The Silver Envelope

Dinner with an old enemy

"You've just received an owl, sir," Ignoma said in her squeaky voice, walking into the room bearing the note on a silver tray. She walked into the dimly lit living space where Draco was seated, nursing a headache and wishing for a brandy.
Draco thanked the elf and took the small roll of parchment. He leaned back on the pale, modern sofa his decorator had chosen, and carefully unfurled the note.
Draco,
Sorry to bother vou so late. Do you have time to meet with me tonight? I need someone to talk to.
If you can, I'm in my office on level 4. If not, I understand.
Sincerely,
Hermione
Draco jumped from his seat as if it had turned into hot coals.
"Ignoma, take the rest of the evening off. I'm going out to meet a friend," he said, summoning his coat and quickly checking his reflection in the large, silver-framed mirror near the entrance to his
suite.
"Thank you, sir!" Ignoma squeaked, leaving to collect her tiny purse. "Have a wonderful time with your friend!"
"I will," Draco murmured, more to himself than to Ignoma
Draco apparated into the nearly empty atrium to see several Ministry employees making their way around the hall, vanishing socks that had been left behind earlier that day. He had been there, of course, having altered his hair color and the shape of his nose in order to avoid recognition. After the altercation he had caused in the joke shop, he had decided that showing support for Ignoma and Hermione was a task best done incognito.
As he made his way up to level 4, he took several deep breaths, attempting to keep his heart from hammering out of his chest. The sight of her office door caused a funny jolt in his gut, and he had to stand there for a moment to collect himself before he knocked.
"Come in," came a familiar voice through the door.
Draco repressed a satisfied smile at the sight of the flowers sprouting from every surface in her office. Instead, he schooled his expression into one of surprised curiosity.
"It seems you have an admirer, Granger," he teased, ignoring the pulse in his heart at the
realization that his statement was quite true.
Hermione looked around at the flowers as well. "Oh, um, no. No, these are from a supporter of S.P.E. W. as a congratulations."
Something was terribly wrong. Her voice was smaller than usual, and her eyes were puffy. In fact,
the closer he got, the worse she looked. She was trembling.
"What's wrong?" Draco asked. "Didn't your SOCKS thing pass today? I'd have thought you'd be off somewhere celebrating.
Hermione blanched, her eyes becoming watery. She shook her head, looking away from him.
"I'm not in the mood to celebrate anymore, I'm afraid. Why does he always have to ruin everything?" she asked, furiously wiping her sleeve across her nose.
"Who ruined everything?" Draco asked.
"Ron. It's always Ron," Hermione said, her voice thick
Draco paused for a moment, considering what he should do. Between the weeping woman and the bunches of flowers surrounding them, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic. On top of that, Hermione looked to be in very bad shape. Her hands were shaking where they fiddled in her lap, and she kept looking around the room with glazed eyes as if she was lost. He needed to get her out
of here
"Have you eaten?" Draco asked.

Hermione blinked, surprised by the question.
"Er...not since this morning," she answered weakly.
Draco promptly rounded the desk to where she sat and offered a hand to help her up.
"Stand up," he said, not altogether too gently. His tone seemed to jolt her into action. She took his
hand and let him draw her out of her seal
"What are we doing?" she asked.
"I'm taking you to dinner," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, marching her out the door. "You need to eat something. And then we can talk."
She let him lead her, seeming to sense that he wasn't about to take no for an answer.
In the dim light of the muggle restaurant, Draco watched as Hermione took a bite of the fish the waiter had recommended and chewed carefully.
He supposed he could have chosen a less romantic place. In Chelsea perhaps, rather than Mayfair.
Somewhere they wouldn't be seated in a secluded, velvet-upholstered booth with only a few flickering candles for light. He knew how they must look to the mustachioed waiter who had offered them a wide selection of wines. Any onlookers would see a couple of lovebirds, out for a romantic date together.
How very wrong they would be.
"He saw the flowers, and just snapped," Hermione explained, poking her fork around her plate. "It must have looked so bad. You said it yourself," she said, looking up at him for the first time in what felt like ages, "it looked like they had been sent by an admirer." Draco swallowed hard, picking up his water.
Truly, he hadn't meant for the flowers to cause her any trouble. He had only wanted to congratulate her.
"And then he said that he couldn't trust me," she continued. She reached into her coat and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid to show him. "He said that if I didn't drink this, he would never trust
Draco looked at the bottle, taking far too long to realize what it was. Then his jaw snapped shut, and his vision turned strangely red.
"He tried to make you take Veritaserum?" Draco hissed through his teeth, leaning closer to examine the bottle. "Please tell me you didn't, Hermione."
"I told him no," she said, her voice hollow. "And...and then I broke up with him. Just ended it, right then and there. Told him I was moving out."
"What did he say to that?"
Hermione pursed her lips, looking a bit guilty.
"Well, he couldn't say anything, to be entirely truthful. I had put a silencing charm on him, to stop him from interrupting me before I could get the rest of it out."
Draco felt the sudden urge to laugh at that. God, she was ruthless.
"But he made himself very clear regardless," she said, taking a sip of her drink. "He trashed my office. Punched a hole in the wall, ripped up the flowers, upended my files. It was horrible."
His eyes went wide.
"Did he hurt you?" he said quietly.
When he was sixteen years old, he had been tasked with carrying out a murder. Though he had failed at the time, Draco suddenly knew that now, after years of growth and change, he was very, very much capable of taking a life. Just the thought of that spineless weasel laying a hand on her had him gripping his wand under the table and contemplating the most painful ways he could kill the bastard.
"No, he didn't touch me. Just made a ruckus. I called security, had him escorted out," she said.