Title: The X-Files

OriginalCouple/Prompt: Mulder/Scully – X-Files

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the things I do own. Harry Potter and X-Files not being among the latter.

Rating:T

Warnings:Innuendo, suggestive dialog

Summary:'Please report to HR to discuss your new partner assignment,' the neat scrawl requested. Ten neat, innocuous words were about to throw her entire world out of order, and arrange it into something entirely new.

Notes:Approximately 8000 thanks to my wonderful beta, cleodoxa, without whom this fic would be a literal fourth of what it is now! This fic was written for the dramioneremix challenge on LJ. I hope you enjoy!

=0=

Part 1/2

=0=

Nine months and eight days after Hermione started working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a charmed message flew into her office and plopped neatly on her desk in front of her. 'Please report to HR to discuss your new partner assignment,' the neat scrawl requested.

Ten neat, innocuous words were about to throw her entire world out of order, and arrange it into something entirely new.

=0=

One month later found them at something between a truce and an impasse. Draco Malfoy was hired on as a consultant. The Department Head had been a little too skittish to hire him full-on, given his history as a Death Eater – albeit a rather ineffective one that didn't amount to much one way or the other. But on the same note, he was also too nervous to full out not hire him either, given that he and his family had been neutral in the end, and had been making very public amends.

The fact he came from a filthy rich family who, though admittedly did not have as much political pull these days, certainly had pull with some other filthy rich people who did probably helped a bit too.

Apparently, Draco had specified that if he must work with a partner, that he'd prefer for it to be Hermione. At first, she had ranted and raved about the inequity of it. Granted, her old partner had transferred to the Department of Mysteries only a few weeks before, and she had been bouncing rather unsatisfactorily between partners since. But still – that didn't give him the right to be a stick in her spoke! Or worse, to garner amusement from tormenting her!

Draco's cool response had set her back, however. "Firstly, Granger, I am no 'stick in your spoke.' You might not remember, but I scored fairly high marks myself." She did remember. He was one of the tops of the class. After her, of course. "I'm smart, and clever, and a hard worker – and I'm particularly motivated to do well here, for reasons that should be obvious." He affected a meaningful look here, and the implication was indeed clear. Doing well in Magical Law Enforcement would certainly help at clearing the big black mark on his name.

"Why me?" she finally demanded.

"Because a Malfoy settles for nothing less than the very best," he had replied softly but firmly. He held her shocked gaze it until there was no question as to the sincerity of the sentiment and she felt a fierce blush staining her cheeks.

=0=

One month and one week after Hermione had been saddled with Draco Malfoy as her erstwhile consultant-cum-partner, the prat seemed hell bent on grinding whatever uncertain little fluttering of embarrassed affection she had felt two weeks before under the heel of his boot. Also under the heel was her patience.

"It's my desk, Granger. I don't see what it matters how I decide to keep it," Draco reiterated for perhaps the hundredth time. A hundred times was a lot for one short, volatile month.

As if to demonstrate a point, he tilted his chair back and propped a boot on the surface. She swore she saw a bit of mud flake off – but couldn't really know for sure, since the surface was so littered with layers of paper and reference manuals and scrolls that she lost sight of it in the fall.

"For Merlin's sake, we share this office!"

"Yes, but not our desks. Yours is there," he jerked his chin at her tidy desk, "to lord over with a creativity-stifling iron fist as you see fit to complement your austere work style. And mine," he stomped his heel down on the desktop for emphasis, dropping more mud flakes down. Hermione twitched. "Mine is here, to maintain in a manner as keeping best to complement my more imaginative work style."

"A pigsty is not necessitated for an environment to be conducive to imagination," Hermione gritted. She was in the edge, and Merlin help her, he was pushing!

"You're just afraid of my visionary brilliance," he taunted.

"No, I'm afraid of that – that disorganized, hodgepodge eyesore you call a work-area will reflect on me when people walk into this office!"

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, quit being such a drama queen, Granger."

"Tidy up, or I will," Hermione gritted through very tightly clenched teeth. He tossed his head back and laughed – then abruptly stopped when she didn't join his mirth.

"You're not serious?"

"Quite."

"Oh leave off. I don't need you mothering me."

Hermione leapt on that line of thinking. "What would your mum say if she saw this ridiculous sty?" Malfoy blanched, then quickly tried to hide it with a blasé sneer.

"She'd say the house-elves needed a swift switch in the hind for sloughing off on the job, I'd imagine," he snickered.

"I'll call your mum," she threatened, realizing how absolutely insane the notion was, but grasping wildly at straws – any straws! – that could possibly solve this problem before his mess officially drove her spare.

"You wouldn't dare," he taunted, the sneer becoming nastier in his bluff-calling.

"I once jumped onto the back of a raging dragon and rode it out of Gringotts. You think I won't call your mum?" She didn't want to, but serious times called for serious measures. If it would take Narcissa Malfoy to whip her son into a semblance of orderliness, then by hell or high water, Hermione would make that happen!

"I'll save you the trouble and just call in a house-elf then, will I?"

"Clean your desk, Malfoy," Hermione gritted.

"Quit being such a creativity-stifling harpy, Granger," Draco replied with a smarmy grin.

Oh, that was so it.

=0=

Two days after Hermione had tried to bully Draco into cleaning his own desk, she remembered what she had already known for a long time: when you needed something done right, it was best to just do it yourself. She walked down to the lobby to the floo with him as usual that evening, chatting amiably – then tapped her forehead and laughed, 'Oh, silly me, I forgot I wanted to check on something back in the library – I'll see you tomorrow, eh, Malfoy?' she offered, and he had left without question, so used to her enthusiastic above-and-beyond researching. Though he occasionally complained that her tedious fact-checking cramped his style, he mostly just shrugged her off with an eye-roll and went about prepping for a case in a manner more befitting his laissez faire tastes.

Hermione rubbed her hands eagerly and trotted back to the office for a long night of organizing. Few things gave her more pleasure – but certainly this case was particularly sweet since she was, in essence, reclaiming her office like a ruler reclaiming lost territory.

The next morning saw Draco Malfoy officially flipping his lid.

"Where did all my notes go? My diagrams? My – my – where did all my things go?" Draco screamed, hands sunk into his thick blond locks and tugging erratically in frustration. "Circe's tits – where – where –" He let out a guttural sound that was some hybrid conglomeration of a moan, a groan, and a scream. It didn't sound pleasant in the least, at any rate.

Taking pity on him (and rather keen to avoid having to deal with him if he passed out after going into the full-blown hyperventilation fit he was well on his merry way into), Hermione cheerfully handed him a little index card box she had picked up in a Muggle stationary store two nights previous in preparation for her midnight conquest. "I filed them all. Alphabetized by the apparent subject – though obviously I couldn't alphabetize the drawings, so –"

"Alphabetized – alphabetized?" His face went from white to red – and for a moment, Hermione worried that he was literally going to blow a fuse. She didn't know precisely how that would go in a human, but it certainly couldn't be pretty. "Alphabetized?"

"Surely you're familiar – it's where you file by the first letter –"

"Iknowwhatalphabetizedbloodymeans,Granger! What I don't know is what – what possessed you to – to – You ruined it! You ruined it!"

"Well that hardly sounds like a thank you," Hermione deadpanned, sniffing in distaste at his tantrum.

"Thank you? Thank you! I'll show you thank you!" Draco turned around and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him – then, before she could even blink, he whirled back in the office, jabbing his finger at her threateningly. "You'll wish you had left well enough alone, Granger – just you wait!"

"You're welcome!" she screamed at the twice-slammed door.

=0=

The next day, Malfoy was as calm as if the previous incident had never happened. When he caught her watching him warily from the corner of her eye still a full two days later, he offered a very genteel smile and hands raised, as if in supplication.

"I gave it some thought and realized you were right, Granger. I was a bit remiss in keeping order to my things. I apologize. Thank you."

An apology and a thank you? Hermione was suddenly on guard.

True, Draco was a changed man – he was mostly decent these days, if still a bit of an arrogant prat – but he still was a Malfoy, and apologies and thank you's… Well. They were a rarity.

"Erm… You're welcome?" she demurred, sensing a trap.

"No. Really. Thank you," he replied with emphasis, and though it may have been her imagination, she would always swear that she heard the sound of a trap snapping closed around her in that moment.

=0=

Four days after Hermione had so considerately cleaned Draco's desk for him, she opened the door to her office – and promptly screamed.

"What – what is this?"

"I should think that's rather obvious, Granger. It's a desk," Malfoy replied cheerily from his favorite position – reclined in his chair, with his feet propped up on his desk.

Except his desk – his desk –

"It – it's half the size of the office!" she shrieked.

"Oh, you're being dramatic," Draco drawled lazily in response, looking around him appraisingly. "It's a third, tops."

"I can't even get to my desk!"

"I swear, if I had known your inclination for hysterics –"

"I am not being hysterical! I - I can't work in here! I can barely breathe in here!"

"Well I can't work in a stifling environment – and since you can't stand to look at my notes and such, I decided to humor you and get a desk that could contain –"

"This isn't a standard issue department desk!"

"Of course not," Draco scoffed, stroking the behemoth slab lovingly. "I spoke with the DH about my conundrum and asked if there were any rules against personally purchasing a desk more suitable to my needs – and he had no objection."

"I'm sure the DH hasn't seen this – this – monstrosity!" Hermione slapped her hands down on the desk for emphasis. She didn't even need to take more than a step into the office until she was flush against it. Her first instinct, of course, was to strangle Draco – but that would require leaping a full two meters across the expanse to get to him.

"Monstrosity – hardly! This desk is a Chief Warlock among Court Scribes. Or a king among men, if you'd prefer."

"I wouldn't prefer! What I'd prefer, is for you to get this thing out of my office!"

"Our office, Granger. Honestly, didn't your parents teach you to share?"

The gall of him! "Did yours?"

"Of course they did. They also taught me to compromise – and thus my selfless efforts here. I went and spent my own galleons – a hefty sum, mind you – to get a desk that would allow me to maintain an environment that is not an apparent visual scourge to you, but also doesn't smother me with your anally retentive orderliness. It's a win-win situation, really." Slowly, meaningfully, he unfolded his feet from the desk and raised himself to his full height, and leaned his hands down on the table to mirror her position from the opposite side.

Hermione paused – counted to ten – then again in French when she still thought she might explode. Then, exploded anyway. "I want it gone! Now!"

A slow, dangerous smirk dragged at the corner of lips. "That doesn't sound like a thank you," he recited her own words back to her with honey-coated false sincerity.

"I'll give you a proper thank you," Hermione snarled, and whipped out her wand, then pointed it threateningly at the desk.

Draco twitched. "This is thousand year old ebony sequoia!"

"You're going to have more thousand year old ebony sequoia toothpicks than you know what to do with if this thing isn't gone –"

"Honestly, Granger, it's no wonder your hair is so wild and untamed once it's escaped your head. With a temper like that always ready to fly, it's probably just thankful to be escaping that boiler room at long last!"

"I can't work with no space to move – and – I can't even get to the bookshelves with this thing filling every little bit of space! You even pushed my desk so close to the wall that I don't even know if I can fit –"

"Well. That sounds like more of a personal problem," he sniggered. Hermione let loose a few warning sparks, causing Draco to jerk out his own wand in defense.

"I'll just lop this thing down into a more manageable size, now, then," she threatened, feeling just a little on the edge. If she were going to be truthful with herself, there was something wildly funny about the entire situation. Though she was undoubtedly angry, she couldn't deny the irony of the situation, nor the clever, wry humor behind his scheme.

That said, the desk still had to go.

"Do it," Draco dared, calling her bluff. "There'll just be another, bigger one in here tomorrow."

There would be, she knew. While he clearly was attached to the desk, he had the means to purchase another. So unless she planned on destroying desks until the world simply ran out of thousand year old sequoia (and truly, Hermione had been raised with at least a little cultural sensitivity, and she really didn't want to destroy something precious and rare if she didn't have to), she had to think fast and figure out somewhere else to hit him where it might actually hurt…

Like his pride.

"I'll tell everyone the desk is thinly veiled – ahem – compensation."

Draco blinked – then blinked again. "You wouldn't," he replied, flatly.

"You think I won't?" It was Hermione's turn to sneer. "Try me."

"No one will believe you," he shot back.

"Won't they?" she blinked with false guilelessness. The implication was clear without needing to be spoken: she was one third of the Golden-Trio, for one. And why in the world would she lie about something so vulgar, for two?

They stood off on opposite sides of the desk for what felt like a small piece of eternity before Draco finally, very carefully, offered an olive-branch.

"I'll tell you what, Granger. You let me keep shop without utterly stifling me, and I will refrain from filling the office with any desks that utterly stifle you. Deal?"

"You keep your notes and manuals and scrolls and all that nonsense contained on your desk," Hermione shot back. "And if it gets too bad, you have to at least make a little bit of effort to tidy up. At least a little."

"Deal," Draco agreed.

"Deal," Hermione snapped immediately – then blinked when his self-satisfied smirk returned. Working it over in her head, she realized that she had just essentially agreed to go back to how things had been before their little tete-a-tete. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Check-mate, I see. You're quite Slytherin you know," she sniffed distastefully.

"And you're more Slytherin than you'd like to admit," Draco replied with a wry (dare she say, flirty?) wink.

The next morning, Hermione entered her office and noted with satisfaction that the outrage had been replaced by a much more mundane (and more importantly, reasonably sized) standard-issue Department desk, set at an L to hers, so the pair could confer, but still work with a relative level of autonomy. They were both fairly independent, studious, hard-working types, after all. Even if Draco was a little bit of a slob.

Somehow, within the course of a day, the desk had been promptly covered in so many sticky notes and sheets of paper and reference manuals that it was as if a bomb had exploded upon it - again. Never mind the Muggle-pencils that mysteriously appeared lodged in the ceiling over his chair, or the paper airplanes that were found stranded behind and among her bookcases nestled on the wall opposite him.

This time, Hermione found herself oddly far less bothered by it. She'd right the odd quil that tipped over, or tidy up scroll stacks every once in awhile – but really, Draco seemed to be making an effort to at least make it look less like a disaster area these days. He was trying – and so was she. And, well, whenever the odd secretary or client came in and gave a curious look at the dichotomy between their desks, she found herself rolling her eyes and smiling somewhat indulgently. "Boys will be boys, I suppose," she'd explain, just like she had a million times again for Harry and Ron once upon a time. And well, if she felt a slight tingling of familiar fondness occasionally tugging at that… well, it was probably best just to ignore it.

=0=

Four months later saw Hermione entering a place she had never thought she'd find herself entering with Draco.

"I don't understand why we're checking these… these…"

"Skuzz-holes?" Draco drawled. He arched a brow at her as if to mock her, but the effort was somewhat ruined when he winced and pulled his robe sleeve over his hand before touching the door knob of the inn they were entering.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Yes." She wasn't sure if Wizards used the term 'motels', but certainly this hovel didn't warrant the quaint, cute term 'inn'. She moved to grab the door from Draco, then thought better of it upon seeing the oily film on the handle. Yes, skuzzy was a fairly spot-on description. She squeezed around him and scurried through the door before he let go from opening it for himself. He rolled his eyes at her, but didn't comment. "I mean – he's fairly rich, so why would he –"

"Fairly' being the key word in that assessment, Granger," Draco interrupted. "If he were filthy rich – or hell, even bloody rich – then he could afford, oh, a villa, or a flat, or even an opulent hotel room for his dirty deeds. But as it is, he's just fairly rich. So." He made an encompassing gesture with his hands. "Welcome to the readily available, easily explained-away offices of those with something to hide. Being of the upper class, he won't run into someone he knows in a place like this – not like he would at any place nicer. As a bonus, a Scourgifying is done by staff after each visitor in most any inn, even the nasty skuzzy ones like this, so even if any evidence were to be left behind, our friendly local smuggler couldn't even be accused of having tried to dispose of the evidence himself – though I'm sure he does some preliminary sweep work, mind you. And even if they were to connect him to the room – well, any contraband left strewn about could have been a visitor to the same room before or after his stay, right? Especially since I'm sure people staying here get up to all sorts of doping and whatnot, which would contaminate any possible shred of evidence left behind."

Hermione blinked, realizing she couldn't find any fault in his logic. It was true. Their smuggler needed a neutral location to make the exchanges, someplace different each time, that would be cleaned to remove evidence, and ideally doubled-over by someone else so any magic-tracing spells would not flag directly back to him or any affiliates. She would have thought of a room at an inn. That part was easy. She might even have been able to narrow down to which ones were within the man's price range. But, she wouldn't have thought of their mark avoiding anything higher class to avoid being recognized – and certainly wouldn't have thought of the 'bonus' of other illicit activity and spells in the room cross-contaminating evidence all to hell.

"You know Draco, that's all… very ingenious of you to figure out, actually."

"Of course it is," he snorted. "You're the one memorizing the book, and I'm the ingenious one reading in-between the lines. You'll get this partnership all worked out yet."

"Oh, I think I have it all worked out all right – but I think it's something more like you being insufferable," she huffed – then blushed slightly when she realized she wasn't angry at all, but was (horror!) actually flirting with him. In a rather embarrassingly obvious tone, too!

Draco blinked once – then twice – then coughed abruptly into his hand. Probably to try (but fail) to hide the faint blush on his cheeks. He opened his mouth to respond – but was saved when the innkeeper came rushing into the room to help them.

Sadly, the slum-visit turned out to be a wash. The innkeeper (motel-keeper? scuzz-hole keeper?) adamantly denied ever having seen the suspect, and moreover, even scouring through the records for any signs of tampering, or use or any of the man's known aliases turned up blank. The man even willingly took Veritaserum to prove his innocence.

Five skuzz-holes later revealed nothing more than five very nervous innkeepers who promised to call them if the man in the photograph ever did show up. Draco politely thanked the latest innkeeper for his participation, calmly walked out the front door – and proceeded to violently kick the wall.

"This was the last place I could think of! I know what he's up to, and I knowthe kind of establishment he has to be using, but I can't think of any other places nearby that fit the bill! This was the last! He can't be leaving the region – we'd have tracked that…"

Hermione frowned, equally puzzled over the conundrum. But, after a long moment of contemplation, something occurred to her – namely, her own musing over Wizarding vs Muggle vocabulary on their first visit. "We've only checked the Wizarding Inns of ill repute. Why haven't we checked any of the equivalent skuzzy motels in the area on the Muggle side?" she asked, pragmatic as always.

"What is a 'motel'?" he asked blankly.

"A place where a full grown man in a cloak would leave quite a lasting impression," she responded, pursing her lips to keep from grinning in excitement.

As it turned out, full grown men in cloaks did leave quite a lasting impression. And so did meticulously kept visitor records and receipts, complete with signature - actual signature, not even an alias. Apparently, their friendly local smuggler had been very confident indeed on no one thinking to check Muggle motels as his transaction point.

Sitting back and propping his feet up in self-satisfaction after the Wizengamot had sent their mark off, guilty as charge, Draco leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Y'know Granger, I take back what I said. You might just be a little bit ingenious too. But just a little bit. And only every once in awhile." The wry, almost affectionate grin on his face took any possible sting out of the words.

Hermione found it impossible to smother an answering grin. "And you might not be completely insufferable. But only a little bit. And only every once in awhile."

=0=

Ten months after their assignment together, Hermione was willing to admit it: he had grown on her. Draco Malfoy wasn't a bad partner. And quite frankly, they worked fairly well together.

That's why when she waltzed into her office that morning and opened a neat little folded sheet of paper on her desk that read 'Please report to HR to discuss your new partner assignment', it was a very difficult task to keep from choking back a cry of despair.

Draco came waltzing into the office twenty-two minutes after her. She had used every one of those twenty-two minutes to convince herself that it wasn't so bad, that it would be ok – that she wasn't feeling heartache far more profoundly than she really ought to be.

She stared hard at him while he propped down cheerfully at his desk, waiting patiently for him to discover the neat little folded parchment that matched hers among all the others strewn about on the desk.

The extra papers managed to camouflage the department notice for an additional two minutes and forty seconds, and never in Hermione's life had she been so thankful for that ridiculously sloppy desk. Now thinking back on all the times she had harangued him over it, her heart actually ached a little.

It was paltry consolation that his face whitened just as much as she imagined hers had when she had read her notice. He only continued to look more ill as he read on to the attached memo, which commended them on their fantastic partnership thus far, and assured them that their work had been absolutely brilliant – so brilliant, in fact, that the DH thought a division of their considerably talents would be in the department's best interest. Divide and conquer, split and multiply or some such rubbish.

"Well, let's look on the bright side," she chirped with false cheer, once she was certain he finished reading the note. "You won't have anyone tripping underfoot and holding you up with copious amounts of research, or being a harpy about the way you keep your work area." He visibly winced as she brought up the points he had flippantly complained about her work style a handful of times over the last year of working together. "And I'll have someone who won't drive me crazy 'baiting' and only reading 'between' the lines instead of bothering to read the lines."

"Yes, well," he had responded – then cleared his voice when it came out sounding a bit hoarse. "I suppose it's best we not draw this out. Shall we?"

=0=

Two weeks after 'The Reassignment' saw Draco carrying his little box of effects into her office, dumping it rather unceremoniously onto the center of his desk, then dropping dramatically to his knees and placing a loud, smacking kiss to the center of 'his' desk.

"Home, sweet home!" he cried melodramatically.

"I heard your former partner rather dramatically threatened to quit if she weren't un-tethered from such a 'lazy, arrogant, worthless excuse of a prat' in due haste," Hermione offered by way of greeting. She couldn't quite keep the smirk off her face.

"That twit was a bore," Draco whined, raising himself off the floor to plop hard onto his chair. Then, like a bored child, he set the chair to spinning. "And three quarters of the way to useless, too! I swear, she only skimmed the mission briefings –"

Against her will, Hermione felt her lips twitch. "Oh, horror!" she sniggered. "I can't imagine anyonedoing something like that!" She covered her mouth and mocked a cough that sounded suspiciously like "Draco!"

Draco continued on as if he hadn't heard her. "And I swear, she didn't remember anything she did read from them either! I'd ask her, 'Do you remember if the neighbor we're to interview was a Mr. Johnson or a Mr. Jeanson?' and she'd be all, 'I dunno! Tee hee hee! Guess we better check on that!'" They both winced at his high-pitched imitation of his short-tenured partner – but even the ear-splitting shrill wasn't quite enough to put him off his tirade. "And research! Research! Don't even get me started on research! You'd think it'd kill her – or worse, break all ten of her nails at once – to visit the library for a spot of research!"

Hermione affected him an indulgent smile. "I thought you were more of the 'winging it' type?" she baited, reiterating back to him his repeated refute as to why he wasn't shouldering more of the research responsibility whenever she snapped at him.

"Yes, well," he huffed. "Let's just say I've seen the shortcoming of my ways, and fully appreciate how much your research has been greasing the wheels, Granger."

"You're welcome," she replied, realizing that was probably as close to a 'thank you' as she'd likely get.

"Yes, well," he huffed. Then, abruptly, he stopped spinning – facing away from her. His sudden stillness startled her. "You?"

"Me?"

"Yes, well, it can't have been all sunshine and rainbows around here, seeing as your saddled with me again," he pried.

She blinked once, surprised by his about-face in mood. Granted, he had always had a somewhat volatile personality – but she was a little unsettled by the reticence in his tone. Suddenly realizing he was fishing – and that he actually sounded a little insecure – she felt a little thrill of affection rush through her.

"It was rather dull," she said, truthfully. Very slowly, he turned his chair back around to face her.

"Dull? That's it?"

"Well – he was a perfectly nice fellow. But he didn't have much to say – not beyond what I already figured for myself. He never even argued with me on anything, so I found myself agonizing trying to figure out how to challenge myself to look at things from another angle and come to a more thorough conclusion. But… it's rather difficult to try and be a separate point of view from oneself." She pursed her lips in distaste. "The work getting done around here was mediocre. And quite frankly, that killed me."

Very slowly throughout her account, a smile had stretched across Draco's lips. At the end, he laughed outright. "Yes, I suppose it would kill you to put out mediocre work, Head Girl."

Hermione beamed back. Then, abruptly, she softened her expression, and lowered her tone meaningfully. "Oh, and there was one more thing…"

"Yeah?"

"He didn't read between the lines."

Of course, Draco, being an expert at such things, would have no problem doing just that and hearing what she really meant: 'Hewasn'tyou.'

=0=

One year after they were first assigned together, Draco was acting rather… off. He kept glancing at her, then quickly looking away when she caught him. He was pacing rather more than typical, and sticking far fewer Muggle pencils into the ceiling than was usual.

Finally unable to stand his restlessness a moment longer, Hermione barked, "Well, out with it then!"

"You don't suppose the department has strict guidelines on dating co-workers?" he asked, with such blunt guilelessness that there was no question that was exactly what had been on his mind.

Hermione's stomach plummeted. "Uhm – well, if you're referring to yourself, you're technically a consultant, so I'm not sure you'd fall into the jurisdiction anyway. But to answer your question specifically, no, not strict ones. Keeping hanky-panky out of the office, yes, and there are guidelines against dating direct superiors or –"

"So, do you like… dinner?"

Hermione blinked. "Um… yes. I suppose I do like dinner – as much as any other meal, that is."

Draco slapped his palm against his forehead. "Of course you do. Um, what I meant to say, was, would you like to go to dinner with me?" He looked about ready to crawl out of his skin with nerves – and it was all Hermione could do to keep from running her fingers through his hair, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him to her and never letting him go.

"Draco, I would love to go to dinner with you," she replied with mock seriousness. Then, she grinned impishly – a look which he returned immediately.

Ten neat, innocuous words were about to throw her entire world out of order, and arrange it into something entirely new.

=0=