As Healer-in-Charge, Draco had oversight of the healing interventions, and he looked through the departmental records each week. Every few days, he met with his mother to witness through Legilimency her singing Potter French lullabies, and in time, teaching him beginner's Latin. She brought in short mysteries and adventure books that belonged to her when she was a little girl.
Potter spent most of his days bored and restless, and Draco was dwelling on how lively young children were when his fireplace flared green and the Chief Executive announced Draco's name.
"What is it, sir?" he said, rising from his chair.
"The Muggle royalty requests an audience," Mr Crocus said, his fat head floating in the fire. "They desire a progress report on Mr Potter."
He had got to be joking.
"It shan't be long until Healer Clearwater is back from holiday, and as his Key Healer, she—"
"No," Mr Crocus said with a frown, his eyebrows crawling together like dead caterpillars. "Their Auror is on his way to collect you."
"Of course, sir. Which royal...?" Draco trailed off. Mr Crocus had already gone.
He racked his brains for the correct form of address to heads of state. His etiquette lessons seemed a very long time ago. In the looking glass, his hair was still immaculate—
Draco leapt out of the way when a man rushed through the Floo.
"Hello!" He flung a handful of Floo powder in Draco's fireplace without so much as a by-your-leave, said, "Kensington Palace!" and pushed Draco in.
Draco fell out of the fire into a dim chamber. Dust sheets covered stacks of furniture.
The Auror whooshed out behind him, and brushed ash off his suit. He wore a scarlet-red tie in lieu of the red robes of his department.
"Sorry about this," the man said unapologetically. "Follow me, please. No time to explain."
He threw an Invisibility Cloak over Draco and strolled out the room.
Bloody Aurors.
A door opened onto a courtyard opposite a tiny cottage covered in what Draco thought were climbing roses.
"Are you certain this is the right place?" Draco asked, shaking ash out of his hair and crunching through frost after him. It looked nothing like a palace.
"What? Oh—yes."
The Auror led Draco through a white picket fence, pressed some metal beside the front door, looked around to confirm they were alone, then grabbed at thin air for Draco's cloak.
Draco pulled it off and handed it to him.
"I'll be sticking around out here. He's down the hallway, first room on the left. Hurry."
Draco ducked inside and found himself in a poky hallway with a polished wooden floor. The door to the parlour was open, and he knocked.
"Hullo! Come in!"
Creepy unmoving landscapes hung on the walls, yet the room was bright from warm electrical lamps and vases of peonies. Draco approved of the Persian rug, roaring fire, and large sash windows. Everything was cream and beige.
A gentleman with an unfortunate hairline was relaxing on a sofa and cradling a tiny Cocker Spaniel wrapped in a blanket. Voices came from a box with moving pictures.
"Your Royal Highness," Draco said, bowing his head at the neck.
The man didn't hold out his hand, so Draco didn't kiss it. No servants were in sight.
YOU ARE READING
Heaven Through a Window • Drarry •
FanfictionLife is going swimmingly for Draco: he's a respected Healer, his son is excellent in every way, and none of his patients have died recently. Then he gets landed with Perfect Potter and his hordes of stupid friends. It's intolerable. But the more tim...
