"So why are we here again?"

Harry Potter was absent-mindedly poking an unnaturally creepy corpse. So far, it hadn't done anything. It wasn't supposed to—it was the remnants of a destroyed Inferi, with huge strips of skin, muscle and bone charred black from the fire that had killed it and its bretheren. The rest was icy cold and pale, and the whole thing stunk.

Hermione looked up from her book and spared Harry an exasperated glance. "Honestly, I went over this in the intitial proposals with the DMLE and the DOM." She went back to her book.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, Harry, why can't you remember the really long words Hermione uses to confuse our supervisors until they just let her do what she wants?"

Hermione didn't look up this time, but she did smirk.

Fifteen years later, and the Golden Trio was still inseperable. Sure, they had their history as students defeating Dark Lords, monsters, and evil significant others. But the truly remarkable bit was that they managed to stay together as friends, and form a wickedly awesome crime-solving team to boot.

Harry and Ron had both gone in as Aurors immediately following the defeat of Moldyshorts, while Hermione went back to school. For a long time she wavered in choosing a career (unlike third year, she couldn't simply pick "all of them") until the Department of Mysteries offered her a career as an Unspeakable, researching all kinds of magic. Her close connections to the Dynamic Duo in the Aurors meant that the departments would put the three of them together on the trickier mysteries and broader defense issues than Knockturn Alley pickpockets.

While Harry sometimes wished life had turned out like his teenage wet dreams—marry Ginny, have a family, a quiet life with a steady job—a few months after the war had proved that he couldn't bear it. He needed excitement, even beyond that of a standard Auror job when no Dark Lords were running about. The clincher was the day he died on a standard mission, met Death, came back from the dead, and found the Deathly Hallows in his back pocket. Ginny just didn't cut it after that.

Those same months showed Ron that he did have a knack for strategy, and the years in the Auror force taught him how to read people in pursuit of that strategy. (A latent talent for mental magics helped. Hermione blamed his empty head for his ability to read others.) And working as mediator for the famous Boy-Who-Lived-&-Chosen-One, as well as the scary smart Professor Granger (she had earned the title, even if she only taught post-NEWT magical theory), worked pretty well for him.

Except for when the Boy-Who-Lived-&-Chosen-One and Professor Granger were sparking off each other.

Harry gave a particularly burned crisp a poke with the Elder wand. "So, what are we doing again?"

Hermione pushed the hand away with an impatient huff—that time the wand had sparked. "Honestly, Harry! Be careful with that thing!"

"Yeah, Harry. Careful with your wand. Never know what might come out." Ron snorted.

"Funny, Ron, funny." Harry said. "But honestly, Hermione, what's the project this time?"

That managed to knock Hermione from 'exasperated woman' to 'devoted researcher' mode. "We have an interest in discovering the origins of the magic used to create Inferi. The Aurors are hoping that if we discover those origins, we can come up with a cleaner and more efficient way to eliminate Inferi than large-scale bonfires and huge amounts of property damage. The Unspeakables are hoping to gain some knowledge about necromantic magic without breaking any laws. But…" And Hermione switched back to 'exasperated woman'. "I explained this all to you in the initial meeting and research proposals!"

The men both chuckled. Harry replied with, "Hermione, you have to use big words in those meetings. We understand why we are here."

Hermione sighed. "Whatever. I've got the first spell here for you, Harry. You did bring your holly, right? That one scares me sometimes." She gave a wary glance at the Elder wand, which was still sparking a bit.

Harry pulled out his holly wand. "Right here. Want to try it with this one first?"

"Like usual Harry. Ready Ron?"

Ron pulled his wand out as well—Hermione's standard diagnostic spells could pull some interesting tricks. The time they had summoned an army of miniature garden gnomes had been memorable.

"Ready, Hermione!"

"Alright. Emergency kits ready?"

Twin assents sounded.

"Alright, Harry. 3….2….1….Cast!"

Harry cast the spell: a standard diagnostic to register the origins of the item in question. When done correctly, a vision, not unlike viewing a memory, of the origin appeared.

This time, all Harry got was a cloud of powdery, cold, white smoke.

Hermione recorded the observations in her "Big Book of Observations" (Ron had scrawled that on her never-ending notebook in permanent ink as a joke once, she liked the title), and paused, frowning.

"Well, that was inconclusive, at best." Harry said. "Shall I try the Elder Wand?" He waved the other wand temptingly.

Hermione sighed. "Oh, all right. Emergency kits ready?"

"YES!"

"Alright, Harry, 3…2….1…."

A crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, and some cold wind later, and the three found face-down in a very, very dingy pub.

Ron was the first to lift his head, groan, and moan, "Where the hell are we?"

Hermione kept her face in the dirt. "Harry, I really, really hate that wand. We're not in the Ministry anymore, are we?"

Harry looked up, winced, and put his head back down. "Not even close."