The Silver Envelope

A Christmas Miracle

Draco felt like hell. Apparating to his family's home only worsened the state, causing him to retch into a bush as he stumbled his way up the front walk. He looked up at the large façade of his childhood home, and his mood darkened even further.
The Malfoy ancestral residence had not been Draco's home for some time now. He hated the idea of his mother living alone there, grieving for her dead sister and imprisoned husband in this giant, drafty mansion. But he hadn't been able to stomach staying. Nightmarish memories clung to the place, plaguing him particularly at night.
Flecks of snow began to swirl on the wind as he walked. By the time he made it to the front door, wondering whether he should knock or simply walk in, he had managed to school his face into a passably stoic expression.
He settled on simply walking in and announcing himself.
His mother was nowhere in sight. He saw himself to the sitting room to wait for her.
She had sort of decorated, he realized with a grimace. Silver tinsel glimmered from a slim tree in the corner. Two white stockings hung from the fireplace mantle, and he realized with a pang of bitterness that his mother must have made the decision not to hang his father's. Perhaps she was finally giving up on him coming home.
She visited him in Azkaban, he knew. The place was different now that it wasn't swarming with Dementors, but still supremely depressing. He had gone with her, just once, a few years ago Seeing his father, unkempt, glassy eyed, despondent, rambling pathetically about his plans to prove his innocence and get free- while simultaneously cursing the blood traitors who had sentenced him there-had sickened Draco. It took him several days to sober up after the subsequent bender, and he'd vowed never to go there again. Occasionally a letter from his father showed up.
Responding proved.difficult to manage.
"Darling," his mother greeted him as she walked in.
She was as polished as ever, her sharp demeanor covering every trace o the melancholy he knew lurked beneath the mask. She immediately noticed the shadows under his eyes and his stormy mood. She looked past him, glancing around the room.
"She's not coming?" she guessed.
Draco swallowed and shook his head sharply, not trusting himself to speak.
Truthfully, he'd thought Hermione would say something. He'd expected her to send her excuses and apologies, tell him that she had made last minute plans with Potter, or that she never wanted to step foot in his damned house ever again. Anything would have done. Instead, he'd waited up all night, fretting and pacing, starting several more letters to her before throwing them to the fire. He'd obsessively checked out his window, squinting his eyes to look for her owl. Once or twice, he'd decided simply to apparate to her and demand an answer in person, only to realize that he didn't know where she lived. He wanted to hex himself for that obvious oversight.
In the end, the sun had risen with no reply from her, and he'd given up with an odd, heavy sensation in his chest. So much for Christmas miracles.
His mother looked disappointed, but she turned her face away to hide it.
"I thought as much," she snipped. "Muggle manners, I expect."
"Mother," Draco spat, gritting his teeth in anger. "Don't."
His mother faced him down, looking as though she wanted to say something. He waited, scowling.
She seemed to decide not to fight with her son on Christmas.
"In any case," she said, looking away. "It's probably for the best. After that article, it might be better for the Malfoy name if you stay away from her."
Draco rolled his eyes.
"You're the one who wanted me to invite her," he reminded her, hating how childish he sounded.
"Didn't you say she would help to rehabilitate my reputation?"
Draco had almost refused to invite Hermione after his mother had said that. Using her blatantly like that it made him feel slimy, as if Weasley were right about him. But in the end, he had sent the invitation. Whether it was because his mother was right, or because the need to see her again was all-consuming, he didn't want to admit.

"I only suggested it to prove a point," she tossed back. "And I was right, wasn't I? She's not worth your time, darling. There are other contacts you can make at the Ministry. Much better ones. I'll
have your father write to y.
"Don't bother," Draco ground out. "I'm better off without his help."
Her nostrils flared at his impertinence, but Draco felt too angry to care. Silence stretched between them, draining the last bit of Christmas cheer from the sparsely decorated room.
Once upon a time, Draco had looked up to his father with something close to worship. He'd wanted to be just like him: influential and untouchable. But in the past few years, Lucius Malfoy's true nature had been exposed in the worst of ways, and Draco had lost every trace of respect for him.
That was when Draco had committed to unlearning what his father had taught him, but the bitterness of that effort had begun to sour his relationship with his mother as well.
His mother closed her eyes, clearly fighting the urge to snap at him.
"Draco, darling. Please. Let's not discuss your father today.
Draco bit his tongue, wanting to snap at her that she had been the one to bring him up in the first place. Something about this place made him feel like a helpless, whiny child again. He hated it.
"Ahem. Madam. Master Malfoy,' squeaked the voice of a house elf from the door. Draco hadn't noticed the tiny creature come in. "A visitor has arrived "
Draco's stomach lurched. It couldn't be. She wouldn't just show up without sending word.
Would she?
"Ah, Rodolphus," his mother said smoothly, welcoming his uncle into the room.
His uncle wore a tight smile, nodding briefly to Draco, who didn't bother returning the gesture.
"Hello, Narcissa. Draco," Rodolphus said smoothly. "Happy Christmas to you both."
His mother air-kissed his cheek, gesturing for him to seat himself. Rodolphus declined.
"Afraid I can't stay long," he said. "I only came to say hello and give you this."
He produced a package wrapped in brown paper and handed it to Draco's mother. Inside was a photo of Bellatrix, looking haughtily out of the frame through a tangle of wild curls, impatiently tapping her wand against her arm.
His mother thanked him profusely for the photo of her sister, embracing him. Draco maintained his silence, wishing dearly for a snifter of brandy.
It felt wrong. All of this. Wrong that he was here in this dreadful place, with his mother and uncle tearing up over a photo of the woman who had, not so long ago, tortured their other invitee nearly to death. He had been stupid to invite Hermione here, to this of all places. Of course she wouldn't come. She had probably been insulted at the mere suggestion. Or terrified.
God, the idea that he'd scared her made his fists tighten reflexively.
As his uncle made his departure, Draco silently decided to do the same, as soon as possible. He would make an excuse before pudding and get the hell out.
He followed his mother to the dining room reluctantly, mentally running through made up reasons to leave.
As they sat, the house elf returned at the door to the dining room.
"Madam. Master. Another guest has arrived."
Draco knew better than to get his hopes up this time. It would be another of his bloody relatives, here to pity his mum and mourn his aunt. Draco sipped from a water goblet as his mother followed
the elf back into the hall to see who had arrived. Briefly, he considered transtiguring the water into something much stronger, just to make the evening bearable.
When she returned, someone trailed in behind her, and Draco's eyes were drawn to the guest over the edge of his goblet.
"Hello,"
Hermione said in a small voice, smiling nervously. She stood in the doorway wearing a beige jumper dress with a red scarf and carrying a bouquet of Christmas roses. Draco choked, spilling half his water down his front. Coughing and sputtering, he pushed away from the table, mopping himself up while his face heated. He dried the water with his wand and cleared his throat, feeling much too loud and clumsy as he stood to greet her.
"Hermione," he said, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared it again self-consciously. To his chagrin, he noticed the tiniest hint of a smile on her face.
"Please have a seat, Miss Granger," his mother said graciously. "We're so pleased you came. And these roses are just lovely."
A house elf came to take the arrangement of red and white Christmas roses Hermione had brought, bowing and promising to find a suitable vase for them. Then he withdrew the seat directly across from Draco for her to sit in. Biting her lip, Hermione sat, then turned to the elf and boldly thanked him. She also asked his name, engaging him in a brief conversation about his working conditions.
Draco's mother wore a tight expression, badly concealing her disapproval that her guest was showing greater deference to the help than to her. Draco couldn't hold back his humor, smiling into his glass as he took a steadying sip of water.
Tonight might not be so bad after all.