AN: Originally written for Round 7 (2016) of the Dramione Couple Remix.

The original remix couple is MacKenzie McHale and Will McAvoy, from The Newsroom.

In the series, Will McAvoy is the lead anchor on ACN's News Night, and has developed a reputation as someone who became famous by not bothering anyone. While popular with the audience, Will is a difficult person to work with and to work for, which leads to the resignation of his Executive Producer and most of his staff. Mackenzie McHale, Will's ex-girlfriend who cheated on him, is hired as his new EP behind his back, and together they try to turn News Night into a serious news programme, meant to educate and inform the audience.

Some of the dialogue on Chapter 1 paraphrases or is a direct quote from The Newsroom.

"What do you mean, they quit?" A number of people on the tables around them turned their heads at the sound of the man's raised voice.

Immune to Draco's temper tantrums through many years of putting up with them, Blaise did not so much as raise an eyebrow at his friend's outburst, but replied in a lower tone, "Theo resigned two weeks ago, and the senior staff resigned with him."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose for a second, trying to keep his temper. "Explain to me how my entire staff quits and you fail to tell me for two full weeks."

"You were on holidays. Only one person knew how to reach you."

"That was you!"

The outburst stopped the approaching waitress in her tracks. Blaise waived the girl over, frowning at Draco.

"Kindly keep your voice down. It may be a Muggle pub, but the Prophet has eyes and ears everywhere, and if it's all the same to you I'd rather not read about this meeting in the paper tomorrow." He took the offered drink and raised it in Draco's direction. "Think about it as an opportunity in disguise. You'll like the new Senior Undersecretary."

"Blaise Zabini," Draco said in a tone that would have shook a more impressionable man, "you better not be about to tell me you hired new senior staff without my say so."

Blaise was all unconcerned nonchalance. "Well, I am the Chief of Staff."

"You do not have the authority."

"Funny you should think so; that's exactly what Pansy said right before she kindly agreed to have the Wizengamot confirm my choices."

"The Wizengamot can't do that."

"As a matter of fact, it can. The relevant statute clearly states that whenever the Minister for Magic is unreachable—"

"You knew how to reach me!"

"Details. Whenever the Minister for Magic is unreachable, it's up to the Wizengamot to ensure the regular working of the Ministry. And there's no point in arguing over a done thing. The new Senior Undersecretary has been chosen and the contract will be signed today."

Repressing a sigh, Draco downed his glass of Firewhisky in one go.

"Who's he?"

"She."

"Who's she?"

Whatever Draco saw on Blaise's face was enough to give away the answer.

"You have got to be bloody kidding me. There is no way in hell— I swear to Merlin, I will have your head for this. I am not working with that— With that woman."

Blaise waved his empty glass at the waitress, who seemed less than thrilled at the prospect of having to approach the table again.

"I'm so glad I broke the news to you in a public place so you wouldn't make a scene."

"Fuck off. You don't get to do this. You don't get to interfere in my life like that."

"Sit down, Draco," Blaise drawled. "Don't be a child. She is qualified, she's good at what she does, and she's willing to work with you, which is more than can be said of most people."

"I am a fucking delight, Zabini, and I have the poll numbers to prove it."

"To strangers, yes. To voters, and lobbyists, and people who greet you in the street. To the rest of us you're a bloody trial on a good day, mate, and don't you forget it. When was the last time you even saw her?"

"I don't know." Draco sat back down and picked up his empty glass. "Three years."

"Coincidentally, that was the last time you were anything resembling pleasant."

"I'm going to take this up with Pansy. You can't do this. The Wizengamot can't do this."

"I believe you'll find we can."

Hermione's steps echoed on the stone floor of the Ministry of Magic. The impressive hall was at once bigger and more claustrophobic than she remembered. Witches and wizards rushed from one place to another, carrying folders and scrolls of parchment, followed by harried owls and diving files.

No one spared her more than a glance, no one stopped to chat. Once upon a time Hermione had been a familiar face in the Ministry — and a famous one all over Wizarding Britain — but that had been a long time ago.

Glad of her relative anonymity, Hermione headed for the lifts and managed to squeeze in between a wiry wizard in purple robes and a grumpy-looking goblin.

"Watch it, lady," the goblin said, though Hermione had barely touched him.

"Beg you pardon. Level one."

The lift sprang to life. Hermione's stop was the first one, and she was the only one to get off on that floor. She stopped there for a moment, in the deserted hall, trying to muster the courage she didn't feel. She hadn't stepped foot in that place in three years. She hadn't seen him in three years. There were good reasons for that, and maybe she should have remembered them before accepting Zabini's mad proposal.

Sure, she needed a job, but she could just as easily have taken one as a barista at Costa. Some might say her talents would have been wasted serving coffee in a Muggle café, but Hermione was no snob. She could have been happy in such a job. Happier than she was just then, her stomach tied into knots as she willed herself to move.

"Merlin help me," she muttered before marching towards the end of the corridor, which lead to the open floor where most of the support staff worked.

Normally the large space would have been full of people — people working, people arguing, people discussing everything from politics to who had won the last Quidditch match — but just then the room was quiet and all the desks deserted. All save one.

Hermione made for the desk in the corner, where Colin Creevey was immersed in a heavy tome that was in every way perfectly ordinary — old-looking and leather-bound — except for the fact that it was purring contentedly and rather loudly.

"A Brief History of Cats?" Hermione asked teasingly, startling Colin out of his reverie.

"Hermione!" Colin jumped from his seat with a grin. "So it is true. Parvati said you were back in Britain."

Hermione smiled. "The desert got old. Too much sand everywhere. Where is everyone?"

"Oh, they're around somewhere. Theo and most of the Senior Staff are moving to other departments, so they're celebrating with a pizza party. I don't think Muggles deliver pizzas down here, but Daphne knows an MP Squib who will trade most anything for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise. It's very handy."

"Why didn't you go?" Hermione leaned back against a desk.

"To the party?"

"With Nott, to the Department of Mysteries." Blaise had given her access to all the personnel files. She knew who was going and where they were going. Nott had surprised her the most. She had no doubt Draco could be occasionally difficult to work with, but Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic was an important job. It was the job. There was nowhere for Theo to go but down.

Colin shrugged. "Malfoy promoted me to his assistant. If his own assistant can't be loyal to him, who can?"

Hermione smiled fondly at the young wizard. If anyone knew about loyalty, it was Colin. "Well, you're no longer his assistant," she said. "You're now the Deputy Director of Communications."

"Merlin! Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm crazy about loyalty. You'll report to—" Just then Ginny came marching in. "To her."

"Hermione, did you know Malfoy is meeting with Parkinson as we speak?"

"Oh, that's right." Colin sat back down on his chair and closed the purring book. "He went straight there after coming back from lunch. Wasn't terribly happy with Zabini. Said something about going to set things to rights."

Hermione and Ginny exchanged worried looks.

"What are the odds we'll still have jobs by the end of the day?" Ginny asked. "Because I'd really like to be able to afford rent."

"It'll be fine. There's nothing to worry about." She paused a moment. "There's probably nothing to worry about."

Draco stormed out of Pansy's office, startling her diminutive assistant, who barely had time to jump back from the spot where he had been trying very hard to hear the angry exchange taking place behind the close door.

The Minister did not pause to see the goblin land on his ass, nor did he take note of the curious looks his furious march across the main floor attracted. He didn't notice, and he wouldn't have cared if he had. Not just then. There was only one thing inside his mind, and that was how badly he wanted to use an Unforgivable on Blaise and Pansy — insufferable, meddlesome prats that they were.

He came to a screeching halt as he was about to reach his office, when he spotted Hermione by Colin Creevey's desk. For a few seconds no one moved and no one spoke. Colin was the first one to break the silence.

"Minister, a package—"

"Creevey," he cut in, "get fucking Nott and my sorry excuse for a staff here this instant. Last I checked they still had to serve their notice. You," he said, pointing at Hermione, "with me."

He did not wait for her to follow but marched into his office. Hermione walked in a few seconds later, closing the door behind her.

"It's good to see you, Draco," she said without sitting down. "You look good."

Draco glared at the witch without replying, too mad for words. The memory of their last meeting was burned into his brain.

"I don't know if you got any of my letters," Hermione continued, "or read any of them, but—"

"I burned them."

"Oh. Well, if you had read them—"

"Honestly, Granger, I don't give a fuck. It's been three years. I've moved on."

She flinched at the rebuke, but carried on with forced cheerfulness.

"Well, good. Then let's talk about the organisation of the department. My contract is for three years, which must be the longest time I've ever been anywhere, and—"

"No it's not." He took petty satisfaction in sharing that particular piece of info. It had been the one thing he had managed to get out of Pansy. "Your contract is a weekly contract, automatically renewed at the end of each week. I can't fire you straight away, of course, the Prophet would have a field day, but we'll wait a couple of months and do it then."

"How on earth did you get them to change my contract?"

Draco smirked. "The open seat in the Wizengamot. I will confirm whoever Pansy chooses."

For a moment Hermione was unable to speak. The Wizengamot yielded considerable power, and appointing new judges was a prerogative of the Minister for Magic. Wizards and witches served for life, and seats seldom opened up.

"You want me gone that badly?" she finally asked. "You hate me so much that you would trade the only chance you're likely to get to appoint a judge to the Wizengamot for the ability to fire me whenever you want?"

"Hate would imply that I care," Draco drawled. "I don't. And not whenever I want. Just at the end of each week."

"Draco, people followed me here. Assistants and advisers and specialists. You can't just—"

"Yeah, they fucked up, Hermione," he yelled. "They trusted you."

The witch paled, but her expression hardened. "They are smart people, good at what they do. You will want to keep them."

"They will get a fair chance." His entire staff had quit, after all. He needed people. "I promise no more."

Hermione sat down, her eyes dark and serious as she looked at him. "You and I," she said, "have a chance to do some real good here. Remember what we used to talk about? A magical government that's balanced and fair, that stays away from populism and demagogy, that doesn't pander to the lowest common denominator."

"Do you think I need you to tell me how to run my government?"

"I think you need someone to tell you how to run your government. You're so worried about poll numbers and approval ratings that you do nothing more controversial than cutting ribbons and kissing babies."

"Fuck you. I've done plenty since I was elected."

"Yes, that new piece of legislation on the proper thickness of cauldrons was long overdue. And don't even get me started on the extra bank holiday in February. Truly inspired."

"I'm an elected public official; it's my job to enact the will of the people. I can't just do whatever—"

"You treat is as a popularity contest."

"Do you understand how elections work?"

"You're not up for re-election for another four years."

"Yes, and when the time comes, I'd rather keep my job, if it's all the same to you."

"And I'd rather keep mine, yet here we are." She sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "If you lead with principles and integrity, people will follow. You used to believe that."

"I used to believe a lot of things."

There was no real heat behind his words, but it was enough for Hermione to turn a faint shade of pink and look away. Draco took no satisfaction from it. He had loved her once, more than he thought he had it in him to love anything. There was nothing left of that feeling now, and preciously little left of the man who had felt it.

Just then, Theo Nott barged in.

"They've caught Sam Daniels." He stopped short, staring at Hermione. "Granger. It's been a while."

Hermione stood up and shook the offered hand. "Too long. Where have they taken Daniels?"

Theo glanced over at Draco, who nodded at him to go on.

"They're bringing him to the Ministry as we speak. They're likely to keep him here overnight, if they can't gather a Wizengamot quorum today — and they won't. From here, Azkaban."

The witch turned to Draco, aghast. "They can't send him to Azkaban. He's fourteen years old."

"He's a terrorist," Nott said.

"He's not a terrorist," Hermione replied, indignantly. "He's a scared kid that was failed by his parents, failed by Muggle and wizarding society and failed by this Ministry."

"I'll be sure to pass on that charming character reference to the parents of the kids he almost mauled. Have you read what they're saying about him in the Prophet?"

"Well, if they're calling him a terrorist in the Prophet, I see now how mistaken I've been in my assessment of the situation."

Samuel Daniels was a Muggle-born wizard who had somehow escaped detection by the Ministry as a child. Having spent most of his young life in and out of institutions and foster homes, he had been discovered by Liv Waterston, an enterprising witch who fancied herself a criminal mastermind and who led a small yet industrious band of misfits. They had adopted Sam as a sort of mascot, and no one would have been any the wiser, had Sam not managed to get himself bitten by a werewolf.

Her puppy turned into a hellhound, Liv had left him to fend for himself without so much as a spare Knut. The boy had managed for a while, begging and stealing in both Muggle and wizard areas, but his luck had come to a screeching halt with the full moon. The Ministry, which had been so lax before where the boy was concerned, had been at the scene in a matter of minutes, but Sam had managed to get away. They had been looking for him for almost a month, and the full moon was right around the corner.

"What do you suggest?" Draco asked, tired of hearing them bicker.

"Send him to Hogwarts. Let him learn how to be a wizard and how to live with his situation."

"Are you completely mental?" Nott threw up his arms. "Even if the Wizengamot agreed to it, even if McGonagall and the Hogwarts Board of Directors agreed to take him — all things far from certain — do you understand the uproar it would cause?"

"So to avoid that headache, you'd rather let them lock up a teenager in Azkaban? Have you ever been around a Dementor, Nott?"

"I'm sorry, why are you even part of this discussion?"

Zabini chose that very moment to walk in unannounced, closing the door behind him.

"Do speak louder," he said. "I don't believe the staffers at the back can quite hear you. Meeting your successor, Nott?"

"What?!" Theo looked from Draco to Blaise, shock written all over his face. "Are you freaking kidding me? You replaced me with her? The woman who thinks we should go around freeing all house-elves from the shackles of oppression?"

"I'll advise you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Nott," Draco said, getting up. "Blaise, how many judges can we get to side with us on the Daniels vote if we press for conditional acquittal?"

"Malfoy, you cannot—"

"Pipe down, Nott. Blaise?"

Draco would have been more than a little surprised if Blaise did not have a very fair idea of who they could count on, but the wizard still took a moment to think before replying.

"Maybe half. Maybe less, even if we factor in your vote and the Senior Undersecretary's. It depends on who shows up. And we may need to twist a few arms and call in a few favours."

"Let's do that."

Hermione's smile was bright enough to light up the room. Nott's head almost blew up.

"If you press for acquittal and he hurts someone, that's it. That's all you'll ever be remembered for. And even if he doesn't, the press will crucify you for this. He's a criminal and a werewolf. Parents will be taking their kids out of Hogwarts before the week is out."

"Nott, didn't I fire you?"

"You didn't fire me. I quit."

"Same difference. Why are you still here?"

"You had Creevey go get me."

"A rare lapse in judgement. Go home. In fact—" Draco walked past them and out to the open floor. "Everyone," he called, "can I get a show of hands? Who is transferring to other departments?"

Almost two thirds of the witches and wizards in the room raised their hand. Draco didn't recognise most of the faces, knew the names of even fewer, but still felt a pang at the amount of people who had suddenly decided they would prefer to work anywhere else rather than put up with him for one more moment.

"Right," he said. "Well, thank you for your good work. As a token of my appreciation, you all get a week off. Starting now." He turned to Hermione. "Can you get your people here within the hour?"

"Of course," she said with a smile that was maddeningly smug and painfully familiar.

"Then get on with it."

"Glad to see my speech had such an effect."

"Your speech did nothing for me."

"It's clear you ate it up."

"Get to work, Granger."

"Right away, boss."