Disclaimer: I am not, of course, JK Rowling. It's not often that I play with her characters, but I thought I would give it a go…again. Thank you to everyone who reviewed my first story and added it to their favorites. I hope this one entertains as well.

Harry Potter hated the press. It was one facet of his job that he dreaded and tried every Slytherin tactic he'd learned from his former rivals in order to avoid having to appear in front of those vultures. It never worked, mind you. Harry Potter was the most recognizable face the Wizarding world had after defeating Voldemort and earning the unfortunate moniker of "Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived-to-Grow-Up-to-Become-the-Man-Who-Killed-Voldemort." Try getting that on letterhead! The Minister of Magical Law Enforcement, a former Slytherin himself (do you ever really outgrow your House tendencies?), recognized the advantages early on of throwing Harry to the wolves. The face of Harry Potter briefing the press about ongoing investigations meant that the public backlash and panic would be at a minimum. It didn't hurt that Harry's arrest record was second to no one in the department which lent heavily to his credibility with the public. Saint Potter! That's what Malfoy called him every other Sunday during the Weasley Quidditch Pick-Up Game. Malfoy. Harry drew in a deep breath and allowed his gaze to fall upon the small woman huddled on the settee next to a tall, broad shouldered platinum blonde man dressed impeccably for someone who'd fought alongside him in the evening's battle. He watched as the older man brushed away a lock of hair from her face and gently began to stroke her hair as she whimpered in her sleep. It was an intimate gesture that demonstrated the relationship the two had with one another. Another example of how the Wizarding world had changed since the fall of Voldemort. Of course, the very reason they all sat in this cramped little room was to discuss the matter of how the Wizarding world had not changed.

"Lucius," Harry began quietly as he looked toward the pair, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off a migraine, "How is she?"

Lucius Malfoy, the epitome of decorum, allowed his concern to visibly surface for a brief moment before the cool mask of indifference that normally graced his features fell firmly into place, "As well as to be expected, Harry."

Harry ran the palms of his hands over his thighs, realizing for the first time that his clothes were full of dirt, tar, and smoke from the battle that raged that evening – or was it yesterday now? Everything happened so fast. He had desperately needed a bath, a stiff drink, and he'd even craved a cigarette (something he'd not desired in years) after all he'd witnessed. His only concern had been for her and that concern had kept him focused. She needed him now more than ever and he regretted not being more involved in her life over the last few months. He had to admit that the man gently running his fingers through her hair had been more involved than any of her friends and that was something that would haunt him until the day he died.

"Special Auror Potter?" a quiet voice from the hallway floated into the room as a young brunette dressed in a three-piece suit poked her head through the door.

"Yes, Miss Calloway?" a weary Harry responded as he dug his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"They're ready for you," she told him gently, a half smile gracing her lips.

Fuck.

"Thank you Miss Calloway. I will be out in a moment," Harry nodded and turned his attention to the elder Malfoy, "Are you sure about this Lucius? Once this is public—"

Lucius Malfoy slowly rose from the settee, extricating himself from the sleeping woman next to him, "I am prepared for the repercussions."

Harry nodded sharply and turned to the other man standing in the corner, "Ron, will you wake her up in a few minutes? I'm sure she'll want to review her notes before taking the podium."

"'Course mate," Ron told him quietly as he pushed off the wall to sit next to the sleeping woman, "She's bloody amazing, you know?"

Lucius Malfoy raised an eyebrow in mock surprise before drawling, "If you are only realizing that for yourself at this late juncture, Mr. Weasley, then perhaps you are a greater fool than I could have possibly imagined."

Ron's face reddened terribly and Harry had to hold a hand up to maintain order, "Lucius, if you will take your place in the crowd. Ron, wake her up in a second. Time to face the wolves."

"Like a lamb to slaughter, mate," Ron mumbled as he shook his head in commiseration, looking down at the young woman beside him as her eyelids fluttered rapidly, her mind wrapped in a dream.

Harry Potter cracked his neck and shook out his limbs as he mentally prepared himself to face the press corps. Judging from the dull roar of coming from the briefing room he suspected that half the journalists in the Wizarding world were here to listen to what he had to say. He hated the flashing bulbs of the cameras. They reminded him too much of the blinding spells Death Eaters used during the last Wizarding War. Taking a deep breath and shuffling the papers in front of him, Harry Potter pushed open the press room door.

The noise level abruptly went from loud buzz to deathly silent as a strong, brown-haired man with piercing green eyes walked purposely to the middle of the stage and placed his hands on either side of the podium. The journalists readied quills and sat forward in rapt attention as they waited for any indication as to why they were here. Many of them were called in the wee hours of the morning to let them know a press conference would be held to update the public on the high priority case Potter worked on, but at 6am there had to be some type of significant development. No one would call a press conference at this ungodly hour unless someone was dead. That was the speculation. The high profile Ministry abduction had to have resulted in a death or Harry Potter would not be standing in front of them, stone faced, at 6:00 in the morning looking like he'd just been through a war zone.

"For those of you who do not know me," he began wearily, leaning on the podium in a distinctly unprofessional pose, and paused as the press room chuckled at the thought that there would be anyone in the Wizarding world who did not know who he was," I am Harry Potter, Senior Auror in Charge (SAIC) of the investigation involving the disappearance of Deputy Minister of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione Granger. Ms. Granger's abduction on 20th June turned up few leads, as you well know, and the case grew cold quite quickly."

Low murmurs spread through the room as Harry paused for effect. He chastised himself sardonically for his choice of words because gauging their reaction he knew they expected him to announce that they had found a body. Of course there had been bodies. There had been casualties. He took in a deep, steadying breath as his battle-fatigued body began to come down from its adrenaline high.

"Deputy Minister Granger was recovered last night in Wiltshire—" Harry wincing as the room exploded into chaos, journalists leaping to their feet and flashbulbs snapped photographs of the Auror revealing this piece of information.

"Is Deputy Minister Granger dead?" came one question.

"Who kidnapped her?" another asked.

"How do you respond to the allegations that you are too close to this case?" a red-haired woman asked as she tapped her quill to her parchment.

"Did your friendship cause Deputy Minister Granger her life?" a man with a heavy Eastern European accent demanded.

"Where in Wiltshire was she found?" a fat man with a shiny forehead asked pensively.

"Were they Death Eaters?" a woman asked in a tone that was bordering on panic.

"Was she violated?" came the voice of a squeaky woman wearing giant glasses from the front row.

Even Harry Potter's patience had its limit. He ran a single hand through his unkempt hair and growled into the microphone startling the gallery into a dead silence. His eyes flashed in anger as he sought to meet the gaze of every single witch and wizard in the room.

"If you vultures would allow me to complete the briefing," he snapped as he leaned forward again at the podium, "you would have your answers. Now shut up, sit down, and listen to what I have to say or so help me Merlin I will make what I did to Voldemort look like a day at the beach compared to what I do to all of you!"

Suddenly it felt as though all of the oxygen in the room vanished and the group of over 50 journalists, thoroughly chastised, sunk to their respective seats. Harry shook his head and regained his composure, looking off to his left in an attempt to make eye contact with someone out of the prying eyes of the press.

"Last night at approximately 20:00, a group of Aurors and members of Special Branch arrived in Wiltshire to act upon intelligence from a well-placed operative that Deputy Minister Granger would be ready for extraction. Special Branch located her four days into her captivity and immediately attempted to extract her; however, the Deputy Minister recognized the need for intelligence thus choosing to remain behind at great peril to her person."

Hermione wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her head against the wall as she contemplated her situation. By her estimation she'd been sitting in this cold, dark dungeon cell for the "better part of four days and she was concerned. The well-placed stunner had hit him directly in the chest rendering him unconscious immediately. He hadn't been taken with her, which was surprising given the history between her captors and his family, and she'd never been pressed about his appearance in her home. That meant he was either dead or…dead. She closed her eyes in silent contemplation as she cursed the day she ever thought going to dinner with that man would be a good idea.

"Granger," a voice whispered off to her left side from just beyond the metal bars lining her cell.

Hermione startled, felt herself scramble backward into the corner of the room. She was surely hearing things. He couldn't be here. He wouldn't be here. Her body began to tremble in fear as she suddenly began to wonder if the third option – he was part of this whole bloody kidnapping – suddenly blazed into the forefront of her mind.

"C'mon Granger," he drawled, his pale face entering the scant light provided by a single candle outside her door, "We need to go. Now."

Her eyes widened as she regarded his appearance. He was dressed completely in black, only his platinum locks and steel grey eyes offering any indication as to his identity. She was momentarily stunned because he looked like he'd stepped out of a Special Forces unit. But, he was a business man! Wasn't he?

"Granger," he growled low as he fumbled with the locking mechanism on the door, "I don't have time to explain all this to you but I need to get you out of here now! Move it!"

She shook her head slowly as she regarded him, "You're Special Branch?"

"Fucking hell, Granger we don't have time for this!" he snapped as he threw open the door and bent down to grab her arm roughly.

"No!" she pulled away from him, the force propelling her roughly into the wall.

"What the hell do you mean, no?" his eyes turned dark and menacing as he closed the distance between them.

Swallowing hard she squared her shoulders, "I mean no. We don't even know what they want!"

"What they want?" he laughed darkly as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, "They want to kill you Granger. They want to torture you and make you an example for the entire Wizarding world!"

"No one has touched me—"

"That doesn't mean they won't!" he hissed as he grabbed her arm roughly again.

"If they are rallying dark forces—"

"Granger, don't play games. Don't be foolish," he closed his eyes to steady the emotions that threatened to consume him.

"Something doesn't make sense!" her eyes trailed down to the hand biting into her flesh, "This is all too…neat. They breached my wards. No one breaches my wards."

He smirked and quirked an eyebrow, "They are impressive wards indeed."

She rolled her eyes as his death grip on her arm loosened, "There are few people capable of doing it and these idiots are not part of that group."

"What are you saying Mia?" he asked quietly as he searched her face, torn between wanting to throttle her and throw her over his shoulder thereby whisking her to safety.

Her eyes softened at his use of her nickname, "I'm saying that they had to have help from someone in the Ministry."

He swore and turned his back to her, "We've suspected."

She raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't give the orders, Granger," he replied tersely as he once again faced her, "I only follow them."

"Don't do that," she shook her head sadly as she reached up to cup his cheek with her left hand, "Why didn't you tell me you were in Special Branch? Why the secrecy? More importantly, why are my departments hiding something this significant from the Deputy Minister?"

"Because we suspect someone within the Department is sympathetic to Voldemort. We suspect that the three Death Eaters you saw are not the only ones suspiciously absent from Azkaban. Only a hand full of people knows about this: Potter, Weasley, myself and the operative positioned within this new dark alliance," he told her through clenched teeth, "Mia, we have to get you out of here."

"Do we know who the sympathizer is?" she asked quietly as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

"No," he shook his head as his shoulders slumped forward.

"Who is the operative on the inside?"

He shook his head; his eyes becoming bright as tears suddenly swam in his line of sight, "Don't ask me that Hermione."

Hermione nodded as she returned to a seated position on the dirty floor of her cell, "Well then, I'll just have to see what I can find out then and between the two of us, whomever he is, we should be able to shut them down."

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" he raged and towered over her, "You will not stay here! I will not risk your life!"

"My love," she sighed as she looked up at him, "If I stay, we are more likely to draw out the culprits and we can end this now."

"What's a few more months or years compared to a foolhardy Gryffindor sense of rushing in and asking questions later?" he closed his eyes in resignation. He knew she would do this. That was her way.

"You forget I survived Voldemort," she told him softly, her hand reaching up to thread her fingers into his, "I may be behind a desk, love, but there was a time when I was in the field right alongside Harry."

"I know," she barely heard the words before he slipped a small, wooden barrette into her hand.

"What's this?" she frowned as she looked down to the object in her hand.

"A replacement wand," he told her evenly and stepped back from her, "It's undetectable. A charm of my creation, I might add. It will respond to you."

"How?"

"I know you Mia," he told her sadly as he walked over to the cell door, "I knew you wouldn't leave. I had hoped…but I knew better. I told Potter. I told Weasley. You're too damned Gryffindor! It's going to get you killed."

"I love you," she called to him and he froze, rigid.

"If you don't let me walk out of here now, Granger," the danger in his tone unmistakable, "I'll throw you over my shoulder and risk any hex you can throw at me because by the Gods, woman I love you too and this is killing me."

She squeezed his shoulder and leaned her head against his rigid back, "I'm not going anywhere. I would fight Death himself to ensure I come back to you. Don't you forget it."

He nodded and let himself out of the cell. She watched as he disappeared into the blackness of the dungeon before slowly sinking to the floor again. She hoped she was doing the right thing.