only a slight slur to her words. Reid doesn’t know her well enough to know if it’s side effects from the concussion or the adrenaline crash.

Luckily, he’s got the best route to the hospital mapped out in his head since they arrived at the police precinct as he’s been working on the map for a geographic profile, so there is no need to set the GPS and the drive is fairly quick. JJ is already waiting for him at the Emergency department intake, a Doctor on standby beside her, clearly waiting. Reid wonders whether it’s a quiet night or if Harriet is getting privileged treatment due to the circumstances (the bodies left behind by the unsub had rocked the rather quiet local community) or due to her title, but is glad either way as the woman had gotten progressively worse on the ride over.

Chapter Text

As much as she hated hospitals, Harriet thought to herself, at least it was quite a step up from damp, dark dungeons. Another plus, she wasn’t tied up.

Harriet sat up with a sigh. Most people probably had higher expectations than not being tied up in a dungeon; when she dreamed of escaping the Dursleys when she was young, before Hogwarts, this life was not quite what she’d imagined.

“Ah, good morning. How are you feeling?”

The nurse was checking her vitals and making notes on her chart, only giving Harriet the smallest of glances.

“Great, considering,” she said with a slight shrug. “Otherwise with a killer headache.”

“Ah,” the woman said, “yes, your medical file had a notation that you didn’t want painkillers.”

Harriet had gone through a small stage of addiction to sleepless dream potions – another reason Hermione had thought world travel would be good for her, so she had asked her Doctor to note that she didn’t want anything addictive given to her.

“At least give me an ibuprofen, or something like that,” Harriet requested curtly, holding her head.

The nurse nodded and came back shortly after with a small cup with pills inside and a glass of water. Thanking her, Harriet swallowed the tablets and water.

“Alright. When can I leave?”

“We would like to keep you until this afternoon for observation, but after that you may leave. The FBI agent who brought you in left his card. Would you like us to inform them that you’re awake.”

Harriet wondered if that was something only the rich and famous got or if all patients got the choice on whether the FBI was alerted to their consciousness.

“Certainly, please feel free to let them know I’m awake and aware enough to answer their questions.”

The nurse nodded and left, presumably to make said phone call.

The wait for the agents was interminably long – mainly because no one had thought to give her a book or anything to entertain herself with. And performing magic on camera wouldn’t be the best idea she ever had (not her worst either, to be fair, but that was a low threshold to cross.

A knock interrupted her mindless reverie and Harriet jumped at the opportunity for something – anything – more entertaining than counting ceiling tiles.

“Please, come in.”

It wasn’t one of the team she had met before but rather a normal police officer.

“I’m here to take your statement, Ma’am.”

Well, that was a damn shame, Harriet noted internally even as she sat up obediently. It would have been far nicer to have one of the hot FBI employees here. That had to be one of the criteria for employing them – people feel more comfortable around attractive men and women so you could only enter the Academy if you met the hotness quotient.

Yes, gossiping with Ginny and Hannah had been a terrible influence on her, Harriet would freely admit, but not really one she regretted. While she had certainly had a little crush on a few boys throughout her time at Hogwarts (notably Cedric and Tom Riddle, neither of whom had a good death), Harriet never really had time to explore crushes, love and generally admiring other people for their physical and mental attributes rather than assessing them on their likelihood to stab you in the back (and Draco Malfoy had grown up hot – when the hell had that happened?).

Her statement, as it turned out, was mainly due to procedure as most of it, apart from her original capture, of course, was caught on tape. God, she hoped they hadn’t heard half the stuff she’d been saying to herself – or little Tommy. And they’d also heard her talking to herself; she was lucky they hadn’t thought there might be something more obviously wrong with her.

Apparently with the capture of the killer, the BAU team had been recalled and it was deemed that the Police was more than sufficient to handle interviewing her for the record, which, well, fair enough. Still, a damn shame.

Getting out of hospital was nice and Harriet figured she needed a small respite from her travelling adventures and, enjoying the spending money she had obtained through her ladyship, purchased a small house near Aquia Harbour, less than 10 miles from the FBI in Quantico. And yes, after her latest kidnapping, that may have been a factor in her decision-making; because, although she had to rescue herself once again, the team had been polite, competent and actually listened to her. Common decency, in Harriet’s experience, wasn’t all that common, actually. Rescuing herself wasn’t the problem – if all else failed, Harriet had magic, after all. But what bothered her was the long aftermath – in England she’d been questioned for hours and hours and had spent nearly two days at the Police station with repeated return visits for ‘further questions’ wherein the Detective in charge somehow tried to pin the blame on Harriet for being kidnapped. Because, being rich and a lady, she simply must have skeletons in her closet.

Not that he was wrong, exactly. Harriet had a lot of skeletons – just not in this world. And snapping the ladyship out from under Vernon and Petunia Dursley, who lived together even in this world, and had tried to take the title before she came into the picture – well, that was just the delicious cream frosting on her cake. But it was still biased investigating and insulting to boot; so having people who actually listened, well, that was worth a lot in her books.

Plus, Harriet did need a homebase in this country – because, despite having left England behind, her various managers had still managed to get a hold of her and forced her to do paperwork to approve spending and investments. As much as she loathed paperwork, though, she had yet to find someone she trusted enough to ask them to take care of her finances, so the burden would, for the moment, stay with her.

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, considering her new vicinity to Quantico, Harriet met people from the BAU under different circumstances than expected, that is to say, not during another abduction.

Instead, she met five of them at the local LARPing event.

A new friend from the local animal hospital, Jennifer, had invited her along and it had sounded fun and interesting.

What she hadn’t expected was to meet the BAU there by way of a little child crashing into her legs and nearly sending her to the ground.

Apparently, both Agent Hotchner and JJ had small children who were running around (and into people like herself) with a lot of enthusiasm. Morgan and Reid were there with a voluptuous blonde, all of them at least semi-dressed up for the occasion.

It was nice, seeing people who worked together that close even in their off-hours. Naturally, when they all exclaimed their surprise at seeing her alive and well again, the children picked up on it.

“Did my daddy help you?” the little boy who had run into her asked and before she could tell him that he had, Agent Hotchner sank down to his knees so he was at eye-level with his son.

“I did not,” he started. “And do you know why?” The boy shook his head with wide eyes. “Because she saved herself and another boy first.”

“Wow!” The hero-worship was now clearly pointed in her direction, but for once, Harriet didn’t mind so much. Giggling slightly, and following Agent Hotchner’s lead, she too lowered herself quickly to the boy’s height.

“Sometimes the princesses get tired of waiting for their prince to come rescue them,” she explains then winks mischievously. “And sometimes the princesses just think that tackling the dragon themselves would be far more fun.”

Morgan sniggered in the background and the little boy was laughing loudly as well – job well done, Harriet mentally patted herself on the back.

“And your father did help me,” she corrected the man’s earlier denial and watched as he looked genuinely surprised. “Sometimes adults think they know better and don’t want to listen to what you’re saying,” she started and was unsurprised to see the child nodding along. Most kids had met someone like that by that age.

“But your daddy, he wasn’t like that. He listens. And that’s very important, isn’t it?” The child nodded eagerly. “So your daddy helped me a lot.”

Just like that, the hero worship was off her and back on his father, as it should be (if only the Wizarding World had been quite as easy to deter and manipulate). The FBI agents exchanged a few looks over her head and while they invited her, she waved them off. Harriet had no intention of stalking them, essentially. She liked the security of having them close to her homebase, but had no intention of invading their private lives (Harriet could tell you from personal experience there was nothing creepier).

From then on, it was like a barrier had broken and she met them all the time – Morgan at the local Veterinarian hospital with his dog; Reid at the local University investigating courses she could pursue and somehow stumbling into his guest lecture; Rossi at a book club. She met some of them at a night club, spotted them at bars or restaurants – sometimes with mere hours between sightings and sometimes weeks.

It got to the point where she started feeling uncomfortably like they might really start investigating her for stalking the longer it carried on, so Harriet decided that maybe it was time to return to her travelling ways – she had two FBI phone numbers on speed dial by now anyway in case of emergency.

Somehow, in a fit of nostalgia missing her friends, Harriet had applied for a job half-way down the country in Denver as a librarian and got it. Thanks to shrinking charms, packing charms and expandable pockets, the moving cities thing only took about ten minutes.

The difficult part was getting settled; it took her the better half of three months to find some vague acquaintance-like friendships with people she connected with in the library. She had yet to meet anyone outside of the BAU that she wanted to be close friends with – friends like Hermione or Ron had been.

But she filled her time in other ways; part of it was trying to help at-risk youths and homeless (sometimes both), which is also where she met Jamie after two months of living in Aurora. Jamie was a fifteen-year-old run-away from home. Harriet had always been threatened with this scenario by the Dursleys but was remarkably at a loss on how to help in reality. She came with food, money and juice – offering to adopt them or bring them to the UK and adopt them and even her offering of a home had been rejected and sent Jamie away for weeks at a time on occasion. It was still difficult to get the young teenager to accept anything Harriet offered, but they were becoming closer after several months of daily visits – which was also how she met Rosa, a thirteen-year-old homeless kid, Nikki, a sixteen year old who was selling herself on the streets to provide for the one-year-old child she had and Darren, an eight-year-old abandoned by his parents and looked after by the teenagers and Harriet, when she was permitted.

The group was still testing her, Harriet knew, and none of them trusted her to have good intentions or, at least, not to change her mind half-way through, so any time she spent with Darren was strictly monitored, and the kids were still checking anything she gave them for drugs or poison. Jamie, the one who knew her the longest, was, at long last, slightly warming up to her. Harriet had spent the majority of her time working at the library researching at-risk youth, drug addiction, homelessness, psychology and anything else she thought could contribute and help her.

The problems came when Rosa disappeared – Harriet reported her missing at the Police station but had been pretty much disregarded. Nevertheless, she’d made sure her report was filed and there was a lookout for the teenager.

But when Sammy disappeared, too, a kid the others knew, Harriet started looking more into it – not just newspaper articles, obituaries, hospital records (magic made it so easy to circumvent and convince people to help her with information they wouldn’t normally give out) but also asking youth centres and homeless people for further information. Harriet gathered another three missing homeless people and, once again, returned to the Police.

Jamie had scoffed at her seeking official aid – Police never helped, they told her, but Harriet had to try.

Jamie was right.

The Police suggested the kids had been returned home or ran away somewhere else because Harriet was asking too many questions.

Detective Johnson dismissed her.

But he had yet to meet Harriet – so she did what she always did; she dug her heels in. This time a room in her house ended up with a timeline, dates and all her research on the case so far, trying to recreate a timeline. She also hired a portrait artist and dragged Jamie with her to get portraits drawn of the missing kids. Nikki was missing by now as well and Jamie was taking care of Nikki’s babe. Harriet returned to the Police station the same day, handed over a folder with all the information she had gathered, portraits included, and used her title to gain access to the station chief – the man had been a politician, rather than a cop, subservient and eager to get into her good books. Chief Harris agreed that crimes were clearly occurring and agreed to investigate, which was the only reason Harriet returned home.

What Harriet hadn’t expected, but maybe should have, was that the portrait artist she’d hired for the pictures? Well, he was apparently incensed that she dared to investigate the crimes he was responsible for, crimes against ‘useless drains of society’ and voila, her second kidnapping since she came to the US.

Luckily, the first hit, while a surprise, only dazed her and Harriet managed to put up a fight, thrashing her living room in the process, before he managed to get her with chloroform. Let it be noted that Harriet hated chloroform – it gave you the mother of all headaches. Chloroform and a hit over the head? She’d rather be dead, thank you very much.

By the time the BAU team landed in Denver, Harriet had already been taken.

Chapter Text

The latest case was sending them to Denver and after the initial briefing, the team had quickly climbed aboard the plane, leaving their technical analyst back at home.

“Baby girl, what have we got?”

“You were right, hot stuff, and it’s not pretty. I found another fifteen - at least - which are similar enough we can probably link them to the three disappearances the Police told us about. Another eight are possible victims I’m still trying to figure out if they didn’t just run away to another city or even return home.”

Morgan winced. Sometimes he hated being right.

Rossi clapped him on the shoulder in silent support and Morgan righted himself, knowing he could work through the guilt at a later date.

“What can you tell us about the victims, Garcia?” Prentiss jumped in, giving Morgan a concerned once-over. Derek shook his head at her and she gave a barely-there nod, focusing back on the screen.

“The eighteen confirmed victims are all homeless, between the ages of twelve to twenty, brown-haired. Height varied, eye colour varied. Some of them were white, others latino. Both male and female victims were taken. Backgrounds vary – physically abusive families, sexually abusive, foster homes, real homes. Some were reported missing only by their families, about half of them were reported missing to the Police station that called us in by a member of the homeless community. The last three were reported by the new librarian – still trying to get a name on this end but I don’t think the library has changed their website since the turn of the century and the Police officer taking the report couldn’t be bothered. And, well… the signature is a little bit illegible. Like a Doctor’s handwriting.”

“Garcia, any idea why the Police didn’t contact us until now? This is a lot of missing people to go unnoticed and unlinked to these three,” Reid pointed out, brows furrowed.

The blonde technical analyst grimaced, the motion visible even on screen.

“Yeah, from what I can gather, Detective Douchebag doesn’t care for the homeless. It’s the Head of the Police Department, actually, who sent an email to the Detective requisitioning the files and investigation and then forwarded it onto us. Not very tech-savvy, that one. Forwarded the entire email trail with it. If you have a look at your information packet, Cherie, you’ll see the investigation basically amounted to, well, doing nothing. The Detective said it was low-priority but luckily, my fellow crime-fighters, Captain Harris wasn’t so easily dissuaded and called us in. Not sure they would have put enough effort in to link the other victims.”

The team exchange glances and Rossi heaves a sigh; they’re all-too used to this. The dismissal of the fringes of society – the mentally ill, the poor, the homeless, the prostitutes. Crimes against them, in the minds of too-many police officers, amount to doing the larger community a service.

This case is not going to go easy, especially once the department becomes aware of how many victims they disregarded; there will be blame-shifting and reluctance to engage with the BAU because it will mean they didn’t do their job right in the first place and no one wants to deal with the repercussions of that.

“Any bodies so far?” Rossi asked, flipping through the file.

“There’s an unidentified Jane Doe from a year ago who had similar hair and age-range, but you will have to find out more on-site. From what I can tell from here, the woman was tortured by electrocution over several weeks until their heart gave out but were otherwise well-fed and hydrated.”

“What we do have, however,” JJ jumps in, “is the abductions. No one saw anything which is suspect because these people were living in the middle of others. The community tends to be more protective of the younger victims and the last one taken had a baby who was left behind. Yet no one heard or saw anything.”

Morgan looks up at that, surprised. “Organised, then, and methodical. He must have observed for a long time and picked a time when he knew they were alone.”

“And he blends in,” Prentiss adds, “otherwise someone would have noticed him watching in the area and the victims are naturally cautious and suspicious given the environments they’re from, he would have never gotten close enough to take them without fuss if he didn’t blend in with them.”

“But,” Reid jumps in, “he must be financially well enough off to both own a car and buy enough food for at least two people. The last victim would have likely not left without the baby willingly, not even for a short time, so he must be able to come close enough, as Prentiss said, to attack them before they can retaliate, but also strong enough to carry them away. It can’t be long-distance – too many chances of being noticed. Therefore, the unsub must own a car he can transport his victims in, especially as the last ones disappeared during the day. Even living close-by, he would have likely been noticed unless he used a car. His house is likely connected to the garage rather than having it separate, so he can move victims during daytime. And if the Jane Doe was connected, he was able to keep her well-fed for weeks.”

“Baby girl, that Jane Doe they found – any evidence of sexual contact?”

Garcia pulled the M.E. report up on the shared screen.

“They couldn’t tell, the body was in too advanced a stage of decomposition. It was found by a dog in Lowry Park and the ME said it had been in the water for several months by then already.”

“Alright, Reid, you and I will go to the Police station. We need you to work on a geographical profile and I will try and get the Police to scour the water for more bodies and find out more about the lack of investigation. Prentiss and Rossi will take the crime scene where the body was found. Morgan, you and JJ interview the librarian who reported the last three missing persons. We need to work fast if we want to save the baby’s mother. Given how young her baby is, she may not be as healthy or last as long as the previous victims.”

Hotch glanced at his team but everyone seemed content with their assignment. He checked his watch – thirty minutes to landing. Plenty of time to get a bit more familiar with the case and, more specifically for him, the investigative work of, as Garcia so aptly put it, Detective Douchebag. His lips twitched into a small smile at the nickname she’d assigned; their technical analyst really did brighten their otherwise rather abysmally dark days.

“Why does this always happen to me?” Harriet whined loudly, clutching her head, dizzy still.

Moody had tried to ingrain into her a habit of remaining quiet after capture, of listening to the sounds around her, trying to figure out if she was alone. It made sense and was sensible. Unfortunately for herself and others, Harriet, having grown up under the strict hand of the Dursleys and their intense need for being normal and sensible, tended to buck against anything and everything deemed ‘sensible’ whenever she could.

Besides, Harriet always figured she had the much better view of things, being kidnapped as often as she was, and as far as she was concerned: if she had to suffer, the very least she could do was make sure her captors suffered with her. So, no, she had no intention of shutting up.

But, Harriet reflected, gasping through the pain as electricity surged through her body and she sank back onto the floor, maybe Moody did have a point.

Just occasionally. No need to let him know that, though. He’d just be insufferably smug if she told him that. Not that she could anymore, anyway.

“Shut up, wench,” the man she’d paid to paint portraits of her missing friends told her, jabbing her again with the electric stick. No wonder his portraits had been so spot on – she really ought to have been far more suspicious.

Fuck, Harriet cursed once the electricity disappeared. This was like trying to gather your mental faculties whilst held under the cruciatus. Not quite impossible but pretty damn close. Before she could gather her wits enough to use magic, he jabbed her again and this time she fell unconscious under the onslaught, when her head hit the floor – hard – as she jolted from the shock.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Hotch says, shaking the hand of Captain Harris, staying polite and stoic, before taking the time to introduce himself and his team.

“Thanks for coming so quickly. I’m Captain Harris. I talked to your media liaison and we set up this area here for you,” the grey-haired man led them to a large conference room with white boards all set up. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

Hotch nods but stops him before he can leave.

“If we could have the address of the librarian, Agents Jareau and Morgan will be going to interview her and if Detective Brooks, who was assigned to the Jane Doe from eleven months ago, could please take Agents Rossi and Prentiss to the crime scene and the M.E.’s office. We will also need all reports of missing people over the last five years brought to us,” Hotch requests and Captain Harris, in the middle of waving over two of the Police Officers, hesitates.

“Hold on, are you saying you think there’s more people who’ve gone missing?” The captain’s brow is furrowed, brown eyes dark and body language tense – upset; hopefully, Hotch thinks, at the idea that his precinct didn’t investigate or notice all the missing people rather than at them for looking into it.

“We have found fifteen probable victims in addition to the three you initially reported to us. These are all from the past three years. We would like to ascertain if there are more victims out there we have yet to identify.”

“Eighteen,” the Captain whispers under his breath, ashen. At least it looks like it’s not a precinct-wide corruption. Before Hotch can intervene, the man gathers himself, shoulders back, straightens and barks out orders.

His team disperses with their assigned officers until only Reid and himself are left behind. Two plainclothes are sent to the archives to gather files and the Captain’s secretary is deputised to gathering all electronic files on the investigation and forwarding them to the BAU.

“There is a possibility we may find further bodies in the water the Jane Doe was found in. Two of my agents are currently investigating that possibility, and if they think it’s probable that she fits into the victim pattern we have found so far, and that the lake was the likely dumpsite, we may need to ask you to scour the lake.”

To his credit, the man doesn’t hesitate at the immense manpower and equipment needed should the search efforts be needed.

“Anything you need,” the Captain emphasises. “I’m sorry we didn’t connect these earlier,” he adds after a small pause.

Hotch nods – it’s not acceptable, but at least they are working on remedying the problem.

“We will let you know.”

The Captain nods and leaves them to it; he leaves Reid to the geographical profile while he starts setting up the crime board.

“She’s just a busybody,” the aptly-named Detective Douchebag – or Johnson, according to his nametag, tells Morgan and JJ. Both exchange a quick glance, but make no other overt signs of their disapproval.

“What else can you tell us about her?” JJ asks politely, face professional even though Morgan can tell they both already dislike the man.

“New to the area and very naïve,” he tells them easily, giving Morgan a scoff, like he expects either of them agree. “Doesn’t understand how things work. Dunno how she got the Captain to call you guys in, but I’m tellin’ you, you’re wasting your time.”

Interesting; so it wasn’t Captain Harris coming across the pattern and bringing it to them but this librarian did. How, though? The Captain isn’t just available for anyone fielding a complaint or wanting their case to take priority. Morgan wonders how she achieved it so easily, by all accounts.

“What’s her name?” JJ asks curiously and the Detective looks surprised.

“I don’t know but that’s in the report,” he tells them and looks genuinely surprised when they tell him it isn’t, but it’s clear he doesn’t recall her name even before he responds.

“Well,” he blusters, “it’s the new librarian. Harry or something or ‘nother; had one of those married-hyphenated names. Everyone knows she replaced Greta who was there for last fifty years or so. Now, that woman’s always been our librarian, she’s practically part of the institution.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow at that; Denver is large enough to not normally have this kind of resentment or familiarity with the individuals peppering their community, but the BAU has seen this often enough in smaller towns.

They pull up in front of a small house with a tiny, overgrown front garden.

“Any idea why she was so interested in this?” Morgan asks, although it is unlikely that Detective Johnson will offer actual insight, but knowing they need to keep an amicable relationship with the man until the end of the investigation given that he may have been involved in a cover-up or have further information due to the missing people being reported to him. Keeping him open and talking, making it seem like they’re interested in his views and perspectives, is an easier method than trying to convince him they empathise when they really don’t.

Another scoff from the Detective, as they all exit the patrol car.

“She’s always hanging out with them, isn’t she. Taking an interest in the younger kids.”

Morgan and JJ exchange glances again; this could be something if it’s true. Did the homeless children just trade one predator for another?

After a quick glance around to ascertain no dogs are visible, they open the front gate and enter to knock on the front door. Morgan grabs for his gun automatically when the door falls open under his knocking, JJ but a moment behind him, her own gun in hand, covering his back.

After a quick, but thorough search of the house, both holster their gun and return to the living room, the clear abduction site. Most things have fallen into disarray, been thrown in a scuffle and there’s traces of blood in several places.

“Hotch,” Morgan says the moment his boss answers the phone, “our witness has been abducted.”

He hears the man curse quietly on the other end.

“Do you think she got too close?”

He hums quietly, looking over the scene again.

“Possibly. But Hotch, she invited him into her living room, the fight only broke out afterwards. It had to be someone she was familiar with and probably not suspicious of. I would hazard that she talked to our unsub about the missing kids and that’s why she got taken but she didn’t suspect them.”

They all know that this means the man has two victims now; it’s possible he’ll get rid of one to keep easier control.

“The unsub is sadistic,” JJ adds after a moment of quiet thought, “it’s likely he’ll keep them both but may escalate the torture on one of them and their death with it.”

Morgan relays what JJ said to Hotch and their Unit Chief agrees.

“Have we got a name yet?” JJ asks and Morgan checks his text messages – the moment it became clear that the Detective couldn’t recall, he texted the address they were headed to, to Garcia and asked her to find out who lived her.

He curses when he sees the message.

“Harriet Potter-Black,” he repeats out loud, still shocked.

“So this is where she moved to?” JJ asks in surprise, taking a second look around even as Hotch exhales sharply and tells Reid what they just found out.

“Rossi and Prentiss think the lake is likely the dumping ground for the unsub and the Captain’s already agreed to mobilise enough people to scour it. But the disruption in routine may be a stressor which causes the unsub to devolve.”

They all know it makes them more prone to making mistakes – but also harder to predict and sadistic unsubs are more likely to take their stress out on their victims.

Morgan breathes out, forcibly controlled, trying to reign in his anger.

“Think she can do it again?” He asks and Reid jumps in quickly before Hotch can respond.

“The victims were restrained and, possibly, caged, judging from the M.E.’s report. While always possible, it is unlikely. But as I mentioned before, there are no statistics on repeat-kidnapping victims.”

JJ laughs slightly at that and even Morgan feels his lips twitch.

“Repeat kidnapping victim?” Detective Johnson asks behind them and Morgan’s smile falls away.

“Alright, thanks for the update, Hotch. Send CSU here, maybe some of the blood belongs to the kidnapper.”

They hang up and Morgan turns to find JJ already briefing the Detective about their last encounter with the librarian.

The next time Harriet wakes it’s to a gentle but insistent prod against her shoulder. It takes a few moments to gather her wits enough to blink her eyes open.

Rather than the artist / abductor, it’s her fellow kidnapping victim, Nikki.

“Hey,” she says softly, giving the hatch door a few feet away a scared glance before turning back to her. “You need to eat.”

Rising up slightly, Harriet realises she’s inside an iron cage, much like the one she freed the child from, large metal chains holding her to it.

Pulling the cardboard plate to herself to eat, she inspects the young girl beside herself. There’s burns all over, presumably similar to her own ones, from that cattle prod or whatever it was their abductor used to shock them, but she is looking better fed than before her abduction, if rather worn, tired and dirty.

“Thanks for waking me up,” she says gently, making her facial expressions soft and her hand movements small but clear. Her short time working with the Aurors and handling victims after the war was rather beneficial for teaching her skills such as this one.

“How are you holding up?” Harriet asks between bites, and Nikki shoots another nervous glance at the hatch door, hunching over slightly.

“He paints me,” she finally gasps out, hands shaking, quickly taking another bite of her food.

Harriet’s eyebrows rise involuntarily in surprise.

“What do you mean, he paints you?” She questions, confused.

“The electricity,” she gestures to Harriet’s own burn marks, “he says-“ Nikki stops half-way, a choked sob forced out of her before she can gather herself. “He says it makes us look beautiful.”

Taking another look around, this time less for another person or escape route but for anything else, Harriet finally notes the large canvas and paints set out in the corner, the video camera directed at the bed in the corner, the multitude of photos covering the wall – hundreds of pictures of Nikki in various stages of contortion and face twisted in obvious pain. There’s two canvases hanging amongst the pictures, clearly depicting the same scene.

Harriet didn’t realise when she went from angry into incandescent rage, but she doesn’t remember the last time she’d been so furious with someone. This had happened to Sammy, to Rosa, to the other three victims she’d found – Becca, John and Crystal, and Merlin only knew how many others. In their youthful naivety Harriet had thought Voldemort insane; and while the man definitely lacked rationality, it was nothing like this.

“Says he’s trying to find the perfect muse,” Nikki spits out, and Harriet isn’t sure if it’s her own anger leaking over or if Nikki genuinely switched moods that quickly. “for the perfect painting.”

Well, that’s it then.

Harriet is many things, but willing to let others suffer is not one of them. The iron cages they’re manacled to and inside of, are pure, large iron bars – the only access the front door lock.

And while she could try to escape manually, maybe, using muggle methods to escape the lock, it would take time and given how covered Nikki is in burns, Harriet doesn’t think their captor will give them that time. Nikki had only been gone for a day and a half, maybe two, depending on how long Harriet was unconscious for, but the burns on her speak of almost incessant torture.

The Elder Wand was in her hand before she could consciously think about summoning it; the wand always loved to fight and in her hands, to defend. Their manacles clattered open noisily, hitting the iron bars as they released them.

“You must keep this escape a secret,” she tells Nikki, when, upon hearing a rattle of a hook against the hatch door, she uses the colloportus spell to ensure the door remains firmly shut, before even opening their cage door.

“Don’t worry, he can’t come in here,” she tells Nikki, throwing a silencio at the hatch door when she realises Nikki is hyperventilating. Her next spell opens both their cage doors and while Harriet easily escapes her own, Nikki is cowering in the corner of her own.

For a moment, Harriet hesitates. She’s tempted to sit beside the entrance and let Nikki come to her but is all-too aware that it would also block her friend’s only exit from the cage. Sitting beside her on the outside of the cage would force Nikki to let Harriet come close even if she didn’t want to.

So, instead, Harriet sends a spell at the ceiling and walls so it becomes see-through and instead of being confronted with canvas and paintings, there is only the beautiful sky visible outside, dark clouds gathering, looking ready to unleash a rainstorm.

Nikki has grown quiet, staring at the sky, awed and surprised, but finally climbs out of her cage, the change enough to jar her out of her fugue state.

“How did you do that?” She asks quietly.

“Magic,” Harriet offers with a cheesy grin and for the first time, Nikki laughs, eyes sparkling as she, too, stares at the gathering clouds.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers and Harriet nods quietly.

“We have a few ways of getting out of here,” she offers after another pause.

“I can teleport us out. Or we can go down here and confront this asshole. Or we can wait for the Police; I raised quite a stink about the disappearances, so the precinct should be kicking their ass into gear sometime soon.”

There’s a moment where Nikki looks unsure, before she visibly gathers herself.

“You can protect us?” She asks and Harriet nods, not a moment’s hesitation. Nikki eyes her for a second before nodding sharply. “Then I want to kick that bastard’s ass.”

Harriet laughs, nodding quickly.

“Fair. Just give me a second.”

Patting herself down, Harriet finds one of the blue glass stones she had used to decorate her front entrance and smiles slightly.

“Protego Maxima” she swishes the Elder wand and feels the magic pull out and adhere to the stone, “Fianto Duri,” Harriet continues. “Repello Inimicum.” She follows up with a quick sticking charm to make sure the stone sticks to Nikki even if she falls.

“This will stay with you and will deter even bullets from hitting you. You literally don’t need to worry about anything hurting you in the next week or so.”

Nikki stares at the stone with wide eyes, trembling slightly.

“I still can’t believe this,” she says quietly, before wiping away the tears, and giving Harriet a quick nod.

“I’m ready,” she tells her.

The colloportus and silencio are lifted easily enough and with a quick spell the ladder is transformed into a slide. When they hear cursing, scrabbling and the door opening up with a loud creak, Harriet is amused to hear the man’s confusion when, instead of the expected ladder, a slide opens up.

Not allowing herself any hesitation, Harriet slides down, a protego weaved closely to her skin and an immobulus charm hovering at the tip of her wand, ready to be cast. Luckily, she manages to hit him first try and then proceeds to float Nikki down, who looks delighted at the momentary power of flight before her eyes land on her torturer.

The cringe back is automatic but aborted when Nikki’s hands clench around the blue stone that protects her.

“I- This will protect me?” She asks again and Harriet gives her a firm nod. “I- I need to see. Let him go.”

This time Harriet does hesitate but after Nikki glares at her, she gives in and releases her spellwork. The man doesn’t even question any of it, just grabs the stick at his waist and goes after Nikki. Her friend looks nervous but for once, Harriet has no qualms. These spells held up under the onslaught during the war; this will not even register. Sure enough, the man is launched back with equal velocity, hitting the wall.

“Satisfied?” Harriet asks with a slight smile, enjoying the laughter spilling out of Nikki, the relief pouring off of her at having the protection prove itself.

“Now we’ll see how you like it,” Nikki tells him, grabbing the stick which fell on the floor, shuddering slightly when, at the press of a button, the crackling sound of electricity is heard. Not a moment later she jabs it at the man who jolts and screams, body bending.

“DO YOU LIKE IT NOW? STILL ENJOYING IT? DOESN’T IT JUST INSPIRE YOU???”

Nikki has tears running down her face when Harriet immobilises the man again, putting him to sleep, gently taking the weapon off her friend. It doesn’t take much to ensure her friend turns away from the captor-turned-victim and burrows herself in Harriets shoulder, sobs wracking her body.

“It’s alright, it’s all okay now. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” Harriet intends to repeat the litany as long as it takes Nikki to calm down, using magic to turn a stray piece of paper into a large chair, big enough for them both and summons a book which she promptly turns into a blanket, covering them both.

While she’d much rather be at home to calm her friend down, she still needs to call the cops; it will have to wait until Nikki is recovered enough to face them. They’re huddled together for what Harriet thinks might be half an hour before they’re interrupted.

“FBI, OPEN UP!” comes a shout from downstairs as well as a loud hammering on the front door. “WE HAVE A SEARCH WARRANT!”

Harriet blinks, before her lips curve up.

“You ready?” She asks Nikki and the woman, to her credit, nods, wipes her face and stands up.

“The door is open,” she shouts down, using the moment to whisper a “finite incatatem maxima,” and forcing enough magic behind the spell that it spreads out from her in a wave, dismantling her spell work as it goes through the house, book and paper returned to their original state and the ceiling in the attic becoming visible again. Naturally, it also ends her spells on the unsub but that is easily remedied with another spell to bind him (trussed him up like a chicken, Ron would have sniggered, at the excessive amount of ropes covering him).

Her last spell opens the front door and her wand vanishes. In troops the now-familiar figures from the BAU.

“Hi again,” she says with a cheeky wave from the bannister. “Please don’t shoot. We got our kidnapper up here, if you’re ready to take him into custody.”

Morgan, at least, looks amused as he gamely follows her up the stairs, eyes still alert and gun at the ready, before his eyes fall on their kidnapper, practically drowning in ropes.

This time he does actually laugh, holstering his gun and clapping her gently on the shoulder.

“All clear,” he shouts down and the atmosphere is more relaxed.

“Nice to see you again, Harriet,” Hotch tells her and she finds herself smiling.

“Nice to see you all again as well,” she tells him sincerely.

“How often have you been kidnapped?” Reid asks curiously, barely a step behind and Harriet laughs when Hotch barks out a reprimanding “Reid!”, but he has already noted that she is amused, rather than offended, so she thinks Hotch will likely not pursue Reid’s indiscretion further. While conceding that it’s probably not the best thing to ask most kidnapping victims, Harriet learned, as she grew up, that she preferred humour and diversion over politeness.

“Another hospital visit and interrogation,” she asks and Hotch nods. Morgan and one of the police officers are hauling the unsub downstairs while JJ and Rossi are talking gently to Nikki, a shock blanket placed around her shoulders already.

“We’ll stay around, this time, for several days while we try to sort out victims and family notifications, interviewing and wrapping up the case,” Hotch states calmly and Harriet smiles.

“That’s nice; I don’t think I’d enjoy talking to Detective Johnson again.”

The brown eyes harden. “Now that we have the perpetrator, Detective Johnson will be suspended while there is an investigation into his misconduct. All missing persons cases were relegated to him as Captain Harris believed if there were any pattern it would more easily be identified if just one Detective reviewed all missing person cases. Unfortunately, there is evidence the Detective didn’t take these reports seriously, which is how so many went missing without notice or oversight.”

“Good,” Harriet says assertively, feeling her own simmering anger come back. Whilst it had been satisfying going to the Captain over the Detective’s back, it had done very little to assuage her own anger at his irreverence to young people – children – going missing. It was like the teachers and neighbours of the Dursleys, all over again. Or at Hogwarts, with Umbridge, come to think of it.

Finding their likely unsub is actually very simple but not for their profiling skills but simple investigative police work. Once they find Jamie, who is looking after Nikki’s baby at the moment – not that she admits to it, but the spit stains are fairly obvious, she leads them right to the unsub. Harriet hadn’t actually questioned or investigated herself, other than to find out who else went missing, which was not what they had expected. The question then was how she’d gotten on the unsub’s radar if she hadn’t been talking to everyone and sundry about the missing children. According to Jamie, Harriet had only talked to other homeless people, the Police and, oh, yes, that artist who rendered perfect sketches of people with minimal input.

Garcia’s technical skills quickly uncovered a treasure trove of information about said artist, and they had a search warrant within just a few short hours – one of their quickest investigations so far. Bodies were still being recovered from the depths of the lake, bodies going back years.

The BAU is amused when they enter the unsub’s premises and find the victims free and the suspect already apprehended and waiting for them. After both victims are carted off to the hospital, though, and they investigate the house further, they are baffled to find the cages and manacles, all open without scratches or signs of how they were forced open.

When interviewed, both victims insist that their unsub simply must have left both manacles and both cage doors open, because really, how else could they have possibly gotten out? Magic? That last response from Nikki had always come with a secretive, amused smile.

On the question of how they overwhelmed their unsub, both insist it must have been surprise and that they just shocked him several times to ensure he stayed down (the BAU suspects vengeance is the more likely motive, but don’t feel the inclination to investigate this particular instance of vigilantism or revenge).

“Why did you move?” Rossi asks, once the interrogations are over, looking curiously at the black-haired woman who freezes slightly, looking sheepish.

“I… got a new job?” she half-asks and Rossi rolls his eyes.

“But you could have gotten one in Quantico, if you had wanted to. Or lived of your inheritance, for that matter,” he disputes and she acquiesces with a silent nod.

“I, well, I thought you might think I’ve been stalking you, ‘cause we kept running into each other everywhere – but I swear, I haven’t – I wasn’t. I just – I met you guys in the park or at the bar, a party, at that marathon, the vet – I swear, I wasn’t stalking, but it just seemed too often to be coincidental and I figured being FBI and all you would be either upset or have me up on charges, so I thought I’d better move.”

Rossi snorts but it’s Reid who speaks up first.

“Actually, given the lack of technology in your home, the periodic sweeps for bugs on our cars, phones and homes, the argument far more likely is that it was us stalking you rather than vice versa. We have access to far more and better resources and while a certain amount of ‘running into each other’ can be coincidental given the proximity of your prior residence to our workplace and where we live, it was a rather high number of meetings to be entirely attributed to coincidence.”

Hotch pinches the bridge of his nose in the background while Morgan sniggers, wrapping an arm around Reid’s shoulders.

“Way to go, pretty boy,” he says, and Reid looks confused. Hotch sighs, stepping forward.

“I assure you, Lady Potter-Black, none of the members of the BAU were stalking you.”

Reid looks surprised that this is what they take away from his rant.

“I wasn’t saying that at all,” he tells them and Prentiss laughs, along with most of the rest of the team.

“Yes, Reid, you actually kind of were.”

Their boy genius looks flabbergasted and Harriet finally lets go of the laughter she’s been trying to hold in.

“Alright, alright. So, I’m not stalking you, you’re not stalking me, and I really should learn to talk to people upfront instead of running away. Is that the gist of it?” she asks teasingly and this team the entire team pauses, looking surprised that she’s managed to decipher what Reid was insinuating without outright calling her on it.

“Welcome to the team,” Rossi says quietly – but not quietly enough; Harriet clearly hears him and beams, green eyes sparkling with delight.

“Well, I was thinking of quitting the job, anyway. Not really my niche this place. I’ll need to settle a few things and then I’m sure we’ll bump into each other soon enough.”

“Please do try not to get yourself kidnapped again,” Hotch says dryly, lips twitching, “I’m sure we can arrange to meet outside of work.”

Harriet looks surprised when she laughs, before descending into giggling.

“Careful, Hotch,” Rossi warns, eyes laughing, “or we might start thinking you have a sense of humour buried inside of you somewhere.”

“Well,” he says dryly, smile broadening before his face falls into the usual stoic mask, “can’t have that, can we?” he finishes innocently and his team is left stunned as he leaves, lips curving up in an unrepentant smile as soon as he's out of view.

Chapter Text

Nikki had been the easiest to convince – Harriet had changed the title deed of the house in Denver so it was in both Nikki’s and Jamie’s name and explained, quietly, to Nikki what magical protections she had put on the house after the kidnapping to ensure both her’s and her child’s protection. Neither of them were willing to relinquish the house after that.

With an address, a home, it was easier to obtain a bank account and a job – it was amazing how many things just a lack of address took from you. It meant she was able to return to Quantico within weeks rather than months and ended up leaving only shortly after the BAU team, to give Nikki and Jamie the run of the house, packing her own personal belongings, the ones she was attached to, away to transport back with her to her previous home.

Ironic that she ended right back where she started, Harriet figured with a slight sigh.

“Oh, my, what a surprise to find you here,” said Garcia, with unconvincingly innocent eyes, fake-wide, and betrayed further by Reid tugging at where she gripped him on his arm.

“This is stalking,” he hisses under his breath, “we can’t be doing this.” He is still looking spooked, glancing around them as if someone will pop out from the bushes, having filmed them breaking the law.

Harriet laughs; she doesn’t enjoy being surveilled, but someone surprising her with what looks like home-made cake with “Welcome Home” written on it? Well, concerned friends she knows how to handle.

“Come in,” she tells them, laughing, opening her doors wider.

Garcia is glancing around, looking genuinely curious whereas Reid’s eyes are more analytical, taking in objects and placements, deducing meanings Harriet has no idea how to divine from what is to her randomness.

“Let me get some plates and cutlery out,” she tells them, leaving them to investigate and ignoring the furious whispers exchanged behind her back, which subside the moment she re-enters the room.

“Subtle,” she tells them, a grin still tugging at her lips and Garcia laughs loudly.

“I know, I’m the epitome of subtlety,” she tells her very seriously, despite the bright pink outfit and deep yellow sunflower brooch.

“I can see that,” Harriet retorts, deadpan, and both laugh again.

“I really didn’t mean that we were stalking you,” Reid bursts out, referencing a conversation from weeks earlier in Denver, just after her ‘rescue’.  “Despite the evidence to the contrary today.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harriet tells him, sniggering, “as long as you come with home-made chocolate cake every time? You can stalk me anytime.” She winks and laughs at his blush before she is drawn into a hug by Penelope.

“Aww, a woman after my own heart.”

It gets easier from there. She’s invited to Rossi’s pasta nights on occasion, or the night club by Morgan, JJ or Garcia. Prentiss sometimes invites her to the bar or shopping with JJ. She’s been to the museum, park and movies a few times now with Jack and Hotch. Reid has taken her to a magic show and museums as well as another few dress-up conventions with Garcia.

She loves it. Their interests are so diverse, she can join in on something with at least one of them at least once a week, unless they’re away on cases.

But, while she enjoys the time spent with them, she has yet to find something for herself, her own niche she can fit into. She likes helping people but the question of how remains.

So far, the only thing she’s managed is to force a small token onto each of them imbued with high level protective magic and runes to make sure it lasts. Harriet is a little bit desperate with how often she has to renew them, the magic dying in the little stones and weaves each time a bullet or knife is diverted, the person given a little bit of extra speed to evade, a bit of protection from bruises and injuries from bombs or jumping from moving vehicles.

What even is their life? And she’d thought hers was crazy.

MORGAN

The flirtatious tone between Garcia and Morgan is, at first glance, off-putting, as she thinks they’re either in a relationship or on the cusps of one, until Garcia pulls her aside one day to explain. Derek likes flirting and there’s never a harm in making another person feel good or brightening their day. Garcia just likes the attention from an attractive man who appears so polar opposite to everything she exudes – and loves returning the favour in kind.

Harriet wishes she had either of their confidence, to be fair, still blushing when Derek flirts with her, although she notes he does make sure to tone it down for her rather than the over-the-top flirting he engages in with Penelope.

Harriet still doesn’t manage to string more than two syllables together, when he leans in, winks at her, and calls her pretty, or beautiful, or clever; she just flusters and stammers, eyes wide, but as it leaves him laughing and content, she doesn’t think he’s that upset about it.

It’s funny – she’s rich, and was a well-known heroine in her old world. Many people have flirted with her, called her pretty or beautiful or any manner of things they thought she’d like to hear. But none of them seemed to mean it – there was always an ulterior motive.

The difference with Derek is that he means every single word he’s saying and he’s not trying to get to her money, her fame, or into her bed even. He’s just telling her what he sees as the truth to make her day a bit better.

And it works like a charm.

Every time.

Even if she does struggle to make eye contact with him for several minutes afterwards.

So the very last thing Harriet expects is on one of the days where she ‘assists’ Derek in building a house (mainly fetching things, cleaning or learning on the job), is for him to pull her aside after, looking serious.

“I would like to take you on a date, Harriet, if that’s alright with you. See where this can go,” he says calmly, gesturing between them. It’s a sign that he means it when he doesn’t call her ‘sweetheart’ as he usually does, but by her name.

“I- a date? Like a date-date?” she asks, the pitch of her voice dangerously high as her eyes widen. He has the gall to look amused instead.

“Yes,” he repeats calmly, “a date-date. With roses, candlelight and dinner in a nice restaurant, in case that wasn’t clear.”

She squeaks, eyes wide.

“I- I didn’t think you were interested?” she half-asks, half-tells him.

“I know,” he huffs slightly. “I think by explaining our relationship, Garcia didn’t actually do me as much of a favour as she thought,” he adds, sounding exasperated.

“Sorry?” Harriet says, sounding unsure.

He waves her apology off.

“No, I should have said something sooner, I just figured I had made it clear in other ways. It’s different with you. You’re open and genuine, you’re kind – I call you sweetheart, because that’s what you are,” he taps just above her chest for emphasis and she blushes slightly, but refuses to stop looking at him.

“I tell you that you’re pretty or beautiful, that you look gorgeous in your dress, that I love your earrings – that’s genuine flirting. What I and Garcia have is firmly in the friend-territory and much effusive. I didn’t ‘tone down’ my flirting because you blush so prettily, but rather because I wanted you to know I was genuinely attracted to you.”

“Oh,” she says again, eyes wide. “I- I would love to go on a date with you, Derek.”

“Yeah?” There’s a smirk spreading across his lips and Harriet laughs, relieved, nodding.

“Yes. Definitely. And, just so you know, I’m attracted to you, too.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that I already know,” he tells her, a positively evil smirk pulling at his lips when her eyes widen.

“What? How? I haven’t said anything!”

“Your eyes wander, sweetheart,” he winks, “and sometimes you’re not as quick as you think looking away.”

He roars with laughter when the blush reaches her ears, tugging her forward and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Don’t worry, I was definitely flattered,” he tells her, winking.

Harriet groans and hides her face in her hands.

HOTCH

The BAU team is away on a case when Garcia turns up on her doorstep, little Jack Hotchner in tow.

“Sorry, Jessica got sick, Kevin’s away on a training course at the other side of the country and the team needs my expertise. Tag – you’re it,” she tells her, rushing in with a bag full of items, dropping them all off, before pausing for a second, hesitating. “… This is alright, isn’t it? Only I know you’ve looked after children before, and you’re safe, and there’s no one else here just now. Will’s still at work, and they’re in the middle of a tough case, or he’d be with Henry.”

“It’s fine, Penelope. Don’t worry about it. Jack and me will have loads of fun.”

It’s the first time Jack spends time at hers – but definitely not the last. She’s become his Auntie remarkably quickly, but children get attached fast, Harriet knows.

This house has the most extensive protection wards she can manage, fed daily by an influx of her magic, strengthening and reinforcing them, making sure nothing can happen to her or anyone visiting her. To little Jack.

It happens, little by little.

Jessica is out on a date, Harriet is over at the Hotch’s when Aaron comes home early. Instead of leaving, she finishes dinner, watches a movie with them, helps tuck Jack into bed and somehow falls asleep on Aaron’s shoulder on the couch over another movie. She’s invited to stay for the night.

Only it keeps happening.

Before Harriet knows it, she’s spending most days with Jack and every spare minute Aaron has outside the BAU with him. They’re going to parks and having dinners in restaurants, they’re going to the cinema and cuddling together on the couch.

So when Prentiss asks her if she’s in a relationship with the boss, Harriet gapes like a fish and tries to find words to refute only to come up empty.

“Aaron,” she finds herself asking that evening, serving Jack a second helping of baby carrots. “Are we together?”

She didn’t mean to ask him now, not in front of Jack, but the words came out before she could stop them.

“I would like us to be,” the man says calmly, putting his cutlery down so he can give her his full attention.

“Have you… been taking me on dates?” She asks hesitantly, remembering the many times they went to cafes, movies and restaurants – without Jack.

“Yes,” he tells her.

“Oh,” she says flatly, eyes still wide, stopping only when she realises that Jack’s plate is overflowing with the little carrots.

“Does that bother you?” He asks, looking just as calm and curious as before.

“I- No? I- I don’t think so?” she tells him hesitantly, still trying to wrap her head around it. He waits patiently for her to continue, rather than interrupting her swirling thoughts.

“But- But we’ve been on so many dates!” she tells him, surprised. “Why didn’t you ever try to-“ she glances at Jack and finishes in a whisper, “you know.”

His lips curl up in a smirk at the phrasing, but he doesn’t tease her about it.

“I have tried. I’d lean in, you’d turn away, but you still said yes to the invitations. I actually thought we were on the same page and you just wanted to go slowly,” he tells her with a casual shrug. “At least until I talked to Prentiss today and she told me you didn’t think – or didn’t know – we were in a relationship.”

She splutters. “But you’re a profiler,” she tells him, sounding slightly outraged.

Aaron half-laughs, half-sighs. “Yes, but not a mind-reader. I apologise for my part for not being clearer; I really did think we were on the same page,” he admits with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, wincing slightly at the miscommunication.

“Oh,” Harriet repeats again. “So those times you leaned in, or touched me – that wasn’t accidental and you really were trying to kiss me?”

She asks again, this time not looking at Aaron’s son, sitting at the table and content to just watch the adults argue, luckily, rather than speak up.

“Yes,” Aaron confirms again. “I like dating you. I like how you take care of Jack, I like coming home to you, I like looking after you and taking care of you and I would love to kiss you, some time, whenever you’re ready. And,” he adds with barely veiled amusement, “maybe also go on a date when you know it is one. Apparently, I’ve not been doing it right if the candlelit dinners, pulling out your chair, making space for your belongings in our home haven’t been clear enough signs that I was, well, courting you. Wooing you?”

“Our home?” she echoes again, blinking rapidly.

“Ah,” he clears his throat. “Maybe we’ll talk more on that after we’ve had a date together?” He looks embarrassed now, but Harriet looks around and, yes, sure enough – that’s her baking tins and cookie shapes. That’s her lampshade and those books over there, they’re hers. As is that photo.

When did she move in her, Harriet wonders, stumbling to her feet. That’s her tablecloth, she realises retrospectively. And that’s her couch chair – not that she ever uses it when she’s tucked in with Aaron on the couch and-

“Holy Fu-…dgesicles! We’re living together,” she tells Aaron, who winces slightly but nods anyway.

“I have a key to your house,” she tells him, pointing at her key by the door and he nods again.

“I’m living here,” she repeats, faintly, still looking surprised.

“If you want to,” he tells her, shuffling faintly. “To be fair, I was under the impression our dating, apart from the lack of kissing, was going rather well.”

Her mouth opens, closes and she stares as she still tries to readjust her worldview. A moment later she reaches across, her palm across the back of his neck, and drags him down into a slow, languid kiss.

“Let’s go on a date,” she tells him, eyes bright, feeling like she could walk on clouds.

REID

When she admits to not having seen much of the USA, it’s Reid who jumps in, who takes her on a whirlwind tour of Washington which leaves her feet and calves aching, her mind struggling to keep up with the influx of facts and information, and her heart aching with affection.

But he doesn’t stop there.

Washington was just the closest for a short-term excursion. He takes her on a three-day long weekend tour of LA. Then comes Miami. Followed by Chicago and San Francisco. Anytime he’s free, he’s showing her something – even just remote lakes and parks for picnics (albeit with everything well-packed and blankets to ensure a lack of wildlife in their food and avoiding contact with germs).

Harriet feels like her heart has never been lighter; she hasn’t laughed this much in years.

Still, she could have chosen a better moment – a more romantic one. They’re on the staircase, going down the floor from the Sanitarium where she just met the brilliant woman – and mother – of the man who has been so kind and helpful to her.

It is an emotional revelation, that he is opening himself up to her this much, and it’s probably why it burst out of her as it did, but she still wishes she’d chosen a better moment.

“I’d really like to date you,” she tells him, then takes another two steps, before pausing, her own words catching up with her. Eyes wide she turns back to Reid who’s two steps back, eyes equally wide as he stares at her.

“I- What? Really?”

“I- Well, this wasn’t how I imagined this,” she confesses, rubbing her head and wincing. “But yes, I really would like to date you,” she tells him earnestly.

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking surprised and dubious.

“I- Yes? I mean, I like you, I enjoy spending time with you. I know I can’t match you in cleverness, but I love hearing about all these things you know. I love just being with you. If you’re interested, I would really like to take you on a date.”

He blinks.

“How about I take you on a date, first? I had something planned for tonight anyway and I can easily change that into a date,” he says slowly, contemplatively as if his brain is already busy rearranging their relationship and tonight’s plans in an instant.

“And you are clever. I like spending time with you – that’s why I was taking you to all those places. I was partly hoping I could ask you on a date in a few weeks’ time if you seemed amenable.” He tilts his head slightly. “Few people are actually interested when I share some of the things I know but you really are and you were listening.”

“You are interesting,” she says with a shrug. “I could listen to you talking all day,” she admits, a blush colouring her cheeks a soft pink at the confession.

His lips twitch.

“You know, it’s actually safer to kiss than it is to shake hands from the point of view of transmitting germs.”

She blinks, surprised. “Oh.” Then her eyes widen a second later, realisation hitting as his smile widens, and repeats a softer, “oh!”

A moment later she smiles warmly. “Well then, we should put that theory to the test, Dr. Spencer Reid.”

With that said, she takes the step above him, coming closer and leaning, her hand smoothing over his sweater before pulling him gently and softly pressing her lips to his.

“What do you think?” she asks after a breath.

He smiles softly, eyes warm, arms around her back as he pulls her gently against himself.

“I think we need more data,” he tells her and her laugh is smothered under his lips, her body relaxing against his, one of his hands wandering over to her neck pulling her closer still, mouths parting as they exchange warm breaths before Harriet tentatively licks over his lips.

They’re broken apart a few minutes later by the slamming of the door, breathing rapidly and hot, eyes wide and pupils dilated. Harriet can barely suppress a giggle when Reid – germaphobic Reid -  actually reaches for and grabs her hand, tugging her, still laughing, down the staircase and out of the Sanitarium.

“I would definitely love to take you out on a date,” Reid tells her confidently now that they’re back out in the sunshine and she smiles widely, wiggling her fingers in between his.

“Woo me,” she tells him and he laughs, pressing another, short kiss to her lips to her delight.

“As you wish,” he says, winking and she laughs, tugging his arm closer so she can be pressed against him as they walk down the road.