Heaven Through a Window • Drarry •

Chapter Eight: Cure Potter, Then Go To Paris

"Draco!"

He turned from the staff fireplace to see Granger.

"How is he?" she asked, trailing off her scarf. Her daughter hid behind Granger's legs.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

She grimaced. "That bad? Let's get lunch tomorrow. Can you make it to the Atrium at one?"

He couldn't think straight—he'd not had a moment to eat today.

"Whatever. Fine."

The next day, the Weasleys were early to their meeting. The Atrium was crammed, but they'd secured a table near the coffee kiosk.

He weaved over with a mint tea and pasty, and Hermione beckoned him. Her idiot husband was advising their young daughter on her colouring book.

They greeted him and before replying, Draco peered around to make sure no one could overhear. The nearest table were chattering in a foreign language.

"Rose, this is Draco," Ronald said.

"Look!" The little girl held up her colouring. The unicorn had red and pink stripes.

"Marvellous," Draco said, "I like what you've done with the tail. Very original."

"Thanks!"

He bit into his lunch, starving. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Five and three quarters!" Rose exclaimed. "How old are you?"

Draco blinked. "Er... Approximately thirty-one and two-thirds."

Ronald snorted. His daughter's mouth fell open.

"Anyway," Hermione said, "let's put some music on, darling, we're going to be talking about private things."

She placed a Muggle device over her daughter's ears and fiddled with some knobs, then turned to Draco. "Tell us how we can help," she said.

"Strictly off the record...?" Draco asked, voice low.

Ronald looked to the heavens and nodded.

"It goes against confidentiality regulations," he continued. "But as Potter's wife isn't replying to my owls... I'm at a loss and need information."

"Anything," Hermione said. "We'll do anything to help Harry."

"Ginny's in Crete," Ronald added, around a mouthful of baguette. "So it's nothing personal."

Draco repressed the urge to say something rude. "Why did Potter say it was wonderful to 'have a room'?"

Granger exchanged a look with Ginger and replied, "He didn't have one as a child. He lived in a cupboard under the stairs."

"Sorry?"

"He slept in the cupboard under the stairs," she repeated. "When he was a child."

Ronald nodded and grimaced.

"Oh," Draco said, gathering the pasty flakes with a finger. "I hadn't realised he was from such abject poverty."

"No, you don't understand," she said. "They had extra bedrooms but kept Harry under the stairs."

"Like an elf? Why?" Draco asked.

"Because they were fuckers," Ronald said.

"Because they were terrible people who didn't love him," she added.

"I've got more questions about his childhood." Draco sat back and crossed his arms. "But you must keep quiet about this." He eyed the raucous group nearest to them. Confident that no one was listening, he spoke quietly anyway. "If word got out that I was breaking patient confidentiality—"