The Silver Envelope

*

Draco wanted a drink.
The gnawing in his stomach, the nervous tapping of his foot on the damp pavement, the skittering thoughts of denial and appeasement rattling through his brain, overlapping one another until he
wanted to rip out his hair -none of that was new. It was a part of himself that he knew all too well It only felt new because he had been foolish enough to think that, after six long months of sobriety.
he had left that part of himself in the past.
But here he was, dressed like a muggle, sitting on a curb across from a pub, warring with himself.
A chilly wind picked up, causing crumbling brown leaves to tumble along the street past him. He tensed from the cold. It would be warm inside the pub. But if he went in, he would have to start all
OVEr
This habit of his had started so innocently. The year after the Dark Lord was defeated had been hell. After attending criminal trials at the Ministry, getting hounded by the press, attending too many funerals, and watching his father go to prison, Draco had lost himself. Every truth he had held since birth had been shattered, leaving him with nothing but a need to escape his own mind.
The first time he had gone to a muggle pub, his intention was simply to get roaring drunk in a place where he wouldn't be recognized. Over time, it had forced him to become comfortable around muggles. He'd started to see them in a different light, and the ideas about blood purity he had
grown up wit slowly began to wilt.
On the other hand, he was now an alcoholic. An alcoholic who had missed his appointment to procure his addiction tonic at St. Mungo's last week. He had promised Healer Connelly, the mind healer he had been seeing for some time, that he would be fine without it, but as usual, she had been right. This morning had brought a test that his sobriety would surely fail.
So now, here he sat, on a filthy curb in the heart of muggle London, battling his own brain.
It was only a newspaper article, he told himselt. It didn't matter. In a week s time, everyone will have moved on.
Life would be much easier if Draco could believe the lies, he told himself.
He pulled the wrinkled paper out of his back pocket again and unfolded it, powerless to stop himself.
"WHERE ARE THEY NOW?" the headline blared.
"On the five-year anniversary of the defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named, we catch up with the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts to ask about the next chapter in their lives."
Draco's eyes automatically slid past paragraphs about people he hadn't known well or cared for, finding the photo of his own face quickly. The newsprint version of him scowled up from the page
"Draco Malfoy," the text read, "was widely considered to be a dubious character on that historic day. He had appeared to be aligned firmly with the Dark Lord, along with his Death Eater father,
Lucius Maltoy, who now resides in Azkaban for his crimes. Due to his impressionable age al ine time, Draco walked tree after the battle on the stipulation that he never again display affiliation for his former master. Let's hope that, unlike his father, he can fulfill this condition. Draco currently resides with his mother in their family manor and has declined our request for more
mormanon
The effort it took to uncurl his stift fingers from around the edges of the page enough to turn it was astronomical. He had nearly destroyed the paper several times in a fit of rage.
They had made him sound pathetic. Not to mention parts of it were completely untrue. He could
just hear Weasley's guffaw now, braying as he repeated the bit about Draco living with his mother. In truth, Draco hadn't even seen his mother in months, not since the Prophet had harassed her about getting a quote from him. He hadn't wanted to be in this damned article at all- that was why he had declined their request for an interview! The Draco in the picture, which had been taken a year earlier at someone's awful Christmas party, moodily folded his arms and grimaced as the real Draco turned the page
His heart lurched at the sight of the next page. It was stupid. He knew what he would see. He had memorized this page, and the large photographs that heralded the heroes on it. He shouldn't be so
arrected to see ner-their-races
Of course, Potter got his own photo, plus another of him with his red-haired fiancée. They smiled dreamily, literally the very picture of happily-ever after. Potter had gotten everything he had wanted: a job as an Auror, the girl he liked, and a life without worry. This didn't much bother Draco. Potter was a git, and always would be, but Draco no longer felt any real animosity toward the man. They had gone their separate ways, and Draco felt a sort of peace with that.
The other side of the page, however, held no peace for him whatsoever.
"Ron Weasley, best friend of Harry Potter and fellow hero of the Battle of Hogwarts, now works at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade with his brother, George Weasley. They mourn the
death of their brother. Fred, who had helped George found the joke shop two vears earlier
Together, they carry on his legacy of bringing laughter to the masses.
"We have a new product coming out soon, in honor of Fred,' Ron told Daily Prophet reporter Johanna Wolcroft. 'It'll be a real treat, and I know he would have loved it.' The Weasley brothers urge our readers to visit them for their All Hallows' Eve Event next Friday, the 17th of October, for
the launch of this surprise.
"Weasley also let slip to this reporter that he might have another announcement to make soon. regarding his ongoing relationship with Hermione Granger. another hero of the Battle who currently works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
"Their love story is truly one for the history books as, we remind our readers, their relationship officially began on the day of the battle five years ago. However, from the look of this happy couple, their fairytale has only just begun. Be sure to keep an eye out for further information about
these two!"
The picture accompanying this segment was of Weasley with his arm tucked firmly around the shoulders of Granger. Weasley's smile seemed gloating, although that might have been Draco's imagination. By contrast, Granger's face seemed strained, her posture small, as if she weren't comfortable having her photo taken that day. She kept nervously glancing off the page, as if gauging how long she had to continue standing there. Her hands were tucked in her pockets, perhaps hiding the evidence of their so-called "big announcement."
Of course they would get married, Draco reasoned. They were perfect together, according to the
papers at least.
But something about that strained smile on Hermione's face had rendered Draco unable to look
away.
The Prophet was more than likely wrong about her too, Draco decided. He had noticed the conspicuous absence of a direct quote from her. He could make a million guesses as to how she was really doing. Her job must be stressful. A place like the Ministry, with its endless red tape,
must be stifling to an ambitious idealist like her. And he couldn't imagine anyone finding life with that sniveling, red-haired idiot fulfilling.
For the millionth time, Draco thought about sending her an owl. Healer Connelly had heavily encouraged him to, ever since he had let that thought slip during their sessions a while ago. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Surely, Hermione was happy. Surely, she didn't need an apology from a boy she had long forgotten.
Of course, he couldn't really know. Not from a black-and-white photo and not from the occasional glimpse he got of her when, every once in a while, he would make a visit to the Department of Mysteries and pass her in the Ministry atrium.
Not even if he saw her now, wearing drab muggle clothes outside a shabby pub, across the street
from the curb where he sat.
Draco froze, eyes locked on the woman across the street. It couldn't be her. Except that there was no mistaking that voluminous mane of brown curls, that alert posture of survival and instinct, and that tight expression, pinched in concentration as she examined the bit of paper taped to the
window that listed the available drinks
It was as if he had summoned her. Irrationally, Draco checked that his wand was safely in his coat.
If he had somehow performed Accio on her, he would have died on the spot.