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

By the time the wooden stick started moving on its own, Ziva was rethinking her decision of entering the house with the beams of bright light. It being her job or not, she was not paid enough for this.

Then again, she reasoned, there was no use crying over spilt water, so she decided to go over the events of the day to see where it all had gone wrong. To see where she should have stopped and thought this isn't right.

The day had started normally enough – Tony was being silly as usual, Gibbs had strolled into the bullpen at exactly the right/wrong moment (depending on the perspective), head-slapped him, and informed them he'd be expecting them to be ready to leave in the prepared truck in five. Five seconds, that was. Then he'd disappeared, and Ziva had followed, along with Tony and McGee, to the garage.

"So, Zee-vah," Tony glanced at her, taking his eyes off the road for a brief second. "let's talk."

They were stuck in traffic – rush hour – and the combination of blaring horns and shouting matches with the summer air was leaving her in a bad mood. The ride itself to the address was already long – at least a forty-five minute drive – and she saw McGee nodding off a little in the back seat. They had been going at about five miles an hour for the past fifteen minutes, and there was no sight for improvement, so she couldn't really blame him.

Taking off her cap to avoid the heat concentration in her head, she figured that if Tony was bored enough to make small talk like that with her, so was she.

"Talk about what, Tony?" She asked with a sigh. His returning grin told her that he knew she was as willing to get involved in his non-sensical chatter as he was. Otherwise, they were both aware, she would have just given him a snide remark back.

"Nothing. Everything." The heat seemed to be getting to him. "Isn't that the beauty of life?" No, that was just his recurring head injury, after all.

She rolled her eyes. "You cannot think of anything to talk about, can you?"

He turned to her with a smile – an actual smile, wrinkles appearing around his eyes and without over-exposure of his teeth. That, more than anything, made her lose her tight attitude and smile back.

As soon as it had started, the… whatever it was, was over, however, and Tony glanced back, suddenly aware that McGee was in the car with them. Then, he made to look toward the road again, but stopped abruptly when his brain caught up with what he was seeing in the back seat.

Ziva glanced back as well, and disbelief crossed her features when she noticed McGee, head leaning against the head rest, and very fast asleep. She looked at Tony, and observed as his lips slowly turned from the warming smile to the full-blown DiNozzo grin.

McGee was going to regret this incident dearly, she decided.

Tony looked at her with wide, desperately pleading eyes, holding a finger to his lips. Then he looked at the unchanging scenario viewed through the window, and stopping the car completely, he didn't move even when the car in front did. The yelling and horn blaring behind them got louder, but McGee didn't even twitch.

"Tony, what are you doing?" Her voice was a whisper – for some strange reason, she was going along with his plan.

He smirked at her, but kept quiet. Glancing behind him one last time, he gripped the gear shift, and she saw the distance forming, slowly but surely, between their car and the one in front. The noise was getting louder and louder, but Tony ignored it.

They stayed still and quiet like that for a long time, and Tony kept quiet at her repeated question. Annoyance rose up in her as fast at the noise behind them, and when that became unbearable, her mood was not in the clouds. After there were about a hundred feet of space in front of them and she thought there'd be people coming out of their own cars soon, her partner hit both the acceleration and brake pedals, and still waited - she decided that was not a good omen for what was to come.

And then Tony shot her a crazed grin, shifted the gear, and told her: "Hold on." And the car jerked forward as he released the brake and slammed on the horn at the same time.

What followed was an attack on possibly all senses except maybe taste. Gas filled her nostrils, she saw the red metal behind of the next vehicle approach so fast her heart nearly jumped out of her ribcage, her whole body jumped on the seat – landing hard with a painful groan – and her eardrums rang almost delusional with the sound.

McGee never stood a chance.

She heard a rather girlish yell from behind – marking the exact moment that the rude awakening was forced upon the junior agent. A loud thump told her that his head had hit Tony's seat, and the senior agent's smirk told her he was enjoying the show.

Ziva looked back, and saw McGee, looking slightly dazed, shakily hoisting himself up to his seat again. His cap, badly positioned on his head, fell down to the floor of the truck.

"Tony." McGee said through grit teeth, once his eyes focused again. "I am going to kill you."

"Don't bother, McGee." Ziva, reassured no one had sustained serious injuries, turned to her partner, glowering. "I can do it much more easily than you, and achieve a lot more pleasure from it too."

Tony, grinning like the cat who got the rat, cheerfully turned to Tim. "Oh, did we wake you, McSleepy? So sorry." Then he turned to Ziva, features morphing into a playful scowl. "That's rich, coming from you, actually."

She didn't deign that with an answer, and, making sure he got the full force of her glare, she put the cap back on her head.

McGee closed his eyes and leaned back again – both too tired from adrenaline withdrawal and his mind too fuzzy to think properly. Ziva had no problem in taking over, though.

Tony kept driving – slowly, now - though there was still the occasional annoyed horn or yell directed at him, seemingly the only one well-spirited in the entire highway. Ziva's protesting lasted approximately one minute, until she'd gotten tired of her every remark being rewarded with a teasing comment. Not even she could get under his skin that day.

Then, McGee spoke again, seeming restored both from his sleep and from being awaken in the worst manner he could picture at the moment (because he wasn't exactly picturing much) by, to make matters even worse, Tony (that really wasn't turning out to be his day). He was staring at the ceiling with a slight flush on his cheeks – whether from the jumpiness still in his system or embarrassment, she wasn't sure.

"There are other ways to wake someone up, you know, Tony." His voice was completely flat, plainly annoyed but aware that he was speaking to Tony and that no amount of irritation in his tone would accomplish anything.

Tony grinned at the rear-view mirror. "Yeah." He sighed in dramatic disappointment. "But this was the only way I could think up on the spot that made you uncomfortable. Anyway, you just be glad we didn't involve superglue." He said, the smirk returning.

The glance McGee spared her at the 'we' made her feel guilty, so she immediately became defensive. "I had nothing to do with this." She proclaimed in protest, affronted.

"It was all her idea." Tony whispered loudly enough to make sure she'd heard him.

Ziva bore narrowed eyes into her partner, hitting his arm. "Would you like me to inform you of how many ways I could kill you, moving only my left arm?"

The line caught a break, and the cars began moving faster. Distracted as he sent her a wink and a grin, Tony didn't move. She didn't understand, sometimes, why she felt an irrepressible void whenever he wasn't around. Of course, thinking about that wasn't going to bode well for her either. She tore her gaze away from him.

Another horn blared behind them and Tony's head snapped up. He pulled at the manual stick hurriedly before pressing down on the accelerator.

"You are not gaining any fans among the DC drivers, Tony." McGee told him slightly snappishly, looking at a side mirror and seeing annoyed drivers left and right.

Tony shrugged flippantly. "I'm just too damn handsome." Well, there was no way to argue with that statement, so McGee just snorted.

"I doubt that people are angered by your good looks, Tony."

Tony's eyes swerved sideways to look at Ziva, with a warmer aspect than before at her statement.

"Ah, but you admit I have good looks, then?" He retorted, grinning.

It was in this kind of situations that Ziva divided Tony into two people. The one who would indiscriminately use his body as a human shield for his team, and the one who just needed some ego petting now and then. Right now, Tony was number two.

Egos were not the type of animal she urged to pet. Also, she really didn't want to answer that question. She ignored him.

"Tony. Drive." McGee reminded him. A glance at her partner told Ziva that Tony had been watching her, distracted from the road – which, for some reason, made her blood run closer to the surface. The car began moving again, crossing in two seconds the small distance that'd formed in front of it.

The rest of the trip, which took another hour, went silently. McGee was still grumpy and both Ziva and Tony kept quiet, like they always did whenever their years' worth of sexual tension – and more – made itself known.

Finally, they arrived at their crime scene. They left the car, and any discomfort left them as soon as they were able to stretch their legs and cool down.

Nodding at the police officers swarmed around the tape, they entered the gate leading to the front yard.

"Looks like we're a little late for the party." Tony deduced, observing the empty place. "Everyone's already left."

"Not Ducky or Gibbs." McGee piped up, following Tony through the main door. "Which means we'd better get to work."

"They are probably still stuck in traffic." Ziva said from behind McGee.

There was nothing unusual about the crime scene, except for the lack of investigators entering and leaving. It was a suburban safe haven for a retired couple, who had gotten home, back from a vacation in Majorca, to find a dead body in their living room.

The house was big. It had four levels, each of the size of Tony's apartment, and it was surrounded by double that amount of space – partially terrace, partially open field. The first door on the left after they entered was an office that looked like it was only used for watching TV or for hanging children's drawings. It led to a small bathroom, and no one had obviously found anything there. At the end of the main hall there was a glass door leading to the biggest living room Tony had ever seen, and which was also their crime scene.

Tony began taking pictures and Ziva bagged and tagged everything she saw. McGee left to take another sweep at the house, since he witnesses had been since interrogated.

The death of the victim, already ID'd as Petty Officer Lyla Lauren, seemed pretty straight-forward. Tony entered the living room, and he immediately saw the blood under the table. Behind it there was a fancy, and big, tableware cabinet, apparently for display, since it was occupied by what were obviously grandchildren's gifts.

It had three glass doors, and the middle one was shattered, along with a painted plate that had been inside. That was all a result of a bullet – Lauren had been in front of the cabinet when she was shot. His attention was, for some reason, drawn to the plate again. From what he could see, it had a drawing of two children holding hands with a grey-haired man and woman. Tony took a picture of it – he felt strangely disheartened by the sight of the shards.

Turning his back to it, he did what he always did whenever he felt emotionally uncomfortable. He began light-hearted conversation. "Well, I would not mind living in a place like this." He stated, eyeing the big, old-fashioned fireplace and the plasma TV. "Seriously, that thing looks like it hasn't even been turned on yet."

"That's because there are three more around the house." McGee informed him, not without a certain amount of awe.

Tony blinked up at him, but Ziva's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I would think this was a bit old-fashioned for you, no?"

"Well, a little," He conceded, noting the wooden, nineteenth-century style doors and furniture. "but you'd be surprised at what a little work can do to a place." He turned to her with a grin. "Plus, it has a whole royalty look to it. There are stairs everywhere. Like those." He pointed at a 'staircase' that was constituted of a single pair of steps, positioned right in the middle of the living room, and dividing the space. What he supposed was the area where meetings (why retired people would need meetings, Tony did not know) took place – judging from the big table and the several ashtrays scattered on it – was the side they were on. The other side had the TV and the fireplace. And four, huge couches.

"What do the stairs have to do with anything?"

Tony shrugged. "They just make the house look more like a palace." Ziva rolled her eyes. "C'mon, did you never want to live somewhere like this when you were younger?"

She didn't meet his eyes, choosing to pick up another piece of glass. "Who says I didn't?"

Tony's head snapped to her, making the picture he was taking of the blood splatter in one of the non-broken glass doors become the picture of a blood-colored Ziva. "Really?" He asked suspiciously.

McGee rolled his eyes, crouching down to help Ziva in lack of anything else to do. "Gibbs will probably be here any second, Tony." The junior agent warned him.

"Who's Gibbs?" A voice called from the doorway. The three agents' heads turned, in a certain amount of alarm, to the source of the noise.

A pretty young girl, looking no older than eight, was leaning against the doorway of the room, arms crossed in front of her chest. She had brown eyes and braided brown hair, loose strands tucked behind her ear, and her expression was startlingly blank for her age. She was wearing a pink, girlish dress that reached her knees, and she looked rather uncomfortable in it.

After getting over their shock, the NCIS team shook themselves out of their stupor. Ziva and McGee hurriedly covered the sight of the body, and Tony stepped towards her, since he was the only one holding anything non-threatening, the camera, instead of, say, a piece of bloody glass, or ripped pieces of red-soaked clothes.

"Hi." He said cheerfully, crouching and making sure she could only see him and the tidy places of the room. "You're not really supposed to be here, you know." He took off his glove and offered her his hand. "Let's go see if we can find your mum and dad, shall we?" He insistently but gently urged her out of the room, still making sure she didn't see anything she shouldn't.

He was surprised, however, when she refused to move past the door. Silently, she looked up at him with slightly amused brown eyes. Glancing behind at his coworkers, he noted McGee's apprehensive face and Ziva's expressionless gaze. Great help.

He turned back to the little girl with a forced smile. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

She paused, glancing behind him at Ziva and McGee, and then at Tony himself. Before the senior agent could assure her that they were the police and wouldn't hurt her, she answered him of her own accord. "Marian."

Rather strange name for a child. "Okay, Marian. How did you get in here?" His voice was friendly, and he added a smile for good measure.

She looked up at him, and he saw a sliver of amusement in her eyes. "Your colleagues aren't covering all the entrances." Her voice was actually cheerful, as if this kind of mischief was something she wasn't used – or even allowed – to do, ever, and she was enjoying it very much.

Tony was surprised. Immediately, his inner child jumped to secret passages in the castle-like house. Then he decided to introduce some sense back into his head.

"Can you show me where it is?" He asked politely, because he was rather afraid that she'd start using words that he didn't know. From the way she spoke, that was quite possible, so he decided to stick with the big kid talk.

He was not prepared, however, for her to raise her eyebrows at him in disbelief. "No! It's my hiding spot. No one knows where it is but me."

Flustered, he had no idea what to answer to that. Instead, he addressed McGee. "Uh, McGee? Forced entry?"

Thankfully, Tim understood what he meant. "Nowhere."

So either both the victim and the killer had a key, or they'd forced his entry through Marian's secret entrance. The owners had claimed not to know her, and their alibies had checked out. So either they knew the killer enough to give him/her a key and he'd let Lauren in- it was all too complicated. First things first. They needed to start with the easier option to investigate. He ran a hand through his hair. They needed a location.

He tried another way of questioning. "Hey, tell me something; why do you need a secret spot?" He asked. He moved so that he was more comfortable; his cellphone was digging into his leg.

She smiled shyly. "I like to be alone. There're always a lot of people here, and they're always… smothering me. I like to have somewhere I can hide and pretend there's no one calling me." She really knew big words.

"Really? Uh…" He smiled, winking at her. She smiled a little wider, and he could see her relaxing visibly. "You know, I like to be alone, sometimes, too. I stay in my apartment, and I put my phone in the fridge so I don't hear it."

Her smile turned into giggles. "You put your phone in the fridge? Why don't you just put it under clothes in your closet or something?" Her eyes were bright – she was giving him an actual suggestion, looking up at him with uncertain eyes, wondering whether he'd just dismiss her as a kid.

So he scrunched up his face in the stupidest way he could, and he looked at her mock-crossed. "Now, why didn't I think of that?" He protested loudly, making sure there wasn't a hint of mockery in his voice. The girl was particularly sharp.

She evolved from giggling to laughter, and he had no choice but to grin. Look at that, who knew he could actually make a kid laugh? Wouldn't the Rich Texan guy be proud.

He made to look back for suggestions, but his pleading look faltered when it landed on Ziva. She was still clutching the same glass shard of ten minutes ago, and her gaze was locked on him and the small girl with an expression of… longing?

His brain had fried sometime before that moment, for sure.

Swallowing dry, he turned back to Marian, and smiled a feeble smile. Scrambling to remember how he'd planned this talk, he managed to ask his next question in a half-normal voice. "But, you know, I told people I trust and care about where my hiding spot was." He told her, as if in great confidence. "Like those guys." He pointed to McGee and Ziva behind him, but not looking back in order to avoid them catching his red ears. "Didn't you do the same?"

Marian pursed her lips, frowning a little, no longer amused. "No… But," She hesitated. "My grandma knows where it is."

Alright, so Tony would just add the smiling, grey-haired lady in that plate to his suspect list.

Tony smiled in a friendly manner again, assuring her neither she nor her grandmother was not in trouble. "She found you, huh?"

Marian grinned, now looking completely at ease. "And then she sat there with me cross-legged, eating yoghurts."

Tony chuckled. "Really? Do you like yoghurts?" He asked curiously, and he began gently lead her out of the room again, feeling safe in doing so now.

She shrugged. "Not really. But mum makes me eat it, and drink milk too, sometimes, because it's good for me."

Immediately, he changed his next line. "Yeah, yoghurts, milk… Blargh!" He mock-shuddered, now out of the living room completely. She giggled again.

Giving her a heartening smile, he tried to push his luck, maybe further than he actually could. "So, Mary – can I call you Mary?"

A carefree smile that she didn't appear to show much drew itself on her face. He took that and her nod as an encouraging answer.

He figured he could really talk to the grandmother, but she'd been shipped off for an interview and he didn't know how long he'd have to wait before he could speak to her. And he really didn't want Gibbs to arrive to the house and find him empty-handed.

"So, Mary, can you show me that secret spot?" He put on his best DiNozzo grin and pleading eyes, and it seemed to make progress as she fidgeted for a moment. "I promise I won't tell anyone about it."

He analyzed her behavior – she seemed wary of his promises. He started to understand that she had somewhat of a problem with adults. He frowned slightly, cop instincts kicking into place. He scanned what little of her skin he could see. She didn't seem physically abused, so he let it rest for the moment.

She hesitated; then nodded. "Well, I think my grandparents won't want to live here anymore, anyway." Smart kid. And she led the way.

Right in front of the doors to the living room there were identical ones leading to another hall, smaller this time. To the left, there was a decorated stairwell, probably leading to the floor of the bedrooms and next to the stairs, there was a door to what he could see was the kitchen, only a little smaller than the enormous living room. In front was a bathroom, and to his right was another door - that's where Mary headed.

Once he stepped through the door, there were plain stairs to his left, a floor in front of him and blank wall to his right - he supposed this part of the house was sort of the backstage of the place. Marian descended the stairs and he followed.

And found himself in a corridor. To his left it continued, darkly lit, but Mary led him to a saloon to his right.

It was huge. The living room above was a bathroom compared to it. "A person could live down here." He murmured, looking around. His voice echoed off the walls, though the place was not under-furnished.

The biggest plasma he'd ever seen sat on a wooden, beautifully carved piece of furniture. Three big couches surrounded it in its viewing range, and in the middle stood a precariously balanced-looking coffee table. Behind the farthest couch from the doorway was a small table, for four people only, with a linen fabric decorating it – he figured for card games or coffee. There was a kitchen – slightly smaller than the one upstairs – and a table for about fifteen people to his left.

And then there was the bar. That was a house with a fully stocked bar. It was as big as the kitchen, and it had its very own wall-imbedded – and small – brick cellaret. And, next to it, there were cabinets and cabinets filled with the bottles that didn't fit there. "Your grandparents" He told Mary, who turned back to him while he inspected the bar. "have a seriously cool house." She grinned and turned back.

Finally he noticed the double doors, leading to a backyard, that she was approaching. "Don't you ever get lost in here?" He asked teasingly, following her and putting his cap back on her head. Sun protection and all that.

She paused and took it off, staring at it for a second. Then she happily grinned at him and placed it back on her head, taking off again with a lot more cheer in her step.

He was fairly certain in his deduction that she'd appreciated the gift and that he would not be taking it back.

She produced a key from her pocket and stuck it into the lock on the doors. "These doors are always closed." She explained, giving it a shove to open – the door was rusty, he realized. Then she gave him a nervous half-smile. "Once my grandfather left it here and I, uh… took it." Grinning sheepishly, she stepped outside. "He thought he'd just lost it, and had another one made."

Nice kid. His kind of kid.

Chuckling, he shielded his eyes from the sun and noticed the blush on her cheeks as she stopped to turn to him. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

Now that they were outside, he realized that this was an alternative entrance to the house – he fifth he'd known about so far. There were stairs leading to another gate – the third one he'd encountered so far – and besides a small space of stone floor around the door they'd just gone through, there was a big grass field all around them. He noticed a dog house – as big as his biggest bathroom – a few feet to his left. It looked empty. To his right was a tall stairwell that lead to a terrace in the floor above.

She grinned and after smiling back, he turned to inspect the lock of the door. It wasn't easy – it was a door to the outside after all - but it was the back door, so it wasn't impossible to pick.

He turned back to Mary and they kept going. He realized his previous assumption that there was no dog there the moment he stepped into sight of the dog house. The German Shepherd in there immediately began barking and he jumped with a yelp, to the pure delight of the young girl guiding him.

Giggling, she pointed at the door. "It's locked, don't worry. Honestly, I don't know why my grandparents keep a dog." She shrugged. "They never let him out. But I think my granddad has lived with one for so long, that he immediately buys another once one dies." She kept walking, to Tony's surprise, in the direction of the dog. "That's the second dog I've known in this house."

Tony winced. "I'm sorry."

She turned to him with a smile. "Oh, don't worry. I only remember him barely. He died when I was three."

"Remembering that far back is impressive." He told her, inspecting the ground for any footprints, looking up only to flash her a grin.

She grinned happily, turning back with reddened cheeks in time to catch his smile. She was being ten times more open than she was fifteen minutes ago. Tony realized she just needed a little attention. "Thanks. He was cuter when he came, smaller. I could actually play with him without getting knocked to the ground." She grinned.

The dog barked again. Big dog, for his age. "What's his name?" He asked as they approached the door where the dog's muzzle was peeking through the holes. There was a stone floor around the dog house that matched the one in front of the door they'd used. The smell suddenly became pointedly prominent, and Tony couldn't help but twitch his nose with a grimace.

"Rex." Mary answered, turning right to follow a smaller patch that led to a darkened spot – because of the tree coverage - next to the house. "It's Latin for 'king'."

"Oh. That's an impressive name." He mumbled, not paying much attention by now, focusing more on the place that was obviously where her 'secret spot' was.

Frowning, he was wondering if he shouldn't call for backup. If the killer had entered through there, and no one had searched that place yet, he didn't like the looks of the very obvious hiding place.

"Hey, honey?" He had no idea where the endearment had come from, but it fell from his lips easily, and she didn't seem to find it odd, so he pushed the thought away. "Come here for a second, okay?"

She turned back to him, and his expression must've betrayed something. A flash of understanding seemed to run behind her eyes, and they widened as she took a hastened step back. She didn't make a sound, and Tony was left impressed by the bright girl as she took a place behind him.

He didn't like that much, since it gave him no visibility over her, but it was the best he could do for then. They'd spoken, and therefore, if anyone was there, they'd alerted them for their presence, so there was little sense in calling someone. Not wanting to alarm Mary, he didn't take his weapon out of its holster, but kept his hand there just in case.

Even the dog had fallen silent as Tony took a few quiet steps into the shadows.