Harry Potter as Fox Mulder
By; Adelphia Savanya Moore`
DISCLAIMERS;
"I do not own them in a box,
I do not own them with a fox,
I do not own them while I'm bowling,
They all belong to JK Rowling!" -JuliaHrtly776
-The X-Files belong to someone who is not typing this fic.
A/N; This is just something that I was messing around with. It's no great representation of my skills and usual writing persona. It is a mix of "Harry Potter", "The X-Files", and "What the h*ll did I do last night?" with an added touch of "Dear God, I'm bored out of my mind here!" R and R.
-PSis it worthy of a sequel?
Part 1: Harry Potter, despite his unavoidable historical influences, had always been (deep down inside) just an average Joe/Billy/Bob. He never wanted greatness, nor was he ever recorded as requesting it. Glory was not an option; it was a responsibility, and a burden at that.
Hermione Granger came off as a sensible, headstrong schoolgirl. The very model of independence, and a 4.0 student in every subject. She and Harry appeared to be a fairly compatible couple, yet it seemed as though nothing really came of their relationship, as they both drifted apart. Seeing other people their last year at Hogwarts, they found the presence of others a bit more pleasing than as to be expected, and grew farther and farther apart in the last few months.
After school, they both took jobs at the Ministry; he as an Aourer, she as an intern to the Minister. They slowly forgot of their acquaintance with one another, wrapped up in the essence of their adult lives.
Yet, and just as suddenly (hence, not too fast), they heard rumors of a Muggle investigation team, comprised of several Aourers and several interns, posing as "FBI Agents". Now, rumor had it that the two leaders of the investigation where to be none but Harry and Hermione. But this was all rumors, and not a word of it was to be believed. That is, mind you, before the Minister himself called the two to his private office.
They greeted one another in the common Minister fashion, meaning a nod and stiff handshake. They sat down, side by side, in wooden hard backed chairs, standard Ministry issue (times where tough, and leisure money scarce, thus no great expense could be dealt with for the mere grandeur of the Minister's office. If he wanted a fancy office, may it come out of his own back pocket/or wand, however you prefer.).
The Minister was a fairly ordinary man, as far as wizarding standards of beauty lie. He was tall, thin, and almost bald, yet the few hairs that still remained on his skeletal head where quite a vivid orange-red in coloring, almost as though he had resulted to dipping his head in Kool-Aid to revive its dying color. Yet, Harry knew better.
"Uh…Minister Weasley, as you see, you've called me here on very late notice, as you may tell by my, uh…less than formal attire." Harry cleared his throat instinctively. In fact, he was wearing faded jeans with holes in the outer corners of the pockets, a dirty gray t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket thrown hap-hazardly over his broad shoulders.
"That's quite alright, Mr. Potter. Actually, I'm quite thankful for the size of my desk, as I'm still wearing my pajama bottoms." And with that, Arthur Weasley lifted one leg out from behind his scratched and ominous junkyard desk to reveal blue and red checked pants and a pair of house loafers. "I even have my pipe."
"Mr. Potter," he continued "you know I didn't call you here for a bit of mere small talk. If you please, I would like to give you the load on this new Dumb Muggle Project of mine."
"Sir, I wouldn't go so far as to call it dumb, sir!"
"Miss Granger, if you don't mind grabbing the folder slightly to your left, I'll explain to you what the vast majority of your peers, including my own sons, think is the most pathetic plot to ever curse this office." Hermione gingerly lifted the folder and handed it to Arthur. He smiled, and opened it, letting papers and charts and notes and all the sorts spill over onto his scratched desk. He riffed through them, then handed several of them over to Harry. "This, Mr. Potter, is to be your plan outline for the next seven years. As you can see, I've gotten…" He stopped at the outraged look on Harry's face. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Seven years?" He finally blurted out. "Seven years?" now, in outrage. "Seven whole God damned years! And only one page! Damn it, Arthur, this! This is seven whole years I'm supposed to work off of this little piece of shit! That can't be done! It's impossible! It…"
"…Can be done in six, if we start now. I should know, I designed the program myself." Came Hermione's calm, collective, and overpowering voice from directly behind him. Harry felt his cheeks burn.
"I'm very sorry, Miss…I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
"I didn't tell you. Hermione Granger, from school."
"Oh, my God! Herm! I barely recognized you at all! Damn, I'm such an idiot! Arthur, why the hell didn't you tell me? Oh fu…!"
"I would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from that sort of language in my presence, Mr. Potter, it makes me very uneasy."
"Oh, Hermione, you've always been that way, I should have known! And, uh, Harry, if you would be so kind." He added with a boyish smirk, identical to the one he wore when he broke Draco Malfoy's arm to win the House Championship. She had been expressing an interest in Draco, and Harry had gone off and broken the man's arm, just to selfishly gain back Hermione's affections. That was why she hated him so gravely. If it wasn't for that abominable pride of his, they would be in the sack, but he was a proud, vain man, corrupted too early in life for redemption.
"Miss Granger, if you please, Mr. Potter."
"Oh, come now, come now," came the exuberant tones of Minister Weasley, "you're partners for seven years. Shouldn't we…"
"Six!" Both Mr. Potter and Miss Granger almost shouted in unison, both of whom where, emotionally, somewhere between fuming and boiling.
"Oh, now, well now…" Mr. Weasley thought quietly to himself. The momentary lapse was just enough to set the partners howling of old flames and, suprisingly, how Harry had the entire Griffindor House team pound Draco Malfoy, who had already played half the match with a broken arm, of Harry's affliction.
"He deserved it, the bastard! He was cheating! His whole team was…"
"I don't care if he was or wasn't! The point is that…"
"But he was!"
"You didn't have to paralyze him! He still has crutches! All because of you, Harry Potter! The famous Mr. Potter! What a bastard!" Hermione kicked Harry, and I don't have to tell you where, but he winced and fell over.
Arthur Weasley let out a shrill whistle. "Attention shoppers!" Both Harry and Hermione looked at the Minister in confusion. "Just wanted your attention. Mr. Potter, if you would so kindly sit back down in your chair, I would like to finish this meeting with as few outbursts as possible." Harry clambered back into his chair, scowled darkly at Hermione, and then looked to Minister Weasley.
"You'll be posing as newlywed Muggles; living in an average sized flat just out of London, which the Ministry will be paying for…well, as best we can." He gave a barely audible, yet quite indignant snort after the last section of his sentence. "You, Mr. Potter, will be assuming the title of Mr. Dave Petrie and acting as a United States Federal Agent here on assignment from Washington, DC. The real Mr. Petrie is the non-magical cousin of a member of my counsel (hence, he's a squib), who was willing to lend a hand in this operation. You, Miss Granger, will be his wife, Laura. The Department of Magical Witness Protection will be aiding you in disguising yourselves most adequately. Your general assignment is to find out the functioning of the Muggle Government, how their Police force is operated, and the local Judicial System's workings as well. I know that this sounds a bit boring, Mr. Potter, yet I fear I must request that you refrain from rolling your eyes in the middle of my explanation, as it is overly aggravating."
Harry blushed and glanced purposefully at the ground. Hermione chuckled to herself, then looked back to the Minister, who was now giving the rather bashful Mr. Potter directions to their new residence.
"Now, Mr. Potter, you'll be taking the car which the Ministry has provided to you. That…"
"But I already have a Muggle SUV! I just bought it a few months ago, with my bonus from bagging Greg Goyle! I've only covered the down payment! It's a brand new Ford 2001 Expedition S150, with leather seats, and a compact disk player, and keyless remote entry, and four wheel drive, and self-heating seats, and it's nice and shiny and new and it's black and..."
"Oh, well, in that case, Mr. Potter, I'd like to have a look at this new… what did you call it? STV?"
"That's SUV, Minister Weasley. And, uh, can I keep it?"
"Of coarse you can keep it, my boy! You'd think that the Ministry of Magic would deprive one of its finest employee's from the joy of his newly acquired Muggle transportation system? No, no, not at all! Come, my boy, I need to finish those directions I was giving you beforehand..."
Arthur Weasley and Harry Potter had reached the door by the end of this speech, and where putting on their jackets. Hermione, after vigorously rolling her eyes at them multiple times, grabbed her sensible tweed overcoat and hurried out of the office after them.
"He's always like this when it comes to those stupid Muggle fad's. Always has to have the latest gadget, and his family has to starve, just so he can have his little toys!" She mused as she jogged to catch up. For average sized men, they walked extremely fast. "And I've always remembered Harry that way, too." She continued. "Always trying to find a loophole; always attempting to use whomever he choused, just so that he could get his way. Well," Hermione concluded as the three-person party reached the main lobby "he won't get the best of me."
_*_*_*_*_*_*_
"Well, here you are, Mr. and Mrs. Petrie; home sweet home. And so, here's your house key!" he placed a small silver and gold key into Harry/Dave's hand. "Here's your mission outline!" he dropped a bulging folder into Harry/Dave's other hand and Harry, surprised by the sudden unbalanced weight, stepped backwards, tripped over the ominous suitcase that was directly behind him, and fell over onto his back. The Minister leaned over the heap of papers, suitcases, travel bags, leather coat, and leather pants that was Harry, and said "You see where your luggage is. Well, here's your house!" Mr. Weasley gestured energetically around the sunlit living room that they had stumbled into. "And here I leave you!" And, with that, he gave an optimistic smile and slammed the door with a youthful merriment unexpected of his years.
"So..."
"So..."
"So...would you like to help me up, Herm?"
"No."
"Okay..."
"My answer is still no."
"Fine. Be that way... see if I care!"
"Maybe I will!"
"Maybe you should!"
"I will!"
"Fine! Good! Be a bitch!"
"Don't you call me that you- you- you-"
"Ha! You can't insult me!"
"And why not?"
"Because you're madly in love with me, that's why!"
"I most certainly am not!"
"Then how come you can't insult me?"
"I'm trying to be agreeable!"
"Well, you're failing miserably!"
"Oh, the prick is using big words, is he?"
"Oh, so now I'm a prick, am I?"
"I've never liked you Mr. Potter! I hope you know that!"
"Oh, well, Ms. Granger, thank you so much for clearing that up! And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be bringing my things to my room!" Harry threw the outline everywhere as he stood up. He snatched up one of his smaller bags and stormed out of the entryway, up the stairs and down the hall. Hermione stayed only long enough to hear him bang his feet down the hall and slam the door before calling out angrily that she was going out and not to wait up.
"Like I ever would!" Sardonically rang after her as she, too, slammed a door. Then, a mortifying reality came to her: they would be sharing a room.
Hermione came in the unlocked back door sometime around midnight, cursing Harry's stupidity. "The man doesn't even have the sense to lock himself in at night!" She murmured as she felt her way through the kitchen.
As she entered the living room, she found the television on. And Harry, shirtless and asleep on the sofa; her luggage had been left on the floor, just as it had been when she had left, almost five hours ago. She had walked around the neighborhood, stopped at a large café called Starbucks (I don't own that either, though, I wish I did) and read the newspaper to pass the time. She had talked to a few people who where, by their familiarity, some of Mrs. Laura Petrie's closer friends, and she thanked herself for the painstakingly slow session of memorizing faces and names at her desk before she left the office. "The last time I'll be able to leave the office in what looks to be seven years at least." Hermione mused as she spread the decorative afghan over Harry and headed off to bead. She was actually glad that she was working with someone who was not her current bouix, Draco Malfoy. Their relationship had been getting the slightest bit steamy over the last few months, and it was nice to have a little break from that at least. However, then there was Harry to worry about. How long would it be before he tried to put his "moves" on her once again?
"I'll give him a week." She muttered as the shut the bedroom door. If worst came to worst, she could always lock herself in.
*_*_*_*
It was the next morning that he came. (Oh, I do love a good intrigue)
By; Adelphia Savanya Moore`
DISCLAIMERS;
"I do not own them in a box,
I do not own them with a fox,
I do not own them while I'm bowling,
They all belong to JK Rowling!" -JuliaHrtly776
-The X-Files belong to someone who is not typing this fic.
A/N; This is just something that I was messing around with. It's no great representation of my skills and usual writing persona. It is a mix of "Harry Potter", "The X-Files", and "What the h*ll did I do last night?" with an added touch of "Dear God, I'm bored out of my mind here!" R and R.
-PSis it worthy of a sequel?
Part 1: Harry Potter, despite his unavoidable historical influences, had always been (deep down inside) just an average Joe/Billy/Bob. He never wanted greatness, nor was he ever recorded as requesting it. Glory was not an option; it was a responsibility, and a burden at that.
Hermione Granger came off as a sensible, headstrong schoolgirl. The very model of independence, and a 4.0 student in every subject. She and Harry appeared to be a fairly compatible couple, yet it seemed as though nothing really came of their relationship, as they both drifted apart. Seeing other people their last year at Hogwarts, they found the presence of others a bit more pleasing than as to be expected, and grew farther and farther apart in the last few months.
After school, they both took jobs at the Ministry; he as an Aourer, she as an intern to the Minister. They slowly forgot of their acquaintance with one another, wrapped up in the essence of their adult lives.
Yet, and just as suddenly (hence, not too fast), they heard rumors of a Muggle investigation team, comprised of several Aourers and several interns, posing as "FBI Agents". Now, rumor had it that the two leaders of the investigation where to be none but Harry and Hermione. But this was all rumors, and not a word of it was to be believed. That is, mind you, before the Minister himself called the two to his private office.
They greeted one another in the common Minister fashion, meaning a nod and stiff handshake. They sat down, side by side, in wooden hard backed chairs, standard Ministry issue (times where tough, and leisure money scarce, thus no great expense could be dealt with for the mere grandeur of the Minister's office. If he wanted a fancy office, may it come out of his own back pocket/or wand, however you prefer.).
The Minister was a fairly ordinary man, as far as wizarding standards of beauty lie. He was tall, thin, and almost bald, yet the few hairs that still remained on his skeletal head where quite a vivid orange-red in coloring, almost as though he had resulted to dipping his head in Kool-Aid to revive its dying color. Yet, Harry knew better.
"Uh…Minister Weasley, as you see, you've called me here on very late notice, as you may tell by my, uh…less than formal attire." Harry cleared his throat instinctively. In fact, he was wearing faded jeans with holes in the outer corners of the pockets, a dirty gray t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket thrown hap-hazardly over his broad shoulders.
"That's quite alright, Mr. Potter. Actually, I'm quite thankful for the size of my desk, as I'm still wearing my pajama bottoms." And with that, Arthur Weasley lifted one leg out from behind his scratched and ominous junkyard desk to reveal blue and red checked pants and a pair of house loafers. "I even have my pipe."
"Mr. Potter," he continued "you know I didn't call you here for a bit of mere small talk. If you please, I would like to give you the load on this new Dumb Muggle Project of mine."
"Sir, I wouldn't go so far as to call it dumb, sir!"
"Miss Granger, if you don't mind grabbing the folder slightly to your left, I'll explain to you what the vast majority of your peers, including my own sons, think is the most pathetic plot to ever curse this office." Hermione gingerly lifted the folder and handed it to Arthur. He smiled, and opened it, letting papers and charts and notes and all the sorts spill over onto his scratched desk. He riffed through them, then handed several of them over to Harry. "This, Mr. Potter, is to be your plan outline for the next seven years. As you can see, I've gotten…" He stopped at the outraged look on Harry's face. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Seven years?" He finally blurted out. "Seven years?" now, in outrage. "Seven whole God damned years! And only one page! Damn it, Arthur, this! This is seven whole years I'm supposed to work off of this little piece of shit! That can't be done! It's impossible! It…"
"…Can be done in six, if we start now. I should know, I designed the program myself." Came Hermione's calm, collective, and overpowering voice from directly behind him. Harry felt his cheeks burn.
"I'm very sorry, Miss…I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
"I didn't tell you. Hermione Granger, from school."
"Oh, my God! Herm! I barely recognized you at all! Damn, I'm such an idiot! Arthur, why the hell didn't you tell me? Oh fu…!"
"I would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from that sort of language in my presence, Mr. Potter, it makes me very uneasy."
"Oh, Hermione, you've always been that way, I should have known! And, uh, Harry, if you would be so kind." He added with a boyish smirk, identical to the one he wore when he broke Draco Malfoy's arm to win the House Championship. She had been expressing an interest in Draco, and Harry had gone off and broken the man's arm, just to selfishly gain back Hermione's affections. That was why she hated him so gravely. If it wasn't for that abominable pride of his, they would be in the sack, but he was a proud, vain man, corrupted too early in life for redemption.
"Miss Granger, if you please, Mr. Potter."
"Oh, come now, come now," came the exuberant tones of Minister Weasley, "you're partners for seven years. Shouldn't we…"
"Six!" Both Mr. Potter and Miss Granger almost shouted in unison, both of whom where, emotionally, somewhere between fuming and boiling.
"Oh, now, well now…" Mr. Weasley thought quietly to himself. The momentary lapse was just enough to set the partners howling of old flames and, suprisingly, how Harry had the entire Griffindor House team pound Draco Malfoy, who had already played half the match with a broken arm, of Harry's affliction.
"He deserved it, the bastard! He was cheating! His whole team was…"
"I don't care if he was or wasn't! The point is that…"
"But he was!"
"You didn't have to paralyze him! He still has crutches! All because of you, Harry Potter! The famous Mr. Potter! What a bastard!" Hermione kicked Harry, and I don't have to tell you where, but he winced and fell over.
Arthur Weasley let out a shrill whistle. "Attention shoppers!" Both Harry and Hermione looked at the Minister in confusion. "Just wanted your attention. Mr. Potter, if you would so kindly sit back down in your chair, I would like to finish this meeting with as few outbursts as possible." Harry clambered back into his chair, scowled darkly at Hermione, and then looked to Minister Weasley.
"You'll be posing as newlywed Muggles; living in an average sized flat just out of London, which the Ministry will be paying for…well, as best we can." He gave a barely audible, yet quite indignant snort after the last section of his sentence. "You, Mr. Potter, will be assuming the title of Mr. Dave Petrie and acting as a United States Federal Agent here on assignment from Washington, DC. The real Mr. Petrie is the non-magical cousin of a member of my counsel (hence, he's a squib), who was willing to lend a hand in this operation. You, Miss Granger, will be his wife, Laura. The Department of Magical Witness Protection will be aiding you in disguising yourselves most adequately. Your general assignment is to find out the functioning of the Muggle Government, how their Police force is operated, and the local Judicial System's workings as well. I know that this sounds a bit boring, Mr. Potter, yet I fear I must request that you refrain from rolling your eyes in the middle of my explanation, as it is overly aggravating."
Harry blushed and glanced purposefully at the ground. Hermione chuckled to herself, then looked back to the Minister, who was now giving the rather bashful Mr. Potter directions to their new residence.
"Now, Mr. Potter, you'll be taking the car which the Ministry has provided to you. That…"
"But I already have a Muggle SUV! I just bought it a few months ago, with my bonus from bagging Greg Goyle! I've only covered the down payment! It's a brand new Ford 2001 Expedition S150, with leather seats, and a compact disk player, and keyless remote entry, and four wheel drive, and self-heating seats, and it's nice and shiny and new and it's black and..."
"Oh, well, in that case, Mr. Potter, I'd like to have a look at this new… what did you call it? STV?"
"That's SUV, Minister Weasley. And, uh, can I keep it?"
"Of coarse you can keep it, my boy! You'd think that the Ministry of Magic would deprive one of its finest employee's from the joy of his newly acquired Muggle transportation system? No, no, not at all! Come, my boy, I need to finish those directions I was giving you beforehand..."
Arthur Weasley and Harry Potter had reached the door by the end of this speech, and where putting on their jackets. Hermione, after vigorously rolling her eyes at them multiple times, grabbed her sensible tweed overcoat and hurried out of the office after them.
"He's always like this when it comes to those stupid Muggle fad's. Always has to have the latest gadget, and his family has to starve, just so he can have his little toys!" She mused as she jogged to catch up. For average sized men, they walked extremely fast. "And I've always remembered Harry that way, too." She continued. "Always trying to find a loophole; always attempting to use whomever he choused, just so that he could get his way. Well," Hermione concluded as the three-person party reached the main lobby "he won't get the best of me."
_*_*_*_*_*_*_
"Well, here you are, Mr. and Mrs. Petrie; home sweet home. And so, here's your house key!" he placed a small silver and gold key into Harry/Dave's hand. "Here's your mission outline!" he dropped a bulging folder into Harry/Dave's other hand and Harry, surprised by the sudden unbalanced weight, stepped backwards, tripped over the ominous suitcase that was directly behind him, and fell over onto his back. The Minister leaned over the heap of papers, suitcases, travel bags, leather coat, and leather pants that was Harry, and said "You see where your luggage is. Well, here's your house!" Mr. Weasley gestured energetically around the sunlit living room that they had stumbled into. "And here I leave you!" And, with that, he gave an optimistic smile and slammed the door with a youthful merriment unexpected of his years.
"So..."
"So..."
"So...would you like to help me up, Herm?"
"No."
"Okay..."
"My answer is still no."
"Fine. Be that way... see if I care!"
"Maybe I will!"
"Maybe you should!"
"I will!"
"Fine! Good! Be a bitch!"
"Don't you call me that you- you- you-"
"Ha! You can't insult me!"
"And why not?"
"Because you're madly in love with me, that's why!"
"I most certainly am not!"
"Then how come you can't insult me?"
"I'm trying to be agreeable!"
"Well, you're failing miserably!"
"Oh, the prick is using big words, is he?"
"Oh, so now I'm a prick, am I?"
"I've never liked you Mr. Potter! I hope you know that!"
"Oh, well, Ms. Granger, thank you so much for clearing that up! And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be bringing my things to my room!" Harry threw the outline everywhere as he stood up. He snatched up one of his smaller bags and stormed out of the entryway, up the stairs and down the hall. Hermione stayed only long enough to hear him bang his feet down the hall and slam the door before calling out angrily that she was going out and not to wait up.
"Like I ever would!" Sardonically rang after her as she, too, slammed a door. Then, a mortifying reality came to her: they would be sharing a room.
Hermione came in the unlocked back door sometime around midnight, cursing Harry's stupidity. "The man doesn't even have the sense to lock himself in at night!" She murmured as she felt her way through the kitchen.
As she entered the living room, she found the television on. And Harry, shirtless and asleep on the sofa; her luggage had been left on the floor, just as it had been when she had left, almost five hours ago. She had walked around the neighborhood, stopped at a large café called Starbucks (I don't own that either, though, I wish I did) and read the newspaper to pass the time. She had talked to a few people who where, by their familiarity, some of Mrs. Laura Petrie's closer friends, and she thanked herself for the painstakingly slow session of memorizing faces and names at her desk before she left the office. "The last time I'll be able to leave the office in what looks to be seven years at least." Hermione mused as she spread the decorative afghan over Harry and headed off to bead. She was actually glad that she was working with someone who was not her current bouix, Draco Malfoy. Their relationship had been getting the slightest bit steamy over the last few months, and it was nice to have a little break from that at least. However, then there was Harry to worry about. How long would it be before he tried to put his "moves" on her once again?
"I'll give him a week." She muttered as the shut the bedroom door. If worst came to worst, she could always lock herself in.
*_*_*_*
It was the next morning that he came. (Oh, I do love a good intrigue)