Heaven Through a Window • Drarry •

Chapter Nine: A Peckish Patient

The Ministry of Magic still respected the Malfoy name, and as he swept through the Atrium in his emerald green Healer-in-Charge robes, several heads acknowledged him.

Draco threw a handful of Galleons into the Fountain of Magical Brethren and bought a croissant from the coffee kiosk in the Atrium.

"Good morning," he said to the watchwizard. "Eric, isn't it?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Draco presented his wand without being asked, and the watchwizard eyed the square silver badge pinned to the front of his robes.

Healer Draco J Malfoy,
Expert Witness

A narrow slip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base of the Wand Weigher, and Eric tore it off and read the writing on it.

"Ten inches, hawthorn, unicorn hair core, been in use for nearly twenty-one years. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

Eric impaled the parchment on a small brass spike and handed the wand back to him. As Draco turned to leave, Eric grasped his wrist. "Take care of Mr Potter," he said quietly. "Not many people speak to me, but I like him."

"I'm doing my best." They stared at each other for a long moment. "I truly am."

"Thank you," Eric replied.

He caught sight of Pansy getting into the lift and she waved at him, grinning. He nodded back at her.

They only needed him for the morning. By the end of the day, his contact at the Ministry, a nephew of Cornelius Fudge, had sent him an owl detailing the legal outcome.

It'd hit the papers soon enough that Potter and the Weasel would divorce, she'd get half of everything blah blah blah, and Potter was entering a three-month assessment period for mental stability.

Frowning, he stared into the flames of the crackling fireplace.

It didn't sound great, but Draco had heard nothing like this before in his thirteen years of healing.

He couldn't concentrate on his paperwork, but he hated procrastinating, so forced himself through it anyway.

Then, he went down to see Harry, as he was wont to do at about six o'clock before calling it a night. The offices were deserted, and the paintings called out 'goodnight' to Draco as he went downstairs.

Draco peered through the gap between the door and the jamb when he heard voices in Potter's ward.

Mother was sitting on Potter's bed, and he was in his pyjamas already.

"... Yeah, I love flying," Potter said.

"Then I'm sure you'll enjoy these." Mother heaped a pile of magazines onto his bedside table.

Harry seized the nearest one. "Cool!"

A Quidditch player in navy-blue robes zoomed from one side of the cover to the other. "This is amazing! Was I a professional Quidditch player?"

In your wildest dreams.

"These were my son's. He subscribed to Quidditch Weekly throughout your childhood years."

"Wow. Thank you so much. It's so wonderful that I can keep them."

Draco knocked and went in.

"Draco! Hi!"

"Good evening, Mr Potter."

Mother then said, "Goodbye, boys," as if they were best friends having a sleepover. As if.