The Silver Envelope

A Message for Mr.Malfoy

Lowering his head so far that his chin almost rested on the handle of his Firebolt, Draco sliced through the trees. The stinging sensation of branches whipping by was familiar and grounding to
him
He reached the edge of the lake and tipped himself sideways to curve around it, brushing the icy-cold, rippling surface of the water with the tips of his fingers as he whizzed over it. A nearby flock of ducks honked and flapped out of his path, startled by his breakneck speed. Once he had reached the other side of the sprawling water, he pulled up, nearly perpendicular to the ground as he shot himself upwards like a firework. There were no clouds to hide in today, and the bright sunlight that was glinting off the melting snow on the ground felt almost warm on his eyelids as he closed them, taking a deep breath of the thinning air as he did.
He loved this place, though apparating to a remote mountain range in Northern Europe was not something he had time to do often. Usually, he flew only at night, masked by a Disillusionment charm. The best part of this area was that it was completely inaccessible to muggles except by those weird flying blade things they rode in, and those were easily avoidable. He could fly in the open daylight, undisturbed, for as long as he wanted.
The roaring wind and punishing speed soothed his troubled thoughts like no potion or poultice in the world. Flying had become his sanctuary in the past few years, something he did when there was a lot on his mind. And judging by the slow hardening of his physique in that time, he constantly had a lot on his mind.
This week had been worse than usual. Gritting his teeth at the thought of what, or rather who, had been consuming his every waking thought recently, he gripped the handle of his broom and rocketed through the air with untold speed. He pushed himself faster and faster, spearing through the wind like a bullet as if to put miles between himself and his bitter regrets.
He'd crossed the line with Hermione. He'd only meant to push her a bit, to tease her into an admission of her desires. Draco had stupidly thought that keeping his hands off of her would be sufficient to let her know that he was safe, that no matter how he toyed with her, it was ultimately she who set the terms, who held the control.
She hated him. He was sure of it. Draco had found himself consumed with self-loathing since she'd stormed away from him in the library, keeping herself several steps away from him until she vanished without so much as a goodbye. Then, when he'd called her to try and make amends, he'd found himself at a loss for words. Every night, he sat by his telephone, punching in her number and deleting it, over and over until he'd memorized the movements of his fingers more than the actual digits. But he didn't have the courage to press that final button that would connect the call. Her
voice, and the hurt and anger beneath it, was the worst sort of torture.
By the time he made it back to the rocky ground, he knew every muscle in his body would be sore.
He'd have to bathe in essence of murtlap just to be able to move tomorrow.
Good.
Despite his winter flying gear, his ears, nose, and fingers were practically frozen. Tucking his Firebolt into his body, he took one last breath of the glorious mountain air before he twisted and
vanished with a crack
He opened the door of his flat to find Ignoma tidying up.
"Leave those boots at the door, Mr. Malfoy. Ignoma is not keen to mop up muddy footprints from her clean floor!" the elf squeaked.
Draco rolled his eyes and kicked off his boots, vaguely amused by the fact that his house-elf was giving him orders. He'd gotten used to it long ago, but little things like that still caught his attention, like wee reminders of how differently his life had turned out than he'd supposed it would when he was a child.
"Yes, m'lady," Draco joked, earning him a thwap from Ignoma's feather duster as he passed.
Draco made a beeline for the shower, but Ignoma stopped him.
"Oh, Mr. Malfoy? Ignoma has a message for you," she said.
He waved her off.
"Just leave it on the table. I'll read it later," he said.
"Tis not a letter, Mr. Malfoy! Ignoma's message is of the spoken sort," she explained.

Draco turned back, his brows furrowed in confusion.
"Spoken?" he echoed.
"Yes. Ignoma answered Mr. Malfoy's new telephone while he was out," she said.
Draco's heart stopped. Only one person had his telephone number.
"It was Miss Granger calling," Ignoma said, and Draco's heart resumed beating at a much faster pace than usual. "She asked Ignoma to tell Mr. Malfoy to call her back at his earliest convenience."
Draco waited for Ignoma to tell him the rest of the message, but the elf seemed to be done speaking.
"That's it?" he asked.
"That is all Miss Granger said," Ignoma said slowly, sounding unsure. "Did Ignoma do something amiss?"
"No, no that's fine," Draco assured her as he rushed to the phone, which was set up on the little table next to his sofa.
"Is Mr. Malfoy going to call Miss Granger now, then?" Ignoma asked. "Shall Ignoma give sir some privacy?"
"Er, yes please," Draco said, his fingers rapidly dialing the number with automatic movements. He heard the little pop! that told him Ignoma had gone. He took a deep breath, then finally pressed the
large button that would connect the call.
The phone rang three times, and Draco had to remind himself to breathe after each one.
"Hullo?" came Hermione's voice.
Draco closed his eyes, savoring the sound of it.
"Hermione? Ignoma said you called earlier," he said.
"Oh, hi," she said, sounding a bit nervous.
"Hi," Draco returned, his stomach fluttering annoyingly.
There was a pause, then Hermione said, "Erm, listen, I wanted to warn you, I suppose. I saw Ron
today, and we had a row."
Draco's jaw tightened.
"You went to see him?" he asked, trying to keep his cold jealousy out of his voice.
"Well, no. I was out shopping with Ginny and we stopped for a bite to eat, and I suppose she planned it all with Harry because they showed up while we were eating," she said. Her annoyance with her friends was clear in her voice. Draco couldn't blame her.
"What did he say?" he prompted.
Hermione heaved a deep breath
"He said he's sorry, but I'm not sure he really meant it. He's still talking with Johanna, and apparently he's still not convinced that I didn't cheat on him. Then he said that you went too far, getting Johanna sacked, and told me that you need to watch your back."
Draco paused for a moment, collecting himself.
"Weasley should worry more about his own back," Draco said in a low rumble.
He could well imagine the nervous look that would be on Hermione's face at his words.
"Did he say anything else? Did he threaten you as well?" Draco demanded.
"No," she said. "I told him to stay away from me. He promised to leave me alone at the wedding."
That was something, at least.
Draco let out a long breath.
"If he so much as says one word to you..." Draco growled.

Hermione seemed incensed.
"You'll what?" she snapped. "I can handle myself, Draco! Ron is my problem, not yours."
Draco bit his tongue. Rowing with Hermione was the very last thing he wanted to do.
"Fine. Is that all?" he said, rather more bluntly than he meant to.
Hermione took a moment before replying in a cold voice, "I suppose so."
Draco waited for her to hang up on him, but only silence met his ear.
He sighed softly, attempting to massage away the headache that was forming at his brow. This was not at all how he'd imagined things would go between them. He wished he'd handled everything differently. Perhaps he truly was the manipulative, venomous viper that everyone had warned Hermione he would be.
"Hermione?" he asked quietly, half convinced she was gone by now.
"Mm?" came her short reply.
There were so many things he should say. He'd already apologized, but she deserved a thousand more of those. He wanted to tell her he'd missed her in the last week. Wanted to admit, just a little, that he was starting to feel something for her. He wanted to tell her that the nature of their relationship was wholly in her hands, whether she truly just wanted friendship or something more or less. And about a dozen other things to say crossed his mind before he finally opened his
mouth to speak
"How was your day?" he asked softly.
He thought he heard her softly inhale a breath, though he couldn't be sure.
"Oh. Um. I've had worse days, I suppose," she said hesitantly.
Draco tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa, anxiously thinking up ways to keep her on the phone with him, just a bit longer.
"You went shopping?" he said, posing it as a question.
Hermione paused again, as if taken aback by his interest in her day. He swallowed the feelings of rage and doubt that threatened to overtake him. Why was this so difficult?
"Ginny still hasn't found a wedding gown," Hermione explained. "We went to a muggle shop this morning, then visited a tailor in Hogsmeade." She sighed. "But we left empty-handed. I never knew it was so difficult, finding a single dress for a single day of one's life."
Draco soaked up the sound of her voice as she spoke, the tightness in his chest easing a bit more with each word. Eager to keep her talking, he came up with another question.
"Do you know what you're going to wear, yet?" he asked.
"Oh," Hermione said in surprise. "Oh, god! I hadn't even thought about it yet." He heard her groan, and something possibly her head thumped on the other line. He felt a slight smile creep up his cheeks.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to work you up even more," he said.
"Ugh, it's alright. I should have thought about it long before now. Ginny said I can wear whatever I want, but I've got absolutely nothing that's good for a wedding.'
Draco grinned, then clamped his mouth shut. He wanted to say she'd look best in nothing at all, but crossing that line again was out of the question.
"I might be able to help you with that. I know a witch who makes formal attire I can arrange for a fitting with her, if you like," he suggested.
"Really?" Hermione said, sounding sincerely interested at the idea. "Would she be able to do it on such short notice? The wedding is only two weeks from now."
"I'll send her an owl tonight and ask. She's a family friend, so I'm confident she'll make time," he said. "Is there anything else they still need before the wedding?"
"Er, let me think," Hermione said. "I'm pretty sure Harry has his clothing sorted. Decorations and food have been arranged. Oh-I haven't even asked them if they hired a photographer."
"I know a good one if they haven't," Draco supplied.
"Another family friend of the Malfoys?" Hermione asked, her tone somewhat teasing.
Draco grinned, dizzyingly relieved that she was back to her normal, teasing self.
"But of course," he drawled.
There was a smile in her voice as she said softly, "Thank you, Draco."
He swallowed, ignoring the sudden tightness in his throat.
"Any time, Hermione," he promised, more solemnly than she would ever know.
They were silent for another moment longer, neither of them keen to end the call.
"Well... I should go now." Hermione said, her voice tentative.
"I should as well," he added.
Neither of them hung up.
Draco closed his eyes, imagining her face. She would be biting her lip, the way she always did when she was anxious. And he would be trying hard not to kiss her.
"You'll call me when you hear back from the seamstress?" Hermione asked.
"I will," Draco assured.
"Alright. Well, bye, then."
"Goodbye, Hermione," he said quietly.
She hung up first.
Draco stood from the sofa, stretching out his long, stiff limbs.
"Ignoma?" he said into the silence of his flat.
With a pop, Ignoma appeared.
"How was your call, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked brightly.
"Excellent," he said with a smile. "Would you draw a bath with that healing brew for me? I have a letter to write before I go scrub up."
Ignoma gave him a too-knowing smile before she left to draw his bath. Not for the first time, he wondered if she had been eavesdropping. At the moment, he didn't much care. Hermione didn't hate him, and all was right with the world.