The Silver Envelope

An Unexpected Apology

Something about being surrounded by muggles made Hermione feel as if she were shrouded in Harry's invisibility cloak. Especially on a day like today, it felt like a weight off her shoulders.
She ordered a martini from the server, a pretty girl with a long and sleek ponytail, and settled into her seat, which was in a lovely dark corner.
It might be childish to run like this, but Hermione couldn't deal with Ron anymore tonight. He would be furious with her when she returned, she knew. But that was a problem for later.
This place had been on her list for a while. Lately, she had been making note of different muggle spots to check out while she claimed to be working late. The lies turned her stomach, but there wasn't really anything wrong with what she was doing. She wasn't cheating on Ron, despite what he suspected. She simply wanted to be alone, in places where she could remind herself how enjoyable life could be.
The thought of Ron made her take an extra large gulp of her drink. She didn't know what she would say to him this time. Every time she was preoccupied with something at work, he would get moody. Every time she came home too late to make dinner and they had to order takeaway, he would turn surly. Every time she stayed up late reading and preparing to present a report, he would go to bed with a resentful remark or two. And every time she begged him to wait, told him that it didn't make sense to get married right now while she was so busy with work, he became utterly
unbearable
She understood-really, she did. He felt ignored, like she cared more about work than she cared about him. He felt unimportant when she carried on about this magical policy or that meeting with the Minister.
But this recent behavior of his, the accusations that she was cheating on him, had cut deeply.
Hermione had never even thought of doing such a thing. When would she even have time to cheat, busy as she was with the SOCKS Act? They were so close to passing it, and she truly hated that Ron had chosen now, of all times, to accuse her of unfaithfulness.
And then today! Hermione suppressed a groan as she thought about that bloody Daily Prophet article. She had been receiving owls all day long, asking to see a non-existent ring. She could have killed Ron for that remark.
As she finished the last sip of her martini, a pleasant buzzing feeling beginning to warm her cheeks,
Hermione saw the server return out of the corner of her eve.
"Oh, another gin martini with an olive, please," she said, turning to face the server.
But the person standing there wasn't her server. It was a man, tall and pale, with a face that seemed both foreign and familiar.
Her stomach dropped.
"Already requested, Granger. Mind if I take this seat?" said Draco Malfoy.
Hermione struggled to control her expression. Her eyes wanted to bug out, her mouth wanted to scream, her hand wanted to draw out her wand.
He noticed the way her hand automatically jerked to her pocket, stopping just short of pulling out her wand in a room full of muggles. He raised his empty palms in a gesture of peace, then sat in the chair opposite her before she could protest.
"Malfoy. What are you doing here?" she spat.
He smirked, choosing to remain silent as the server returned. She gave Hermione another martini and Malfoy a tumbler of clear liquid.
"Can I get you two anything else?" she asked expectantly, eyes swiveling between the pair of them.
Malfoy flashed a smile at her.
"No thank you," he said, toasting his new drink to her. She swept away to another table
It was surreal watching Malfoy interact so smoothly with a muggle. When had he developed manners?
"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked again, this time a bit more calmly, though no less
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, and lifted his glass, as if to say, Same thing you're doing,
Uranger.
His face was different, she noticed. No longer was he a skinny, smug boy in a school uniform. He was tall, his pointed features contrasting with a strikingly strong jaw and intense eyes. A lock of white blond hair had strayed away from his expensive haircut, cutting a devilish slash through his brow. Broad shoulders were accented by the exact type of clothing she had come to expect from someone like him: sleek, dark fabrics tailored perfectly to his frame. She supposed he looked like a muggle, albeit a wealthy one.
She watched his eyes flick to her hands, noticing her lack of a ring.
Brilliant. He had read the paper, then.
"Where's Prince Charming?" Malfoy said, casually cutting Hermione down with only three words.
innocent as you please.
Hermione studied her drink, trying to figure out what to do. She wasn't some trembling schoolgirl anymore, bravely ignoring a bully. But how could she deal with him in a roomful of muggles? If she told him to leave her alone, he would probably ignore her. If she lied, cheerfully bragging about the perfect life the papers claimed she had, she was worried her voice would break. If she told him the truth, he would probably run off to that awful Johanna Wolcroft and tell her everything. There was no way to win
Resigned to her last option, Hermione sighed and took one last sip of her nearly-full drink, then got
tO her teet tO leave
Only she couldn't, as a large hand had wrapped firmly around her wrist.
Hermione whipped around to find that Malfoy had stood as well and was now only inches from her. The shock of his sudden nearness stopped her from ripping her arm from his grasp.
"Granger, please. There's something I need to say to you. Just give me five minutes," he said, his
voice low in her ear.
The breath had gone from her chest. What was going on? Why was Draco Malfoy, of all people, accosting her in the middle of a muggle bar and demanding to speak with her? Of all the ways she had imagined this hellish day going, this would never have crossed her mind.
A gentle pressure on her wrist pulled her back to their table, and astonishingly, Hermione felt her feet comply. She reseated herself, spinning tales in her mind. She was curious, she reasoned. She didn't want to go home just yet, she recalled.
Malfoy's eyes practically pinned her in place as he sat back down across from her. He was looking at her so strangely. No hint of the resentment, hate, or superiority she had come to expect from him during their school years. Just a mysterious intensity, almost like desperation.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
Hermione blinked. She was sure she had misheard him.
"S-sorry?"
"Sorry," he gravely confirmed.
Hermione waited for the punchline. When it didn't arrive, she prompted, "For what?"
Malfoy looked down, contemplating his next words. Hermione couldn't stop thinking how strangely he was behaving.
He spoke to his glass.
"I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for how I treated you in school. Sorry for the things I did on behalf of the Dark Lord. Sorry for... What happened at my family's home. That one day.
Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling very dry.
"Logically, I know it wasn't my fault, that one," he continued. "But I feel responsible anyway. That should never have happened to you."
Hermione felt a lump form in her throat, along with a desperate need for more air.
She had never expected Malfoy to express regret, especially not for what had happened to her at Malfoy Manor. When his Aunt Bellatrix had tortured her to within an inch of her life, Draco had looked away, refusing either to watch or to say anything. He'd had no power in that room.
Nevertheless, Hermione felt strangely choked up upon hearing his apology.
"L...erm.
..thank you, Malfoy," she said, her voice thick. "That actually means a lot."
He looked up, and the expression that had befuddled her before suddenly made sense. He was remorseful. Respectful. Possibly even hopeful?
He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing deeply, then let out a puff of breath that seemed to dispel
the heavy energy between them
"Right! Well..." he said, trailing off awkwardly, as if whatever else he had intended to say had broken into a sprint to flee the intense emotions that had just passed between the two of them. "I heard about your father," Hermione blurted. Her face reddened as his tightened. "I mean- oh, sorry, you probably don't want to talk about it. But I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. That must be difficult," she rambled.
In the most impressive display of timing Hermione had ever seen, the server showed back up.
"Can I get you two anything else?" she said brightly.
"Erm," Hermione said, absently checking her drink. "One more for me."
"No problem. And another glass of water for you, sir?" the server asked Malfoy, who nodded.
"That's water?" Hermione said when the girl had gone.
Malfoy shrugged.
"Not much for drinking these days," he said, tapping his fingers on the table in a quick rhythm.
Hermione watched the jerky, percussive movements, pretending not to notice that he, like her, also lacked a ring.
"What are you up to, these days?" Hermione asked with genuine curiosity.
The tapping abruptly stopped. Worrying she had unintentionally broken their fragile truce, Hermione attempted to walk back her question.
"Not that it's any of my business," she said, nervously finishing her second drink. "It's just that I see you sometimes, coming into the Ministry. And the Prophet never really said what you've been doing, just that vou weren't, erm, vou know
"Imprisoned for war crimes?" Malfoy finished sardonically.
Hermione felt herself turn bright pink as the server returned with their drinks. Malfoy stopped her to settle the bill, pulling out some muggle money to give to the girl. This heightened Hermione's embarrassment for some reason. Here she was, insulting him after he had just apologized to her, and he was paying for her drinks.
"I'm sorry, truly, I didn't mean-
She stopped talking abruptly, watching the way his shoulders shook. Horrified to think that she might have reduced him to sobs in the middle of a crowded pub, her throat closed up. Then the strangest sound met her ears
He was laughing. Draco Malfoy was chuckling. Chortling, even.
She was hit with his bright, genuine smile. Despite herself, she felt the corners of her own mouth turning up.
What a strange thing, she thought, to be laughing with Draco Malfoy in a muggle pub. How on earth had she ended up here?
"It's alright, Granger, really. I've been doing well, for the most part." he said. "I just didn't want to be in that bloody Prophet article."
Malfoy rolled his eyes with disdain at the mention of the Daily Prophet.
"I felt the same way!" Hermione admitted, slumping back in her seat. It was a relief to know she
hadn't been the only one.
Malfoy raised a curious brow at her. "They had nothing but compliments for you, Granger."
Hermione tsked at that, taking a last, long draught of her third martini. She would have to stop soon if she didn't want Malfoy to drag her home to Ron tonight. The very thought of Ron's face if he
found out who she was with right now caused her to let out a horritied hiccup.
"Compliments don't count if they aren't true," Hermione said. "That Johanna woman interviewed me at length," she said, emphasizing greatly the ungodly amount of time she had spent answering the woman's questions. "I told her all about my work at the Ministry, the legislation I've been writing, and the communities I've been working with since leaving Hogwarts. But all she wanted to hear about was whether or not I'm getting married and having babies. Honestly." She shook her head with disgust. "I chewed her out for it, and then this morning I woke up to find that she only quoted Ron and practically wrote me out of the whole thing. Dreadful cow," she finished, tipping her head back to finish her drink.
Malfoy was wearing a smirk, though not a malicious one, Hermione thought. He seemed, perhaps, vindicated? Or maybe those martinis had really gotten to her.
Smoothly, Malfoy stood, offering a hand to help her up. Hesitating for a moment, Hermione took it, allowing him to draw her to her feet. His hand was surprisingly large and warm, and the steady pressure of it made her feel suddenly shaky in comparison.
"You look like you could use some air, Granger. You're a bit flushed."
At his words, Hermione felt her cheeks redden even more. Fresh air might do her some good.