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Chapter Text

Aaron Hotchner knew what death looked like.

Seventeen years with the FBI, the last seven leading the Behavioral Analysis Unit, had shown him every manner of cruelty humans could inflict upon one another. He'd cataloged the patterns, learned to read the grotesque language of violence that killers left behind. Death had a grammar all its own.

But this—this defied everything he understood.

"Hotch," Morgan called from across the room, his voice tight. "You need to see this."

The brownstone apartment in Georgetown looked untouched from the outside—no forced entry, security system undisturbed. Inside, however, was a scene that made the hairs on the back of Hotchner's neck stand up.

The victim, Dr. Eleanor Weiss, 42, lay in the center of her living room. Cause of death appeared to be exsanguination, but without a single drop of blood visible anywhere in the apartment. Her body was arranged in a careful pose—arms outstretched, palms up, as if in supplication. Her expression was peaceful, almost serene.

Most disturbing was what surrounded her: intricate symbols carved into the hardwood floor in a perfect circle, burning with a faint blue light that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat. The symbols resembled nothing Hotchner had seen before—not Norse, not Celtic, not any known occult symbolism.

"These aren't burning into the wood," Reid said, crouching near the edge of the circle, his lanky frame folded like a praying mantis. He didn't touch the glowing marks, but his fingers hovered centimeters away. "There's no smoke, no charring. It's as if they're made of light itself."

"That's impossible," Prentiss said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Reid's eyes darted across the symbols, his eidetic memory capturing every curve and line. "These resemble ancient runic scripts, but they're not exactly matching any known historical examples. There are elements of Elder Futhark, but mixed with something... else."

"Could it be projection?" JJ suggested, looking up at the ceiling for a hidden device.

"From where?" Morgan gestured around the room. "And how does that explain this?" He pointed to what they'd all been avoiding discussing—the victim was hovering three inches above the floor.

Dr. Weiss's body wasn't touching any surface. She floated, suspended as if gravity had selectively abandoned her.

Rossi, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke. "I've seen a lot of strange things in my time, but this..." He shook his head. "This isn't just strange. This is impossible."

"Nothing's impossible," Hotch said automatically, though his mind was racing through increasingly unlikely scenarios. "There has to be a rational explanation. Reid, what about wire suspension?"

"No visible attachment points," Reid said. "And the body shows no signs of being supported artificially. The weight distribution is completely natural, as if she's simply... floating."

"Garcia," Hotch spoke into his phone, putting their technical analyst on speaker. "I need you to search for any similar cases. Look for ritualistic elements, unusual positioning of victims, references to runic symbols or floating objects."

"Floating objects? Sir, did you say floating objects?" Garcia's voice pitched higher with confusion.

"Just search, Garcia. And look into Dr. Weiss's background. Any connections to stage magic, performance art, optical illusion research."

"On it, boss," Garcia replied, clearly bewildered but diving into her databases.

As the team continued processing the scene, Hotch stepped aside to call their Section Chief. Whatever this was, they needed specialized resources. The forensics team looked completely lost, and the local detectives had already begun whispering about "X-Files stuff."

None of them noticed the small, translucent sphere hovering in the corner of the room, capturing their every move. None except Reid, who caught a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye, only to find nothing when he turned to look.

Later that evening, a secure message would arrive on a desk far away in London. Its contents would set in motion the first official cooperation between the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit and the Ministry of Magic's Auror Department.

In his flat in London, Harry Potter was about to receive an assignment that would change everything.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter stared at the secure file on his desk, a cup of tea gone cold beside it. The moving photographs showed a crime scene that made his stomach clench despite years of Auror work. The victim floated above ancient runes—runes that had no business being in a Muggle apartment in Washington, D.C.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. At thirty-five, Harry had hoped the days of dark wizards with theatrical flair were behind him. The war had been over for seventeen years. But darkness, it seemed, had a way of reinventing itself.

A knock at his office door broke his concentration. Hermione entered without waiting for a response, her Ministry robes slightly askew, suggesting she'd rushed over.

"You've seen it, then?" she asked, nodding toward the file.

"Just started. Magical signature at a Muggle crime scene, obvious enough that their investigators are utterly stumped." Harry frowned. "Why did this land on my desk and not the American Aurors'?"

Hermione settled into the chair across from him. "Because the victim was British, a half-blood witch living as a Muggle. Dr. Eleanor Weiss, potions researcher who transitioned to Muggle biochemistry. And—" She hesitated. "The magical signature matches certain Death Eater practices we haven't seen since the war."

Harry felt the familiar chill that accompanied any mention of Death Eaters. "Survivors? Sympathizers?"

"That's what you need to determine. The American Ministry wants our expertise, given our... extensive experience." The way she said it made clear she meant Harry's personal history with dark wizards.

"And the FBI involvement?"

"Unavoidable. Their agents arrived first, and they've already begun profiling the killer. The Behavioral Analysis Unit—they're elite investigators who specialize in serial offenders."

Harry flipped through the moving photographs. "These Muggles are seeing things they can't possibly explain. We should obliviate them, let our people handle it."

"That's not an option." Hermione's tone hardened. "The American Ministry wants cooperation. This BAU team has an exceptional track record, and there are concerns this may not be an isolated incident. If we're dealing with a magical serial killer targeting people with connections to both worlds, their insight could be valuable."

Harry looked skeptical. "How much am I authorized to tell them?"

"Enough to work together effectively. The International Statute of Secrecy has evolved, Harry. We have protocols now for limited disclosure to specific Muggle authorities when necessary."

"They'll think I'm mad."

Hermione almost smiled. "Perhaps initially. But from what I've read of this team, they're remarkably adaptable. Especially Dr. Reid—his file suggests he might be particularly receptive."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You've read their files?"

"Of course I have. And you should too, before you meet them tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Harry straightened. "That's bloody quick."

"International portkey leaves at 6 AM. You'll be met by an American Auror liaison who will escort you to the FBI headquarters in Quantico." Hermione pushed a second file across the desk. "These are the BAU team profiles. I suggest you start with Dr. Reid and Agent Hotchner."

After Hermione left, Harry opened the new file. Six FBI agents stared back at him from unmoving Muggle photographs. His eyes lingered on one in particular—a young man with long hair and an intense gaze. Dr. Spencer Reid, the file indicated. PhD in Chemistry, Mathematics, and Engineering. IQ of 187. Eidetic memory.

Harry studied the photograph more closely. There was something in Reid's eyes that seemed familiar—a depth of experience that belied his young age. The file mentioned kidnapping, torture, false imprisonment. This wasn't just a brilliant academic; this was someone who had faced darkness.

Perhaps Hermione was right. If anyone on this team could accept the existence of magic, it might be Dr. Reid.

Harry placed the folders in his enchanted briefcase and left the office. He needed to pack, but first, he needed to send an owl to Andromeda about Teddy's care during his absence. His godson, now seventeen and preparing for his final year at Hogwarts, would understand the urgency of the mission, but Harry still felt the familiar pang of guilt that came with every assignment that took him away.

As Harry stepped out of the Ministry into the rainy London evening, he couldn't shake the feeling that this case would change everything. Seventeen years of relative peace in the wizarding world had perhaps made them complacent. If Death Eater magic was resurging in America, if someone was targeting people straddling the magical and Muggle worlds, the implications were deeply troubling.

And if he was honest with himself, the prospect of working with Muggles—particularly this Dr. Reid—left him feeling strangely unsettled. Harry had faced down dark wizards, dementors, and even death itself, but explaining magic to FBI agents was an entirely new challenge.

The rain intensified as he disapparated home, his mind already in Quantico, imagining the faces of the BAU team when they realized their world was about to expand in ways they never thought possible.

Chapter Text

The BAU conference room had seen its share of unusual briefings, but never quite like this.

"A specialist?" Morgan repeated, skepticism evident. "From London? For a case with no apparent connection to the UK except the victim's nationality?"

"The State Department insists," Hotch replied, his expression giving nothing away. "Apparently Dr. Weiss had connections to British intelligence that we weren't made aware of initially."

Reid was studying the crime scene photos spread across the round table, his fingers tracing the air above the strange symbols. "These runes contain elements that appear in ancient British magical traditions. Celtic and pre-Celtic symbolism, combined with something that resembles Norse influence but doesn't quite match any historical examples I can find."

"So we're looking at someone creating their own magical system?" Prentiss asked.

"Possibly. Or drawing from sources that aren't well documented." Reid's brow furrowed. "There's an internal consistency to these symbols that suggests they're not random. Whoever created this believes they have meaning—or knows they do."

"Magical thinking is common in organized killers," Rossi noted. "They create their own mythology, their own symbolic language. It gives them power, justifies their actions."

"They're not just symbols," Reid insisted quietly. "The victim was floating. Actually floating. We all saw it."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. None of them had a rational explanation for what they'd witnessed at the crime scene.

"The M.E. report came back," JJ said, changing the subject slightly. "Cause of death confirmed as exsanguination, but there were no wounds, no points of blood loss. It's as if her blood simply... vanished."

"That's not physically possible," Morgan stated flatly.

"A lot about this case isn't physically possible," Reid countered. "Which is why we need to consider—"

The door opened, and a man entered behind a tall blond agent they didn't recognize.

"Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner," the blond said formally. "This is Senior Auror Harry Potter from British law enforcement. He has clearance from your director to join the investigation."

Harry Potter wasn't what they expected. Average height, lean build, dressed in a simple dark suit that looked slightly uncomfortable on him. Messy black hair that refused to lie flat, sharp green eyes behind round glasses, and an unmistakable lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who had seen combat.

"Thank you, Agent Collins," Hotch said, dismissing the escort with a nod before turning to their visitor. "Mr. Potter, welcome to Quantico. I'm Agent Hotchner. This is my team: Agents Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, Jareau, and Dr. Reid."

Harry's eyes swept the room, pausing fractionally on Reid before he answered, "Thank you for allowing me to join your investigation. I understand you have questions about my involvement. I assure you it's relevant, though I can't fully explain why until we have some privacy."

"Privacy?" Morgan echoed. "This is a secure facility, and we're all cleared for this case."

"What Agent Morgan means," Hotch intervened smoothly, "is that the BAU operates as a unit. Any information pertinent to the case should be shared with the entire team."

Harry seemed to be weighing his options, then nodded once. "Fair enough, but I'll need your word that what I'm about to tell you remains in this room."

"You have it," Hotch confirmed.

Harry walked to the windows and drew the blinds, then removed what appeared to be a polished stick from his jacket. The team exchanged glances, but no one commented.

"First," Harry said, "I need to address what you saw at the crime scene. Dr. Weiss was indeed floating. The symbols were indeed glowing. These things aren't tricks, illusions, or hallucinations." He took a deep breath. "They're magic. Real magic."

The silence that followed was profound.

"I'm sorry," Prentiss finally said, "but we're going to need a bit more than that."

"I understand." Harry raised the stick—a wand, Reid suddenly realized—and murmured something under his breath.

The case files on the table rose into the air, hovering at eye level. Then the chairs, empty coffee cups, even Reid's messenger bag lifted, floating serenely around the room.

Morgan shot to his feet. "What the—"

Hotch remained seated, his face a study in controlled shock. "Mr. Potter, I suggest you explain. Now."

Harry lowered his wand, and everything settled gently back into place. "I am a wizard, Agent Hotchner. A real one. There's an entire society of us living alongside your world—the non-magical world—mostly in secret. Dr. Weiss was part of our community, though she chose to live primarily as a non-magical person—what we call a Muggle."

"That's impossible," Morgan insisted.

"Says the man who just watched me levitate half the room," Harry countered dryly.

"Could be an elaborate setup," Rossi suggested. "Wires, magnets, good sleight of hand."

Reid had been silent, his mind racing. Now he spoke. "The crime scene. The floating body, the glowing runes. You're saying that was magic too? Not a trick?"

"Yes, Dr. Reid. Dark magic, specifically. The signature left by the killer matches methods used by a terrorist organization from my country. They were largely disbanded years ago, but it appears someone is using their techniques here."

Reid stood and approached Harry, his curiosity overriding caution. "May I see your wand?"

Harry hesitated, then carefully handed it over. "Eleven inches, holly with a phoenix feather core. I'd appreciate it back promptly; a wizard's wand is... personal."

Reid examined it with fascination, turning it over in his long fingers. "No visible mechanisms, no power source. The balance suggests it's solid all the way through. If this is a trick, it's beyond any technology I'm familiar with." He looked up at Harry. "How does it work? Is it channeling energy from you, or is the energy in the wand itself?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Harry's face. "Both, in a way. The wizard provides the intent and power; the wand focuses and directs it. They have to be matched correctly to work properly."

"Fascinating," Reid murmured, reluctantly returning the wand.

"Hold on," Morgan interjected. "We're seriously entertaining this? Magic is real, and the British government sent us a... a wizard to help with our case?"

"I'm an Auror," Harry clarified. "Dark wizard catcher, essentially. Your equivalent of FBI. The International Confederation of Wizards has an agreement with certain high-level officials in your government for situations like this."

"For when magical criminals kill non-magical people," Hotch said, his tone neutral.

"Yes. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, we take it extremely seriously. The killer is using magic in ways that violate our most fundamental laws. And given the specific magical signature, this isn't just any dark wizard. This is someone with knowledge of particular forbidden practices."

"Death Eater practices," Reid said suddenly.

Harry's head snapped toward him. "How do you know that term?"

"I don't, not really," Reid admitted. "It just... came to me while looking at the crime scene photos. The arrangement of the runes suggested death worship, ritualistic blood sacrifice. 'Death Eater' seemed... fitting."

Harry studied Reid with new interest. "That's precisely what they called themselves. A terrorist group that believed in magical purity and followed a dark wizard named Voldemort. They were defeated seventeen years ago, but it appears someone is continuing their work."

"So we're looking for a terrorist copycat," Rossi said, clearly trying to frame this in familiar terms.

"Possibly. Or a survivor who's remained hidden. Either way, combining your profiling expertise with my knowledge of dark magic may be our best chance of stopping them before more people die."

Hotch stood. "Mr. Potter—"

"Harry, please."

"Harry. I won't pretend I fully understand or believe everything you've told us. But I can't deny what we all just witnessed. If you can help us catch this killer, that's what matters. The rest... we'll deal with."

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "And for what it's worth, this is strange for me too. We don't typically work with Mu—with non-magical law enforcement."

"I have about a thousand questions," Reid admitted.

Harry glanced at him with the hint of a smile. "I expected you might. Your file suggested you'd be... curious."

"My file?" Reid looked surprised.

"You think your government keeps files on us, but mine doesn't keep them on you?" Harry's smile widened slightly, revealing a flash of warmth beneath his professional demeanor.

Reid smiled back, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

"So," Morgan said, bringing them back to the task at hand, "where do we start?"

"The runes," Harry and Reid said simultaneously, then looked at each other with mild surprise.

"The runes," Harry continued. "They're a message and a signature. Dr. Reid, I understand you have an eidetic memory?"

Reid nodded. "I can recall the exact pattern."

"Good. I brought reference materials, but having your recollection will help. If we can decode what the killer is saying, we might understand their motivation, maybe even their next target."

"I'll set you up in a private office," Hotch decided. "Reid, you'll work with Harry on the magical aspects. The rest of us will continue with standard profiling methods. Just because our UnSub is using... magic... doesn't mean they don't follow behavior patterns we can analyze."

As the team dispersed, Reid lingered, dozens of questions clearly on the tip of his tongue.

"Your messenger bag," Harry said, gesturing to where it hung on Reid's shoulder. "There's an extension charm on it, isn't there? It holds more than it should."

Reid blinked. "I've never understood why I can fit so many books in it. People comment on it all the time."

"May I?" Harry asked, extending his hand. When Reid handed over the bag, Harry examined it closely, then chuckled. "Definitely magical. A mild extension charm, probably cast decades ago. The bag is vintage, isn't it?"

"1940s leather satchel, belonged to a Princeton professor before me."

"Likely belonged to a wizard professor who wanted to carry his library discreetly." Harry returned the bag. "You've been carrying a magical object for years without knowing it, Dr. Reid."

"Spencer," Reid offered. "If we're going to be decoding magical runes together, you might as well use my first name."

"Spencer," Harry repeated, his accent giving the name a slightly different cadence. "Let's go catch a dark wizard, shall we?"

As they walked toward the office Hotch had assigned them, neither man was fully aware of how closely the rest of the team was watching their interaction, or the significant glances exchanged between Morgan and Prentiss.

Nor did they notice Garcia, who had witnessed everything through the conference room's video feed, sitting at her computer with her mouth hanging open in shock. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, uncertain whether to begin researching magic—real magic—or to simply process what she'd just seen.

One thing was certain: nothing at the BAU would ever be quite the same again.

Chapter Text

The temporary office assigned to Harry and Reid was quickly transformed into what Morgan jokingly called "The Wizard's Den" when he passed by. Crime scene photos lined one wall, while ancient-looking books with strange symbols on their spines occupied the desk.
Reid stood before a whiteboard where he'd meticulously recreated the runic circle from memory, his handwriting precise and detailed. Harry watched him work with undisguised admiration.
"Your memory truly is remarkable," Harry said. "I've seen trained Unspeakables who couldn't reproduce complex runes this accurately."
Reid glanced over. "Unspeakables?"
"Department of Mysteries researchers. They study the deepest secrets of magic—time, space, death, consciousness." Harry paused. "They'd probably love to study your brain."
"They wouldn't be the first," Reid replied with a hint of wryness. "Though usually it's neurologists who want to scan me, not wizards."
Harry smiled before turning serious again. "These outer runes are definitely derived from ancient Celtic protection wards, but inverted. They're meant to contain power rather than repel it." He traced the air above Reid's drawings. "And these inner symbols—they're a bastardized version of the Dark Mark."
"The Dark Mark?"
Harry hesitated, then rolled up his sleeve. "Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters, all bore this mark. It connected them to him, allowed him to summon them." He gestured to his bare forearm. "It looked like a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth."
Reid studied the empty skin where Harry indicated before returning to the board. "These symbols do contain serpentine elements. The central figure could be interpreted as skull-like."
"It's not just similar in appearance. The magical signature is unmistakable. This working was performed using the same principles as the Dark Mark, but adapted for a different purpose."
"Which was?" Reid asked.
"Blood magic. The darkest kind." Harry's expression darkened. "The victim's blood wasn't just removed—it was consumed by the ritual. Used to power something."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Garcia entered, her colorful appearance a stark contrast to the grim images surrounding them.
"I hope I'm not interrupting wizardly business," she said, her usual exuberance somewhat muted by uncertainty. "But I found something weird in Dr. Weiss's background."
Harry gestured for her to continue.
"Her academic record has gaps. Big ones. She has a graduate degree from Imperial College London, but before that... nothing. No undergraduate records I can find. And her publication history only goes back twelve years."
"That's consistent with magical education and career," Harry confirmed. "She would have attended Hogwarts—our school—until age seventeen, then likely pursued advanced potions studies with a Master before transitioning to Muggle academia."
"Hogwarts," Garcia repeated, looking delighted despite the circumstances. "That's really what it's called? Like a real magic school with wands and cauldrons and everything?"
"And moving staircases, ghosts, and a giant squid in the lake," Harry added with a small smile.
Garcia looked like she might expire from excitement. "I have so many questions. But first—" She handed Reid a file. "I found three more people with similar gaps in their records, all in scientific fields, all in the D.C. area. They might be... like Dr. Weiss."
Reid opened the file. "Have you told Hotch?"
"He's briefing the director. Morgan and Prentiss are running down Dr. Weiss's associates. Rossi and JJ are re-examining the crime scene." Garcia bit her lip. "This is real, isn't it? Magic. Wizards. All of it."
"Very real," Harry confirmed. "And currently being used for murder."
Garcia nodded, processing. "I should get back. The facial recognition search is still running on the security footage from Dr. Weiss's building." She turned to leave, then hesitated. "Mr. Potter— Harry? When this is over... could you maybe show me some, you know, not-dark magic? Just a little?"
Harry's expression softened. "I think that could be arranged, Penelope."
After Garcia left, Reid returned to studying the names she'd provided. "If the UnSub is targeting magical people living in the non-magical world, these individuals could be at risk."
"We need to check on them immediately." Harry pulled out what appeared to be an antique pocket watch and flipped it open. "I've asked the American Auror office to send protection details, but they're stretched thin."
Reid was looking at him curiously. "That's not just a watch, is it?"
"Communications device," Harry confirmed. "More reliable than Muggle phones for wizards."
"Fascinating. The magical world has developed parallel technologies using different principles." Reid leaned closer. "How does it—"
Harry's watch suddenly glowed red, and a voice emerged from it: "Code three at Woodley Park. Magical disturbance detected. Aurors en route."
Harry snapped the watch shut, his expression grim. "That's near one of the names on Garcia's list. Dr. Alan Mercer, biophysicist."
"I'll tell Hotch," Reid said, already reaching for his phone.
Thirty minutes later, the SUVs carrying the BAU team and Harry pulled up to an upscale apartment building in Woodley Park. Two inconspicuous individuals in suits—American Aurors, Harry explained—were already securing the scene.
"Same as before?" Hotch asked as they approached the building.
"Not exactly," Harry said quietly. "The magical signature is similar, but not identical. And it's... fresh. Recent. Within the hour."
"You can tell that?" Morgan asked.
"I can feel it," Harry replied. "Like static electricity against my skin."
The building manager led them to Dr. Mercer's apartment on the eighth floor. The door was intact, locked, with no signs of forced entry. When they entered, the scene before them was both similar to and different from Dr. Weiss's murder.
The victim lay in the center of the living room, but unlike Dr. Weiss, Dr. Mercer wasn't floating. Instead, he was encased in what appeared to be crystal, his expression peaceful despite being completely entombed. Around him, a different arrangement of runes glowed with a pale green light.
"Morgan, Prentiss, secure the rest of the apartment," Hotch ordered. "Everyone else, don't touch anything until we understand what we're dealing with."
Harry approached the crystal formation cautiously, his wand drawn. "This is transfiguration. Advanced work."
"Transfiguration?" Reid asked, keeping pace with Harry.
"The magical art of transforming one thing into another. In this case..." Harry knelt beside the crystal form. "The killer transformed the victim's body, or encased it. I need to determine which."
Harry murmured incantations, moving his wand in precise patterns over the crystal and the runes. The green light pulsed in response to his magic.
"These runes," Reid observed, "they're arranged differently than at Dr. Weiss's scene. More... spiral than circular."
"You're right," Harry confirmed. "The first scene was about extraction—taking the blood. This is about preservation. The killer wants this victim intact."
"Why the difference?" Reid wondered aloud.
"Different components for whatever ritual they're performing," Harry suggested. "Blood from one victim, body from another..." He trailed off, his expression troubled.
"You think there will be more," Reid said. It wasn't a question.
"Rituals this complex often require multiple elements. Three is a magically powerful number. Seven even more so." Harry stood. "I don't like where this is heading."
As they spoke, a shimmering translucent shape appeared at the edge of the room—a lynx formed of silvery light. It opened its mouth and spoke with a man's voice: "Potter, we've identified residual apparition signatures in the building. Target departed approximately forty-five minutes ago. Tracking now."
The lynx dissolved into wisps of silver that faded away.
"What was that?" Reid asked, fascination overriding his professional detachment.
"Patronus. Magical messenger." Harry tucked his wand away. "Means they've picked up the magical trail of our killer, but it's already cold. They won't be able to track it far."
Prentiss returned from the bedroom. "No signs of struggle anywhere in the apartment. Everything's immaculate, like at the first scene."
"The victims knew their killer," Rossi concluded. "Trusted them enough to let them in."
"Or the killer had a key," Morgan added, joining them. "Figuratively or literally."
Harry exchanged a glance with Reid. "In the magical world, that could be literally true. There are ways to bypass locks, become invisible, even alter one's appearance to look like someone else."
"So our profile needs to account for magical abilities," Hotch said. "Capabilities beyond what we'd normally consider."
"Yes," Harry confirmed. "But magic leaves traces. Signatures as unique as fingerprints, if you know how to read them." He gestured to the runes. "And our UnSub is leaving deliberate signatures. They want to be identified—at least by those who understand what they're seeing."
"They're showing off," Morgan said. "Demonstrating their power."
"Or sending a message," Reid suggested. "If these killings are ritual components, the positioning of the bodies, the specific runes—they're all communicating something."
"I think it's both," Harry said. "They've gone to considerable effort to create these crime scenes. They want us—or someone—to see their work and understand its significance."
Reid was staring intently at the green runes. "These symbols... some of them aren't just inverted or adapted; they're completely new. They don't match any historical runic system I'm familiar with."
"They wouldn't," Harry said grimly. "They're personal adaptations. Death Eaters often modified existing magical systems, corrupting them for their own purposes."
Reid turned to Harry. "You have personal experience with them, don't you? With these Death Eaters. The file Garcia found mentioned a war in the magical world, but not details."
A shadow passed over Harry's face. "Yes. Very personal." He unconsciously touched the lightning scar on his forehead. "It's a long story, and not all of it relevant to this case."
"I think it might be more relevant than you're saying," Reid pressed gently. "The UnSub is using Death Eater magic. Understanding your history with them could help us understand the UnSub's motivations."
Harry hesitated, then nodded. "You're right. But not here." He gestured to the crime scene around them. "We need to process this scene, check on the other potential victims on Garcia's list, and then... then I'll tell you what you need to know."
As the team worked the scene, Harry and Reid continued studying the runes, occasionally conferring in low voices. The other agents noticed the ease developing between them—the way Reid would point something out and Harry would nod in understanding, or how Harry would explain a magical concept and Reid would grasp it immediately.
Near the end of their examination, while the others were conferring with the medical examiner, Reid quietly asked, "The scar on your forehead—it's connected to all this, isn't it?"
Harry looked up, surprised. "How did you know?"
"You touch it when you mention the war or Death Eaters. It's a subconscious gesture." Reid's perceptive gaze held Harry's. "And it doesn't look like an ordinary scar. It's too precise."
Harry was silent for a moment. "Nothing gets past you, does it, Spencer?"
"Occupational hazard," Reid replied with a small smile. "I notice things."
"Yes, it's connected," Harry finally said. "It's why I was sent here, though I doubt your team would understand yet. To explain my scar, I'd have to explain Voldemort, and to explain him..." He shook his head. "It's a history lesson your world isn't ready for."
"Try me," Reid said simply.
The challenge in his voice made Harry look at him with renewed interest. "Perhaps I will. After we catch this killer."
As they prepared to leave the scene, Harry cast several protective enchantments around Dr. Mercer's crystallized body. "These will preserve the magical signatures until specialized teams arrive," he explained to Hotch.
Outside, Reid paused beside Harry as the others headed toward the vehicles. "You realize what this means," he said quietly. "The UnSub has a pattern now. If they're collecting specific... components... for a ritual, they'll continue until they have everything they need."
"Yes," Harry agreed grimly. "And given the magical signatures, whatever ritual they're building toward isn't going to be benign."
"How bad could it be?" Reid asked.
Harry's green eyes met Reid's hazel ones directly. "The last time Death Eater magic was used at this scale, it nearly brought Britain to its knees and exposed our world to yours. Whatever this UnSub is planning, we need to stop them before they finish their collection."
As they walked to join the others, neither man noticed the small, glinting object hovering near the building's edge—a magical surveillance device recording their conversation, transmitting it to someone watching from a distance. Someone who was very interested in the fact that Harry Potter had come to America, and that he'd found a Muggle who understood far more than he should about magical matters.
The hunt was about to become much more personal.

Chapter Text

It was nearly midnight when the BAU team finally returned to Quantico. After discovering Dr. Mercer's body, they'd rushed to check on the other two individuals from Garcia's list. Both were alive but unaware of the danger. Harry had arranged for American Aurors to place protective enchantments around their homes and remain on guard.
"Everyone get some rest," Hotch instructed as they gathered in the conference room. "We'll reconvene at seven tomorrow. Potter, the Bureau has arranged accommodation for you nearby."
"Thank you," Harry replied, "but I need to review these notes tonight." He gestured to the runic diagrams they'd brought back from both crime scenes.
"I can help," Reid offered. "I'm familiar with comparative symbology and have reference materials at my apartment that might be useful."
Morgan gave Reid a look that wasn't entirely professional interest. Reid pointedly ignored it.
"Actually," Harry said, "that might be helpful. There are aspects of magical runes that work differently from mundane ones, but your analytical approach could provide valuable insight."
"It's settled, then," Hotch said. "Reid, you and Potter work on the magical angle. The rest of us will build the profile based on what we know about the victims' connections and the UnSub's methodology."
As the team dispersed, Morgan passed by Reid. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, pretty boy," he murmured with a teasing smile.
"That leaves a lot of options open," Reid replied dryly.
Harry, who hadn't heard the exchange, was gathering the materials they'd need. "Your place or a hotel room?" he asked, then caught Reid's slightly startled expression and clarified, "For reviewing these notes, I mean."
"My apartment would be better," Reid said, recovering. "I have all my reference books there."
Forty minutes later, they were in Reid's apartment in a pre-war building not far from the Capitol. The space was exactly what Harry might have expected—walls lined with bookshelves, a chess set in one corner, mismatched but comfortable furniture, and stacks of academic journals organized in a system only Reid would understand.
"Tea?" Reid offered, filling an electric kettle.
"Please," Harry said, looking around with interest. "Your flat reminds me of the Hogwarts library. In a good way," he added.
Reid smiled slightly as he prepared the tea. "I've been told my decorating style is 'academic chic.' Which I think is just a polite way of saying I own too many books."
"No such thing as too many books," Harry replied. "My friend Hermione would approve. She's the most brilliant witch I know, and her house looks similar, except the books occasionally float themselves back to their proper shelves when she's not looking."
Reid brought over two mugs of tea and settled onto the couch where Harry had spread out their materials. "You mentioned her before—Hermione. She's the one who sent you the files on us?"
"Minister Granger now, actually. She runs magical Britain, more or less." Harry accepted the tea with thanks. "We grew up together. Fought side by side."
"In the war," Reid said. It wasn't a question.
Harry nodded, taking a sip of tea to steel himself. "You want to know about my scar. About why I'm particularly qualified for this case."
"If it's relevant to understanding our UnSub, yes." Reid's expression was open, curious without being invasive.
Harry was quiet for a moment, then set down his tea. "What I'm about to tell you isn't widely known in your world. Some aspects aren't even fully known in mine." He touched his scar unconsciously. "It began before I was born, with a prophecy about a child who would have the power to defeat the darkest wizard of the age..."
For the next hour, Harry told Reid the broad strokes of his history—his parents' murder by Voldemort, his survival and the rebounding killing curse that gave him his scar, his years at Hogwarts, the gradual return of Voldemort, and finally the war that culminated in the Battle of Hogwarts seventeen years earlier.
Reid listened without interruption, his eidetic memory absorbing every detail. His expression remained neutral, though his eyes widened at certain revelations—particularly the Horcruxes and Harry's own temporary death.
"So you see," Harry concluded, "when a case appears with Death Eater magical signatures, I'm the logical choice to investigate. I've spent my life dealing with their magic, understanding how they think."
"You were a child soldier," Reid said quietly. "Thrust into a war because of circumstances beyond your control."
Harry looked surprised by this characterization. "I suppose I was, though we didn't think of it that way at the time. We were just... surviving. Fighting back."
"It's a common psychological response," Reid said. "To normalize extreme circumstances when you're in them. I've seen it in cases involving cults, isolated communities under authoritarian control. The brain adapts to make the unthinkable manageable."
"Is that your professional assessment, Dr. Reid?" Harry asked, but there was no edge to his tone.
"Partly professional, partly personal," Reid admitted. "I understand what it's like to have your childhood interrupted by trauma. Different circumstances, obviously, but... I recognize the patterns."
Harry studied him for a moment. "Your file mentioned some of your history. Kidnapping. Torture."
"Tobias Hankel," Reid confirmed. "Drug addiction afterward. Prison more recently. And a mother with schizophrenia before all that." He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "The Bureau's psych evaluators have had their hands full with me."
"Yet here you are."
"Here I am," Reid agreed. "Still standing. Like you."
Something passed between them then—a recognition, an understanding that went beyond words. Two men who had faced darkness and emerged changed but unbroken.
Harry broke the moment by returning to the files. "Based on what we know about Death Eater ritual magic and these two crime scenes, I believe our UnSub is attempting to recreate a specific ritual. One that requires various... components."
"Blood from one victim, a preserved body from another," Reid recalled. "What else might they need?"
"Traditionally, such rituals often require essence of the mind—memories, knowledge. And essence of the soul." Harry's expression was grim. "The first would be extracted while leaving the victim alive but essentially empty. The second... would require death during the extraction itself."
"So we could be looking at two more victims, at minimum," Reid said. "One left alive but mentally vacant, another killed during whatever process extracts the 'soul essence.'"
"That's my fear, yes." Harry pulled out his wand and tapped one of the runic diagrams. It glowed briefly, the symbols rearranging themselves. "Based on these configurations, the ritual appears to be building toward something restorative or transformative."
"Resurrecting someone?" Reid asked, alarmed.
"Possibly. Or transforming the caster themselves. Granting them powers they don't naturally possess." Harry rubbed his tired eyes. "Either way, it's dark magic of the highest order. The kind that corrupts everything it touches."
They worked for another hour, Reid's analytical mind finding patterns in the runes that even Harry hadn't noticed. Their respective expertise complemented each other—Harry understanding the magical principles, Reid recognizing the mathematical and symbolic structures underlying them.
As the night grew later, their conversation occasionally drifted from the case to more personal matters—Reid's love of chess (which wizards played with animated pieces, Harry explained), Harry's godson Teddy (a metamorphmagus who could change his appearance at will), the distinct cultures of their respective worlds.
"The isolation of the magical world from the non-magical one seems counterproductive," Reid observed as they took a break. "Think of the advances that could have been made with collaboration."
"It wasn't always this way," Harry said. "The Statute of Secrecy only came about in the late 1600s, after witch-hunting became widespread. Before that, there was more integration, though wizards were often regarded with suspicion."
"Like any minority group with abilities the majority doesn't understand," Reid nodded. "Fear leads to persecution."
"Exactly. Though it wasn't one-sided," Harry admitted. "There were plenty of dark wizards who abused their powers, targeted Muggles for sport. Voldemort's ideology of magical superiority wasn't new; he just took it to extremes."
Reid considered this. "And now we potentially have someone carrying on that legacy, but in America."
"Yes, though the question remains: why here? Why now?" Harry frowned. "Death Eater sympathizers would be more likely to operate in Britain, where the movement had its roots."
"Unless they're targeting something specific to America," Reid suggested. "Or they came here to escape detection in Britain, where you'd be more likely to recognize them."
"That's a good point," Harry acknowledged. "The American wizarding community is structured differently from ours. Less centralized, more integrated with indigenous magical traditions. It would be easier for someone to hide here, especially in a city like D.C. with its transient population."
As they were speaking, Harry's enchanted watch began to glow—not the urgent red of an emergency, but a steady blue pulse.
"Excuse me," he said, opening it. "Potter here."
A woman's voice emerged from the watch. "Harry, it's Hermione. I've been reviewing the case details you sent. The ritual components are consistent with the Lazarus Working."
Harry's face paled. "Are you certain?"
"As certain as I can be without seeing the scenes myself. The extraction methods, the runic configurations—they align with Rookwood's theoretical papers that were confiscated after the war."
"I thought those were destroyed," Harry said sharply.
"Copies were kept in the Department of Mysteries for research purposes. Heavily secured, but... you know how these things can be. Knowledge has a way of escaping containment."
Harry glanced at Reid, who was listening intently. "What's the final component?"
Hermione hesitated. "According to Rookwood's notes, the Lazarus Working requires blood, body, mind, and soul... plus a conduit. Someone with a connection to death and rebirth."
"A conduit," Harry repeated, his hand unconsciously moving to his scar. "Someone who's died and returned."
"Yes. Theoretically, such a person's magical essence could anchor the ritual, allowing the restoration of someone who has passed beyond the Veil." Hermione's voice was tight with concern. "Harry, if I'm right about this, you may not be just the investigator. You may be the final target."
Reid's eyes widened in understanding.
"I'll be careful," Harry promised. "Keep digging on your end. Find out who might have had access to Rookwood's research."
"Already working on it. And Harry? I'm sending backup. You shouldn't face this alone."
"I'm not alone," Harry said, with a glance at Reid. "But additional support is welcome. Potter out." He closed the watch.
"You're in danger," Reid said immediately. "You're the conduit they need."
"Apparently so, though this is the first I'm hearing of this particular ritual." Harry ran a hand through his already messy hair. "The Lazarus Working. Bloody hell. I thought we'd seen the last of Rookwood's experiments."
"We need to tell Hotch," Reid insisted. "Change our approach. If you're the target—"
"I could also be the bait," Harry pointed out. "Draw them out, end this before more people die."
"That's too risky," Reid argued. "We don't know enough about their capabilities or resources."
"I've faced worse with less preparation," Harry said, a hint of the stubborn determination that had defined his youth showing through.
"That doesn't mean you should do it again," Reid countered. "We work as a team. No unnecessary risks."
Their eyes locked in a brief battle of wills, neither man accustomed to backing down. Finally, Harry's expression softened. "You're right. No lone heroics. That was my youth talking."
"Good," Reid said, visibly relieved. "Because I've already lost enough friends in this job."
The simple statement, delivered without drama, hit Harry unexpectedly hard. He'd been thinking of this as his case, his responsibility. But Reid and his team had their own stakes in this, their own histories of loss.
"I promise to be careful," Harry said more gently. "And to follow your team's protocols."
"Thank you," Reid said. "Now, tell me more about this Lazarus Working and Augustus Rookwood. The more we understand about the ritual, the better we can anticipate the UnSub's next moves."
As Harry began explaining the complex dark magic behind the ritual, he found himself watching Reid with growing respect. Here was someone who had just learned that magic was real, that an entirely hidden society existed alongside his own, and that dark wizards were killing people in his city—and yet he remained focused, analytical, adapting to each new revelation with remarkable composure.
Harry had worked with many wizards who couldn't handle half the pressure Reid was under. Perhaps Hermione had been right after all. Perhaps this particular Muggle was exactly the partner he needed for this case.
And perhaps, a quieter voice in his mind suggested, for more than just the case.
Harry pushed that thought aside. There was a killer to catch, potential victims to save, and now, apparently, a personal target on his back. Whatever spark was developing between him and Reid would have to wait until the danger had passed.
If it passed.
As midnight came and went, they continued working, unaware that across the city, the UnSub was preparing for the next collection—the essence of mind. Their target was already selected: a wizard-born researcher working at the National Institutes of Health, whose brilliant mind would make a worthy offering to the ritual.
The clock was ticking, and Harry Potter wasn't the only one with a plan.

Chapter Text

"You're telling me that not only is magic real, but our UnSub is performing a ritual to bring someone back from the dead, and Harry Potter is the final ingredient?" Penelope Garcia's voice rose steadily as she processed Reid's early morning briefing.
The BAU team plus Harry had gathered in the conference room at 7 AM. Reid and Harry had arrived together, having worked through most of the night before catching a few hours of sleep at Reid's apartment. The dynamic between them hadn't gone unnoticed by the team, though everyone was professional enough to focus on the case.
"Component, not ingredient," Harry clarified. "And yes, that's our current theory."
"Based on magical research papers written by a Death Eater named Augustus Rookwood," Reid added, seamlessly integrating magical terminology into his vocabulary. "The Lazarus Working, as it's called, requires blood, a preserved body, extracted memories, and a soul essence, plus a 'conduit' who has experienced death and returned."
"Which is apparently you," Morgan said to Harry, his skepticism having evolved into grudging acceptance of the magical world. "Because you died and came back during your war."
"Temporarily, yes," Harry confirmed.
"I'm still processing the 'magic is real' part," Prentiss admitted. "But I've seen enough to believe it. The question is: how do we stop this UnSub before they complete their ritual?"
"We need to identify potential targets for the remaining components," Hotch said, taking control of the briefing. "Garcia, what have you found on connections between our victims?"
Garcia, her hair adorned with sparkly butterfly clips that somehow seemed appropriate for a briefing involving wizards, tapped at her tablet. "Dr. Eleanor Weiss and Dr. Alan Mercer both attended a scientific conference in London three years ago. Both presented papers on theoretical approaches to cellular regeneration."
"Regeneration," Rossi noted. "Fits with the resurrection theme."
"There's more," Garcia continued. "I've been digging into attendee lists for similar conferences. There's a pattern of British expatriates in scientific fields moving to the D.C. area over the past five years. Most have those same gaps in their records that we now know indicate magical education."
"They're establishing themselves in the Muggle scientific community," Harry surmised. "Using their magical knowledge to advance certain fields without revealing the true source of their insights."
"Is that... allowed?" JJ asked.
"It's a gray area," Harry admitted. "The International Statute of Secrecy has exceptions for contribution to Muggle knowledge, provided no explicit magical methods are revealed. It's been happening for centuries—wizards and witches subtly pushing Muggle science forward."
"Back to the potential victims," Hotch redirected. "Garcia, how many people fit our profile?"
"Eight in the D.C. area that match all criteria—British origin, gaps in education, scientific field, connection to regenerative research," Garcia replied. "I've mapped their locations." She displayed a map on the large screen.
"We need to warn them," Morgan said.
"The American Auror Office is already providing protection for those we've identified," Harry assured them. "But our UnSub seems to be targeting specific individuals for specific components. We need to determine who would be valuable for 'essence of mind.'"
"Someone with exceptional mental capabilities," Reid theorized. "A brilliant researcher or innovator."
Garcia's fingers flew over her keyboard. "Narrowing by research impact and citation counts... Dr. Eliza Thornwell stands out. She's published groundbreaking work on neural regeneration. Currently at NIH's main campus."
"That's our most likely target," Hotch decided. "Morgan, Prentiss, get to NIH and find Dr. Thornwell. Potter, can you arrange magical protection?"
"Already on it," Harry said, his enchanted watch glowing as he sent a message to his American counterparts.
"Reid, you and Potter continue working on the ritual aspects. If we understand the UnSub's endgame, we might be able to disrupt it." Hotch turned to Rossi and JJ. "I want you two interviewing colleagues of our victims. Look for anyone showing unusual interest in their work, especially with a British connection."
"What about me?" Garcia asked.
"I could use your help," Harry said unexpectedly. "There's a magical signature from both crime scenes that needs to be analyzed. With your computing skills and my magical knowledge, we might be able to identify our UnSub."
Garcia practically vibrated with excitement. "You want me to help with magical forensics? Is this really happening?"
"It is," Harry confirmed with a small smile. "Though it will involve some rather unorthodox methods."
As the team dispersed to their assignments, Harry pulled Reid aside briefly. "Are you alright with this arrangement? I know we were working well together."
"It makes tactical sense," Reid assured him. "Garcia's technical skills will be valuable for the signature analysis, and I can focus on the ritual structure."
"Right," Harry agreed, though he seemed slightly disappointed. "I'll find you later to compare notes."
"I'll be here," Reid promised.
The bullpen area outside the conference room was bustling with activity as agents from various departments moved about their day, unaware of the collision of worlds occurring in their midst. Reid settled at his desk with the runic diagrams and reference materials, while Harry followed Garcia to her "lair" of computers.
"Oh. My. God." Garcia spun in her chair after Harry closed the door to her office. "I am in a room with an actual wizard. This is the best day of my life. Well, except for the serial killer part."
Harry laughed, a genuine sound that suggested Garcia's enthusiasm was a welcome relief from the case's darkness. "I've found that technical experts like you adapt to magical revelations particularly well. You already work with systems most people don't understand."
"That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," Garcia declared. "Now, what's this about magical signatures?"
Harry removed a small crystal vial from his pocket. Inside swirled a silvery substance that was neither liquid nor gas. "This contains magical traces collected from both crime scenes. In my world, we'd use a Pensieve to analyze them—a magical device that allows memory viewing and magical trace examination. But I think we can improvise with your equipment."
"Tell me what you need," Garcia said, suddenly all business.
"The signature has both magical and physical components. The physical might be detectable by your systems—trace elements, energy patterns. Things your science can quantify."
Garcia cracked her knuckles. "Challenge accepted."
For the next several hours, Garcia ran increasingly complex analyses on samples Harry provided, while Harry performed complementary magical examinations. They developed an unexpected rapport, Garcia's technical brilliance matching well with Harry's magical expertise.
Meanwhile, Reid had commandeered a whiteboard and was creating an elaborate diagram connecting the runic symbols from both crime scenes to historical magical systems Harry had described. Agents passing by gave him curious glances but knew better than to interrupt "The Doctor" when he was in full analytical mode.
Around noon, Reid's phone rang. "Reid."
"It's Morgan. We're at NIH. Dr. Thornwell is safe, but she's definitely spooked. Says someone's been watching her for days—a man with a distinctive scar on his hand."
"What kind of scar?" Reid asked, immediately alert.
"She described it as text-like, as if words had been carved into his skin."
Reid's mind flashed to Harry's earlier explanation of a Death Eater punishment used on students at Hogwarts during the war—a blood quill that carved words into the user's hand, leaving scars that read "I must not tell lies" or similar phrases.
"That matches a known Death Eater method," Reid confirmed. "Harry mentioned a punitive device that leaves text scars. Can you get a more specific description?"
"Working on it. Prentiss is with her now. We've got plainclothes agents and apparently some invisible wizards securing the building."
"Keep her safe," Reid emphasized. "If our theory is correct, the UnSub needs to extract memories while leaving her alive but essentially empty."
"Understood. We'll bring her to Quantico if necessary."
After hanging up, Reid headed to Garcia's office to share the update. He knocked and entered to find a scene he hadn't quite expected: Garcia was operating her computers while Harry stood behind her, his wand extended over the equipment, a stream of golden light connecting the wand to Garcia's central monitor.
"Am I interrupting something?" Reid asked.
"Spence! We're hacking the magical signature!" Garcia exclaimed. "It's like nothing I've ever seen. Harry's wand is interacting directly with my analysis algorithms."
"We've isolated several distinctive elements," Harry explained, maintaining his focus on the spell he was performing. "Including a magical tells that might help identify our UnSub."
"Magical tells?"
"Like behavioral tells, but in magical signature," Harry clarified. "Certain habits in casting, unique flourishes. Every wizard's magic has subtle identifiers."
"And we found a big one," Garcia said triumphantly. "A specific harmonic in the magical frequency that Harry says indicates someone who spent time in Azkaban—wizard prison," she added for Reid's benefit, though he'd already learned about it from Harry the night before.
"That narrows our suspect pool considerably," Harry said, finally lowering his wand. The golden light faded. "Not many former Azkaban inmates are unaccounted for, and even fewer would have the knowledge to attempt the Lazarus Working."
"Morgan called," Reid said, bringing them back to the immediate threat. "They've located Dr. Thornwell, and she reported being watched by someone with a distinctive scar on his hand. Text-like."
Harry's expression darkened. "A blood quill scar. Umbridge's favorite punishment during her reign at Hogwarts."
"That's what I thought," Reid confirmed. "Morgan and Prentiss are securing her now."
"We should join them," Harry decided. "If the UnSub has already selected Dr. Thornwell, they may move quickly when they realize we're protecting her."
"Let's brief Hotch first," Reid suggested.
As they headed to Hotch's office, Garcia called after them, "I'll keep running the signature against international wizarding records Harry gave me access to!"
Hotch absorbed their update with his usual stoic efficiency. "So we have a former Azkaban prisoner with a blood quill scar targeting Dr. Thornwell for the memory component of this ritual."
"And potentially targeting me for the final component," Harry added grimly.
"Which means we can set a trap," Hotch proposed. "Use Dr. Thornwell as apparent bait while actually preparing for the UnSub."
"I don't like risking civilians," Harry said.
"We'd use a decoy," Hotch clarified. "Agent Prentiss has experience with undercover operations."
"That could work," Harry admitted. "With the right magical disguise, the resemblance would be perfect."
"Polyjuice Potion?" Reid asked, referring to something Harry had mentioned during their late-night discussions.
Harry nodded, looking impressed. "Your memory really is remarkable."
"Is there anything this potion can't duplicate?" Hotch asked practically.
"Behavioral mannerisms," Harry said. "And it wears off after an hour, requiring redosing."
"That's workable," Hotch decided. "We'll set up the operation for tonight. In the meantime, Reid, continue analyzing the ritual components. Potter, work with Garcia to narrow down our suspect list."
As they left Hotch's office, Reid noticed Harry looked troubled. "What is it?"
"Just thinking about who might be behind this," Harry replied quietly. "There aren't many Death Eaters with both the Azkaban history and the magical knowledge to attempt the Lazarus Working."
"You have a theory," Reid observed.
"Several, none of them good." Harry's green eyes met Reid's. "If it's who I suspect, this just became much more dangerous."
"We'll handle it," Reid said with quiet confidence. "Together."
Harry studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Together."
They parted ways—Harry back to Garcia's office, Reid to his ritual analysis. But as Reid watched Harry walk away, he couldn't shake the feeling that Harry was holding something back—something personal about the case that he wasn't ready to share.
In Garcia's office, Harry settled into a chair beside her desk. "Any hits on the signature?"
"Running the final comparison now," Garcia said, fingers flying over her keyboard. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask—is there a wizarding version of me? Like, a magical tech expert?"
Harry smiled. "Not exactly like you. Our methods are different. But there are those who specialize in magical detection and information gathering."
"So I'm unique even in the magical world," Garcia said with satisfaction. "Good to—" She stopped abruptly, staring at her screen. "Harry? I think we have a match."
Harry leaned forward, his expression changing as he read the name on the screen. "No," he whispered. "It can't be."
"Augustus Rookwood," Garcia read. "Wasn't that the guy who wrote the papers about the ritual?"
"It's impossible," Harry insisted. "Rookwood died in Azkaban years ago. I received the notification myself."
"Could it be a mistake? Or..." Garcia hesitated. "Could someone have faked his death?"
"In Azkaban?" Harry shook his head. "It's the most secure facility in the wizarding world. After the war, we improved security further. No one escapes notice, not even in death."
"Then either your records are wrong, or someone is deliberately using his magical signature," Garcia suggested. "Creating a false lead."
Harry's brow furrowed in thought. "Or... there's a third possibility. Rookwood was an Unspeakable before becoming a Death Eater. He specialized in death magic, consciousness transfer..." His eyes widened. "What if he found a way to preserve his magical signature? Transfer it to another vessel after death?"
"That sounds terrifying and completely possible given everything I've learned in the last twenty-four hours," Garcia said. "Should I tell the team?"
"Not yet," Harry decided. "I need to confirm something first." He pulled out his enchanted watch. "I need to contact Hermione."
While Harry stepped outside to make his call, Garcia continued searching through the wizarding records he'd provided. Something caught her eye—a connection she hadn't noticed before.
"Oh my god," she whispered, then grabbed her phone to call Reid.
In the bullpen, Reid answered while still studying his diagrams. "Reid."
"It's not about bringing someone back," Garcia said without preamble. "It's about putting someone else in Harry's body."
"What?" Reid straightened, immediately alert.
"The Lazarus Working. I've been comparing the ritual components with historical cases in Harry's records. It's not resurrection—it's possession. They're creating a vessel to house Rookwood's consciousness, using Harry as the final component because his body has survived death once already."
"Are you sure?" Reid asked, his mind racing.
"As sure as I can be without being a magical expert. But the pattern fits perfectly."
"Where's Harry now?"
"He stepped out to contact someone named Hermione about Rookwood."
"I'm coming to you," Reid said, already gathering his materials. "Don't tell anyone else yet."
As Reid hurried through the bullpen, he didn't notice the maintenance worker watching him from near the elevators—a man with a distinctive scar on his hand, who smiled coldly before disappearing into the crowd of agents.
The trap was being set, but not by the BAU. And Harry Potter wasn't the only one being targeted.

Chapter Text

Reid hurried through the maze of FBI corridors toward Garcia's office, his mind racing. If Garcia was right about the ritual's true purpose, they needed to completely reconsider their approach to the case. This wasn't about resurrection—it was about transferring a consciousness, potentially allowing Augustus Rookwood to take over Harry's body.
He was so focused on reaching Garcia that he didn't notice the maintenance worker falling into step behind him, nor the subtle flick of a concealed wand.
"Confundo," a voice murmured.
Reid stumbled, suddenly disoriented. The corridor seemed to shift around him, and he found himself turning down a different hallway than he'd intended, following a compulsion he didn't understand. Behind him, the maintenance worker smiled coldly.
Meanwhile, Harry was outside the building, his enchanted watch projecting a small image of Hermione's face as they spoke.
"Augustus Rookwood's body was definitely accounted for," Hermione confirmed. "I've just reviewed the Azkaban records myself. He died in his cell five years ago. The body was examined by three separate Healers and confirmed deceased before burial."
"Then someone else is using his magical signature," Harry said. "Or recreating his research."
"There's something else," Hermione said, her expression grim. "I've been researching the Lazarus Working more thoroughly. Harry, I don't think it's about resurrection at all."
Harry's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"
"Rookwood's later notes—the ones kept most secure—they describe the ritual as a vessel preparation. The components—blood, body, mind, and soul—aren't meant to restore someone to life. They're meant to prepare a living host to receive another consciousness."
"Possession," Harry whispered.
"Essentially, yes, though more permanent than any possession we've encountered before. The conduit—someone who has experienced death and returned—is the perfect host. Their body has already proven capable of sustaining consciousness through the death barrier."
"They want my body for Rookwood's consciousness," Harry realized.
"That's my theory," Hermione confirmed. "And if I'm right, whoever is performing this ritual was close to Rookwood. A disciple or family member."
"I need to warn the team," Harry said urgently. "The trap we're setting for tonight—it could be exactly what the UnSub wants."
"Be careful, Harry. The backup I mentioned will arrive within the hour. Specialist containment team from our Boston office."
"Thank you," Harry said, already turning back toward the building. "Potter out."
Inside Garcia's office, the technical analyst was growing concerned. "Reid should have been here by now," she told Morgan, who had just returned from NIH.
"I'll find him," Morgan assured her, pulling out his phone. He dialed Reid's number, but there was no answer. "That's not like him."
"Something's wrong," Garcia insisted, her instincts rarely failing her. "He was coming straight here after I told him about the ritual actually being for possession, not resurrection."
"Possession?" Morgan repeated. "You mean the UnSub wants to put someone else in Harry's body?"
"That's my working theory," Garcia confirmed. "Based on comparing the ritual components to historical cases in Harry's records."
Morgan immediately drew his weapon. "Lock your door. Call Hotch. Tell him Reid is missing and we may have a breach."
As Morgan stepped into the hallway, his trained eyes scanned for anything unusual. The bullpen appeared normal—agents at desks, phones ringing, the routine business of the FBI continuing uninterrupted. But Reid was nowhere to be seen.
On the other side of the building, Reid found himself in a rarely-used storage area, his thoughts cloudy. He knew he had been heading somewhere important, but couldn't quite remember where or why. A figure emerged from the shadows ahead—a man in maintenance coveralls with a distinctive scar on his right hand.
"Dr. Reid," the man said in a crisp British accent. "You've been making remarkable progress on understanding our ritual. Most impressive for a Muggle."
The word triggered something in Reid's mind, helping him fight through the confusion. "You're the UnSub," he managed. "The one performing the Lazarus Working."
The man smiled coldly. "Clever, even under a Confundus Charm. I can see why Potter finds you intriguing."
"Rookwood," Reid guessed, remembering the name from Garcia's discovery.
"Not exactly." The man tapped his temple. "Though his knowledge lives here. I'm merely the instrument of his return."
Reid struggled to focus, recognizing he was under some kind of magical influence. "The ritual isn't about resurrection. It's about transferring Rookwood's consciousness to Harry's body."
"Very good," the wizard said, sounding genuinely impressed. "Yes, my uncle's consciousness will take residence in Potter's body. A fitting home for the brilliant mind of Augustus Rookwood, don't you think? The body of the man who helped destroy the Dark Lord."
"Your uncle," Reid repeated, trying to maintain the conversation while fighting the magical confusion. "You're continuing his work."
"I'm fulfilling his legacy," the wizard corrected. "My name is Corvus Rookwood. I was just a child during the war, hidden away in America with my mother's family. But Uncle Augustus ensured his knowledge wouldn't die with him." He tapped his temple again. "He taught me everything before they sent him to Azkaban. Including how to prepare for this moment."
Reid's analytical mind, even through the haze of the Confundus Charm, was piecing together the profile. "You're collecting the components. Blood from Dr. Weiss. Body from Dr. Mercer. You need Dr. Thornwell's mind next."
"Indeed. But plans must adapt." Corvus stepped closer. "Potter's arrival complicated things, but also presented an opportunity. He brought you—someone whose mind might be even more valuable than Dr. Thornwell's."
Reid's eyes widened in understanding. "You're changing targets. From Thornwell to me."
"Your mind is exceptional, Dr. Reid. Even by wizarding standards." Corvus raised his wand. "And you've already absorbed so much magical knowledge in such a short time. Your mental essence will make a worthy offering to the ritual."
Before Reid could respond, the storage room door burst open. Harry stood in the doorway, wand raised. "Step away from him, Rookwood!"
Corvus spun, surprisingly quick. "Potter! How did you find us?"
"Tracking Charm," Harry said grimly. "I put one on Reid last night. Sensible precaution when working with Muggles in magical cases."
Reid, still fighting the Confundus Charm, felt a flash of both gratitude and indignation at learning Harry had essentially put a magical tracker on him without his knowledge.
"Clever," Corvus acknowledged. "But you're too late." With a swift motion, he grabbed Reid, pressing his wand to Reid's temple. "I was going to take his mind more gradually, but perhaps a hostage will serve me better."
"Let him go," Harry said, his voice dangerously calm. "This is between us."
"No, Potter, this is between you and my uncle. I'm merely facilitating the reunion." Corvus began backing toward another door. "You'll let me leave with Dr. Reid, or I'll extract his memories right here. Imagine that brilliant mind, reduced to an empty shell."
Reid could see Harry calculating options, the same expression he'd observed on Hotch's face during hostage negotiations. But magical standoffs apparently involved different variables.
"You know I can't let you leave," Harry said. "Especially not with him."
"Then we have a problem." Corvus smiled coldly. "Because I'm not leaving without—"
A gunshot echoed through the room. Corvus jerked, his wand hand dropping as blood blossomed on his shoulder. Morgan stood in a second doorway, his service weapon still raised.
"FBI! Drop the wand!" Morgan shouted.
The momentary distraction was all Harry needed. With a flick of his wand, he silently cast a disarming spell. Corvus's wand flew from his grasp into Harry's outstretched hand.
Corvus, however, wasn't defeated. With inhuman speed, he shoved Reid toward Harry and reached into his pocket, pulling out what appeared to be a small silver orb.
"This isn't over, Potter!" he snarled, then slammed the orb to the ground. It shattered, releasing a blinding flash of light and a disorienting whoosh of displaced air.
When their vision cleared, Corvus was gone.
"Portkey," Harry explained tensely, hurrying to Reid's side. "Emergency escape device."
"Reid, you okay?" Morgan asked, holstering his weapon and approaching them.
"Confunded," Harry explained before Reid could attempt an answer. "Magical confusion spell. I can counter it."
Reid felt Harry's wand touch his temple, heard a murmured incantation, and suddenly his thoughts cleared. The disorientation vanished, replaced by a splitting headache.
"That's... intense," Reid managed, rubbing his temples.
"Side effect of the counter-charm," Harry apologized. "Should fade in a few minutes."
"What the hell happened?" Morgan demanded. "One minute Reid's heading to Garcia's office, the next he's missing and we have a security breach?"
"Corvus Rookwood," Harry explained grimly. "Nephew of Augustus Rookwood, one of Voldemort's most dangerous followers. He's the one performing the ritual."
"And he tried to take Reid instead of Dr. Thornwell," Morgan surmised.
"My mind," Reid said, his voice steadier now. "He wanted my mind for the ritual component. He said it would make a 'worthy offering' because I've absorbed so much magical knowledge."
Harry's expression darkened. "We need to tell the others. The threat just escalated."
Ten minutes later, the full team had gathered in the conference room. Hotch had ordered a complete security sweep of the building while JJ coordinated with building security to review surveillance footage.
"So our UnSub is Corvus Rookwood, nephew of a Death Eater," Rossi summarized. "He's collecting components for a ritual to transfer his uncle's consciousness into Harry's body, and now he's targeting Reid."
"He's after minds with exceptional capacity and specific knowledge," Harry confirmed. "Reid's combination of intelligence and newly-acquired magical understanding makes him an ideal target."
"Where does that leave us?" Hotch asked.
"We have his identity now," Harry said. "And his magical signature. The American Aurors can track him more effectively."
"But he's injured and desperate," Morgan pointed out. "That makes him more dangerous."
"Plus he has a Portkey," Reid added, his headache finally subsiding. "He can teleport away from any trap we set."
"Not necessarily," Harry said thoughtfully. "Portkeys are regulated. The one he used was likely his emergency escape plan. Creating another would take time and leave magical traces we could detect."
"So he's wounded, potentially cornered, but still determined to complete his ritual," Hotch said. "Which means he still needs Reid and eventually Harry."
"And we can use that," Harry suggested.
"No," Reid and Morgan said simultaneously.
"We're not using either of you as bait," Hotch stated firmly. "Not after what just happened."
"There's another way," Garcia interjected from the doorway. Everyone turned to look at her. "I think I found where he's been hiding."
She entered, placing her tablet on the table. It displayed property records and satellite imagery of an isolated property in rural Virginia.
"This estate was purchased five years ago by a shell corporation. The money trace leads back to converted galleons—wizarding currency," she explained. "And there's been unusual electrical activity recorded by the power company. Surges that don't match normal usage patterns."
"Magical surges affecting Muggle electricity," Harry translated. "Happens when significant magical workings are performed near electrical infrastructure."
"It's a good lead," Hotch acknowledged. "Morgan, contact SWAT. Prentiss, coordinate with local PD. We'll need a perimeter established without alerting the suspect."
"We should include the American Aurors," Harry added. "Magical backup will be essential."
"Agreed," Hotch said. "We move at nightfall. That gives us four hours to prepare."
As the team dispersed to make preparations, Reid noticed Harry looking troubled. "What is it?" he asked quietly when the others had left.
"Something doesn't feel right," Harry admitted. "Corvus is intelligent, methodical. The attack here was impulsive, desperate."
"He saw an opportunity and took it," Reid suggested.
"Perhaps. Or..." Harry hesitated.
"Or he wanted to be discovered," Reid finished the thought. "He knew I'd fight the Confundus Charm. Knew you'd find me. Knew we'd identify him."
"Exactly," Harry said grimly. "What if this is all part of his plan?"
"To what end?"
"I don't know yet," Harry admitted. "But I've learned to trust my instincts in these situations."
Reid studied him for a moment. "Your instincts have kept you alive through situations I can barely imagine. We should listen to them."
Harry looked grateful for the validation. "We need to be ready for the unexpected tonight. Corvus may be wounded, but he's far from defeated."
They spent the next hour reviewing everything they knew about Corvus Rookwood and the ritual he was attempting to perform. Harry called in additional information from Hermione, while Reid created an updated geographical profile based on the locations of the previous crimes and the suspected hideout.
As they worked side by side, Reid found himself occasionally studying Harry when the wizard wasn't looking—the intense focus in his green eyes, the way his hand automatically rose to his scar when he was deep in thought, the confident precision of his movements when demonstrating a wand motion.
What had begun as intellectual fascination was developing into something more complex. Reid had always been drawn to brilliant minds, but Harry possessed a different kind of intelligence—intuitive, experienced, tempered by hardship and sacrifice.
When Harry caught him looking and raised a questioning eyebrow, Reid simply said, "I was just thinking that our respective worlds have been missing out by staying separate."
Harry's expression softened. "There's wisdom on both sides that could benefit the other," he agreed. "Though cases like this remind me why the separation exists."
"Evil doesn't need magic to cause harm," Reid pointed out. "It just provides different methods."
"True," Harry acknowledged. "I've seen enough to know darkness exists in both worlds." He paused, then added more quietly, "I've also seen that so does light."
The loaded statement hung between them, full of unspoken meaning. Before Reid could respond, Morgan appeared in the doorway.
"Raid briefing in five," he announced. "Time to gear up."
As they gathered their materials, Harry hesitated, then placed a hand briefly on Reid's arm. "Stay close tonight," he said, his voice low and serious. "I can't shake the feeling that Corvus isn't finished with you yet."
The touch lingered a moment longer than strictly necessary, a point of warmth that Reid found himself still feeling long after Harry had withdrawn his hand.
"I will," Reid promised.
Neither man noticed Garcia watching them from her doorway, a knowing smile on her face despite the seriousness of the situation. Even in the midst of hunting a magical serial killer, some things were universal—like the unmistakable spark of connection between two people finding each other across worlds that were never meant to meet.
As they headed to the armory to prepare for the raid, the sun was beginning to set over Quantico. In a few hours, they would face Corvus Rookwood on his own territory, a confrontation that would test the limits of both magical and FBI tactics.
But as they walked side by side, both men felt a strange certainty: whatever happened that night, they would face it together. The wizard and the profiler, united by a case that had become deeply personal for them both.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen by the time the convoy of FBI vehicles approached the rural Virginia property Garcia had identified. The estate sat isolated at the end of a long private drive, surrounded by dense woods that provided natural cover for the tactical teams now moving into position.
Inside the lead SUV, Hotch reviewed the final raid plan with Morgan, Reid, and Harry. The atmosphere was tense—they'd been briefed that the American Aurors had detected powerful magical protections around the property.
"SWAT will establish the outer perimeter," Hotch explained. "The magical team will address the protective enchantments. Once those are down, we move in together."
"The most dangerous moment will be when the protective barriers fall," Harry cautioned. "Corvus will know immediately that his defenses have been breached."
"Which is why timing is critical," Morgan added. "Every team needs to move simultaneously."
Reid was studying satellite imagery of the property on a tablet. "The main house has three potential entry points. The barn structure to the north appears to have been modified recently—new power lines run to it."
"That's where he'll be performing the ritual," Harry surmised. "Isolated, controlled environment."
"Then that's our primary target," Hotch decided.
Their vehicles stopped a half-mile from the property. As they exited, Reid noticed six individuals in dark clothing awaiting them—the American Auror tactical team. Their leader, a stern-faced woman with short gray hair, approached them.
"Commander Harris, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she introduced herself crisply. "My team is prepared to dismantle the protective enchantments."
"Agent Hotchner, FBI. How long will that take?"
"Approximately six minutes once we begin," Harris replied. "We've identified sixteen distinct defensive spells, including anti-Muggle measures that may affect your agents."
"What kind of effects?" Morgan asked.
"Confusion, sudden urges to leave, memory distortion," Harry explained. "Standard wizarding protections against non-magical discovery."
"We've prepared counter-measures," Harris said, handing each agent what appeared to be a simple metal pin. "These are charmed to shield you from most magical disorientation. Not perfect, but they'll help."
As the agents affixed the pins to their tactical vests, Reid noticed Harry scanning the property with an intense focus, his wand held loosely at his side but glowing faintly at the tip.
"What do you see?" Reid asked quietly.
"Nothing obvious," Harry replied. "But something feels... off."
"Your instincts again?"
Harry nodded. "The magical signature is strong, but... static. Like a recording rather than active casting."
Before Reid could ask what that meant, Commander Harris signaled her team. "We're ready. Positions, everyone."
The raid teams moved into the woods, advancing silently toward their designated locations. Reid stayed close to Harry as instructed, noticing how the wizard moved with practiced efficiency—not military precision like the FBI agents, but with the fluid awareness of someone accustomed to combat situations.
"Stay behind me if spells start flying," Harry murmured. "Your training won't help against magical attacks."
"And your magic won't stop bullets," Reid countered. "Let's cover each other."
Harry gave him a quick, approving nod.
When everyone was in position, Commander Harris and her team began dismantling the protective enchantments. They worked in coordinated pairs, their wands tracing complex patterns in the air. Shimmering barriers became briefly visible as they were neutralized, like soap bubbles popping in the night air.
Reid felt strange sensations wash over him as each barrier fell—a momentary urge to remember an urgent appointment elsewhere, sudden confusion about why he was there, a flash of fear with no source. The enchanted pin seemed to mute these effects, leaving them as merely disconcerting rather than debilitating.
"Last layer coming down," Harris announced over their tactical comms.
Harry tensed beside Reid, his wand raised in anticipation. "Be ready," he whispered. "This is when we'll know if it's a trap."
The final barrier fell with a sound like distant thunder. For a moment, everything was perfectly still.
Then chaos erupted.
Not from the house or barn, but from the woods around them. Hooded figures apparated into existence, surrounding the FBI and Auror teams. Spells flashed through the darkness—jets of red, purple, and sickly green light.
"Ambush!" Morgan shouted, diving for cover.
Harry reacted instantly, throwing up a protective shield that deflected several spells aimed at them. "Corvus brought friends," he called to Reid. "Death Eater sympathizers."
The FBI agents and SWAT team returned fire, but the wizards' apparition made them difficult targets—disappearing and reappearing in different locations. The American Aurors engaged directly, magical combat lighting up the forest like a violent lightning storm.
"We need to get to the barn," Reid insisted. "If this is a diversion—"
Harry nodded grimly. "Cover me."
They moved forward, Harry maintaining a shield charm while Reid provided supporting fire when any hooded figures appeared in their path. Despite the chaos, they worked in fluid coordination, as if they'd trained together for years rather than met days ago.
They reached the barn door, finding it unexpectedly unlocked. Harry paused, scanning for magical traps.
"Clear," he said after a moment. "Too clear. Be careful."
They entered to find a disturbing scene. The barn had been converted into a ritual chamber. At its center stood a large pentagram inscribed with the same runes they'd discovered at the crime scenes. Five pedestals marked the pentagram's points, two of which held glowing containers—one filled with swirling red liquid, undoubtedly Dr. Weiss's blood, the other containing what appeared to be a miniature crystal sarcophagus, presumably holding something from Dr. Mercer.
But the remaining pedestals were empty, and there was no sign of Corvus Rookwood.
"This doesn't make sense," Reid said, surveying the scene. "Why set an ambush but leave the ritual site undefended?"
Harry was examining the pedestals, his expression darkening. "Because this isn't the real ritual site. It's a decoy."
"What?"
"These components are real, but they're not arranged correctly. The runic configurations are close, but deliberately flawed." Harry looked up, a terrible realization dawning. "This entire property is a distraction."
"Then where—" Reid began, but was interrupted by the arrival of Morgan and Prentiss, who burst through the door.
"We're pushing them back," Morgan reported, "but there's no sign of Corvus."
Harry's enchanted watch suddenly burned hot against his wrist. He flipped it open to see Hermione's face, her expression frantic.
"Harry! It's a diversion!" she exclaimed. "We've traced magical disruptions to another location—Georgetown. The signature matches the crime scenes exactly."
"Dr. Thornwell?" Harry asked urgently.
"No, the disturbance is centered at—" Hermione checked something off-screen. "2163 Cathedral Avenue."
Reid went pale. "That's my apartment building."
Harry's eyes widened. "Corvus isn't after Thornwell or you directly. He's after something in your apartment."
"My research," Reid realized. "All my notes on the ritual, the magical theory you've been teaching me—"
"We need to go. Now." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a small silver key. "Emergency Portkey. Courtesy of Commander Harris."
"I'm coming with you," Morgan insisted.
"No," Harry said firmly. "Someone needs to coordinate here, make sure none of these Death Eater sympathizers escape. They're accomplices to multiple murders."
Morgan looked ready to argue, but Prentiss placed a hand on his arm. "He's right. We've got this. Go."
Reid and Harry moved outside to activate the Portkey. As Harry held out the silver key, Reid hesitated.
"What exactly is this going to feel like?" he asked.
"Unpleasant," Harry admitted. "Like being hooked behind your navel and pulled through a very tight rubber tube."
"That's... viscerally specific."
"Just don't let go of me," Harry advised, holding out his free hand.
Reid took it, surprised by the strength in Harry's grip. "Ready."
Harry tapped the key with his wand. "Portus."
The world dissolved into a whirlwind of color and sound. Reid felt exactly the sensation Harry had described—a hook behind his navel yanking him forward while his body seemed compressed from all sides. It lasted only seconds but felt much longer.
They materialized in an alley near Reid's apartment building. Reid stumbled, disoriented, but Harry steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.
"You okay?" Harry asked, concerned.
"Define 'okay,'" Reid managed, fighting a wave of nausea. "Is it always that intense?"
"You get used to it," Harry said, already scanning the street. "Somewhat."
Reid took a deep breath, centering himself. "We need to approach carefully. If Corvus is there—"
"He is," Harry confirmed grimly, pointing upward.
Following his gaze, Reid saw faint, unnatural lights flickering through his apartment windows—colors that shouldn't be present in normal electric lighting.
"He's already performing the ritual," Harry said. "Using your research to substitute for the mind extraction he planned for Thornwell."
"My notes aren't the same as an actual mind," Reid pointed out.
"No, but they might be close enough, especially given your memory and the depth of what you've learned about magic in the past few days." Harry's expression was grim. "Your mind absorbed magical theory at an extraordinary rate. Your notes would reflect that."
They approached the building cautiously. The doorman's station was empty, which immediately put Reid on alert.
"He's never absent," Reid whispered.
Harry cast a subtle detection spell. "Stunned, not killed. Through there." He nodded toward a maintenance closet.
They took the stairs instead of the elevator, moving silently upward. As they approached Reid's floor, the magical energy became palpable—a crackling tension in the air that made the hairs on Reid's arms stand up.
"What's the plan?" Reid asked softly.
"I'll create a diversion," Harry said. "You circle around through the fire escape if you can. We need to disrupt the ritual without destroying the components—that could cause a magical backlash."
"What kind of backlash?"
"The kind that levels buildings," Harry said bluntly. "Dark magic is unstable when interrupted."
They reached Reid's floor. The corridor was eerily silent, but light pulsed under Reid's apartment door—red, green, white, cycling in a rhythmic pattern.
Harry positioned himself to one side of the door, Reid to the other. With a series of hand signals that reminded Reid of SWAT operations, Harry indicated he would breach on three.
One. Two. Three.
Harry blasted the door open with a nonverbal spell, immediately rolling inside and coming up in a defensive position. Reid followed, gun drawn, staying low as he'd been trained.
The scene inside was nightmarish. Reid's living room furniture had been pushed aside to make space for a ritual circle identical to the one at the barn, but this one was active—glowing with coruscating energy that arced between the pedestals. Three were now filled: the blood, the crystallized body essence, and a swirling silver-blue substance that appeared to be neither liquid nor gas.
Corvus Rookwood stood at the circle's edge, his injured shoulder bandaged but clearly still painful judging by his stiff posture. He looked up, unsurprised by their entrance.
"Right on schedule," he said calmly, as if welcoming expected dinner guests. "I was wondering when you'd realize the misdirection."
"Step away from the circle," Harry ordered, his wand leveled at Corvus's chest.
"I think not, Potter. We're at a rather delicate stage." Corvus gestured to the silver-blue substance. "Dr. Reid's research has proven quite illuminating. His understanding of magical theory exceeds what I expected from a Muggle. Combined with the memory extraction spell I cast on his personal belongings... well, it's not quite as potent as a direct extraction, but it will serve."
Reid noticed something Harry hadn't yet—a small object on the fifth pedestal, partially obscured by magical energy. It appeared to be...
"My watch," Reid realized aloud. "The one my mother gave me."
"An object of emotional significance," Corvus confirmed. "Perfect for anchoring the soul essence component. Your sense of self is remarkably bound to your mother's love, Dr. Reid. Quite touching, really."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "You don't have all the components. You still need a conduit."
"Do I?" Corvus smiled coldly. "Are you sure about that?"
Reid's analytical mind raced ahead. "He has something of yours," he told Harry. "Something that's connected to your death and return."
Harry's expression flickered with realization, his hand automatically moving to his shirt collar. "The Resurrection Stone," he whispered. "But it was lost in the Forbidden Forest. No one could have found it."
"Not the stone itself," Corvus said. "But a fragment—a chip broken from it during your famous confrontation with the Dark Lord. My uncle suspected it existed and provided instructions for locating it. Took me years of searching, but worth every moment."
As if responding to the conversation, the central pedestal began to glow with a deep, pulsing black light—unnatural darkness that seemed to bend the air around it.
"And now, we begin the final phase," Corvus declared, raising his wand.
Harry moved with extraordinary speed, casting a spell that Reid didn't recognize. The magical energy rippled but held.
"Too late, Potter!" Corvus laughed. "The binding is already established. Interrupt it now, and the magical backlash will kill us all—including your precious Muggle genius."
Reid, meanwhile, was observing the ritual pattern, his eidetic memory comparing it to everything he'd learned from Harry. There was something not quite right about the configuration—a subtle imbalance in the runic structure.
"Harry," he called, "the outer containment runes—they're inverted incorrectly."
Harry glanced where Reid indicated, his eyes widening in understanding. "He's not trying to bring Rookwood back into my body," he realized. "He's trying to send the components into the fragment."
"Creating a tether to death realm," Corvus confirmed, impressed by their deduction. "A permanent anchor that will allow my uncle's spirit to affect the physical world. Not full resurrection, but perhaps something more interesting."
"A ghost with physical power," Harry said grimly. "You're creating a revenant."
"The first of many," Corvus agreed. "Once the pathway is established, others will follow. Those who were lost to us during the war. The faithful servants of the Dark Lord."
The ritual's energy was intensifying, the colors shifting toward deep purple and black. Reid could feel the temperature in the apartment dropping rapidly—his breath now visible in the air.
"We need to destabilize it safely," Reid said to Harry. "If we can unbalance the flow without interrupting it completely..."
Harry nodded, understanding Reid's thinking. "The emotional anchor. Your watch. It's the newest component, the least integrated."
Reid didn't hesitate. Despite the danger, he darted forward, moving not toward his watch but toward the pedestal containing the silver-blue essence of his research and memory impressions.
"Reid, no!" Harry shouted, but it was too late.
Instead of grabbing the component, Reid touched his finger to one of the runes at the base of the pedestal, slightly altering its shape. The change was minimal—a single line extended where it should have curved—but the effect was immediate.
The ritual's energy stuttered, the colors shifting erratically. Corvus lunged toward Reid, but Harry intercepted him with a stunning spell that sent him crashing into the wall.
"What did you do?" Harry demanded, grabbing Reid's arm and pulling him back from the increasingly unstable circle.
"Changed the directional flow," Reid explained quickly. "Instead of channeling outward to the fragment, it's feeding back on itself. It should collapse the ritual without causing an explosion."
Harry looked both impressed and terrified. "Should?"
"Theoretically."
The energy was now spiraling inward, the components beginning to merge at the center in a swirling vortex of magical power. Corvus had recovered enough to realize what was happening.
"You fool!" he screamed. "You've ruined everything!"
He raised his wand, aiming not at Harry but at Reid, his face contorted with rage. "Avada—"
Harry reacted instantly, throwing himself between Reid and Corvus, his own wand slashing downward. "Sectumsempra!"
The spell caught Corvus across the chest. He collapsed, blood blossoming across his shirt, the killing curse never completed.
Meanwhile, the ritual had reached critical instability. The swirling vortex contracted suddenly, then imploded with a sound like a thunderclap. A shockwave of magical energy swept outward, knocking both Harry and Reid off their feet.
Then, silence.
Reid picked himself up slowly, surveying the damage. His apartment looked like a hurricane had torn through it—books scattered, furniture overturned, windows shattered. But the ritual circle was gone, the components seemingly destroyed in the implosion.
Harry was already at Corvus's side, murmuring counter-curses to stabilize the wound he'd inflicted. "I didn't want to use that spell," he said quietly. "But he was about to kill you."
"You saved my life," Reid acknowledged, kneeling beside him. "Will he survive?"
"Yes," Harry said grimly. "Though he'll wish he hadn't when he faces the Wizengamot. Using Death Eater magic carries a life sentence in Azkaban."
As Harry secured Corvus with magical restraints, Reid retrieved his watch from where it had been thrown in the implosion. The glass was cracked, but it was still ticking.
"Your quick thinking prevented a disaster," Harry said, watching him. "That ritual adjustment... I wouldn't have thought of it."
"I just applied what you taught me about magical theory," Reid said modestly. "Combined with some advanced thermodynamics."
Harry's lips twitched. "Just like that."
Their moment was interrupted by the arrival of reinforcements—both FBI agents led by Morgan and American Aurors, who took custody of the unconscious Corvus.
"The decoy site is secured," Morgan reported. "Most of the Death Eater sympathizers were captured or killed. Hotch is handling the cleanup." He surveyed the destroyed apartment. "I'm guessing we missed the excitement here."
"You could say that," Harry agreed dryly.
As the Aurors removed Corvus and began dismantling the remaining magical traces, Morgan pulled Reid aside.
"You okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.
"I'm fine," Reid assured him. "Thanks to Harry."
Morgan glanced at the wizard, who was now conferring with Commander Harris about the ritual components. "He's something else," Morgan admitted. "Never thought I'd say this about a guy who waves a stick and says Latin phrases, but he's a damn good partner in the field."
"He is," Reid agreed, his gaze lingering on Harry.
Morgan noticed, his expression softening. "You know, when this is all wrapped up... maybe you should explore that."
"Explore what?"
Morgan gave him a knowing look. "Don't profile the profiler, Reid. I've seen how you two look at each other."
Reid felt his face warm. "It's not... we're from completely different worlds. Literally."
"Maybe that's what makes it interesting," Morgan suggested. "Just something to think about."
As Morgan moved away to coordinate with the other agents, Reid found himself watching Harry again. The wizard looked exhausted but relieved, the tension he'd carried throughout the case finally easing from his shoulders. As if sensing Reid's gaze, Harry looked up, their eyes meeting across the chaotic scene.
Something passed between them—acknowledgment of what they'd faced together, what they'd prevented, and perhaps, what might come next.
For the first time since the case began, Reid allowed himself to consider that possibility. A connection that bridged two worlds that had been separate for centuries. Impossible, by any reasonable assessment.
But then, a lot of impossible things had happened in the past few days.
Morning was breaking as they finally left the apartment building. The American Aurors had placed powerful memory charms on the neighbors, making them believe a gas leak had caused the damage. The FBI would handle the official paperwork with similar creative explanations.
"What happens now?" Reid asked as they stood on the sidewalk, both too wired to sleep despite their exhaustion.
"Corvus goes to trial. The ritual components are secured by the Department of Mysteries. Life goes back to normal," Harry replied. Then, more quietly, "Whatever normal means."
"And you go back to London," Reid said, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Harry studied him for a moment. "Eventually," he agreed. "But not immediately. There's still paperwork, debriefings... and Hermione suggested I might benefit from a few days of leave after such an intense case."
"Virginia has some interesting historical sites," Reid found himself saying. "If you're looking for suggestions."
Harry smiled—a real smile that reached his eyes and transformed his face. "I'd like that. Though I might need a guide. Someone who knows the area. And ideally someone who won't be alarmed if I occasionally use magic for trivial conveniences."
"I might know someone who fits that description," Reid replied, returning the smile.
Above them, the morning sun broke fully through the clouds, illuminating the city in golden light. The world was still the same—divided into magical and non-magical realms, each with their own dangers and wonders. But something had changed, a bridge formed between those worlds through the unlikeliest of connections.
A genius profiler and the boy who lived, drawn together by darkness but perhaps staying for something else entirely.

Chapter Text

The aftermath of the Rookwood case brought a flurry of activity to both the magical and non-magical law enforcement communities. Three days had passed since the confrontation in Reid's apartment, days filled with debriefings, evidence processing, and the careful construction of official narratives that could be presented to the respective authorities without revealing the full truth of what had occurred.
Reid's apartment had been declared temporarily uninhabitable—not just because of the physical damage, but due to the lingering magical residue that the American Aurors warned might cause "unpredictable effects" on electronics and non-magical residents. He had relocated to a hotel, though Morgan had offered his spare room.
The BAU conference room had been transformed into a joint task force headquarters, with enchantments placed to prevent sensitive information from being observed by those without clearance. Here, Reid found Harry on the morning of the fourth day, poring over documents with Hermione Granger, who had arrived from London the previous evening.
Reid paused in the doorway, taking a moment to observe them working together. The easy synchronicity between them spoke of years of friendship and shared experiences. Hermione, dressed in formal robes that somehow didn't look out of place despite their anachronistic style, was making notes with what appeared to be a quill that wrote on its own when she paused to consult a thick, leather-bound tome.
Harry noticed him first, looking up with a smile that transformed his serious expression. "Spencer. Good morning."
Hermione turned, her intelligent eyes quickly assessing Reid with interest. "Dr. Reid, I presume? I've heard a great deal about you."
"All good things, I hope," Reid said, entering the room. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Minister Granger. Harry speaks very highly of you."
"Hermione, please," she insisted, rising to shake his hand. "I've been reviewing your notes on the ritual modifications. Your understanding of magical theory is remarkable for someone who only learned of our world a week ago."
"I had a good teacher," Reid replied, glancing at Harry.
"Indeed," Hermione agreed with a knowing look between them. "Harry has always been better at practical instruction than he gives himself credit for."
Harry cleared his throat. "We were just discussing the final reports. Corvus is being transferred to Britain tomorrow for trial before the Wizengamot."
"The FBI contribution to the case will be classified at the highest levels," Reid noted. "Only Hotch and the director will have full access to the unredacted files."
"Similar protocols on our side," Hermione confirmed. "Though I've been authorized to offer your team something unprecedented." She reached into a small beaded bag that seemed to contain far more than its size should allow and withdrew six small silver objects. "These are enchanted communication devices. They'll allow your team to contact us directly if you encounter magical elements in future cases."
"That's... extraordinary," Reid said, recognizing the significance of such an offer. "The Statute of Secrecy—"
"Is evolving," Hermione finished. "The world is changing, Dr. Reid. Technology advances, information spreads more rapidly than ever before. The complete separation of our worlds becomes more difficult to maintain each year. This case has demonstrated that selected collaboration between trusted parties may be more effective than rigid isolation."
Harry had been watching Reid's reaction carefully. "Your team has proven themselves trustworthy. And uniquely capable of understanding our world without prejudice."
"I'm sure Garcia will be particularly thrilled," Reid said with a smile.
As if summoned by her name, Penelope Garcia appeared in the doorway, her bright clothing a stark contrast to the formal attire of the others.
"Did someone mention the oracle of all knowing?" she asked cheerfully. Then, spotting Hermione, she gasped. "Oh my god, you're her! The Minister of Magic! I have so many questions. Do you really have flying cars? Can magical computers interface with regular ones? Is there a spell for finding lost socks?"
Hermione looked momentarily overwhelmed by the barrage, but then laughed—a warm, genuine sound. "I see why Harry mentioned you specifically in his reports, Ms. Garcia. Your enthusiasm is infectious."
"She asked about you too," Harry told Garcia with a conspiratorial smile. "Particularly your methods for tracking magical signatures through Muggle systems. Apparently, you've pioneered techniques our magical law enforcement might adapt."
Garcia looked as though she might faint from happiness.
The impromptu meeting expanded as the rest of the team gradually arrived. JJ brought coffee for everyone, while Rossi and Prentiss discussed the more unusual aspects of the case with Hermione. Morgan and Hotch arrived together, having just finished a call with the director.
"Everything's been cleared at the highest levels," Hotch informed them. "The official story attributes the incidents to a cult using advanced technology and hypnotic techniques."
"Similar cover on our side," Hermione confirmed. "Our American counterparts have been quite efficient in managing the magical aspects."
"Speaking of which," Harry said, "I received word this morning that the final magical traces have been removed from your apartment building, Spencer. It's been cleared for return, though I'm afraid your personal apartment will need some conventional repairs."
"I'll handle that," Garcia offered. "I know people who can fast-track the work."
"Thanks," Reid said gratefully. "Hotel living isn't ideal for someone with my book collection."
As the meeting continued, plans were made for future cooperation between the two departments, albeit on a limited and carefully monitored basis. Hermione outlined protocols for potential magical situations the BAU might encounter, while Hotch detailed FBI procedures that might benefit magical law enforcement.
Eventually, they broke for lunch. As the others filed out, Harry held back, gesturing for Reid to stay as well.
When they were alone, Harry leaned against the conference table, a hint of uncertainty in his posture that Reid had rarely seen from him.
"So," Harry began, "I've decided to take that leave Hermione suggested."
"Here in Virginia?" Reid asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
"Yes," Harry confirmed. "There's a wizarding community in the Shenandoah Valley I've been meaning to visit. And apparently some remarkable historical sites a certain FBI agent mentioned."
Reid smiled. "I might be able to arrange a tour. When my schedule permits."
"I was hoping you'd say that," Harry admitted. "Though I should warn you, magical tourism has its own... unique aspects."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
A moment of comfortable silence stretched between them before Harry spoke again. "Spencer, I—" He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "What happened during this case, between us... it's not something I expected."
"Nor did I," Reid acknowledged. "Cross-dimensional professional collaboration wasn't exactly in my five-year plan."
Harry laughed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Nor mine. Though I was referring to the personal aspect."
"I know," Reid said softly. "That wasn't in my plans either."
"We live in different worlds. Literally."
"True," Reid acknowledged. "But those worlds are less separate than they once were. And distance isn't the obstacle it used to be—magical or otherwise."
Harry studied him for a moment. "You've thought about this."
"I'm a genius with an eidetic memory and a tendency to overanalyze. Of course I've thought about it," Reid admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "I've calculated probabilities, considered logistics, evaluated precedents—"
"And?" Harry prompted, a hint of amusement in his green eyes.
"And I'd still like to show you those historical sites," Reid concluded simply. "Whatever comes after that... we can figure it out as we go."
Harry's expression softened. "I'd like that." He straightened, closing the distance between them. "Though there is one thing I've been wanting to do since about day two of this investigation."
"What's that?" Reid asked, though something in Harry's expression made him suspect he already knew the answer.
Rather than reply verbally, Harry leaned forward and kissed him—a gentle, questioning gesture that quickly deepened as Reid responded. It felt both inevitable and surprising, like the logical conclusion to an equation Reid hadn't realized he'd been solving all along.
When they eventually separated, Reid couldn't help a slightly breathless laugh. "I should have calculated a higher probability for that outcome."
"Sometimes even geniuses miss the obvious," Harry teased, though his own slightly flushed face suggested he was equally affected.
A deliberate cough from the doorway made them both turn. Morgan stood there, looking simultaneously embarrassed and smugly satisfied.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, not sounding particularly sorry, "but Hotch is looking for you both. Something about final signatures on the international cooperation documents."
"We'll be right there," Harry assured him, stepping back slightly but not appearing overly concerned about being caught.
Morgan nodded, turning to leave but pausing to give Reid a subtle thumbs-up that made him roll his eyes.
"Your team is very..." Harry searched for the right word.
"Nosy? Overprotective? Invested in my personal life to an uncomfortable degree?" Reid suggested.
"I was going to say 'familial,'" Harry finished with a smile. "It's nice. Reminds me of the Weasleys, actually."
"I'll take your word for it," Reid said, though the comparison to what he knew was Harry's surrogate family was clearly meaningful.
They followed Morgan to Hotch's office, where the final administrative details of the case were being handled. Throughout the afternoon, Reid noticed the occasional glances between his teammates—Garcia's barely contained excitement, Prentiss's knowing smirk, Rossi's amused observation. Even Hotch seemed to have a slightly softer expression when he looked between Reid and Harry.
By evening, most of the official business had been concluded. Hermione prepared to return to London via Portkey, while Harry confirmed his temporary accommodation arrangements for his extended stay.
"You'll keep me updated?" Hermione asked Harry quietly as they said their goodbyes near the elevator.
"On the case follow-up?" Harry replied innocently.
Hermione gave him a look that suggested she wasn't fooled. "On everything, Harry Potter. Including whatever is developing between you and Dr. Reid."
Harry glanced to where Reid was conversing with JJ across the bullpen. "It's... early days," he said carefully. "But promising."
"Good," Hermione said firmly. "You deserve something promising." She hugged him tightly. "Just be careful. Long-distance relationships between magical and non-magical partners have their complications."
"We'll figure it out," Harry assured her, echoing Reid's earlier sentiment. "And he's not exactly a typical Muggle, is he?"
"No," Hermione agreed with a laugh. "I'd say he's one of a kind."
After Hermione's departure, the team gathered for an informal dinner at Rossi's suggestion—"My treat, to celebrate our first successful magical case resolution." The upscale Italian restaurant provided a relaxed atmosphere for them to decompress after the intensity of the past week.
Conversation flowed easily, with Harry fielding numerous questions about the wizarding world from a fascinated Garcia. Morgan shared stories from previous unusual cases, while Rossi regaled them with tales from his early days in the FBI, insisting that he'd once encountered what must have been a wizard in New Orleans during a case in the '80s.
"He disappeared right in front of me," Rossi insisted. "One minute there, the next gone—poof!"
"Probably Apparition," Harry confirmed. "Especially common in magical districts of cities like New Orleans."
"I knew it!" Rossi exclaimed triumphantly. "Gideon never believed me."
As the evening wound down, Reid found himself sitting beside Harry on a terrace overlooking the restaurant's garden. The others had tactfully given them space, engaged in their own conversations inside.
"Your team is handling all this remarkably well," Harry observed, sipping a glass of wine. "Finding out magic exists, fighting dark wizards, interdimensional cooperation agreements..."
"We've seen a lot of strange things over the years," Reid replied. "Though I admit, this case tops the list."
"Will you tell them? About us?" Harry asked, gesturing vaguely between them.
Reid smiled. "I think the point is moot. Garcia has probably already ordered engagement party decorations."
Harry laughed. "That bad?"
"Worse," Reid confirmed. "Though it comes from a good place. They're protective."
"I noticed," Harry said dryly. "Morgan gave me 'the talk' earlier. Very creative threats for someone without magical abilities."
"He's resourceful," Reid acknowledged with a grin.
They fell into comfortable silence, watching the city lights against the darkening sky. Reid found himself reflecting on how much had changed in just one week—his understanding of the world, the boundaries of what he considered possible, and perhaps most significantly, the unexpected connection with the man beside him.
"What are you thinking?" Harry asked quietly.
"That normal will never quite mean the same thing again," Reid admitted. "But I'm okay with that."
Harry's hand found his on the bench between them, their fingers intertwining naturally. "Normal is overrated," he said with feeling. "Trust me, I've been trying to achieve it for years."
"Maybe we can find a new normal," Reid suggested. "Something that works for both our worlds."
Harry's eyes, remarkably green even in the dim evening light, held his. "I'd like that," he said simply.
Above them, stars were appearing in the night sky—the same stars that shone over both the magical and non-magical worlds, over Quantico and London, over all the spaces in between. Boundaries that had once seemed impermeable had proven otherwise. A case that had begun with death and darkness had somehow opened the door to something completely unexpected.
The wizard and the profiler sat together under those stars, neither rushing to define what came next. They had time now—time to explore not just ancient historical sites and magical communities, but the unique connection that had formed between them against all odds.
Whatever challenges lay ahead—different worlds, professional responsibilities, the logistics of an international relationship with a magical component—they would face them together, with the support of both their communities.
For now, that was enough. More than enough.
It was a beginning.

Chapter Text

Two weeks had passed since the Rookwood case concluded. Reid's apartment had been repaired with remarkable efficiency, thanks to a combination of Garcia's connections and some discreet magical assistance from the American Aurors. The lingering traces of dark magic had been neutralized, though Reid occasionally noticed his lights flickering when he was deep in thought—a phenomenon Harry attributed to "residual magical sensitivity."

It was Saturday morning, and Reid was preparing for Harry's arrival. They had spent much of the past fortnight together during Harry's extended leave, exploring historical sites throughout Virginia and Maryland. Today was different, however. Today, Harry was bringing someone important to meet him.

The knock came precisely at eleven. Reid opened the door to find Harry standing there, looking unusually nervous, accompanied by a lanky teenager with bright blue hair.

"Spencer," Harry greeted him with a quick kiss. "This is my godson, Teddy Lupin. Teddy, Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Just Reid is fine," Reid offered, extending his hand. "Or Spencer. It's a pleasure to meet you, Teddy."

Teddy shook his hand with a confident grip. "Same. Harry's told me loads about you. Said you figured out magical theory faster than most Hogwarts seventh years."

Reid smiled. "He's being generous. I just have a good memory for patterns."

"And everything else," Harry added fondly. "Mind if we come in?"

Reid stepped aside, allowing them to enter. He'd spent the previous evening rearranging his bookshelves, partly as a nervous habit but also to make room for the magical texts Harry had lent him—safely disguised with enchanted covers that appeared as mundane titles to non-magical visitors.

"Whoa," Teddy said, taking in the apartment. "You weren't kidding about the books." He wandered over to examine the chess set in the corner. "You play?"

"I do," Reid confirmed. "Though I haven't had a chance to try wizarding chess yet."

"The pieces are bossy," Teddy informed him. "Think they know better than you do."

"Some of them actually might," Harry pointed out. "Especially the older sets that have accumulated experience over centuries."

Reid was fascinated, as always, by these casual insights into magical life. "Would you like something to drink? I have coffee, tea, water... and I tried to find butterbeer, but the American magical shops don't carry the same brand you're used to."

Teddy's eyes lit up. "You got butterbeer?"

"I can't vouch for its authenticity," Reid cautioned. "The shopkeeper in Georgetown's magical district said it was their local version."

"Let's try it," Teddy decided. "Always up for comparing international magical treats."

As Reid went to the kitchen to fetch the drinks, he heard Teddy's lowered voice: "He's pretty cool for a Muggle, Harry."

"He's pretty cool, period," Harry replied quietly.

Reid returned with the butterbeers, plus coffee for himself. The three settled in the living room, where the conversation flowed more easily than Reid had anticipated. Teddy was articulate and curious, asking thoughtful questions about profiling and behavioral analysis, while sharing stories about his studies at Hogwarts.

"I'm best at Transfiguration," Teddy explained, demonstrating by subtly changing his nose to an exact replica of Reid's. "Natural advantage, being a Metamorphmagus."

"Impressive," Reid said genuinely. "The magical manipulation of physical form suggests a fundamental plasticity to reality that contradicts conventional physics. I've been theorizing that magic operates on a quantum level, allowing for—"

He stopped, noticing both Harry and Teddy staring at him. "Sorry. I tend to get carried away with theoretical analysis."

To his surprise, Teddy leaned forward eagerly. "No, go on! That's basically what my Advanced Transfiguration professor says—that we're manipulating something called quantum probabilities. Most students think it's too complicated, but it makes perfect sense to me."

Harry smiled, watching them. "I had a feeling you two would get along."

The morning extended into afternoon as they talked. Teddy, it turned out, was considering a career in magical law enforcement like his godfather, but with a focus on the intersection of magical and Muggle crimes—a field that was growing as technology made the worlds less separate.

"The old ways of maintaining separation aren't sustainable," Teddy said, unconsciously echoing Hermione's earlier assessment. "We need new approaches, new types of cooperation."

"That's partly why I wanted you two to meet," Harry admitted. "Teddy represents the next generation of magical law enforcement. The future might see more cases like Rookwood's, requiring collaboration between our worlds."

"The BAU would be open to that," Reid affirmed. "Hotch was impressed with the efficiency of the joint operation."

Their conversation was interrupted by Reid's phone ringing. He glanced at the screen. "Speaking of Hotch... excuse me a moment."

The call was brief but concerning. When Reid returned, his expression was serious.

"We have a case," he explained. "Potentially magical elements. Three victims in Boston, each found with strange symbols carved into their flesh. Hotch asked if you might still be available for consultation."

Harry and Teddy exchanged glances. "I'm technically still on leave," Harry said, "but I could certainly take a look."

"What about your plans?" Reid asked, gesturing toward Teddy.

"Actually," Teddy suggested, eyes bright with excitement, "couldn't I come along? I'm of age in the wizarding world, and I've been doing independent study on magical criminology. This would be perfect field experience."

Harry looked thoughtful. "It would be educational... but it's not my decision alone." He looked to Reid.

"I'd need to clear it with Hotch," Reid said. "But having an additional perspective, especially from a younger generation of magical practitioners, could be valuable."

Thirty minutes later, they were at Quantico. The team had assembled in the conference room, case files already distributed. Garcia had added monitoring equipment specifically designed to detect magical energy—a innovation she'd developed with Harry's guidance over the past two weeks.

"Potter," Hotch greeted him with a nod. "Thank you for coming in. And this is...?"

"Teddy Lupin, my godson," Harry introduced. "He's studying magical criminology and might offer useful insights. With your approval, of course."

Hotch assessed the blue-haired teenager with his usual penetrating gaze, then nodded once. "We can use all the magical expertise available. Ms. Garcia has already briefed the team on the case basics."

Garcia, whose outfit today featured several charms Harry had gifted her ("Purely decorative, not actually magical, but inspired by wizarding fashion"), pulled up images on the screen.

"Three victims in Boston over the past week," she began. "All found with these symbols carved into their torsos."

The images showed intricate patterns that reminded Reid of the Rookwood case, but with distinct differences.

"These aren't Death Eater runes," Harry noted immediately. "They're older. Pre-dating modern wizarding traditions."

"Native American in origin," Teddy added, surprising everyone. When they looked at him, he shrugged. "I did a project on international magical symbols last term. These appear to be from the Wampanoag magical tradition."

"The kid knows his stuff," Rossi commented appreciatively.

"The Wampanoag were indigenous to the Massachusetts area," Reid confirmed. "Their magical practices would have predated European wizarding influence by centuries."

"That tracks with what Boston PD reported," Morgan said. "All three victims were found near historical sites associated with colonial-indigenous interactions."

"Is this related to Rookwood's case?" JJ asked. "Another ritual?"

Harry studied the images carefully. "Not directly related, no. This is different magic entirely. But it might be a copycat inspired by news of the Rookwood incident. The magical community would have heard rumors, even with the official story being controlled."

"So someone's using indigenous magical practices for murder," Prentiss summarized. "Do we know if the victims had magical connections?"

"Still determining that," Garcia replied. "But preliminary background checks show no obvious wizarding world affiliations."

Harry and Teddy exchanged concerned glances. "That suggests this could be a non-magical person targeting Muggles, but using magical symbolism," Harry observed. "Perhaps someone with just enough knowledge to be dangerous."

"A case bridging both worlds again," Reid noted. "Though in a different way than Rookwood."

"Wheels up in thirty," Hotch decided. "Potter, I'd appreciate your assistance if you're willing. Young Mr. Lupin can observe if he maintains appropriate protocols."

"I will, sir," Teddy assured him seriously.

As the team dispersed to prepare, Reid found himself with Harry and Teddy in the break room. Teddy was practically vibrating with excitement.

"An actual FBI case with Auror involvement," he whispered. "This is better than any field trip Hogwarts ever offered."

Harry looked simultaneously amused and concerned. "This isn't a game, Teddy. These are real victims."

"I know," Teddy sobered immediately. "I promise to take it seriously. I want to help."

Reid observed their interaction with interest. The dynamic between Harry and his godson revealed a side of Harry he was still getting to know—the paternal, mentoring aspect that spoke to Harry's capacity for nurturing relationships.

"You'll need to adjust your appearance before we leave," Harry told Teddy quietly. "Blue hair isn't exactly inconspicuous among Muggles."

Teddy nodded, closing his eyes in concentration. His hair shifted gradually from vibrant blue to a natural-looking brown. "Better?"

"Much," Harry confirmed. "Though I like the blue better personally."

"Me too," Reid added with a smile.

The moment was interrupted by Morgan, who appeared with go-bags for the team. "Jet's being prepped. You guys ready for round two of wizards and profilers?"

"Definitely," Harry said, with a glance at Reid that carried more personal meaning.

On the flight to Boston, Reid observed the seamless way Harry integrated with the team, no longer a consultant but something closer to a colleague. The past two weeks had seen multiple dinners, a movie night at Garcia's, and even a rather competitive poker game at Rossi's mansion. Harry had become part of their extended family with surprising ease.

Teddy, for his part, was absorbing everything with keen interest, taking notes in what appeared to be a normal notebook but which Reid suspected had magical properties. The teenager occasionally whispered questions to either Harry or Reid, showing a quick intelligence that reminded Reid of both his godfather and Hermione.

As the jet began its descent into Boston, Harry sat beside Reid, their shoulders touching comfortably.

"Not exactly the weekend I had planned," Harry said quietly. "I was going to show Teddy the Smithsonian today, then take you both to that wizarding restaurant in Alexandria tonight."

"There's always next week," Reid replied. "Besides, I think Teddy is enjoying this alternative itinerary just fine."

They both glanced at the teenager, who was deep in conversation with Prentiss about the historical tensions between European and indigenous magical communities.

"He likes you," Harry said. "He's not usually this comfortable with new people."

"The feeling is mutual," Reid assured him. "He's remarkable."

Harry's expression softened with obvious affection. "He is. His parents would be proud of who he's becoming."

Something in Harry's tone made Reid reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. The gesture was simple but carried the weight of understanding—of shared experiences with loss, with finding family in unexpected places, with building something new from the foundations of the past.

As the plane touched down, the case awaited them—another challenge that bridged their worlds. But something had shifted since their first case together. The barriers between wizard and Muggle, between consultant and profiler, between two people from vastly different backgrounds, had begun to dissolve.

Whatever this new case held, they would face it together—not as representatives of separate worlds, but as partners in a relationship that defied conventional boundaries.

The Boston air was crisp as they disembarked, autumn leaves swirling in the breeze. A new investigation awaited, alongside the continuing evolution of connections none of them could have predicted just weeks before. For Reid, whose life had always been defined by logic and probability, the improbability of it all was perhaps the most fascinating aspect.

A brilliant profiler and a legendary wizard, working side by side, hearts aligned despite the odds.

Some might call it magic. Reid was beginning to think they might be right.

Chapter Text

The Boston field office had prepared a conference room for the BAU team's arrival. Maps of the city marked with crime scene locations covered one wall, while photographs of the victims and their wounds dominated another. Detective Samantha Chen, the lead investigator from Boston PD, waited for them with case files and coffee.
"Thanks for coming so quickly," she greeted them. "This one's got the whole department spooked. Never seen markings like these before."
After introductions were made, including Harry as a "specialist consultant from British law enforcement" and Teddy as an "intern studying criminology," the team settled in for a comprehensive briefing.
"Three victims in eight days," Chen began. "Michael Donahue, 42, history professor at Boston College. Elena Martinez, 36, curator at the Museum of Fine Arts. And Thomas Whitehawk, 51, tribal liaison for the state historical commission."
"Any connection between them beyond their history-related professions?" Morgan asked.
"They all served on a committee reviewing plans for a new development in North End," Chen explained. "The site has significance to both colonial history and local indigenous tribes."
Reid studied the map. "The North End location places it in historically Wampanoag territory, as Teddy suggested."
Teddy, who had been quiet during the introductions, looked pleased at the acknowledgment.
"The victims were found at different locations," Chen continued, "but each site has historical significance. Donahue at the Old North Church, Martinez near Paul Revere's house, and Whitehawk at Copp's Hill Burying Ground."
"All key locations from colonial history," Rossi noted.
"With connections to indigenous history as well," Teddy added, earning curious glances. He flushed slightly but continued, "Copp's Hill was originally part of a Wampanoag settlement before colonization. There are records of magical practitioners from both communities interacting there."
Harry gave his godson an encouraging nod.
"The symbols carved into the victims," Reid redirected, "can we see clearer images?"
Chen brought up detailed photographs on a large screen. The carvings were intricate—swirling patterns with angular elements interspersed, different from the runic structures of the Rookwood case but carrying a similar sense of intentional meaning.
Harry and Teddy moved closer to examine them, speaking quietly to each other in terms the others couldn't quite hear.
"These are ceremonial patterns," Harry finally said. "But they've been altered. Corrupted."
"From what I can tell," Teddy added, "the original forms would have been protective magic—wards against harmful spirits. But these versions... they're inverted."
"Inverted how?" Hotch asked.
"Instead of protecting from harmful spirits, they're... calling to them," Harry explained grimly. "Like beacons."
"Could this be another ritual?" JJ asked. "Like with Rookwood?"
"Similar intent, different methodology," Harry confirmed. "This UnSub is attempting to establish contact with something."
"Detective," Prentiss addressed Chen, "have there been any reported disturbances at the crime scenes? Unexplained phenomena, equipment malfunctions, unusual witness statements?"
Chen hesitated. "Nothing I'd put in an official report, but... yeah. Officers stationed at the sites have reported strange sounds. Cold spots. One rookie swears he saw shadows moving against the wind."
Harry and Reid exchanged significant looks.
"We need to visit the most recent scene," Harry decided. "And I should contact the American magical authorities. If someone is attempting to breach the barrier between the physical and spiritual worlds using corrupted indigenous magic, we need their expertise."
"I already reached out to the Boston Auror Division," Teddy said unexpectedly. "On the flight. They're sending a specialist in indigenous magical practices to meet us at Copp's Hill."
Harry looked surprised, then impressed. "Initiative. Good."
The team split up to cover more ground. Hotch sent Rossi and JJ to interview the families of the first two victims, while Morgan and Prentiss headed to the development site that connected all three victims. Harry, Reid, and Teddy, accompanied by Detective Chen, made their way to Copp's Hill Burying Ground, where Thomas Whitehawk's body had been discovered just yesterday.
The historic cemetery was cordoned off with police tape, but otherwise appeared peaceful in the autumn sunlight. An officer stood guard at the entrance, nodding to Detective Chen as they approached.
"Scene's preserved as requested, Detective. No one's been in since the ME removed the body."
"Thanks, Kowalski," Chen replied, lifting the tape for them to duck under.
As they walked among the weathered headstones, Reid observed Harry becoming increasingly tense, his hand straying toward his concealed wand.
"You feel something," Reid said quietly.
"There's residual magic here," Harry confirmed. "Old magic. And something... else."
"I feel it too," Teddy added, his expression serious. "Like a thin spot."
"A thin spot?" Chen asked.
"Where the barrier between worlds is weaker," Harry explained, keeping his language deliberately vague for the detective's benefit. "Some locations naturally develop these characteristics over time, especially places with significant history."
They reached the crime scene—a flat area near the back of the cemetery with views over the harbor. Despite the scenic location, Reid immediately noticed a difference in atmosphere—the air felt heavier, the ambient sounds of the city mysteriously muffled.
"This is where Whitehawk was found," Chen indicated. "Positioned on his back, arms and legs spread in an X formation. The carvings were done postmortem, according to the ME."
"Small mercies," Harry murmured.
Teddy was scanning the area with an intensity that belied his youth. "Here," he said suddenly, moving toward a particular headstone. "This is the focal point."
The headstone was old, the name nearly weathered away, but Reid could make out the date: 1692. The Salem witch trials.
"Elizabeth Proctor," Reid read. "She was accused of witchcraft during the Salem hysteria."
"And pardoned," a new voice added from behind them. "After surviving the trials."
They turned to see a woman in her fifties with long gray-streaked black hair and features that suggested indigenous ancestry. She wore practical outdoor clothing with subtle decorative elements that Reid suspected held magical significance.
"Grace Thundercloud," she introduced herself. "Boston Auror Division, Indigenous Relations Office." Her eyes settled on Teddy. "Thank you for the alert, Mr. Lupin. Your assessment was correct."
"You know each other?" Harry asked.
"By correspondence only," Grace explained. "Your godson has been researching Native American magical practices for a project. He's been in touch with my office for primary sources."
"You didn't mention that," Harry said to Teddy, who shrugged with a small smile.
"It didn't come up."
Detective Chen looked between them, clearly sensing she was missing something. "You're with... what division?"
"Special Historical and Cultural Resources," Grace replied smoothly. "I consult with law enforcement on cases involving indigenous artifacts and sites."
Chen seemed to accept this explanation, though her expression remained skeptical.
Grace turned her attention to the crime scene. "The UnSub is using corrupted Wampanoag magical practices combined with European techniques from the Salem era. A dangerous combination."
"What's the purpose?" Reid asked.
"To create a gateway," Grace said grimly. "These murders are sacrifices to power a portal between the physical world and the spirit realm."
"Why these particular victims?" Harry pressed.
"Each represented an aspect of the historical conflict," Grace explained. "Donahue studied colonial perspectives, Martinez curated artifacts from both worlds, and Whitehawk represented indigenous interests. Together, they embody the tension between cultures that has marked this region for centuries."
"And the specific locations?" Reid inquired.
"Form a triangle," Grace said, moving to where Teddy stood by the headstone. "With this point as the apex. Elizabeth Proctor's grave isn't here by coincidence. She was a witch—a real one—who survived the trials by concealing her abilities. She later used her magic to strengthen the barriers between worlds after Salem's events weakened them."
Harry knelt beside the headstone, passing his hand just above the earth. "The UnSub is trying to undo her work," he concluded. "Three sacrifices at three points, creating a triangulation effect."
"Is the portal open?" Teddy asked with evident concern.
"Not yet," Grace assured him. "But it's forming. The spiritual disturbances officers have reported are preliminary effects. If the UnSub completes another ritual at this location—the apex of the triangle—the gateway will fully manifest."
"When would this likely occur?" Hotch asked, having approached silently during their conversation.
Grace considered. "Based on traditional practices, during a time of transition. Dawn, dusk, or—"
"The equinox," Reid realized. "Today is September 22nd, the autumn equinox. The perfect balance between light and darkness."
"Sunset," Grace confirmed. "We have about four hours."
Hotch immediately contacted the rest of the team, instructing them to reconvene at the field office. Detective Chen organized additional officers to secure all three crime scenes, though she clearly didn't fully understand the true nature of the threat.
As they left the cemetery, Reid noticed Harry deep in conversation with Grace Thundercloud, their expressions serious. Teddy fell into step beside him.
"It's a convergence," Teddy explained without being asked. "When colonial magic and indigenous practices meet, especially in conflict. Creates unique magical effects."
"Like opening doorways to the spirit world," Reid surmised.
"Among other things," Teddy confirmed. "Different magical traditions developed unique approaches to the same fundamental forces. When they interact..."
"Unpredictable results," Reid finished. "Like combining unstable chemical compounds."
"Exactly," Teddy smiled. "No wonder Harry likes you. You get it."
Back at the field office, the team gathered for a strategy session. Garcia joined via video link, having run background checks on everyone connected to the development project.
"I've got something interesting," she announced. "The development company, Northstar Holdings, is owned by one Elijah Mather. His family traces directly back to Cotton Mather, one of the key figures in the Salem witch trials."
"That can't be coincidence," Prentiss said.
"It gets better," Garcia continued. "Or worse, depending on your perspective. Mather has been purchasing properties specifically at locations with historical significance to both colonial and indigenous history. All within the last five years."
"Building a network of thin spots," Harry suggested. "Locations where he could potentially access spiritual energy."
"But why?" Morgan asked. "What's the endgame?"
Grace Thundercloud, who had accompanied them back to the field office, spoke up. "There's an old belief among both European and indigenous magical practitioners. That one who controls the gateway between worlds can command spirits, harness their power."
"Or release them," Teddy added quietly.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room.
"We need to stop the final ritual," Hotch stated, bringing them back to immediate concerns. "Assuming it will take place at Copp's Hill at sunset, we need a plan to intercept the UnSub."
"Without triggering the gateway prematurely," Harry cautioned. "The magical energies already accumulated at these sites are highly unstable."
"So we need to identify the UnSub before they reach the cemetery," Reid concluded.
"Garcia," Hotch addressed the screen, "focus on Elijah Mather. Where is he now? Who's in his inner circle?"
"Already on it, sir," Garcia replied, fingers flying over her keyboard. "Mather hasn't used his credit cards or phone in the last 24 hours. But I did find regular payments to a 'historical consultant' named Caroline Proctor."
"Proctor?" Reid repeated. "Like Elizabeth Proctor from the Salem trials?"
"Direct descendant," Garcia confirmed. "And guess what? She specializes in, quote, 'historic spiritual practices of New England,' unquote."
"We need a location on Caroline Proctor immediately," Hotch ordered.
While Garcia searched, the team prepared for confrontation. Harry consulted with Grace Thundercloud about magical containment procedures, while Teddy surprised everyone by producing a small leather pouch from his pocket.
"Protective amulets," he explained, distributing small stone pendants on leather cords. "They're simple, but they'll help shield you from spiritual influence."
"You came prepared," Reid observed, accepting one.
"Always carry magical protection when traveling with Harry," Teddy said with a grin. "Trouble finds him."
"I've noticed," Reid replied, returning the smile.
Harry, overhearing them, rolled his eyes but didn't disagree.
"Got an address for Proctor!" Garcia announced triumphantly. "And you're not going to believe this—she lives in a renovated caretaker's cottage at—"
"Copp's Hill," the team concluded in unison.
"How'd you guess?" Garcia pouted.
"It's almost too perfect," Rossi commented. "Living right at the site she plans to use."
"Hiding in plain sight," Morgan added. "Classic sociopath behavior."
"The cottage doesn't appear on recent maps," Garcia noted. "It's tucked behind the main cemetery, accessible via a private path. Satellite imagery shows it's surrounded by trees, well-concealed from the main grounds."
Hotch quickly organized tactical teams, with Detective Chen coordinating local police support. As preparations were made, Reid found a moment to speak privately with Harry.
"This feels different from the Rookwood case," he observed.
"It is," Harry agreed. "Rookwood was using magic he understood, controlled. This is more... primal. Caroline Proctor is tapping into forces even most trained wizards avoid."
"Which makes her more dangerous?"
"More unpredictable," Harry clarified. "And potentially more devastating if she succeeds. Opening a gateway between worlds could release entities that haven't walked the earth for centuries."
Reid absorbed this with his usual analytical calm. "Yet I notice you seem less personally concerned than with Rookwood."
Harry smiled slightly. "Because this time, I'm not facing it alone or unprepared." His hand brushed Reid's briefly. "Amazing what difference that makes."
The moment was interrupted by Hotch calling them to final briefing. As sunset approached, tension mounted. The team donned tactical gear while Harry, Teddy, and Grace prepared magical countermeasures. Detective Chen, watching them check equipment she didn't recognize, maintained a professional demeanor despite her evident confusion.
"Remember," Harry addressed the group, "physical weapons may be ineffective against spiritual manifestations. If you encounter anything... unusual, fall back and let us handle it."
"Define 'unusual,'" Morgan requested dryly.
"Shadows moving independently, objects levitating, sudden extreme temperature drops, voices with no source," Teddy listed helpfully. "The usual supernatural warning signs."
"Great," Prentiss muttered. "Just another day at the office."
As they moved out, Reid found himself in an SUV with Harry, Teddy, and Grace Thundercloud. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Boston as they drove toward Copp's Hill, the golden light gradually deepening toward the red of sunset.
"You realize," Reid said quietly to Harry, "that our vacation plans keep getting interrupted by magical emergencies."
"Occupational hazard," Harry replied with a rueful smile. "Though I admit, I didn't expect Teddy's visit to include a field operation against a potential spirit gateway."
"I'm not complaining," Teddy chimed in from the back seat. "Best educational experience ever."
Grace Thundercloud gave him an approving nod. "The younger generation must learn to handle these cross-cultural magical conflicts. They'll only become more common as the worlds continue to overlap."
The cemetery looked different as they approached in the fading light—more ominous, the shadows between the headstones deeper than they should be. They parked a block away, approaching on foot with tactical teams spreading out to surround the perimeter.
"The cottage is there," Reid pointed to a small structure barely visible through the trees at the far edge of the cemetery.
"I sense active magic," Harry said tensely. "The ritual has already begun."
Indeed, a faint glow emanated from the cottage windows—not the yellow of electric lights but a pulsing blue-green that reminded Reid of the aurora borealis.
"We need to move quickly," Grace urged. "But carefully. Disrupt the ritual incorrectly, and the backlash could tear open the gateway immediately."
They approached in formation, FBI agents and police officers providing cover while Harry, Grace, and Teddy prepared for magical intervention. Reid stayed close to Harry, his hand on his service weapon but fully aware it might be useless against what they were about to face.
As they neared the cottage, the air grew noticeably colder. Their breath fogged before them despite the relatively mild autumn evening. The sounds of the city faded completely, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by a low, rhythmic chanting from within the cottage.
"Caroline Proctor is inside," Grace whispered. "Along with... something else. The gateway is beginning to form."
Harry raised his wand, exchanging glances with Grace and Teddy, who did the same. With a series of hand signals to the tactical team, he indicated they would breach on his count.
Three. Two. One.
The door burst open, and they rushed inside to confront whatever awaited them in the fading light of the equinox sunset.

Chapter Text

The interior of the cottage was transformed beyond recognition. What should have been a simple living space had become a ritual chamber. The furniture had been pushed against the walls, creating a central open area where intricate patterns covered the floor—swirling designs in what appeared to be a mixture of chalk, herbs, and a dark substance Reid immediately recognized as blood.

Caroline Proctor stood at the center of the pattern. She was in her fifties, with silver-streaked auburn hair pulled into a tight bun and wire-rimmed glasses perched on her narrow nose. She looked more like a university librarian than a dangerous ritualist—except for her eyes, which glowed with an unnatural blue-green light.

"FBI! Hands where we can see them!" Morgan shouted, his weapon trained on her.

Proctor didn't even glance at them. She continued chanting in a language Reid didn't recognize—a fluid stream of syllables that seemed to shift between what sounded like colonial English and something much older.

"She can't hear you," Grace Thundercloud said grimly. "She's already partly in trance state, communing with the other side."

Behind Proctor, the air itself seemed to be fracturing—a vertical line of shifting, shimmering energy about seven feet tall was forming, like a tear in the fabric of reality. Through it, Reid caught glimpses of swirling mist and shadowy forms.

"The gateway," Harry confirmed, raising his wand. "We need to close it before it fully forms."

"Caroline Proctor," Grace called out in a commanding voice, stepping forward with her own wand extended. "By the authority of the Magical Congress of the United States, I order you to cease this ritual immediately."

For the first time, Proctor seemed to notice their presence. Her chanting faltered, and she turned toward them with that eerie glow still emanating from her eyes.

"Too late," she said, her voice overlaid with harmonics that made the air vibrate. "The veil thins. Those who were unjustly banished will return."

"She's referring to the spirits of those executed during the witch trials," Teddy explained quietly to Reid. "She believes they're trapped between worlds."

"Revenge," Reid surmised. "She wants vengeance for her ancestor."

"Caroline," Harry addressed her directly, his voice calm but authoritative, "this isn't the way to honor their memory. You're tearing a hole between worlds that will allow all manner of spirits through—not just those you wish to help."

"They deserved justice," Proctor replied. "All of them—the accused witches, the indigenous practitioners whose magic was demonized and destroyed. Three centuries of waiting!"

The gateway behind her pulsed, widening slightly. Tendrils of mist began to seep through, coalescing into half-formed shapes that writhed and twisted.

"The spirits are coming through," Grace warned. "We need to act now."

The FBI agents and police officers hung back, their conventional weapons useless against this supernatural threat. Morgan exchanged a look with Hotch, who nodded grimly—this was a situation beyond their normal protocols.

"Teddy," Harry said calmly, "the containment spell we practiced. On my mark."

Teddy nodded, his expression serious as he raised his wand.

Reid, watching them prepare, noticed something about the ritual pattern on the floor—a structural weakness in the northeastern quadrant, where the lines didn't quite connect. His eidetic memory compared it to the diagrams of Wampanoag protective circles he'd glimpsed in Grace's notes.

"Harry," he said urgently, "the pattern is incomplete in that section." He pointed to the area he'd identified. "If you target that point—"

Harry's eyes followed Reid's indication, widening in understanding. "Good catch," he said. "Grace, Teddy—focus on the northeastern quadrant. Containment spell on three."

As they prepared to cast, Caroline Proctor seemed to sense their intention. With a cry of rage, she flung her arms outward. A wave of force erupted from her, knocking everyone back several steps. The FBI agents and police officers were thrown against the walls, while Harry, Grace, and Teddy managed to maintain their footing with hastily cast shield charms.

"You will not stop what has been set in motion," Proctor declared. "The debt must be paid. Blood for blood."

The gateway pulsed again, growing larger. A cold wind began to howl through the cottage, though no doors or windows were open. The shadowy figures becoming more distinct—human-shaped but distorted, with elongated limbs and features twisted in expressions of rage and pain.

"Restless spirits," Grace identified them. "Souls that died violently during the collision of magical cultures. They're being drawn to her call."

Reid, who had been knocked to his knees by Proctor's magical outburst, felt a strange sensation—as if invisible fingers were brushing against his mind, trying to find purchase. The protective amulet Teddy had given him grew warm against his chest.

Harry noticed Reid's discomfort immediately. "Spencer! The amulet—hold it and focus on something anchoring. A memory, a calculation, anything uniquely you."

Reid clutched the stone pendant, focusing on the first time he'd seen Harry demonstrate magic in the BAU conference room—the memory was clear, precise, and emotionally significant. The invasive sensation receded.

Meanwhile, Morgan and Prentiss had recovered enough to help the other agents and officers retreat to a safer distance. Hotch remained near the door, his expression tense but determined as he coordinated the tactical response for whatever might emerge from the gateway.

"Now!" Harry commanded, and three wands moved in synchronized motion.

Streams of golden light shot toward the northeastern quadrant of the ritual pattern. Where they struck, the chalk lines sizzled and reformed, completing the pattern but in a different configuration—one that contained rather than invited.

Caroline Proctor screamed in fury and desperation. "No! They're so close! They deserve to return!"

"Some doors shouldn't be opened," Grace told her firmly, maintaining her spell.

The ritual pattern began to glow with a cool blue light that countered the sickly green of the gateway. The tear in reality seemed to shudder, its edges becoming less distinct.

But Proctor wasn't defeated yet. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a small leather pouch and threw it into the center of the pattern. It burst open, scattering what appeared to be bone fragments and dried herbs.

"Blood of the innocent, bone of the persecuted, breath of the ancestors," she intoned. "I call upon the spirits of Salem and Wampanoag alike. Cross over! Claim your vengeance!"

The gateway flared with renewed energy, widening dramatically. The first spirit pushed through—a translucent figure of a woman in colonial dress, her neck bearing the gruesome marks of hanging. Behind her came others—indigenous figures with wounds from colonial weapons, more accused witches bearing the marks of their executions, all with the same terrible rage in their spectral eyes.

"Full containment!" Harry shouted, abandoning the targeted approach for a more comprehensive spell.

He, Grace, and Teddy began casting simultaneously, creating a dome of protective magic that encircled the gateway and the emerging spirits. Caroline Proctor found herself trapped within this dome alongside the entities she had summoned.

For a moment, she looked triumphant, believing herself to be joining forces with the vengeful spirits. Then her expression changed to confusion, then fear, as the first spirit turned toward her.

"You are not one of us," the colonial woman's ghost hissed, her voice like rustling dry leaves. "You bear the blood of accusers, not accused."

"No," Proctor protested. "I'm Elizabeth Proctor's descendant! I've come to bring you justice!"

"Elizabeth lived," another spirit intoned. "She was not among the murdered. But Cotton Mather's blood runs in your veins as well. We sense it."

Reid caught Harry's eye. "Garcia mentioned her connection to Elijah Mather," he called out. "She must be descended from both families."

"The perfect conduit," Grace realized. "Both accuser and accused bloodlines combined."

The spirits were surrounding Proctor now, their translucent forms pressing closer. Her triumph had transformed to terror.

"Help me!" she cried out to the team. "Please! I didn't know!"

"We need to close the gateway first," Harry said grimly. "Before more come through."

"But she'll—" Teddy began.

"I know," Harry cut him off. "But we have no choice. The gateway takes priority."

Reid watched the anguish in Harry's expression—the same look he'd seen when Harry spoke of difficult decisions during the war. The weight of choosing the greater good over an individual life.

"Wait," Reid said suddenly. "The containment spell is holding the spirits that have already crossed over, right?"

"Yes," Grace confirmed. "But only temporarily. And it won't prevent more from coming through the gateway."

"What if we redirected it?" Reid suggested. "Instead of trying to close the gateway directly, seal it from the spirit side?"

Harry looked at him intently. "You're suggesting we invert the containment?"

"Exactly. Use Proctor as the anchor—she opened it, her combined bloodline might be able to reverse it."

Grace and Teddy exchanged glances.

"It could work," Grace admitted. "But it would require Proctor's voluntary participation. We can't force that kind of magical redirection."

Inside the containment dome, Caroline Proctor was cowering as the spirits circled her with increasingly menacing movements.

"Caroline!" Harry called out. "We can help you, but you have to help us close the gateway from the other side!"

"How?" she cried, her earlier confidence completely shattered.

"Your dual bloodline," Grace explained quickly. "It makes you a bridge between accuser and accused. Use that connection to reverse the flow!"

Reid noticed something in Proctor's eyes—a flash of calculation beneath the fear. "She's not going to cooperate," he warned. "She still believes in her cause."

Indeed, after a moment's hesitation, Proctor straightened, facing the spirits defiantly. "I am your avenger," she declared. "I opened the way for your return. Join with me, and together we will bring justice to the descendants of those who condemned you!"

The spirits paused in their circling, seeming to consider her words. The moment hung in balance—would they accept her as an ally despite her mixed bloodline?

Then a new figure emerged from the gateway—taller than the others, wearing the traditional garb of a Wampanoag spiritual leader. Unlike the angry spirits, this one moved with purpose and calm authority.

"Grandfather," Grace whispered in recognition.

The spiritual leader looked directly at Grace, then at Caroline Proctor. When he spoke, his voice resonated with power.

"The dead do not seek vengeance," he stated. "Only the living cling to such poison. We seek rest, not return."

He raised his spectral hands, and the other spirits grew still, their rage seeming to diminish in his presence.

"Close the pathway," he instructed Grace. "Not with force, but with respect for the boundary between worlds."

Grace nodded, understanding flowing between them. She adjusted her spell casting, her wand movements becoming more fluid, less confrontational. Harry and Teddy followed her lead, their magic synchronizing with hers.

The containment dome began to pulse with a gentle rhythm, like a heartbeat. The spirits within grew calmer, their forms less distorted. Even Caroline Proctor seemed affected, her resistance fading as the spiritual leader's influence spread throughout the containment area.

"No," she protested weakly, "my work... my justice..."

"Justice is not vengeance," the leader told her. "Learn this before you join us in the spirit world."

With those ominous words, he turned toward the gateway. The other spirits followed, seemingly drawn back through the tear they had emerged from. As they passed through, the gateway began to shrink, its edges pulling inward.

"It's working," Teddy said in awe. "They're choosing to return."

Caroline Proctor alone remained resistant. "I won't let this be for nothing," she declared, reaching into her pocket once more.

Reid spotted the movement. "Harry! She has something else!"

Before anyone could react, Proctor pulled out a small obsidian knife and slashed it across her palm. Blood welled up, and she thrust her bleeding hand into the shrinking gateway.

"By my blood, by my dual lineage, I command the gateway to remain open!" she shouted.

For a terrible moment, the gateway flared brighter, responding to her blood offering. The spirits that had been retreating paused, caught between worlds.

Then Harry did something unexpected. Instead of attacking Proctor or reinforcing the containment spell, he lowered his wand and stepped forward, placing himself directly in her line of sight.

"Caroline," he said quietly, "I understand what it's like to carry the weight of the past. To feel responsible for setting right historical wrongs."

His green eyes held hers steadily, his voice calm but filled with empathy. "But this isn't the way. These spirits don't want vengeance—they want peace. By forcing them back, you're continuing the same cycle of violence that claimed them in the first place."

Proctor's resolve wavered visibly. "They deserve justice," she insisted, but her voice had lost its certainty.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "But justice and peace, not more suffering. Let them go, Caroline. Help us heal this wound between worlds instead of keeping it open."

As Harry spoke, Reid noticed Grace and Teddy adjusting their spellwork subtly, using Harry's distraction to strengthen the closing of the gateway. The spiritual leader on the other side seemed to be helping, guiding his fellow spirits back through the narrowing tear.

Caroline Proctor looked from Harry to the retreating spirits, conflict evident in her expression. The magical glow in her eyes was fading, returning to normal human brown. Finally, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I only wanted to make it right," she whispered.

"Then help us close it properly," Harry urged gently. "With respect, not force."

After a long moment, Proctor nodded. She turned toward the gateway, her bleeding hand still extended, but now her posture was one of release rather than command.

"I release you," she said to the spirits. "Find your peace."

The last of the spirits passed through the gateway, the Wampanoag leader being the final one. He paused, looking back at Grace with what seemed like gratitude, then at Proctor with something resembling pity. Then he too was gone.

The gateway contracted rapidly, the tear in reality knitting itself closed like a wound healing in accelerated time. With a final pulse of light, it sealed completely, leaving the cottage in sudden, profound silence.

The containment dome dissipated as Harry, Grace, and Teddy lowered their wands. Caroline Proctor collapsed to her knees, looking suddenly older and utterly exhausted.

"It's over," Harry announced, tension draining from his body.

FBI agents and police officers moved in immediately to secure Proctor, who offered no resistance as she was handcuffed and read her rights. The ordinary law enforcement protocols seemed almost surreally mundane after what they had just witnessed.

"What will happen to her?" Reid asked Harry quietly as they watched her being led away.

"Dual jurisdiction," Harry explained. "She'll face charges in both magical and non-magical courts. The magical side will likely focus on rehabilitation rather than punishment—she has genuine talent that was misdirected."

"And the gateway? Is it truly closed?"

"Yes," Grace answered, joining their conversation. "Though this location will need monitoring. Once a thin spot has been exploited, it can take time to fully stabilize."

Teddy approached, his expression a mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion. "That was..." he searched for words, "intense."

Harry smiled, placing a hand on his godson's shoulder. "You did well. Your containment spell was perfect."

"Indeed," Grace agreed. "You have a natural aptitude for cross-cultural magical integration, young Mr. Lupin. My department would welcome your interest, should you consider a career in that direction."

Teddy's hair briefly flashed turquoise with pleasure before he remembered to maintain his more subdued appearance in front of the Muggles.

As the scene was secured and evidence collected, the team gradually reconvened outside the cottage. The sun had fully set, and stars were appearing in the clear autumn sky. The night felt clean and ordinary—no lingering sense of the supernatural breach they had just witnessed and sealed.

"So," Morgan said, approaching Reid and Harry, "just another day at the office, huh?"

"Actually," Harry replied with a tired smile, "this was unusual even by my standards."

"That's not reassuring," Prentiss commented, joining them.

"The good news," Hotch announced, ending a phone call, "is that Elijah Mather has been located and taken into custody. He claims to have been financing Proctor's research without knowing her true intentions, but Garcia found evidence suggesting otherwise."

"They were working together to identify and activate thin spots throughout New England," Rossi added. "A comprehensive plan to weaken the barrier between worlds at specific historical locations."

"We'll need to check all the sites Mather purchased," Grace noted. "Ensure no other gateways are in the process of formation."

"I've already contacted the American Auror Division," Harry assured her. "They're coordinating with your team for a full assessment."

Reid observed the seamless cooperation between magical and non-magical law enforcement with interest. The boundaries between their worlds seemed increasingly permeable, not unlike the thin spots they had been discussing—places where separate realities touched and occasionally merged.

"Hungry, anyone?" JJ suggested, breaking the serious mood. "I think we all could use a meal after... whatever that was."

The team agreed enthusiastically, even Grace accepting the invitation to join them. As they walked back toward their vehicles, Reid fell into step beside Harry, their hands occasionally brushing in a subtle reminder of their connection.

"Your vacation keeps getting interrupted by magical emergencies," Reid noted, echoing his earlier observation.

"At this point, I'm beginning to think the magical emergencies are the vacation," Harry replied with a wry smile. "Compared to my usual paperwork, anyway."

"Is this what dating a wizarding law enforcement officer is going to be like?" Reid asked lightly. "Gateways to the spirit world over dinner? Vengeful ghosts interrupting weekend plans?"

"Dating, is it?" Harry responded, his smile widening. "I don't recall properly asking you yet."

"I believe actions speak louder than words," Reid countered. "And your actions have been rather... declarative."

Harry laughed softly. "Fair point. Though I should warn you—my life does tend toward the extraordinary, even by wizarding standards. The quiet moments are rare."

"I've noticed," Reid said. "Fortunately, I find the extraordinary quite fascinating."

"Even when it involves near-death experiences and dimensional breaches?"

"Especially then," Reid admitted. "Though perhaps we could aim for slightly fewer life-threatening situations on our next date."

"I'll do my best," Harry promised. "No guarantees, though. Trouble finds me, remember?"

"Then it's a good thing you've found people who are good at handling trouble," Reid replied, nodding toward the team ahead of them—their extended family of profilers and now, increasingly, magical allies.

As they reached the vehicles, Teddy bounded up to them, his excitement having overcome his exhaustion. "That was brilliant! The way you negotiated with Proctor while Grace and I redirected the containment spell—perfect synchronization!"

"Don't get too enthusiastic about nearly catastrophic magical events," Harry cautioned, though his tone was affectionate. "This isn't typical fieldwork."

"Says the man who rode a dragon out of Gringotts," Teddy retorted.

"He did what?" Reid asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Long story," Harry said quickly, shooting Teddy a look that promised retribution for bringing up that particular adventure.

Teddy just grinned. "Ask me about it sometime when Harry's not around. I know all the best stories."

As they drove back toward the city, the night settled around them peacefully. Reid found himself contemplating the strange path his life had taken in recent weeks—from a world defined by science and observable evidence to one where magic was real and spirits could be summoned through dimensional gateways.

Yet through all the strangeness, one thing felt remarkably right—the man sitting beside him, whose extraordinary life had somehow become intertwined with his own.

Whatever came next—be it mundane paperwork or magical catastrophe—they would face it together, the wizard and the profiler, bridging worlds that were never meant to be entirely separate.

Chapter Text

One month had passed since the Boston case. Autumn had fully embraced Virginia, painting the landscape in vibrant reds and golds. The BAU team had returned to their regular caseload, though with a newfound awareness of the magical world that occasionally intersected with their own.

Reid sat at his desk in the bullpen, finishing paperwork from their latest case—a reassuringly mundane serial arsonist in Tennessee with no magical elements whatsoever. Morgan was recounting the highlights of last night's football game to Prentiss, who was pretending to be interested while secretly completing a crossword puzzle beneath her desk.

The peaceful normalcy of the moment was something Reid had come to appreciate more deeply since his introduction to the wizarding world. Ordinary life had taken on a new luster when contrasted with dimensional gateways and vengeful spirits.

"Earth to Reid," Morgan called, snapping his fingers. "You're a million miles away, pretty boy."

Reid blinked, returning to the present. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"About a certain British wizard?" Prentiss suggested with a knowing smile.

Reid didn't bother denying it. His relationship with Harry had become common knowledge among the team, accepted with the same matter-of-fact support they showed for all aspects of each other's lives.

"His international portkey arrives at six," Reid confirmed. "First visit back since he returned to London."

After the Boston case, Harry had extended his stay for another week before duty called him back to Britain. Teddy had returned to Hogwarts for his final year, armed with enough field experience to write several term papers—though the Statute of Secrecy limited how much he could officially document.

The past month had seen Reid and Harry maintaining their relationship through magical means—enchanted journals that allowed them to write messages that appeared in each other's books instantly, occasional firecalls (which still made Reid jump when Harry's head appeared in his fireplace), and one memorable weekend when Harry had arranged an international portkey to bring Reid to London for two whirlwind days of exploring wizarding Britain.

"Has Hotch approved your vacation request?" Morgan asked.

"Two weeks at Christmas," Reid confirmed. "I'll spend one week in London, then Harry's coming back with me for New Year's."

"Garcia's already planning the party," Prentiss warned. "Something about 'magical midnight festivities' that I'm slightly afraid to ask about."

Reid smiled. Garcia had embraced the magical world with predictable enthusiasm, maintaining regular correspondence with both Harry and Hermione about the potential interface between magical and technological systems. She'd even begun dating an American wizard who worked in the Department of Technological Integration at the Magical Congress—a relationship that had developed after the Boston case.

"Speaking of plans," Morgan said, "Rossi wanted me to remind you about dinner tonight. He said, and I quote, 'Tell the kid not to try skipping out just because his wizard boyfriend's in town. Bring him along—I've got a 1947 Barolo I've been saving for an occasion.'"

"Wouldn't miss it," Reid assured him. Rossi's dinner parties had become a team tradition, and the senior profiler had been particularly interested in conversing with Harry about historical cases that might have had unidentified magical elements.

The afternoon passed quickly, and soon Reid was signing out for the day. He drove to the designated arrival point for international portkeys—an unassuming office building in Arlington that concealed a branch of the American Department of Magical Transportation.

He arrived early, as was his habit, and settled in the waiting area. A few other people sat nearby—presumably also waiting for arriving wizards. One woman was knitting what appeared to be a perfectly normal scarf until Reid noticed the needles were moving on their own while she read a magazine.

At precisely six o'clock, a door labeled "International Arrivals" opened, and travelers began emerging in small groups. Reid recognized the slightly disoriented expressions of those who had just experienced portkey travel—something he was becoming uncomfortably familiar with himself.

Then Harry appeared, looking slightly windswept but smiling when he spotted Reid. He wore Muggle clothing—well-fitted jeans and a dark green sweater that matched his eyes—having learned from experience that wizarding robes attracted too much attention in Washington.

Reid stood, feeling the now-familiar flutter in his chest at the sight of Harry. A month apart had done nothing to diminish the connection between them; if anything, it had strengthened through their consistent communication across the distance.

"Spencer," Harry greeted him warmly, closing the distance between them. They embraced, Harry's solid presence instantly familiar and reassuring.

"Welcome back," Reid said as they separated. "Good journey?"

"Smooth enough," Harry replied. "Though I still maintain portkeys were designed by someone with a sadistic streak."

They exited the magical transit center, stepping into the crisp autumn evening. Reid's car was parked nearby, but neither was in a hurry to reach it, preferring to walk slowly and reconnect in person.

"How's Teddy?" Reid asked as they strolled.

"Thriving," Harry said with obvious pride. "Top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. His career counseling session went well—he's officially applying for the international magical law enforcement training program after graduation."

"Grace Thundercloud's recommendation probably helped," Reid noted.

"Immensely. Though his natural aptitude is the real advantage." Harry's expression grew thoughtful. "He asks about you, you know. Wanted to make sure I was bringing back those physics books you promised him."

Reid smiled. "They're in the car. Including that quantum theory text he was curious about."

Their conversation flowed easily as they caught up on the past month. Harry shared news from the wizarding world—Hermione's latest policy initiatives, advancements in magical law enforcement techniques inspired by their collaborative cases, Ron's expanding joke shop business. Reid updated Harry on the team's recent cases and personal developments, including Garcia's new wizarding boyfriend.

"I might have had something to do with that introduction," Harry admitted with a grin. "Kevin works with Arthur Weasley occasionally on Muggle technology. Seemed like a good match for Garcia's... enthusiasm."

"Matchmaking now?" Reid teased. "Adding to your repertoire of magical skills?"

"Hardly. Though I should warn you—Molly Weasley is rather eager to meet you at Christmas. She has a tendency to adopt people into the family, and you've been mentioned enough times to pique her interest."

Reid felt a flutter of nervousness at the prospect of meeting Harry's surrogate family. "Is there wizarding etiquette I should know? Proper greetings? Taboo topics?"

Harry laughed. "Just be yourself. The Weasleys are about as informal as wizarding families get. Though maybe let me explain Quidditch before Ron tries to—his explanations tend to assume you already understand the basics."

They reached Reid's car, where Harry stored his expanded travel bag in the trunk. The schedule for the evening included dropping Harry's things at Reid's apartment before heading to Rossi's for dinner. The team had intentionally organized the gathering for Harry's first night back, understanding the importance of including him in their extended family rituals.

As Reid drove, Harry gazed out at the Virginia landscape, admiring the autumn colors in the fading light.

"I missed this," Harry said quietly after a while.

"The fall foliage?" Reid asked.

"That too," Harry acknowledged with a smile. "But I meant this. Us. Being in the same place without a crisis to manage."

Reid reached over, briefly taking Harry's hand. "We have two weeks of that to look forward to."

"I've been thinking," Harry said, a note of seriousness entering his voice. "About the long-term logistics of this. Us."

Reid felt a momentary tightness in his chest. "Having second thoughts?"

"The opposite, actually," Harry assured him quickly. "I'm thinking about options to make the distance more manageable. The international portkey office owes me several favors—I could arrange more regular travel authorizations."

"That would be wonderful," Reid said, relaxing. "But your work—"

"Is evolving," Harry completed the thought. "After these collaborative cases, Hermione's been pushing for a more formal liaison position between magical law enforcement agencies internationally. She's suggested I might be well-suited to develop the program."

"Which would mean more time in America," Reid realized.

"Potentially, yes. Nothing's decided yet, but the option exists." Harry hesitated. "I wanted to make sure you'd be open to the possibility before pursuing it further."

Reid considered this as he navigated toward his apartment. The prospect of having Harry more consistently present in his life was undeniably appealing, but he recognized the significance of such a career shift for someone of Harry's standing in the wizarding world.

"I wouldn't want you to compromise your position at the Ministry," he said carefully.

"It wouldn't be a compromise," Harry countered. "More an evolution. After twenty years of chasing dark wizards, perhaps it's time for something different. Something that bridges worlds rather than just protects one."

The thoughtfulness in Harry's voice suggested this wasn't a new consideration, nor one made lightly. Reid recognized that Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived, the wizard who had saved the magical world more than once—was contemplating a significant life change, one that aligned their futures more closely.

"In that case," Reid said as they pulled into the parking space at his apartment building, "I'm very open to the possibility."

Harry's smile was warm and genuine. "Good. We can discuss the details later. For now, I believe we have a dinner engagement with your team."

Reid nodded, but before exiting the car, he leaned across and kissed Harry—a moment of connection that communicated everything words couldn't quite capture. The simple joy of reunion, the promise of shared future possibilities, the gratitude for finding someone who understood both the extraordinary and ordinary aspects of life.

When they arrived at Rossi's mansion an hour later, the team welcomed Harry as one of their own. Garcia arrived with Kevin, her wizard boyfriend, creating an even balance of magical and non-magical attendees. The dinner was exactly what Reid had come to expect from Rossi—exceptional food, plentiful wine, and conversation that flowed easily between cases, personal stories, and increasingly blended discussions of both magical and mundane worlds.

After dinner, they gathered in Rossi's back garden, where enchanted fairy lights (courtesy of Kevin) twinkled among the trees. The autumn evening was cool but pleasant, the sky clear and filled with stars.

Morgan raised his glass in an impromptu toast. "To unexpected partnerships," he said, nodding toward Harry and Reid. "And to finding connections across worlds that were never supposed to meet."

"Hear, hear," Rossi agreed, adding with his typical dry humor, "And to magical consultants who make our closure rates look even better."

Laughter rippled through the group, accompanied by the clinking of glasses. Reid found himself observing the scene with a sense of contentment he rarely experienced—his BAU family and the magical world he'd discovered through Harry, combined in one harmonious moment.

Later, as they prepared to leave, Hotch pulled Reid aside briefly.

"I've received an interesting proposal from the Director," he said in his characteristically direct manner. "A specialized unit for cases with potential magical elements. Small, discreet, but officially sanctioned. He asked if you might be interested in heading it."

Reid blinked in surprise. "Me? Not you?"

"You're the logical choice," Hotch said. "You've absorbed more knowledge about the magical world in a few months than most could in years. And you have a unique connection to both communities." His eyes flickered briefly toward Harry, who was engaged in conversation with Prentiss and JJ across the room.

"I'd still work with the BAU?" Reid asked, immediately concerned about maintaining his current role.

"Primarily, yes. This would be a supplementary assignment, activated only when specific cases arise." Hotch's expression softened slightly. "Consider it an opportunity to formalize what's already happening informally."

Reid nodded thoughtfully. "Can I have some time to think about it?"

"Of course. The position is yours if you want it, whenever you decide." Hotch placed a hand briefly on Reid's shoulder—a rare gesture of physical support from the typically reserved unit chief. "For what it's worth, I think you'd excel at it."

The conversation lingered in Reid's mind as he and Harry drove back to his apartment later that evening. Another bridge between worlds, another way of formalizing the connections that had begun with the Rookwood case just months ago.

"You're quiet," Harry observed as they entered the apartment. "Everything alright?"

Reid summarized his conversation with Hotch as they settled in the living room. Harry listened attentively, then smiled.

"It seems we've both been offered liaison positions," he noted. "The universe appears to be nudging us in a particular direction."

"Or we've created our own pattern," Reid suggested. "By successfully bridging these worlds once, we've demonstrated the possibility, which naturally leads to formalization of the approach."

"The profiler's perspective," Harry said with affection. "Always analyzing patterns."

"Says the man who tracks dark wizards by their magical signatures," Reid countered lightly.

They were sitting close on the couch, the familiar comfort of being together after weeks apart creating a bubble of contentment around them. Outside the window, the autumn night was peaceful, stars visible despite the city lights.

"Whatever we decide about these new positions," Harry said, "I'm glad we found each other. Even if it took a murderous dark wizard to make it happen."

"Statistically, most significant relationships begin during periods of heightened emotional stress," Reid offered. "Though I admit, dark magical rituals probably fall outside the normal parameters of that research."

Harry laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "I love when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Apply statistical analysis to the extraordinary." Harry's green eyes held his, filled with affection. "It's uniquely you—bridging rational analysis and magical reality."

Reid smiled, recognizing the truth in Harry's observation. His whole life had been about finding patterns, understanding behaviors, categorizing the world through an analytical lens. Meeting Harry hadn't changed that fundamental aspect of himself—it had simply expanded the parameters of what he considered possible.

"Speaking of extraordinary," Harry said, reaching into his pocket, "I brought you something."

He withdrew a small wooden box, beautifully crafted with inlaid patterns that seemed to shift subtly in the light. He handed it to Reid, who accepted it with curiosity.

Inside, nestled on velvet, was what appeared to be an antique pocket watch. The case was silver, engraved with astronomical symbols that Reid recognized as constellations. When he opened it, instead of a traditional watch face, he found a complex arrangement of tiny golden gears and celestial markers that moved in patterns more complex than any timepiece he'd ever seen.

"It's beautiful," Reid said, examining the intricate mechanisms. "But I'm guessing it's not just a watch."

"Good guess," Harry confirmed with a smile. "It's a communication device, similar to mine. This particular model was designed by Luna Lovegood—she has a gift for unconventional magical applications. It works anywhere in the world, regardless of distance."

Reid turned it over in his hands, appreciating both the craftsmanship and the sentiment behind the gift. "So we can communicate more easily when we're apart."

"Exactly. And—" Harry hesitated, then continued, "it also serves as an emergency portkey. If you're ever in danger and need immediate assistance, turning the outer rim three times counterclockwise while thinking of safety will transport you to a secure location."

The protective aspect of the gift touched Reid deeply. He understood what it meant coming from Harry—someone who had lost so many people in his life, who knew the value of having escape routes in dangerous situations.

"Thank you," he said simply, knowing Harry would understand the depth of his gratitude.

They spent the rest of the evening in comfortable conversation, making plans for the two weeks they had together and discussing the possibilities their respective liaison offers presented. No decisions needed to be made immediately—they had time to consider options, to explore what this evolving relationship between their worlds might become.

Later, as they prepared for bed, Reid found himself thinking about the journey that had brought them to this point. A case file on his desk, a British consultant with unusual methods, a revelation that had expanded his understanding of reality itself. And through it all, the gradual, natural development of connection between two people who, by all conventional odds, should never have met.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked as he emerged from the bathroom, catching Reid's contemplative expression.

"About improbability," Reid replied honestly. "The statistical unlikelihood of all the factors that had to align for us to meet."

Harry smiled, coming to stand beside him. "Magical thinking suggests some connections are fated. Written in the stars, as they say."

"While probability theory would indicate that given enough variables and iterations, even highly unlikely events become inevitable across a large enough sample size," Reid countered, then smiled. "Both perspectives have their merits."

"A diplomatic answer," Harry observed, taking Reid's hand. "Bridging magical and mathematical worldviews."

"It's becoming something of a specialty," Reid admitted.

As they settled into bed, the familiar comfort of Harry's presence beside him, Reid found himself perfectly content in this space between worlds—where magic and science, emotion and analysis, British wizard and American profiler could coexist in harmonious balance.

Whatever challenges lay ahead—whether magical threats, bureaucratic complications of their new potential roles, or simply the ordinary difficulties of building a life together across international boundaries—they would face them together, continually building bridges between their worlds.

The boy who lived and the genius profiler—an improbable partnership that somehow made perfect sense. Different approaches to understanding the world that, when combined, created something greater than either alone.

"Good night, Spencer," Harry murmured sleepily beside him.

"Good night, Harry," Reid replied, letting his analytical mind rest as sleep approached.

Outside, stars wheeled across the sky—the same stars visible from London and Washington, from Hogwarts and Quantico. The same universe encompassing both magical and mundane realities, separate yet ultimately part of the same whole.

Just like them.