Day 0
Draco watches the photograph over and over again, but he’s no closer to making up his mind about returning to England than he was five minutes ago.
“ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON MINISTER POTTER–POTTER’S PROTEGO SAVES WIZARDING WORLD”
The photo is banal at first, just an ordinary Ministry inauguration. If the photo was in color Draco imagines that the customary gold robes would contrast deeply with Potter’s dark skin. It’s whatever. What happens next is the bigger deal, but Draco has been stuck on the first few seconds. There’s Potter walking up to the podium flanked by two stiff looking Aurors. There’s Potter taking a shaky breath before he will speak. There’s the zing of the AvadaKedavra –green if there was color, followed by a flurry of curses.Then, the photo blurs as the photographer obviously ducks. But then Potter, pulls down his bodyguards as he rises, and throws a wordless Protego. The photograph does not show the rest, but the Prophet gives the remaining details. Potter’s Protego is so powerful that it blocks most of the spells, even the killing curses. The Ministry makes no statements, but the newspaper reports a series of protests outside various Ministry buildings. Some sinister, some ludicrous, but the signs all read variations of the same message. “He will return.” The He has emphasis, even Draco can tell that from across the Atlantic.
Draco turns his attention from the paper, and picks up the letter again. For something that arrived just hours before–Draco awakened from a shaky nap by the steady tap of a stern owl–the paper is battered and worn, mostly because Draco immediately balled it up and threw it away, and then hastily pulled it back off of the floor. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Draco is an expert in extremist conspiracy movements, and now Hermione needs his expertise. For unspecified reasons. Nothing at all to do with Minister Potter, or any protests that now take up significant real estate in the Daily Prophet. Hermione even offers to lift Draco’s Apparition ban to help his return as quickly as possible, he notes, curling his lip. All these years of correspondence with Hermione, and it's only now that she needs something that she bothers to acknowledge his past. It’s enough to make him refuse altogether, but the thought of being needed is still compelling.
He sighs, still fingering the letter, and looks out the window of his apartment, the street quiet and dotted with occasional piles of greying snow. His windowsill has a rim of snow around the edges—a clean white for now. It’s nice, but quite frankly depressing. All the long wandering walks can’t really help the fact that he’s felt so useless for the last few years. And honestly, he’s got two choices–stay here out of the action, or see Potter again. And that’s really the choice. Potter or nothing. At least he’ll be going in some helpful capacity, and not as the tragic foil to a hero.
He pulls out his laptop. He buys a plane ticket, just to make his point. He flicks his wrist, conjures an Owl to fly back to Hermione and let her know to send someone to pick him up at the airport. Draco waves a hand as his clothes toss itself into the suitcase. He picks up the newspaper again. He’ll tell himself that he’s looking for clues from the photograph, but it's the same few moments that he watches. Goodbye America, Draco thinks. Hello England.