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.

=0=

Part 2/2

=0=

One year and five months after first being assigned together, Hermione and Draco found themselves puzzling over a rather annoying conundrum. They knew their mark was selling Wizarding goods maliciously to Muggles, and while they had enough evidence to put him away for that, they weren't quite sure who was supplying. They had a fairly good idea – having trailed him carefully for months, they had pretty firm suspicions on who his contacts were, but thus far had been unable to actually catch the exchange.

The reason became fairly obvious: the exchanges had to be taking place at a time when they were unable to watch him. And that would be during the rather ritzy, hoity-toity pureblood functions he'd throw on a bi-monthly basis. The parties were fairly large, so there was no way everyone who attended was involved in the dirty work – but, as Hermione had learned from Draco, sometimes it was easiest to hide things right in plain sight.

The problem was, it just wasn't in their sight, and thus far, they'd been unsuccessful in getting anyone to be able to confirm anything… So the solution was obvious, even if the execution wasn't.

Crouching low outside the property, Hermione reiterated the situation in a low voice again. "There's anti-Apparition boundaries up around the place to keep us from just jumping in – the Floo is being watched like a hawk – and if we try to flash badges to get in, it'll shut down our illicit activity faster than water on a flame. There are anti-spy charms locking the place down, probably Polyjuice sniffers and Transfiguration detectors, and likely charms that'll set off alarms if we try to sneak in a window the old fashioned way too…"

"Hermione Granger, contemplating climbing in through a window? What in the world happened to the swottish marm I used to know?" Draco drawled teasingly.

"She was rather perverted by one Draco Malfoy, I'd imagine," Hermione replied with a falsely austere sniff.

"I'll say," Draco leered. "I mean, take last week - I said I thought a little dress-up might be nice – but I just meant nice robes! That naughty-librarian ensemble? That was truly inspired, darling! And the French-maid – well! If all Muggle clothes are so –"

"Focus," Hermione interrupted in a brusque tone, thankful for the darkness covering her deep blush.

"Oh believe me, I am," he replied, sidling a hand over her bum. She slapped it off before he had a chance to pinch her.

"Focus, or it'll be another two months before we get another shot at this!" she hissed, elbowing him hard in the ribs. "I have an alternate plan I've been working on – but I need to be able to get close enough to actually talk to someone. Someone who is going to be inside and close to the mark. Or at least wouldn't raise suspicion being near the drop."

Draco paused and contemplated for a moment. Then, quietly, he asked, "Do you suppose the manservant at the door would do?"

"Hm – yes, I'd think –"

"Well, there's nothing for it then, I suppose," he sighed deeply. Abruptly, he stood, and with a swish and flick of his wand, she felt her comfortable robes whip and reform onto her into something far more elegant.

"Draco! This is not the time to satisfy your fetish–"

"As much as I like the way you think, darling, that isn't what this is about at all. We've already established we aren't going to be able to get in – so I'll guess we'll just have to make this a plain vanilla social call and hope they don't blast us on sight."

Draco grabbed her hand and was dragging her confidently towards the front door before she even had a chance to think about backing out. Once he got there, he made as if he was going to walk right in past the butler – and Merlin's britches, it very nearly worked too!

Sometimes, Malfoy's brilliance lay in his sheer brass. She couldn't count the number of times he had got them out of a tight spot by his sheer entitlement act.

"This is by invite only, sir," the manservant at the door sniffed, shoving an arm out to block them from proceeding, peering down his nose at them suspiciously.

"Oh, I'm sure my name is on the list somewhere," Draco said haughtily. "Malfoy and wife?"

"Wife?" the steward asked primly, arching a brow at Hermione skeptically. "Though in shadow you might pass for your father, young Malfoy, a Narcissa this one is not – in any light." Before Hermione had a chance to huff in indignation at the implication, Draco had wrapped both arms tightly around her and pressed his cheek against hers in a sickeningly saccharine gesture.

"Oh, I should hope not. Wouldn't that be terribly bizarre, for my sweetum's to share a countenance to my mother?" He trilled a laugh that was just a note too high to be mistaken as purely calm. The jig was up, but it wouldn't do for the man to put up an immediate alarm, so Draco's impudence marched on. "Hahaha, isn't that a laugh, darling?"

"Uhm… Yes, that's a regular gas," she tittered in nervous response – then looked meaningfully between Draco and her sleeve. He needed to keep the man distracted while she slowly drew her wand!

The steward continued to frown, very clearly unimpressed. "You do realize that a mere lowly manservant I might be, but a social eunuch I am not. If the Malfoy heir had married, I would know." He fixed his skeptical look at Hermione. "And I believe I'd remember Harry Potter's best friend from all those covers of the Prophet."

"Uh –" Draco was visibly sweating. "Well, look here, you see –"

"And though I've not heard much about what you've been up to these days, my boss has certainly made a point to know that Miss Granger is in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. So, I can only imagine the purpose of this visit," he finished in dry, clipped tones.

"Uh – yes – but –" Draco faltered. He gestured wildly. "You see, I have this proposition – if you'd just take a look at this –"

It was rather lame as far as distractions went, but the butler seemed so bemused by Draco's obvious ploy that he wasn't even paying attention as Hermione settled her wand in hand.

"Excuse me," Hermione tapped the man on the shoulder. When he looked back at her, she smiled cheerily and brandished the wand she had hidden up her sleeve directly between his eyes. "Obliviate."

"Granger!" Draco hissed, thoroughly scandalized. "It's illegal to Obliviate without –"

"Who's going to turn me in? Him?" She smirked at him and arched a brow. "Or you?"

While Draco was spluttering, Hermione leaned forward and slipped a little digital voice recorder into the man's pocket. "I believe your boss wanted you to keep at close hand, sir?" she prompted – and just like that, the man turned, shut the door, and left Draco and Hermione to beat a hasty exit off the front lawn.

"What in the world did you slip into his pocket?" Draco demanded once they were a safe distance away. "Was that a Muggle bomb?"

She rolled her eyes; she needed to acquaint him with some less dramatic Muggle media, apparently. "Hardly, Draco. It was a digital recorder. I've learned to charm them so they don't short around magic. But the charms are minor enough that the recorder shouldn't set off any of the anti-tampering and anti-spying wards clamping the place down." She grinned brightly at him. "Sometimes, Wizarding ignorance of Muggle technology is right useful. I'll just Accio that back at the end of the night, and assuming our marks were talking – which I think we can be well assured of at this point – well, it should be easy to match voices to people, since we already have our list to choose from. And we've already been making strides for making evidence gathered by Muggle technology admissible in court, so it should be a cinch from there."

"Illegally Obliviating, planting a Muggle recorder on the mark's own servant and sicing him back on his boss – Granger, there's no doubt that you're brilliant, but very, very perverted." Draco ran his fingers lightly down her spine. "I think I really, really like it."

Hermione granted him a saucy wink. "So how confident would you feel in Transfiguring these robes into a few other forms being turning them back to normal?"

"Oh, very," he promised.

As it turned out, he was good to his word.

=0=

One year and six months after their assignment together, Hermione felt her eyebrow rising for the umpteenth time as she continued to scan through the seemingly never-ending stack of paper outlining the case that had been fobbed off on her this morning.

Draco, as per usual, was lounging on the other side of the room, chair tilted precariously, feet propped stolidly on the little mini-desk situated in what he had deigned 'his corner' of the office. Her office, in point of fact, but he always called it the office, probably just to get her goat. He did that sometimes.

Sometimes, she wondered if he had orchestrated "The Desk Incident" (as it had come to be known all throughout the Department of Magical Law Enforcement) for a source of perpetual needling amusement. Perhaps he had only ever brought that honking piece of insanity into her office to use as an eternal 'well it could be worse' anecdote to hang over her head and use as leverage to win fights.

He probably had; dratted Slytherin.

"Are you done reading that yet?" Draco whined, drawing Hermione out of her musing of how she had gotten here – reading a mission briefing in her shared office with Draco Malfoy of all people – whom, for all intents and purposes, it seemed, she was pretty much stuck with – and back to the scroll itself in question. "You've got to be done. We're ready to get on to the exciting part and actually go investigate, right?" he needled. Rather impetuously at that, if one were to ask Hermione.

She smothered the urge to roll up the thick stack of paperwork and wallop him a good one in the head with it. "No," she replied with more patience than she was feeling.

In truth, it wasn't the reading material itself setting her off, so much as the fact that while yes, she had been later getting into the office because of a department meeting this morning, she seriously doubted he had read the case file cover to cover in the mere twenty-five minutes she had been gone. True, Draco was a quick reader, and yes, he was inarguably brilliant – but sometimes, she wondered if he just skimmed and then took it for granted that she'd be poring over the details. Through careful, deliberate quips, he would glean what knowledge he needed off her, and beyond that, generally fly by the seat of his pants.

When she had once confronted him to ask if he did just that, he had shrugged as if it were no matter, and gave a rather enigmatic response. "You're Hermione Granger. You're the details girl."

And that was absolutely true. Hermione was the one driven by logic and knowledge. The one who insatiably hounded the details and sorted all the information into perfect, clean little columns of black and white… She was good at what she did. Nay, she was fabulous at what she did!

And then there was Draco, who came in and tackled it all with a seemingly lackadaisical, illogical kind of laissez faire attitude that at first drove Hermione spare. He would shrug, dismiss the seemingly foregone conclusions and shoot absolutely wild theories out, seemingly from the hip. He saw the world not in black and white facts, but in feral, pulsating technicolor. He was the feel to Hermione's think, and the do to Hermione's plan…

And, admittedly, Hermione historically was a rather big fan of wild, shooting from the hip plans. She had used the Time Turner to save Buckbeak and Sirius Black back in third year (rather rebelliously, if she were to say so herself, given the possible nature of space-time-continuum continuity issues and all that rubbish). She had lied to Delores Umbridge and lured her into the Forbidden Forest for noble yet nefarious purposes! And, most wildly of all, she had been the one to lead Harry and Ron into jumping headfirst onto a dragon – a dragon - and riding it out of Gringotts! If there were anyone who was able to appreciate a good turn of outside-the-box thinking, it was Hermione.

Together – together they were brilliant. He was the ying to her yang, and yes, though he might drive her round the bend now and again (ok, more likely than not), she found the drive was actually rather scenic. They tempered one another, and were better together than apart.

It had only been a matter of time until that had translated into personal life as well, she supposed.

Hermione made a little whining noise of discontent as yet another paragraph in the file ended with a 'cause unknown – further investigation on the subject required.' It seemed there were a lot of questions lurking herein, and if she was going to lay bets on it (which she wouldn't, of course; betting was for fools and optimists, and Hermione always likened herself more of a realist), she'd say this was shaping up to be a rather large headache.

Skimming on, she suddenly halted, and re-read a phrase that had caught her attention. "'Presumed fairydust– strewn all about the scene, no other possibility comes to mind. All magical testing comes back false'? Do they even realize how unlikely it is for some teenager to have got fairy dust? 'Doused in opal-dragon's blood'? While a pair of teenagers conveniently go missing for a few hours, but come back perfectly unharmed but scandalously ruffled? Oh please! This sounds like some drama set for the OC, not a case from the X-Files…"

"X-Files?" Draco repeated blankly. Then, slowly, a leer crawled across his face. "Wait, X, like the Muggle –"

Seeing where he was going with this, Hermione quickly cut him off at the pass. "No."

Unfettered, Draco waved a hand imperiously, rejecting her denial, then slapped both hands down on her desk and leaned his weight on them. The better to tower over her, she was sure. "But you said –"

"No," Hermione repeated, more firmly this time. Not one to be 'towered over' at any rate, Hermione put her own hands on the table and stood up to meet him eye to eye.

" – X was a rating used on –"

"Draco! No!" She furrowed her brow and frowned a little harder, to better convey her sternness in this matter, but her oft-times infuriating partner was undeterred. Or, perhaps, seeing a chance to rile his girlfriend, was being deliberately provocative. His smirk grew a little bigger, even as he raised his voice a little more.

" –full frontals of wang or kitty –"

"NO, NO, NO!" Over her shouting (and now hand-slamming on the table between them for emphasis), it was easy to miss the faint coughing sound of someone having entered the room and trying to politely interrupt.

" – like that dastardly little Robin Hood production we caught the other week, you know, the one with all the Merry Maidens –?"

But neither was able to miss the subsequent bang as Harry Potter walloped a fist down on Hermione's filing cabinet. Both of them jumped and whirled to face the Boy-Who-Lived-Died-then-Lived-Again, who was looking very unamused. Hermione ducked her head in embarrassment and no little contrition; Draco, meanwhile, merely smirked, seemingly even more amused now that there was a confirmed witness to their little debacle.

"Honestly, you two! It's questionable enough that the department lets you work together at all! But if you begin to make a habit of loudly arguing about pornographic things, you're going to raise more than a few eyebrows!"

"We don't technically 'work together', in a strict manner of speaking," Draco coolly interjected. "I'm a consultant, remember?"

"And the department writes you a hefty check to doworkforthem. Work that isn't, say, even in the samerealm as pornography!"

"I have two points to make in response. Firstly, it's quite a misnomer for you to say we're making a habit of say, indelicate discussions. One time is hardlya habit, Potter."

Harry stared at Draco very hard, his eyes sparking flashes of warning. "The lunchroom, last week."

"Oh posh," Draco dismissed with an airy wave of his hand. "My lunch hour is a free hour to do with as I please. You can't use things I say or do during my lunch hour against me!"

"I most certainly can!"

"Point. You can; the department can't."

"Two weeks ago, outside the girls loo –"

"What, a man can't be appreciative of his girlfriend –"

"Three weeks ago, in the lobby –"

"For your information –"

"Enough!" Hermione shouted, slamming her hand onto the table for a second time. "That's enough, boys! Point made!" When both boys opened their mouths (probably to demand whose point, the stubborn gits), she hastened to change the subject.

"What was the second thing you wanted to say, then Draco? Make your second point already so we can drop this ghastly subject and get back to work!"

Draco frowned hard at Harry for an extra moment, but then was quick to shrug and let a cool, reserved air settle back over him. That only seemed to serve to rifle Harry that much more – but then again, it always had, so it really wasn't much of a surprise either way. It wasn't that Harry truly disliked Draco – not anymore – in point of fact, for a long while he had been downright sappily friendly with the git, when Hermione had first started seeing him, trying to make it very clear that he would support his best friend in whatever endeavor she chose to pursue (even if it was a "barmy" one, as he so eloquently put it). But they had both seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement that… well… the slight animosity just suited them more comfortably, as long as the barbs and jabs were on the surface only.

"Well, my second point was to say that it was you who brought it up first, anyway."

Both Harry and Hermione gaped at him, though only Hermione squawked out an indignant, "What?" in response. Draco only nodded coolly.

"Well, it's true! You go referencing the X-Files, and what am I to think?"

"X-Files?" Harry scrunched up his nose for a moment in thought – then, abruptly, barked out a quick laugh. "Yes, I suppose Wizards would see any case involving Muggles like something from the X-Files, wouldn't they?"

"You watched the X-Files?" Hermione cried in delight. The Boy-Who-Could-Defeat-An-Evil-Overlord-But-Couldn't-Tame-His-Hair nodded emphatically in response.

"Of course I watched the X-Files!" he chirped. "They played late-night marathons. Since my only time on the telly was to sneak some in after the Dursleys had gone to sleep, I had the choice of either that, some soap re-runs, or weird infomercials. X-Files won by a long shot." He grinned cheekily.

"Do you remember the Arcadia episode?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Oh – oh, yes! Do you remember the look on the neighbors face when he painted the mailbox? Oh, or when they got the toxicology report back and it was ketchup?"

"Oh my god, and the mirror pool? That was sofunny!"

They both pealed with laugher then. It was only moments later, when she was catching her breath, that Hermione noticed the distinctly unpleasant wince on Draco's face – as if he had swallowed something very sour.

"What?" Hermione demanded, frowning hard at him.

"You watched porn with Potter?" He spit the two words out as if they were the most distasteful things to have ever resided within his mouth.

Their peals of laughter probably made for a less than palatable response.

=0=

Two weeks of heavy investigation and expenses-paid sleuthing about revealed exactly what Hermione had said to begin with: it was more a case that belonged in a teenage soap opera than a Magical Law Enforcement special task force's summarizing report.

Sure enough, the 'fairy dust' had been nothing more than Muggle glitter. (Much to Draco's embarrassment after his initial bout of utter wonder at the sheer volume of seemingly very rare stuff scattered about 'the crime scene'.) And the 'Opel dragon's blood' had been revealed to be nothing more than common motor oil mixed with some petrol in water and doused liberally about.

Much to the Pureblooded Wizarding family's embarrassment, as it turned out at long last, their own son had been strewing the stuff about, courtesy of his Squib girlfriend, presumably to throw off 'the authorities'. And, true enough, 'the authorities' (those being his disapproving parents, of course) had spent their energies puzzling over how their son could have got a hold of such contraband (albeit apparently ineffective) ingredients, rather than speculating that perhaps they had been innocuous Muggle products all along.

All in all, Hermione suspected the young lad wasn't feeling any the worse for wear. His parents were so relieved that he wasn't starting a seedy life as a young drug lord, smuggler, or dark-lord-upstart that they had barely batted an eye when the metaphorical curtain was thrown back to reveal it all as a ruse to cover up his teenage angsty-drama. A Squib girlfriend was preferable to a presumed life in Azkaban looming ahead.

Any hold-outs they might have had were easily enough dismissed when Draco (arguably from one of the most egocentric old families out there) had acted sincerely scandalized by the very prospect the boy had felt the need to hide it to begin with. "Why, one might have thought you'd have given him the idea we were still living in the time of the Dark Lord," he had drawled thoughtfully – and then tried his darnedest to hide his smirk as the mother had frantically begun asking Hermione's advice on what Muggleborn focused charities were best to write a check to.

At the end of the day, the Wizarding family who had requisitioned their help had been very pleased with their combined ingenuity (cough, Hermione's familiarity with Muggle things, cough) and social sensitivity (Draco's smooth talking, and the Department's firmly-sealed-lips policy regarding investigations).

For once, Hermione had shoved the duty of turning in the final report onto Draco, despite his arrogant protests that it was 'secretary's work' (ignoring her glare and clipped question asking if that made her a secretary). He muttered something about it being plebian – then, abruptly, got a bright look, nabbed the report, and strolled out of the office whistling. He had been gone for quite awhile now…

To say she was mildly worried would be a bit of an understatement.

But then, just like that, he burst into the office with an exuberant air. "So, I was speaking with our Department Head –"

"Our? You mean my Department Head! You're a consultant!"

"What's yours is mine, what's mine is mine, whatever," Draco waved away her concerns airily. Hermione smothered the urge to smirk as his (probably deliberate) perversion of the quote. Honestly, arrogant git though he was, he was terribly cute when he was clever.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on one's point of view), Draco was clever most of the time. Well, it kept her on her toes, at any rate. "What's mine is yours," she primly corrected the misquoted latter half of the expression.

"That's what I said," he replied obtusely. Hermione rolled her eyes, and Draco continued as if he hadn't noticed. "Anyway, so I was speaking to our Department Head, and he was very intrigued when I proposed that we set up a special division for looking into the special cases that require a special cocktail of Muggle-sensibility with Wizarding gentility, like this last one… And, well, like most we've been doing."

"A special division? Draco, you're barking! They're already always complaining about funding, how in the world –"

"Well, I may have agreed to sponsor it." Draco coughed awkwardly, then waved a hand dismissively. "At least partially. At first. Or something like that, anyway."

"Sponsor it? You do realize you're a consultant here, right? You know how that works?"

"Yes, well, job security and all that," Draco quipped back, her words rolling off him like water off a duck. "Spend a galleon to make a galleon. Or gain a little shouldering power, as it were. With the number of Muggleborn joining the fold increasing as it has been, and the intermarrying and cross-integration, I imagine the caseload for this little cozy little special division will only skyrocket in time… And guess who's situated himself all tight and cozy to be the only slightly malevolent overlord – erm, Department Head – of this outfit once it gets rolling?" He leered. "Well, not single-handedly, of course. I'll share. And we can even divide time being the top and bottom – figuratively speaking." If possible (and apparently it was), his leer got a little more lascivious. Then, it softened a bit. "I mean, what with no hanky-panky between superiors and their staff, I guess we'll just have to keep things equal. Can't threaten that hanky-panky."

She waited – counted to ten, then, realizing he wasn't going to offer anything else, she finally capitulated. "So?"

He looked genuinely blank. "So?"

"So? What did he say, you git!"

"Well, there's no need for name calling," Draco sniffed, though his satisfied smirk belied the statement entirely. "That's a terrible way to start things out with your new bona-fide partner."

"Partner?"

"Well, seeing as my generous donation founded the department, you could call me boss if you'd reallyprefer –"

"I wouldn't," she replied flatly. Draco caught her droll look and smirked saucily.

"It could make for a bit of fun roleplay –"

She felt her flushing face giving her away. It wouldn't makefor a bit of fun roleplay, in some abstract theoretical sense – it made for fun roleplay (made, as in, past and present tense! As in, they had already done it before, and found it passably enjoyable!), as they both jolly well knew! Shame on him for bringing it up at work to embarrass her! "Draco," she growled warningly.

"Maybe I could bring The Desk back, and we could –"

"If that desk shows up, I'm hexing it into a million pieces," she growled in warning.

" – like that time we used those cuffs – you remember the ones –?"

"Draco!"

" – and you liked the way I spanked you sohard before –"

A loud slam on the filing cabinet made them both jump. The irony was not lost upon Hermione when she turned to meet the stern glare of one Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Always-Walked-In-At-The-Most-Inopportune-Conversation-Point.

When the abruptly settled silence had stretched on just onto the far side of uncomfortable, Hermione abruptly clapped her hands in front of her. "Erm – right, so, that wasn't at all what it sounded like," she chirped with false cheer.

"I'm sure it wasn't," Harry deadpanned.

"You, sir, are far too gullible to the wiles of this woman," Draco jeered. "Dead wrong is what you are. But since you're so used to that state of being, I'm sure you do it on purpose to maintain your homeostasis," he added in a false consoling tone. If possible, Harry's deadpan look deadpanned a little more.

"As riveting a conversationalist you are, Malfoy, I'm not here to shoot the breeze. Just was coming back from a Department Head meeting, and since I was going to be passing by Hermione's office –"

"Our office," Draco inserted glibly.

"Right, Hermione's office – I thought I'd drop this off on my way." He set down a several-inch-thick stack of papers – which Hermione openly boggled at – then stepped forward and handed her a manila envelope with a huge red "APPROVED" stamped on the front. He jerked his chin at the small mountain. "I guess this was a really good idea – turns out, they had a whole slew of cases just simmering around because they didn't have anyone specializing in inter-Muggle-Wizarding relations to take them." His slightly peeved look slid away to be replaced by a glow of genuine pride and excitement as he pressed it into her hand. "I'm sure there will be a ceremony and department title plates stamped and letterhead stationary printed and all that hoo-hah coming later, but just the same, congrats on the new appointment, Hermione. If anyone deserves this, it's you." He cast a sidelong glance at Malfoy, and valiantly (half) fought a grimace off his fight. "And I guess you maybe kinda aren't such a bad choice either, Malfoy."

"Malfoys were born to lead," Draco replied flippantly. He had already settled himself listlessly into his chair and had it leaned back so far that it wouldn't even take a stiff breeze to blow him over – probably just a faint one would do.

Harry ignored Draco – and, to his infinite credit, also ignored the paper airplane that went whizzing dangerously close past his face a moment later. His rolled his eyes heavenward, as if asking the deities for patience.

It was a lost cause, at any rate; Hermione would know. She affected that look quite often, for much the same reason.

"Anyway," Harry huffed. "Congratulations, Hermione." He leaned forward and nabbed her into an impromptu hug. "Plus, if you're going to be on the careful-tread cases from now on, I bet I'll get to work with you every once in a blue moon. Auror presence is always a good idea when things might go a bit wonky and some Obliviation might be needed, I'd wager, and, well – I'd be insulted if you asked for anyone but me."

"Prepare to have your sensibilities gravely insulted," Draco inserted dryly.

Both Harry and Hermione ignored him. "Of course, Harry. Of course." She blinked several times, still stunned and trying to catch up with what was happening. Apparently sensing that, Harry grinned again and gave her a cheeky little salute.

"Well then – I'll see you later! We're all meeting up at Ron and Luna's later this week for dinner, right?"

"Yes, yes," Hermione replied distractedly, eagerly unwinding the cord that pinned the envelope flap shut at the top.

"Hopefully she sticks with a more, hm, traditional menu this time around. I don't know if I could stomach another, hm, 'culinary adventure' like we partook last time at her urging," Draco drawled, wrinkling his nose slightly in recollection. Hermione wrinkled her nose as well; she was a dutiful girlfriend, but she doubted anybody could claim to enjoy stroking the hair of their significant other as they puked their guts out over the porcelain throne.

"For once in my life, I am in total agreement with you," Harry responded, looking just a tad green around the gills. Shaking off the reverie, he turned and strode to leave her office, but paused at the door to turn back and grin brightly at Hermione. "Oh, and 'Hermione – brilliant work on the new department name! You're so clever - haha, I bet those stuffy old curmudgeons had no idea!"

And then he was gone, before Hermione could voice the obvious question. "What brilliant name?" she mumbled distractedly, finally freeing the top latch on the manila envelope and pulling the paperwork free.

Draco spoke up the exact moment her eyes alighted on the big, bold, underlined words on top of the page, congratulating her on her co-partnership heading up the new department, so aptly titled…

"The X-Files, of course. And it's high-time we christen in that X-rating, wouldn't you say?"

=0=

fin