This is it, folks! Thanks to everyone who followed this story, I have enjoyed you all! *hugs*

"My dear child, such a path of discord follows you," Dr. Dee said to Hermione as he patted her hand. "Rest assured, the Queen has not shuffled off her mortal coil as previously thought."

Hermione closed her eyes in blessed relief, nearly sobbing. "I swear to you, I was only protecting her from…"

"Yes?"

Would he believe her if she told him the truth? "Some unseen force moved the cross, Dr. Dee. That is all I can say for certain."

He gave her an assessing look.

Fred, who had been pacing the length of the library searching for a way out, stopped in front of the desk where Dee and Hermione were seated. "You seem like a forward-thinking Mug… erm, man, Dee."

Dee arched a brow, and Hermione's eyes widened at Fred's slip. "I reserve judgement on the unknown," Dee said, "as it has oft been proven that the impossible becomes quite plausible."

"Are you superstitious?"

"Fred," Hermione warned, gaining an inkling of what he was contemplating as she noticed his fingers tapping against his thigh where his wand was hidden.

"I have great respect, and not a small amount of curiosity, for the beliefs of others. Some are rooted in very real fact. Others, merely based on the fear of the mysterious," Dee answered cautiously.

Ignoring the warning glare Hermione sent his way, Fred produced his wand and handed it to Dee for inspection. "Dogwood, ten and a quarter inches, dragon heartstring, quite pliable," Fred proudly said. "George's is longer—he does have more personality—but mine's better for Transfiguration."

"Extraordinary," Dee breathed, weighing the wand in his hand. He studied the markings, turning it this way and that. "The craftsmanship is exquisite. 'Tis a fine bit of wood."

Fred plucked it from Dee's hands. "It's not a twig, if that's what you're thinking." He tapped it on his palm, obviously considering Dee's reaction to what he was about to do. "It's a wand."

"Fred!" Hermione ground out. "I really don't think this is a good idea!"

"Nay, Lady Granger," Dee said, dismissing her concern with a pat to her shoulder. "I am profoundly curious as to this 'wand's' capabilities. Tell me, Master Frederick, what purpose does this instrument serve?"

Fred gave Hermione a cheeky grin, then pointed his wand at a stack of tomes on the desk. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Dee gasped and jumped to his feet, stumbling to follow the books as they gently floated around the room. He moved his hands around in the air surrounding the heavy volumes, apparently searching for mechanical means by which this feat could be achieved. His brow furrowed when he found nothing.

A loud thumping on the oaken doors of the library caused Fred to lose his concentration and the stack fell to the floor. Both Dee and Hermione grimaced at the possible damage.

"Dr. Dee, your time has expired," came a muffled voice from the hall. "The Queen wishes to speak with you."

Ashen-faced, Dee closed his slack jaw with a snap. He cleared his throat and stroked his ample beard in a very Dumbledore fashion. "I must not tarry, children," he whispered to Hermione and Fred. "I will plead your case with the Queen and pray that she sees reason, for you are indeed, most wondrous individuals." He gave them a grave look and a nod. "You were wise to hide such 'talents'. I will return anon."

When the door closed behind Dee, Hermione turned and glared at Fred. "That was totally irresponsible."

"It was necessary, Mum."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "It's obvious you never listened to her, so it can't hurt to try."

Fred's gave a wry laugh. "You will never be like my mum."

Her breath caught in her chest, hurt prickling in the region of her heart. Molly Weasley was and always had been the paragon of motherhood in the wizarding community. It wasn't as if Hermione were striving to emulate her, but still, being told she would never achieve such success by one of Molly's own brood rankled quite a bit. It made Fred's earlier declaration that he would not let her go once they returned to their own time seem suspect, tainted in the face of adversity.

Hermione bit her lip to keep the stinging behind her eyes at bay. She gave Fred a wan smile. "No, I expect not. Molly's a lucky witch to have so many that love her." She turned away and sat down at the escritoire to search through its drawers, ignoring the wizard on the other side of the room and trying to push away the feeling that, once again, she wasn't good enough for someone to truly care about her.

"Hermione," Fred said a short time later. She heard him sigh heavily. "I'm sorry."

She ignored him. She had found an old-fashioned quill, a half-full ink bottle and several sheets of parchment, and began writing a list of things she planned to do when… if they escaped this mess. So engrossed with her writing, and her concentrated effort not to acknowledge Fred Weasley, was she that she didn't realise he was looking over her shoulder at what she had written until he spoke.

"When you plan to run starkers through Hogsmeade, do let me know; I want a front row seat."

"Go away."

"Hermione, I said I'm—"

"I heard very well what you said, Fred."

She felt a hesitant touch on the nape of her neck, his fingers lightly brushing back and forth along the soft hairs that had escaped from her chignon. "No one will ever be like my mum," he murmured. "And I wouldn't want someone I lo… someone I care about to be like her either." He bent low so that he invaded Hermione's line of vision. "You are more than that. Always have been. I wager Ron wouldn't have fallen in love with you like he did if you weren't."

She was so caught up in the sound of his soft voice that she almost missed the last words. "I love Ron, but not that way. Not anymore."

Fred gave her a faint smile. "I know it's presumptuous of me to say this, but I'm glad."

She look straight into his eyes, part of her afraid to ask the obvious question but part of her equally afraid to remain silent, not knowing. "Why?"

His strong, wide hands cupped her face, thumbs softly caressing her cheeks. "Because it makes this less despicable." He pressed his lips to hers in a fevered kiss.

Deep-seated hunger, and something else as yet unnamed, sizzled between them, and she knew he felt it too, because when he drew back he looked at her strangely. Surely seeing the same emotion reflected in her eyes, he tilted her head at the perfect angle and sealed his mouth over hers, his tongue plunging between her swollen lips.

She slid her hands into his silky hair and tightened them into fists, loving his low groan of desire. When he ran his palms roughly over her corset-covered breasts, it coaxed little mewling noises from her throat. Gods, she wanted him! Hours away from potential death, and all she could think about was having one last taste of Fred Weasley.

With no subtlety at all, she twisted on the chair and let her thighs fall wide apart for him to nestle between, which he did most willingly. She searched his face—his handsome, scarred visage, with honey-brown eyes staring intently at her, as if she were his world for this brief moment in time—and found that naming that elusive emotion flitting around in her chest and stomach was the easiest thing she had ever done in her entire life: love. Verbalising it, however, was another matter altogether.

"Your brain is swelling from all that thinking you're doing, Hermione," Fred teased gently.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him forward until he was snug in the crux of her thighs. "Shut up and kiss me."

"Oh, domineering! I love it. Remind me to buy you a leather outfit and whip when we—mmmph!"

She effectively brought that train of thought to a halt as she indulged in nibbling Fred's luscious mouth, robbing them both of breath. The kiss became urgent when he trailed fingers along the lace covering her breasts.

"Did you know the primary biological function of breasts is to make males stupid?" he quipped, sounding a bit breathless, when they separated for air.

Hermione chuckled. "Is that so? And is your brain function diminished in any way?"

He pushed the delicate fabric to the side and nuzzled her flesh. "Hmm? What did you say?"

"Never mind," she panted, closing her eyes the better to focus on the delicious sensations his lips were arousing. "Just keep going."

"I plan to."

She felt the front of her corset forced down and the cool air teased her nipples into puckered crests. Fred palmed the mounds, lifting and squeezing them before groaning and burying his face between them, rubbing back and forth and then drawing a nipple deep into his mouth.

Hermione nearly lost consciousness as he scattered scorching kisses over her breasts, her hips slowly undulating of their own accord with every pull of his sinful mouth. She whimpered when he grasped her waist, tugged her forward, and rose with her firmly wrapped around him, only to murmur a Cushioning Charm and lay her down upon the floor.

Wasting no time, he knelt between her thighs and rucked up her skirts, his eyes smouldering when he glimpsed the impromptu knickers she and Meg had created. Her trimmed curls could be seen peeking through a diamond-shaped slit in the plantlets.

"Fuck me, but that's sexy as hell," Fred growled as he bent low and licked the sensitive skin just above her mound.

"Oh, God!"

"No, just me," he said with a grin.

He spread her thighs, placing little nips along her mons then finally dipping to curve his tongue around her clit. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as he licked again and again, building a delicious sensation beneath her skin. One particularly strong suck made her arch against him, begging for more.

Fred alternated between sucks, licks, and love bites as his warm hands glided up and down her thighs. She could feel her knees trembling and she tangled one hand in his hair to ground her.

"Would you think me naïve if I told you I've never experienced anything like this before?" she murmured.

"I'm wounded, love. Did our performance earlier count for nothing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course it did, you prat." Her fingertips drifted over his brow. "This is something different, though… isn't it?"

He took her wrist and kissed her palm. "There's no fooling you, my lady." Releasing her hand, he freed the clasp on his trousers before crawling up her body, pausing to stare deeply into her eyes. "I vow I'm a good wizard, Hermione. Do you care for me, even just a wee bit?"

"I know you are, Fred." She cupped his face and gave him a tender smile, letting her hand fall to his heart. "And what I feel for you… it goes beyond mere caring."

"Excellent," he said with a smirk. He shifted between her thighs and rubbed the head of his cock back and forth in her slick folds.

"Stop teasing," she whimpered and lifted her hips. "Please!"

Her last word was lost on a gasp as he plunged deep within her. He braced himself on his arms and rained kisses on her face as he thrust in an urgent rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched into each drive of his hips, the force nearly overwhelming. Slipping his arms under her legs, he angled himself and drove back into her, but this time, achingly slow, drawing out the intense passion that was mounting with every thrust, every caress.

"Hermione," Fred whispered.

It was all she needed to send her over the edge, drawing him with her. They peaked with soft cries, as each pulse of his seed flooded her core. Shuddering and panting, they lay entwined, savouring the warmth of one another's presence.

Fred's Cushioning Charm dissipated the next morning just as the door to the library opened and Dr. Dee slipped through. Fred and Hermione hit the floor with a thud and groaned.

"Quiet, children!" Dee whispered. "I informed the guards I needed a tome and that I would not speak to the prisoners. I have only a scant few moments before I must leave."

Hermione pulled her chemise to an acceptable height, covering her breasts, and sat up, trying to look more wide awake, and less afraid than she felt, as all her worries from the day before returned. "What's happened?"

Dee looked grim as he rummaged around in a pocket of his robes. "The Queen is still convinced you are a spy of some sort. I am only a physick and hold no sway over matters of state."

"That's not true!" Hermione admonished quietly. "She holds your counsel above most, especially if Walsingham is ill, regardless of the issue."

Dee looked hesitant, holding something in his hand. "I am truly sorry, my child. I can do nothing more." He produced a sphere. "Except give you this."

"Your crystal ball," she whispered in awe.

Fred joined them. "Isn't that like the one that was pinched—Oi! Easy on the goods!" he yelped when Hermione nearly elbowed him the groin.

"Master Dee!" a voice from outside boomed. "Your time is up!"

Flustered, Dee thrust the crystal ball at Fred and bowed his head. "Godspeed, Lady Granger and Master Frederick." He seized a book at random and then he was gone.

"Barmpot," Fred muttered. "What are we supposed to do with this?" He tapped the crystal.

Hermione rose and situated her dress so that it looked somewhat presentable. "Ow!" A twinge of electrical force arced through her when she touched the sphere, and from the startled look on Fred's face, he had felt it as well.

"Wicked!" Fred's hand hovered over hers. "Think there's a spell of some kind on it?"

"Let's see." She withdrew her wand and cast a Revealing Spell. "I do believe Dr. Dee is—or was—an actual wizard with latent magical tendencies!" She traced a pattern on the sphere with the tip of her wand, her lips curving into a smile. "It's a very old form of a Protego Charm, the sort that's rarely used, if I'm reading this correctly."

"Why rarely used?"

"Well, it's not very practical. The one being protected must be in constant contact with the charmed object that confers the protection. It's impractical during a duel or battle to hold onto something and fight simultaneously."

The sound of the bolt sliding back on the door set Hermione's heart racing with sudden fear. Fred quickly tucked his wand against his thigh. With a quick whispered spell Hermione shrunk the crystal ball and surreptitiously slid the sphere into Fred's trouser pocket. The spell would protect only one person at a time, and there wasn't time to argue about gallantry. She hid her wand in a fold of her skirts at her side.

The door opened to reveal the hooded figure from two nights ago, the very same man that had stolen Dee's crystal ball in the museum, and Hermione shuddered in revulsion and moved closer to Fred.

The man unfurled a scroll of parchment and began reading. "Lady Hermione Granger and Master Frederick Weasley, you are hereby condemned to death for the grievous injuries you inflicted upon our sovereign Queen, Elizabeth I, and conspiracy against the crown."

"But she would've died if I had not—"

"You are both to be taken henceforth to the Long Gallery where your heads will be struck from your body."

Tears welled in her eyes. "I was only trying to keep her safe!" She started to raise her wand but Fred's hand stopped her.

"Don't," he hissed. "If you do and something goes wrong, they'll burn you at the stake." He cupped her face and nuzzled her cheek. "That's not how you want to end, love."

She was about to kiss him, knowing that he at least would be kept safe by the crystal ball's charm from whatever was planned for them, but the guards violently jerked him away from her. He gave her his trademark wink and smirk, though she thought it looked a little forced, then turned around and was pushed out the door without looking back.

A sob stuck in her throat. Of all the stupid, useless ways to die! Not caring if they did burn her for witchcraft, Hermione pulled at her skirts to untangle them from her wand, but something heavy was weighing them down, something in a pocket on one side. She slipped her hand inside and the sob that had been trying to claw its way out broke free when she touched the crystal ball, restored to its normal size.

All the protection she had desperately wanted to give him—the only protection she could give him—and he had chosen to give it back to her, keeping nothing for himself.

Fifteen elderly men, clad in various robes denoting their station within the monarchy, all of them sombre-looking, held her in their gaze. Hermione was reminded of the room where the Wizengamot held their trials. They had not offered her a chair, and her feet were starting to ache from the cold stone of the floor. Off to her left stood the hooded man, his demeanour clearly irritated, as if he scoffed at this mockery of formality before the execution. Hermione had no use for it as well—the judges would hear what they wished, and no amount of cajoling, pleading, or even facts would persuade them otherwise.

"I know the Queen is not gravely injured," Hermione repeated for the fifth time in ten minutes. "Nor is she near death, as you claim."

"What proof do you offer?" one portly gentleman demanded.

"Dr. Dee. He was—"

"Master Dee has been summoned back to court."

Already? That must have been why he needed to leave so quickly. Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to keep in mind that the men before her were probably highly misogynistic and definitely deeply suspicious. "I was with her Majesty at Vespers last evening and a golden cross came flying across the room. It would have hit her if I had not—"

"She lies!" the hooded man interrupted. "I happened upon them, her hand poised to strike the killing blow."

"Now who lies?" Hermione said coolly, staring at the man. She turned to the noblemen. "Question the Queen's guards. They were present."

The hooded gentleman laughed. "Her Majesty's retinue has also returned to court, due to their distress upon hearing of the failing health of Sir Francis Walsingham."

"How convenient," Hermione muttered.

"Enough of these theatrics," the cloaked figure snarled. "Carry out the sentence!"

"You only want me dead because I know what you did," Hermione accused. "You stole Dr. Dee's crystal ball and the notes pertaining to it."

A disturbed murmur of speculation ran through the gathered nobles.

"More lies! See how merrily they trip from her wicked tongue."

One of the men cleared his throat. "Do you have proof that Thomas Kyd has taken Master Dee's property?"

Thomas Kyd! Hermione stared blankly at the man who had spoken, her mind racing as the pieces fell into place. Of course. Marlowe and Kyd had been colleagues, sharing the same patron—an unnamed lord—and the same lodgings. Dee had enjoyed the patronage of Edward Dyer, a poet and courtier… who had also been associated with Marlowe and Shakespeare. If Marlowe had learned of Dee's scrying abilities through Dyer, it was very possible that Marlowe had convinced Kyd to obtain the crystal ball and Dee's notes, in a bid to foresee the future and thus find a way to discredit Shakespeare. It was the most plausible explanation Hermione could come up with, and would also explain how Marlowe had known about A Winter's Tale so far in advance.

Now the more important question: How had Kyd travelled back and forth between the sixteenth and twenty-first centuries?

"Madame? What say you?"

Hermione blinked, her mind processing the facts faster than a Seeker after a Snitch. If she baited Kyd, he might lose his composure and do something drastic, and shift the focus to himself instead of her. It was all she had at the moment.

She turned to the nobles, counting on the fact they were highly religious. "You may wish to question Master Kyd about his views concerning Arianism." At this, she gave Kyd a sly glance. "I do believe he has written a few tracts and pamphlets of vile heretical conceits denying the deity of Jesus Christ."

Arguments amongst the noblemen reached a crescendo—some of them bickering about her and Fred's fate, some of them keenly interested in what Kyd had written, and others wanting nothing more than to get on with the execution. None of it mattered, however, for in the next moment, Kyd pulled a snaphance pistol from his belt and aimed it her.

"No!" Fred shouted, struggling with his shackles and the burly men holding him.

"You're a clever lass, I'll give you that. But these imbeciles know nothing." Pistol pointed at Hermione, Kyd withdrew from beneath his robes a golden chain on which hung a large pendant; it looked like two circles that rotated about each other and about some object—she could not see what—in their centre. "Dee had told me he hoped to travel long distances between time," Kyd said with a fanatical gleam in his eye. "I thought it was the ramblings of an old man touched in the head. But when I employed this device and was transported to the exact location where several of Master Dee's artefacts were housed many hundreds of years later, I became a fervent disciple."

Hermione could only surmise that the pendant was a very crudely made Time-Turner, perhaps the first ever constructed. If anyone could have achieved it in this day and age, it would have been Dee.

"What sort of necromancy is this, Thomas Kyd?" the portly nobleman huffed. "Have you taken leave of your senses? Are you willingly trafficking with the Devil?"

Kyd snorted while still keeping the pistol trained on Hermione. "You fools! God is dead and you are nothing but bones already buried!"

Cries and gasps of shock resounded throughout the chamber as Hermione glanced back and forth between Fred and Kyd. Kyd was clearly unstable, possibly a side-effect of one too many trips with a very rough Time-Turner. There were side-effects even with a proven Time-Turner, as she had found out in their third year—she'd had trouble sleeping and became increasingly temperamental and emotional. Her attention focused back on Kyd when she heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked.

"You will be a hindrance no longer," Kyd growled.

Everything seemed to fall silent: the shouts of the noblemen, the rain that had started to fall outside, Fred's cries. Hermione tightly gripped the crystal ball, hoping the spell was powerful enough to deflect a bullet to the chest, but not actually counting on it, since it was such novice magic that created the spell. She glanced at the wizard across the room, who had finally disabled one guard and was well on his way to subduing the other.

She held Fred's stare. I love you, she mouthed. Tears flooded her eyes for a brief moment before a shot rang out.

She felt as though she was drowning, clawing her way from the ocean depths with no hope of reaching the surface in time. Her chest was heavy and what little air was left in her lungs burned. Unable to fight against the pressure any longer, Hermione stopped struggling and let herself sink to the bottom.

"Hermione?"

The voice was ethereal and solemn, but it was accompanied by an obnoxious ringing in her head and a metallic taste in her mouth, as if she had been sucking on copper coins.

"I'll start singing shoddy eighties tunes again if you don't open your eyes."

The voice took on an added sharpness and her brow furrowed, her eyes opening to slits, only to close immediately at the bright light.

"I got my mind set on you, I got my mind set on you…"

Oh, the ringing in her head only grew louder.

"And this time I know it's real, the feeling that I feel. I know—"

"Enough!" she groaned.

"But I was just getting to the good part."

She opened one eye, relieved to see Fred bending over her. "There's a good part?" Wait. What happened? Both her eyes opened and she tried to sit up. "Oh," she whimpered.

Fred ran the back of his knuckles across her cheeks. "You need to lay off the sauce, Granger. People will think you have a drinking problem," he said with a wink.

"What happened?" she muttered.

"Brilliant thing, really. George and I had always tried the potion separately, so one could gauge the results while the other observed in case something went wrong. I hadn't accounted for both of us using it at the same time. For one person, it seems the duration is twenty-four hours. Apparently for two, it's forty-eight hours. I just estimated it would be longer than twenty-four hours because we were still 'there' after that time. I was counting on the failsafe of a week, but it looks as if we need to recalculate the formula to allow for additional body mass." He frowned. "The effects wore off just before you were shot."

They were alive and relatively unharmed. What more could she ask for? Still, she'd have thought that Fred and George would have performed at least a few more tests. Fred helped her sit up, but Hermione was still dizzy. "We used an experimental potion," she said flatly. "And you had no idea how it would work. Or when it would wear off. Or whether—"

"You make an adorable guinea pig."

She rested her head on her raised knees, Fred's hand making soothing strokes on her back. "I should be so furious with you."

"But you're not."

"No," Hermione sighed. She wasn't, not really. "I certainly gained a new appreciation for life back then. Before, I couldn't begin to comprehend the idea of living during the Renaissance. I mean, books and movies help us learn about the era, but actually living day to day in that time period?" She shook her head. "The paranoia, the suspicion. The lack of hygiene. How did Muggles survive long enough to advance this far?"

"By shagging like nifflers?"

"Ha ha."

He sat on the floor across from her, a serious look on his face, and took her hand in his. "I've never really been afraid, Hermione. Not even on the eve of the Final Battle. Not even when I was kid. For years, George and I used to take the mickey out of each other about what was hiding in Dad's shed, based on the unholy sounds that came from it. One day I'd had enough of George having a go at me, so I bravely entered the lair of what I was sure was some kind of monster, a beast of unknown origin… only to find it was a Muggle transistor radio cycling through the channels." He grinned at the memory. "Thing is, I knew I could face whatever was in that shed, just like I knew I could face whatever was waiting for me in the midst of battle." Fred dropped his head, pain clear in his voice. "But I was as scared as hell back there; I couldn't face watching you die." He caressed the back of her hand. "I never want to have that sort of fear again."

Hermione leaned forward and brushed a kiss on his forehead. "I'm still here, Fred." She lifted his chin and waited for his eyes to meet hers. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Best not," he said gruffly. "Stalking is punishable by one year's service in the Ministry, cleaning all the loos without magic."

She laughed. "I'll keep that in mind." Her body ached a bit and she looked down at herself, taking in her dishevelled state. Gone were her constricting clothes, and the ones she had worn to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had returned. It was a blessed relief to be quit of the corset. "So, what happens now?" she asked hesitantly.

He made a show of mulling something over and then finally gave her a lopsided grin. "Now, we spend the hols together, unless you have plans with another dashing rogue."

"I can barely handle the one I have," she said with a wry smile.

Fred stood and pulled her up to her feet. "And have me you do, my lady." He bowed over her hand and kissed it.

Hermione was completely giddy, though she tried to hide it. The red-headed wizard did things to her that made her stomach flip-flop and her heart ache with tenderness. She went to withdraw her wand and felt something heavy in her skirt pocket. Slipping her hand inside, she wrapped her fingers around a sphere and pulled it out: Dee's crystal ball.

"Well. Guess it did work after all."

"I still need to reformulate that potion," Fred muttered, studying the crystal ball.

"That's an understatement. Maybe I can help with research?"

"In between scorching bouts of love-making, embarrassing the residents of Muggle and Wizarding London with our completely soppy-eyed behaviour, and general day-to-day activities, you think you can find time to research? Sounds like a challenge that will be excessively demanding and take a great deal of time and effort." He shook his head dolefully. "I suppose I'm up to it."

"Need you sound so resigned?"

Fred put his hand over his heart and leered at her. "I'm nauseous and tingly all over. Either I'm in love or I have Dragon pox."

His words kindled a glow of warmth inside her. "In love?" she asked hesitantly. They had danced around the subject until just before the potion wore off, but he had made no declaration. She tried to quell the insane urge to throw herself in his arms and snog him senseless.

He moved close, pulled her into a tight embrace, and laid his forehead against hers. "Your body is like the grass that I lay my head upon. Your tears quench my undying thirst." His fingers trailed over her cheek. "And I love you as the flowers love the sun."

A rare 16th century crystal ball that once belonged to an alchemist consultant to Elizabeth I, had been stolen from the Science Museum in London, on December 9th, 2004.

A man dressed in a hooded cloak had smashed a display case on the fifth floor, seized the object, and ran down several flights of stairs and out of the museum before security guards could stop him.

The crystal ball, thought to be worth £50,000, was used by mediums and for curing disease. It belonged to John Dee, philosopher, mathematician and astrologer, who lived between 1527 and the turn of the 17th century. Dee became an authority on "angel magic" and was known for his belief that man had the potential for divine power.

To the curator's amazement, the crystal ball was recovered shortly afterwards when it was returned by an anonymous source, several days later.

Hermione folded the Muggle newspaper and placed it on the bedside table, a knowing smile on her face. Using a modified Memory Charm on the curator had been quite easy, earning Fred's high esteem for her nefarious talent. She had no qualms about returning Dee's crystal ball to its proper place. Perhaps it was part of a perpetual loop in time that she just happened to carry it back with her. Regardless, Kyd's dalliances in time-travel did not do him much good, for he still died in 1594, utterly destitute.

The winter dawn crept through the window, and she glanced at a slumbering Fred, deciding that it was much too cold on Christmas morning to leave all that perfectly freckled skin exposed to the air. So, she set about warming him up with her body in ways that left him in no doubt about how much she loved him.

AN: The theft and return of Dee's crystal ball is based in reality. The theft happened in December 2004 and was anonymously returned weeks later. You can Google it and the London Science Museum has it on record.