A/N: I got the idea for this while I was in my Deathly Hallows hangover phase. Not that I have completely recovered…

This is my first cross-over and HP fic, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

"You sure you don't want to come? Parker's going to be real disappointed."

Booth stood by the doorway as he waited for Brennan's answer. He had been trying to convince her to abandon the stacks of paper on her desk and see a movie with him and Parker instead for the last five minutes. His efforts were futile, as with ninety percent of the time. Once Brennan was in her work-mode, there was just no stopping her. By Einstein's definition, he would have been branded as insane, repeating the same action and expecting a different outcome. But he still tried anyway.

"I'm sorry, Booth. As much as I want to, you know I have work to do. I'm sure Parker would understand." When he didn't answer, Brennan looked up at him for the first time since he'd entered the room. He looked more disappointed than she thought he would be. "Tell him I'm buying dinner next time," she quickly added as consolation. And before Booth could even ask, she answered his unspoken question. "For both of you."

Booth grinned. "Just remember that you're the one who volunteered to do this all right? Under your own free will," he reminded her, to which she chuckled softly before nodding.

After giving a last meaningful look at her, Booth turned on his heel to leave. He had barely taken a step when he stopped, looked over his shoulder, and decided to try his luck one more time.

"You sure you don't-"

"Yes," Brennan cut him off shortly.

"Okay, okay. Just checking," Booth assured her, wary of the dangerous tone in her single word response. He should have known better than to interrupt her. He turned around and heeded her warning, getting out of her line of sight as fast as he could.

Brennan smiled. She found his determination quite amusing. She knew that he meant well, that he was only concerned about her lack of time for anything other than work. But as much as she would have enjoyed spending the evening with them, she saw no point in lollygagging knowing that she had far more important things to do. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could join them, she figured.

And besides, she was stuck in her office partly because of Booth anyway. In fact, she had been proofreading her report on the case they had just wrapped up the other day when he invited her to come along.

Remembering what she was supposed to be doing, she let Booth's invitation slip off her mind and turned her attention back to the page she was holding. She worked undisturbed for a few minutes, setting down the papers in her hands every now and then to cross something out or to add something she forgot to put.

And then she heard it. A crack, like that of a whip, reverberated off the walls, followed by a momentary silence. Brennan instinctively looked up. She almost dropped her pen in shock. Her jaw slacked as her eyes set on three teenagers standing barely a foot from her desk. Their hands were held together and their backs were turned against her. There were all dressed to the nines; the two boys sported tuxedos while the lone girl donned a lovely red dress. Judging by the quick rise and fall of their shoulders, they were panting heavily, as though they had just ran a thousand miles.

"That was close. They almost got us," the boy in the left, who was shorter than the other two, broke the silence. He then looked around. His companions did the same, scanning every corner except those behind them, where Brennan continued to stare, too dumbstruck to say anything. "Where are we anyway?"

"We seem to be in an office of some kind," the girl answered almost immediately.

"But why here, of all places?" the red-headed boy asked, an odd mix of panic and amazement in his voice.

"It's probably because of one of the goblets at the wedding. It must have been the last thing I saw before I Disapparated," the girl explained, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She then pointed to the goblet that lay on the small table beside the couch. "There's a similar looking one right over there."

The red-headed boy was not convinced. He repeated his question, this time more firmly, and pointed out how goblets can be found just about anywhere. But the girl was quick to note that that particular goblet had a chip in it and how that tiny detail could have made it identical to the one at the wedding. A few more retorts later and their conversation had broken off into a very heated argument.

After their bickering has been forced to a close by their other companion, the three started to talk about horcruxes, muggles, a Patronus and some guy who they referred to as 'you-know-who' because the red-headed boy expressed his objection – "Don't…say…the…name!" – whenever either of them got close to saying it.

He must really hate this person since he can't stand hearing even his name, Brennan mused.

After a few more moments of listening, she thought that she had picked up their names. If she was right, then the three teenagers were Harry, Hermione, and Ron respectively.

It was then that Brennan's mind spun. Who in the world are these people? How did they get in there? Security was tight in the Jeffersonian. No one, especially not a bunch of teenagers, would have been able to get inside the premises, let alone inside her very office, without going through all the rigid security measures. She should have at least gotten a call from the guards about visitors coming in.

The most logical reason that she could think of was that they must be relatives of Nigel-Murray, who like them had an unmistakably British accent. But even if this were the case, she has yet to work out why exactly all three of them came, dressed as if they were attending the presidential inauguration, when Nigel-Murray's next shift was still two weeks away.

"Uh, guys."

One of them, who she assumed was Harry, had finally noticed her presence. The other two, who appeared to have been caught in another argument, stopped mid-sentence instantly. Almost at the same time, they turned around to see just what their friend was so worried about. In barely a heartbeat, they looked as terrified, maybe even more, as Brennan was.

"Hi," Ron greeted weakly, breaking the awkward air that had settled as the four stared in shock at each other. He was quickly nudged in the ribs by Hermione, who shot him a disapproving look. Harry found it unwise as well. If the glare he shot at him was any indication, it was that he wasn't too happy about his greeting. "What? I was being polite!"

Moments after that, not a single soul dared to move a muscle.

Then slowly, Hermione reached into her beaded purse, eyes still locked apprehensively on Brennan, and began to pull out what appeared to be a long, wooden stick. Just how she managed to make it fit inside the small bag and just what she had planned to do with it, Brennan never got to find out; Harry had put a hand on her wrist before she could draw the thing out completely. He seemed to have read her mind, opting to express his disagreement with whatever she wanted to do by shaking his head. She looked at him, as if to say no, that he didn't know what he was saying. But in the end, she tucked it back inside her bag anyway, though a little hesitantly.

Harry turned back towards Brennan. "We…better go," he excused themselves politely.

"Nice meeting you," Hermione said awkwardly, mustering the most reassuring smile she could.

"What she said," Ron muttered, his thumb pointing at Hermione.

And as fast as they appeared, they were gone. Before the three vanished completely from sight, however, Brennan caught a glimpse of a lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead, which had been previously obscured from view by his bangs.

It took a few minutes before Brennan was able to regain a semblance of composure. Still a bit shaken, she finally got up from her seat and, very slowly, walked towards the spot where the three teenagers had appeared earlier. She blinked once, twice, half-expecting them to materialize before her. But nothing happened. She was alone. Or was she?

Unsure of what to do next, she stretched her arms out and started groping in the air. She kept at it, waving her arms and hands trying to find something she couldn't see, until she realized how silly she was acting, how stupid she must look.

Bringing her arms down, she straightened up, fished out her phone, and hit speed dial, her eyes still fixed in front of her. There was only one thing she should do.

"I think I may be free tonight after all," she said as casually as she could when the line was picked up. Even if she couldn't see him, she knew that Booth must have been beaming as he heard those words.

"What's with the sudden change of heart?"

If this were another time, Brennan would have taken his question literally. Booth had just realized this mistake and was about to clarify what he meant when Brennan cut him off. "You're right. I am overworked. Just minutes after you left there were these three teenagers with British accents who suddenly appeared and disappeared in my office."

There was a long silence as Booth tried to think of an appropriate response while Brennan brooded over her terrible choice of words.

"Did one of them happen to have a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead?"

Booth was only joking, which is why Brennan's response – "Yes! How did you know?" – was a total surprise for him. She sounded far too alarmed to be making the stuff up. And she wasn't the type to joke about things like these in the first place.

"Whoa, overworked is an understatement. Did you just say you saw Harry Potter in your office?"

"Harry who?"

"You'll find out later. I'll meet you in the parking lot in around 10 minutes. That okay?"

"Yes, thank you."

Brennan ended the call, now more confused than ever. She didn't have a clue who that Harry person Booth had been talking about was, but strangely enough, one of the teenagers earlier was also named Harry, not to mention that he also had a lightning-shaped scar. Her mind told her to brush it off as a coincidence, but she could not help thinking otherwise.

As he had promised, Booth arrived in ten minutes flat, Parker now in tow. They reached the movie house just before the movie started. Given that it was a film with magic as one of its main elements, Booth found it strange that Brennan had opted to watch the movie quietly like everyone else instead of pointing out inaccuracies every few minutes like she always did. But he was happy about it, nevertheless.

It was only when it had ended and the three of them had decided to head down to the diner had Brennan finally broken out of her spell. "It's the boy. It's them," she kept telling them again and again all throughout the evening. While Parker thought that it was cool to see fictional characters outside a television screen, Booth was now more concerned than ever about her rather extreme work ethics. So concerned was he that he actually suggested that they consult Sweets about it, who later told them that it was simply a case of stress-induced hallucinations.

And despite having a hard time doing so, Brennan forced herself to believe him. She was very happy where she was right now away from the loony bin, after all.

Do tell me what you think. Reviews are like crack to me. ;)