"We have a problem," Harry said from the door.

Hermione looked up from her work, but Harry had already disappeared. It was all very well for him to make dramatic announcements without even stopping to explain, but she had a problem right there too. Hungary refused to export any more dragon heartstring, which had thrown all the wand makers into a tizzy, and Portugal was flooding the cauldron market with cheap products, causing British manufacturers to threaten to go on strike. Would Harry like to deal with Hungary and Portugal? Because then Hermione might have time to care about his crisis.

Just then Blaise rushed past her door, followed by a none too amused Parkinson.

Hermione set down her quill with a sigh. Hungary and Portugal would have to wait.

When she got to Draco's office, he was laughing so hard he was almost in tears, and Blaise was clearly struggling to hide his mirth. Pansy looked furious, however, and neither Harry nor Auror Sadoski seemed to believe there was much cause for amusement. The former shook his head, looking grave, while the latter was about ready to burst into tears.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Oh, you'll love this," Draco said, and motioned towards Harry. "Tell her."

"Reese Moody has been arrested."

Hermione was stunned speechless for a moment. Reese had always been hotheaded, but for the Auror Office to arrest one of its own, he must have done something truly terrible.

"Was he brought to the Ministry?" she asked. He would need a lawyer. She would ask Nott for some names.

"We didn't arrest him." Draco was like a child on Christmas morning. "He was arrested by the Muggles."

"He was what? How does an Auror get arrested by Muggle police?"

"That's not even the best part. Tell her."

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco's eagerness. "Reese was investigating the Neal Patel murder, and—"

"That case has been closed," Hermione said. The final report had been filed the week before.

"Auror Moody did not agree with the official conclusions of the Auror Office," Auror Sadoski said in a small voice. "He believed there was more to the story. That there were more people involved."

"So to uncover this great conspiracy," Harry said, "he broke into the house of a local pastor. The man came home to find Reese ransacking the place and knocked him out with a cane before calling the police."

"A cane?"

"The man was eighty-three years old."

Blaise made a strangled noise that quickly turned into a polite cough.

"Someone should have told him about 'constant vigilance'," he said with mock gravity, throwing Draco into new fits of laughter.

"This is no laughing matter." Pansy was incensed. "To have an Auror arrested like a common thief — it's a bloody disgrace. Potter, I don't know what sort of department you're running, but this is completely unacceptable."

"Yeah, Potter," Draco said, still laughing. "Perfectly disgraceful."

Pansy frowned at Draco. "You're looking mighty chirpy for the guy who has to go solve this mess with the Prime Minister."

Draco's laughter died in his throat, and his expression turned into one of dismay.

"No," he said with a groan. "I have dinner reservations. Let Moody enjoy some Muggle hospitality. It builds character."

"You were the one who went to great lengths to remind us of the limits of Muggle-Wizard jurisdiction." Pansy walked towards the door. "Call it karma." And with that she walked out.

Draco made a face. "Potter, keep your people on a tighter leash."

"I'll certainly try to. Come along, Sadoski."

Auror Sadoski was the perfect picture of misery as she followed Harry out of the room.

"Do I let Gallagher's office know you're going up?" Blaise asked.

"I suppose." Draco sighed. "Remind me again why we keep Moody employed."

"His uncle was a war hero and firing him would look bad."

"Oh yeah, that." Draco pushed his chair back, getting up. "Tell them I'll be up in five. Granger, hold on a second. There's an urgent matter we need to discuss."

He waited until Zabini was out of the room before grabbing Hermione's hand and drawing her to him, kissing her.

"Someone will see." She tried to push away from him, but Draco was both entirely unrepentant and entirely unconcerned with the open door.

"Let them." He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her again, sending a shiver down her spine. Hermione sighed happily, melting into him, allowing herself to forget for a moment that they were at the office and that it was completely inappropriate, and that there was work to be done — important, ministerial things to take care of, the details of which escaped her at the moment.

British wand makers and cauldron manufacturers would just have to solve their own problems, and Reese was welcome to try and break himself out of jail.

Draco tightened his arms around her before letting go, grinning smugly when she made a sound of protest.

"Now, now, Madam Secretary, this is a place of business."

"I loathe you."

"You love me."

She stuck her tongue out at him — insufferable, cocky prat that he was — but Draco merely laughed, picking up a scroll from a nearby bookcase.

"Here, this is for you."

Hermione took the offered scroll, immediately recognising the seal.

"From the Department of Mysteries."

Draco nodded. "It was misdelivered here. Threatened to have my brain locked in a jar when I almost opened it by mistake."

Unspeakables were nothing if not melodramatic. Hermione stashed the scroll in one of her pockets, away from Draco's boundless curiosity.

He arched an eyebrow expectantly, but she didn't take the bait.

"Isn't Gallagher waiting for you?" she asked.

His expression was all mock hurt. "Are you really not going to tell me what that is about?"

"Not a chance."

"Why the devil not?"

"Because I like your brain inside your head, where it belongs." She gave him a peck on the cheek.

"I'm moved by so much concern." Draco fell down on the sofa, arms draped leisurely over the back. "I don't suppose it has anything to do with the very polite letter I received from Nicholas Dennings apologising for any mistaken impression I might have had that he was trying to threaten me. He even sent me Quidditch season tickets. Insists the Prophet looks forward to a productive working relationship with this office."

Hermione's smile was more than a little self-satisfied. "Why, Draco, I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Zabini liked to solve problems by throwing money at them; Hermione favoured other methods of persuasion. "Maybe Mr Dennings simply had a change of heart."

A change of heart prompted by three Unspeakables, two remarkably chilling threats, and a very imaginative Hermione. Few people realised the amount of horrors kept away in the dark vaults of the Department of Mysteries masquerading as research. Dennings should have taken Rita Skeeter's advice and left her and the people she loved alone.

It was not how Hermione liked to handle things — pushing the boundaries of what was legal, proper, or morally acceptable was Zabini's hobby, not hers — but needs must.

"I don't suppose you want to handle Gallagher." Draco sighed. "He's a bloody nightmare."

"He's not as bad as that."

"Yes, he is. What does the law say about replacing the Prime Minister with three leprechauns in a trench coat?"

"The law frowns on it."

"More's the pity. It would be a great improvement." He paused for a moment. "We have to cancel our reservation."

"I know. I'll take care of it." Sitting down on the sofa next to him, she ran her fingers through his hair. "You could come by afterwards. Spend the night."

"Or," he said, grabbing her wrist and kissing it. "You could come over. I'll have some dinner prepared."

"We could eat at my place. I don't live in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, you know?"

The look he gave her clearly indicated he knew nothing of the sort.

"I have house-elves," he said.

"I have a telephone. We'll order pizza."

"Malfoys don't eat pizza."

"Then Malfoys shall starve."

He traced the curve of her face with his free hand, smiling at her in a way that made her heart skip a beat. Without thinking, she closed the space between them, her lips brushing his in what would have been the chastest of kisses, if only Draco hadn't had other ideas. There was nothing chaste in the way he kissed her, nothing innocent in the way his arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer to him.

"Draco," Blaise said from the door, "unless you plan to explain to Gallagher that you kept him waiting because you were busy snogging Granger, I suggest you get going."

Hermione laughed and broke away, getting up and holding a hand to Draco to help him do likewise.

"To work, Minister," she said.

Draco sighed, but took the offered hand. "I'm surrounded by slave drivers."

He glanced at the mirror in the corner, straightening his robes, and walked over to the fireplace, where he picked up a handful of Floo powder.

"No pineapple," he said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"No pineapple?"

"In the pizza. Pineapple doesn't belong in pizza."

She rolled her eyes at a complaint that was as familiar as it was nonsensical.

"Get going."

"Yes, ma'am." He winked at her before throwing the powder at the fire with a clear, "10 Downing Street."

It was a curious thing, this happiness that could be found in staff meetings, and confidential reports, and arguments about dinner. Hermione — who had lived through war, and loss, and the consequences of her own stupidity — knew how fragile happiness was, how easy to break, but it only made her more determined to hold on to the things and the people precious to her. Because it was worth it. Because she knew better than to take things for granted. Because she would never again be enough of a fool to throw everything away on a whim

She had, within the walls of the Ministry, all the happiness she desired in the world — friends she adored, and a job she loved, and Draco. Always Draco.

She made her way back to her office, happily humming a wordless tune. Hungary and Portugal would have to wait for the morning. If she hurried, she could grab some things on the way home and actually cook dinner. Maybe Indian. Something with pineapple.

She had just sat at her desk when Nott and Luna came storming into her office.

"We have a problem," Luna said.

It was just one of those days.

"What's going on?"

"You know that imminent economic collapse?" Nott asked. "It just became a tad more imminent."

Hermione sighed. It would have to be pizza after all.

"Sit down and explain it to me from the beginning."

The end

AN: Thank you everyone who read all the way through! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. The Newsroom is one of my favourite shows in the world, and I absolutely adore Will and Mac, so writing this was an absolute treat.

When I chose the prompt, I toyed for a while with the idea of setting the story at the Daily Prophet, simply changing the setting from a TV newsroom to the newsroom of a newspaper, but in the end I think setting it at the Ministry turned out to be a more interesting choice. I hope you enjoyed it :)

Some of the dialogue on Chapter 1 (Level One), and the last exchange on Chapter 4 (Polls and other uncomfortable things), paraphrases or is a direct quote from The Newsroom.

All the OCs are named for actors and characters in The Newsroom.

A huge thank you to all those who followed or favorited the story, and a particular thank you to all of you who took the trouble to review. Your words make my day! You're awesome :)