June 1814
There was a figure standing on the doorstep late in the evening. It was so late, in fact, that it was early.
Even though it was June, it was still unseasonably cold and wet, as though winter had never left. Even the most parsimonious of misers had begrudgingly called for fires to be lit. Following the harshest winter seen in the last two decades, many believed that it was the doing of Napoleon, whose tales had long been superstitiously whispered in the darkness of night.
All was in a state of damp stillness after the earlier rain. During the day, it had been difficult to see down the street from the torrential downpour, but now, with the lamplighters not having made their rounds, it was impossible to see very far. Many had opted to stay indoors.
When the figure removed his beaver- brimmed hat to rake back his hair, the meager light bouncing off the wet ground momentarily revealed a bright head of pearly-blond that no one saw. The tall, lean man had traversed the streets with much care, because in his coat pocket was an oilskin packet that held state secrets of paramount importance. He had obtained them after much improvisation and now, after the same painstaking deliberation, he was standing here, waiting.
If he had gone to another residence this night, the outcome on the continent might have been very different- for although Napoleon was now ensconced on an island, there were rumours of his unstoppable ambition…
The blond man was all too aware of the possible consequences of his actions, and there was a slight tremor in the hard line of his jaw as he waited for the door to open. There was just enough time now to turn back, if he wanted to change his mind.
The door opened, and a face peered out before focusing on him.
Without a word, Draco Malfoy stepped through.
AN: This story is completed and will be uploaded in the following days. Thanks for reading!