Chapter Text
Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts and the Fall of Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy was released from Azkaban and placed on probation. His sentence had been mainly for conspiracy, and it had been lenient because he hadn’t killed anyone and because he made multiple well-placed, generous donations.
After leaving Azkaban, Lucius returned home to Malfoy Manor to find his wife and her solicitor preparing divorce papers.
“My love, my angel, my own heart,” Lucius said after kicking the solicitor out of the room. “I am finally home. This is our chance to start fresh.”
“I don’t think there’s anything left of our relationship to salvage,” Narcissa said. “What’s done is done.”
“Give me one last chance!” Lucius cried, dropping to his knees at Narcissa’s feet and pressing her hand in both of his. “Give me a task, set me a challenge, that I may prove my love for you!”
Narcissa gazed at him through narrowed eyes. Lucius waited with bated breath.
“Very well,” Narcissa said. “The task I set for you is this: I challenge you to join us for family counseling.”
***
Draco really didn’t think it was fair. His family had survived Voldemort and now, after five long years, his father had finally been released from Azkaban. The worst should have been behind them. Things were supposed to be getting better now. Instead, his parents were talking about divorce. Just when Draco thought his world couldn’t shatter any more than it already had.
Draco no longer saw his parents the way he had as a child. He no longer trusted them implicitly. He no longer believed every word they said without a second thought. But still, he couldn’t handle the thought of them separating. Even as he had watched his parents fall from the pedestal he had built for them, he’d held on to the one thing he’d thought was unalterable: their love for each other, and, by extension, for him. No matter what happened, he’d comforted himself with the knowledge that his parents loved him.
But if they could stop loving each other, that meant they could stop loving him as well.
That was childish reasoning. Draco knew it. It was the sort of thing a five-year-old thought when his parents divorced. But Draco couldn’t help feeling the fear of it deep in his bones. The same fear from his teenage years, when he was alone and hurting, come back to haunt him.
The fear was also more complicated as a 23-year-old than it might have been as a child. As a young adult, Draco had thoughts on his mind of finding a certain person, someone who would love him and who he could love in return, hopefully for the rest of his life. But if his parents, his first example of love, could stop loving each other, then what chance did Draco have? Maybe he didn’t have the right life experiences to choose the right person to commit to. Maybe his upbringing and his parents’ example had ruined him, and he himself lacked the ability to be a good partner no matter who he chose to marry.
Watching his parents’ failures, one after another, left Draco feeling a distinct lack of confidence in his own abilities to handle the life ahead of him.
When Narcissa announced that they were all, the three of them, going to start family counseling, Draco agreed with the enthusiasm of a drowning man seizing a lifeline. Sure, he and his parents could humiliate themselves by opening their minds to a judgmental stranger. He wasn’t entirely sure what mind healers did, but he assumed it would involve some embarrassing rooting around in their minds. Whatever it was, it would be worth it if it kept his parents together.
On the day of their first appointment, Draco and his parents apparated into the alleyway behind a bland, block-like building. They entered through the back door and followed a hallway down to a standard-looking lobby with a fish tank and a receptionist behind a counter.
“Good morning,” Narcissa said, walking up to the counter. “We have an appointment for the three of us under the name Malfoy.”
“I’ll let your mind healer know you’re here,” the woman said. She waved her wand and a door opened. A fat yellow bumblebee rose from the receptionist’s desk and zoomed through the open door, which closed behind it.
Draco settled uncomfortably on a stiffly cushioned chair next to the fish tank. They had a plimpy inside it, a round, globe-like fish with two strange, spindly legs. Draco watched it walk around on the bottom of the tank while he tried to ignore the nervous fluttering in his stomach.
This wasn’t a big deal, he told himself. They’d probably focus mostly on his parents. They were here to save their marriage, after all. Draco was probably here mostly for moral support. He could do that.
“Malfoy family.” The mind healer was here. He was holding the hallway door open, waiting for them. Draco could do this. It would be fine.
He stood up and looked the mind healer in the face.
And froze.
“Good morning, Mr. Potter, you’re looking well,” Narcissa said, shaking the mind healer’s hand.
“Harry Potter?” Draco said faintly.
Harry Potter, the boy — now young man — who had hated Draco all through school. And with good reason. Draco realized that now. Draco was trying to be a better person after everything that had happened, but… that couldn’t change what he’d already done. Potter would be well within his rights to hate Draco still.
“Our family counselor is Harry Potter?” Draco said, looking at his mother in disbelief.
“I have full confidence in his abilities,” Narcissa said, standing next to Potter and looking back at her husband and son.
“I’m actually pretty new to this, but I’ve completed all my training and I am certified,” Potter said.
“But…” Draco looked to Lucius for support, but his father was just standing there looking resigned. “Why Potter? Surely there’s someone else we could see?”
“Actually there isn’t,” Potter said. “You could probably convince someone to see one of you individually, but not all three of you at once. No one wants to get caught in the middle if the three of you start to fight. They’re scared they’ll get cursed. I mean, that’s an occupational hazard when you’re counseling a magical person, but since it’s you three, they’re scared they’ll get hit with something particularly nasty.”
“But you’re agreeing to see us?” Draco said doubtfully.
“I’m not scared,” Potter said. He smiled calmly at Draco. Damn him. Of course he wasn’t scared. Potter the Gryffindor Hero was never scared.
“Come along, boys,” Narcissa said, and she stepped through the door that Potter was still holding open. Lucius hesitated for only a moment, and then followed her.
Draco had already committed to doing whatever it took to keep his parents together. He just hadn’t realized the price would be quite so high.
He walked past Potter and followed his parents through the doorway.
***
Potter’s office was small and beige. On the wall, there was a picture of a toad wearing a pointy red hat. Potter had a desk in the corner, but he wasn’t sitting behind it. Instead he had arranged four chairs in a sort of circle, and that was where he and the Malfoys were now sitting.
“My goal is for everyone to feel comfortable and safe in these counseling sessions,” Potter said. He did in fact look comfortable, Draco thought with surprise. Confident. Draco hadn’t seen him much in the last five years. Not in person, anyway. He’d been in the papers often after the Dark Lord’s fall. Less so, more recently, but he still popped up now and then.
Potter had one leg propped up on the other, his right ankle resting on his left knee. He was holding a clipboard, which he balanced on his leg. His thick, black hair was still untidy as it had been in school, but he’d put some product in it so the untidiness looked intentional. The large round glasses he’d worn at school — the ones Draco had made fun of countless times — had been replaced by a sleeker, more stylish pair. He was wearing an open wizarding robe over a button up shirt and trousers, and the whole thing combined with his general posture to give him a sort of debonair, rakish appearance.
He looked good.
It was not helpful for Draco to be noticing this right now.
“I prefer to use first names,” Potter was saying. “Is that alright with everyone?”
The Malfoys stared at him blankly.
“Narcissa, is that alright?” Potter prompted.
“Of course, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said, roused by the sound of her own name.
“Harry,” Potter reminded her with a smile.
This whole situation was bizarre. Draco didn’t know how much longer he could stand it. He might start screaming spontaneously just to diffuse the tension.
“Let’s set some ground rules to start,” Potter said. “First, one person speaks at a time. No interrupting. When someone is speaking, we listen, and we wait for them to finish before we speak. Is this a rule everyone can agree to?”
Potter looked around at each of them, and Draco nodded, feeling like a Hogwarts first year again.
“Good,” Potter said. “Does anyone have any other rules they would like to add?”
The Malfoys again stared at him in blank silence.
“We might think of some as we go along, and we can always add them later,” Potter assured them. “Now, I’d like to hear what your goals are. What do you hope to get out of these sessions? Narcissa? You were the one who set up this appointment. Would you like to go first?”
“Oh.” Narcissa’s eyelashes fluttered. She was always so poised, but she was out of her element here, and Draco could tell she was flustered. “Of course. I… I am interested in… reflection.”
“Alright,” Potter said. “Anything in particular you’d like to reflect about?”
“My family,” Narcissa said, and then pressed her lips shut.
“In that case, you’re in the right place,” Potter said warmly.
Narcissa gave him a strained smile in return.
“Lucius? How about you?” Potter turned to Draco’s father. Draco’s father the Death Eater, recently released from Azkaban. And Potter wanted to hear his goals. Draco wanted to laugh hysterically.
“Yes?” Lucius said, uncertain. Draco’s father never used to sound uncertain. Not until the Dark Lord returned.
“What do you hope to accomplish in these sessions?” Potter repeated patiently.
“Ah,” Lucius said. He glanced at Narcissa. “Improvement.”
“Improvement,” Potter repeated. “Care to elaborate?”
“Everyone seeks to improve themselves, I’m sure,” Lucius said. “It is a worthwhile endeavor.”
“Of course,” Potter said. “And… Draco?”
Draco started at hearing his first name come out of Potter’s mouth.
“Oh. Goals. Right,” he said. “I… I think my parents have just about covered it.”
“I’d like to hear your own goals, though,” Potter said. “Stated in your own words.”
“Um.” Draco looked back and forth between his parents. The problem was, they had always drilled into him the importance of being discreet with family matters. One didn’t go around airing one’s dirty laundry in public. That simply wasn’t done. The Malfoys were better than that.
But he didn’t know how to reconcile this general rule with family counseling. He was trying to look to his parents for clues, but as always, they were not forthcoming.
“Family is important,” Draco finally said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Thank you, Draco,” Potter said, and Draco nearly fainted, because Potter never said thank you to him. (Not that Draco thought he should. Potter didn’t need to thank Draco for anything. Ever. Draco was too deeply indebted to him for that.)
“So, for today, I’d just like to chat a bit and get to know you. I’ll probably take some notes. I’m just jotting down ideas for things we might discuss in the future. It’s nothing to be concerned about. What we focus on in the future will depend on you. I’m here as your guide, and I’ll have suggestions and ideas for you. But your counseling sessions will be very personal, and will depend on the specific needs of your family in particular. Any questions?”
Potter looked around at each of them. Draco was pretty sure they were all still staring blankly at him.
“Alright,” Potter said. “Let’s do a little exercise. I’d like you each to think of a happy memory with your family, with the three of you. I’ll give you a moment to think. Tell me when you’re ready."
Potter looked down and began writing something on his clipboard.
A happy memory. With all of them. That would have to be before Azkaban. Before the war. Before the Dark Lord returned. So… fourth year at the latest? But fourth year he’d been at Hogwarts, not with his parents. What had they done the summer before fourth year? Draco couldn’t remember.
“Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said.
“Harry,” Potter reminded her. “Are you ready?”
Potter looked pleased. Draco was sorry that they were going to disappoint him.
“At what point do you begin magical intervention?” Narcissa asked.
“Ah,” Potter said. “What sort of magical intervention were you looking for?”
“You’re a mind healer, are you not?” Narcissa asked.
“Yes?”
“Aren’t you going to… to use your wand to look into our minds and… fix whatever is broken?”
Draco winced for his mother’s sake. It must have hurt her, to admit to a near stranger that there was something wrong with her once perfect family.
“Is there something in particular that you would like fixed?” Potter asked.
Narcissa was quiet for a moment.
“I was hoping you would know what needed to be fixed when you saw it,” she said.
“We can try to figure that out, certainly,” Potter said. “But to answer your question, we’ll probably accomplish that mostly by talking. As I’m sure you’re aware, mind healing is a relatively new field in the magical world, so many witches and wizards have the same questions about it that you do. The truth is, mind healing is fairly similar to Muggle therapy. The main benefit to seeing a mind healer over a Muggle therapist is that you can speak freely about your life in the magical world. We also have the option to use pensieves to share memories, and I am able to prescribe potions if needed. Any more questions?”
The Malfoys were silent.
Talking. Mind healing was just talking. This was going to be worse than Draco had thought.
“So. A happy family memory. Narcissa? Are you ready to share?” Potter turned again to Draco’s mother.
“Traveling,” Narcissa said.
“Can you give me something specific?” Potter asked.
“France. We enjoyed traveling to France.”
It was a dig at Draco’s father. The terms of his probation did not allow him to leave England. For the foreseeable future, he could not travel to France.
“Lucius? How about you?” Potter asked.
“I also enjoyed traveling with my family,” Lucius said, sounding strained.
“Could you tell me about a specific trip?”
“We went to France,” Lucius said. He was looking at Narcissa, not at Potter. She wasn’t looking at him.
“It sounds like France is an important place for both of you,” Potter said. “Draco? How about you? Have you thought of a memory?”
Draco looked from one parent to the other.
“France,” he said. “Definitely France.”
***
Harry was in his kitchen at Grimmauld Place, cutting fresh coriander for the pot of curry he had simmering on the stove. He thought his session with the Malfoys earlier that day had gone well, considering their past. He smiled when he thought of what his teenage self would think about him agreeing to be the Malfoys’ mind healer. But the truth was, after everything that had happened, he no longer bore any ill will towards them. He didn’t think any of them had supported the Dark Lord by the end of the war. Narcissa had outright betrayed Voldemort. They’d all suffered for their Death Eater ties, and Harry wasn’t interested in punishing them further.
When Harry’s supervisor had asked him to take on the Malfoys (as a last resort since no one else wanted to do it), Harry had been intrigued. He knew how proud the Malfoys had once been. Now they were humbling themselves enough to admit that they needed help. To be frank, Harry was curious. He was curious to hear what the Malfoys would say in their mind healing sessions. He was curious to see what their family dynamic was like these days. He was curious to find out why they thought they needed a mind healer.
Now, with their first session finished, Harry was feeling proud of himself. There had been a time when every little thing Draco Malfoy did got under his skin. Draco had been able to push Harry’s buttons like no one else. But today, Harry had proof of success from his many years of attending his own mind healing sessions. He’d spent a whole session with Draco, and he hadn’t gotten angry or upset even once. He could now confidently say that Draco Malfoy had no effect on him.
A chime rang. That was the signal he’d set up to alert him that someone was trying to fire-call. Harry sighed and set down the coriander. He left the kitchen and went to the sitting room with the fireplace that was connected to the Floo Network.
The flames in the fireplace were burning purple. That meant someone from work was calling. Not a good sign, as his work rarely contacted him at home. Harry threw a tiny pinch of Floo powder into the flames to accept the call.
“Harry?” It was Cara, the admin from the office.
“Hey Cara, what’s up?”
“One of your clients called the emergency line.”
Nothing good, in that case. The most common emergency in Harry’s profession was thoughts of self-harm. If a client went through with the self-harm, or if they overdosed on potions, that would also be an emergency, but not for Harry. That would be an emergency for the healers at St. Mungo’s. Harry would certainly follow up on the case, but he would do it during his working hours.
So. This call was probably a client struggling with thoughts of self-harm, possibly suicide.
“Harry? Can I put him through to you?” Cara asked.
“Who is it, Cara?” Harry said.
“Draco Malfoy.”
Harry’s heart sank. Of course, considering everything Draco had been through and everything he had participated in, and at such a young age, it wouldn’t be a total surprise if he were suicidal years later. He probably had a lot of unresolved issues.
It was surprising that he was already willing to confide in Harry. On the other hand, Harry himself had said that no other mind healer would see the Malfoy family. Perhaps Draco had been unable to find a mind healer before now, and he’d left it so long that now the situation was desperate.
“Put him through,” Harry said to Cara.
Cara’s face disappeared from the flames. A moment later, her face was replaced by Draco’s.
“Potter, I need to talk to you,” he said. “In person. Can I come in?”
“Well…”
“Please? It’s urgent. I really need to talk to you face to face.”
Harry hesitated. He didn’t usually let clients into his house. But it sounded like Draco really needed help.
What he should have done was tell Draco to meet him at the office. But he had a fresh pot of curry on the stove.
“Fine,” Harry said. “Come in.” He raised his wand and tapped it over the fireplace to open the wards to Draco. Draco pushed through the fireplace and stepped into Harry’s sitting room.
“That was terrible today, Potter,” Draco said. “A complete disaster.”
Harry felt a flare of irritation. Okay, so maybe he’d been a little premature to say that Draco couldn’t bother him.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Harry said.
“What, are all your sessions like that?” Draco scoffed. “You’re so used to it, you can’t even tell how bad it was?”
Harry took a deep breath. Fine. He could acknowledge that he was irritated. Draco was still an irritating person, even after everything. That was okay. Harry could remain in control of himself.
Draco had taken the very huge step of calling the emergency line. However, he was probably feeling very defensive and vulnerable right now, and it was going to take some coaxing before he would confide in Harry.
“Look,” Harry said. “I’ve got curry on the stove and I was just about to eat. Want to join me for dinner?”
It seemed like a good idea. Harry was hungry, and Draco might find it easier to talk over food.
“Dinner?” Draco looked thrown.
Good, Harry thought. Best to keep him off-balance.
“Come on,” Harry said out loud. “Kitchen’s this way.”
For a moment, Draco didn’t move. But then he followed Harry into the kitchen. Harry picked up the bundle of coriander he had left sitting on a cutting board.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked.
“Cutting coriander. It goes on top of the curry,” Harry said.
“But… you’re using scissors! ” Draco sounded equal parts horrified and fascinated. “That can’t be right.”
“Kitchen scissors,” Harry clarified. “These are easier to use than a knife for chopping small leaves.”
“Snape would be appalled.” Draco was standing rather close, looking over Harry’s shoulder to watch him work.
“This isn’t potions,” Harry said. “You don’t have to use a silver knife or anything.”
“I wonder if silver scissors would work as well as a silver knife,” Draco said, more to himself than to Harry. Then he wandered off, first to take a turn about the kitchen, and then to peer around doorways, into the dining room and down the hallway. Harry hurried to serve up two plates of curry over rice before Draco could get too nosy.
“Draco? Come eat,” Harry said, and Draco came back and settled on the stool across the counter from Harry. Harry began to eat, and Draco picked up the spoon Harry had given him, but he was looking at Harry with a new sort of intensity.
“Potter,” he said. “This is a wizarding house. This is an old wizarding house.”
“Hmm,” Harry agreed, his mouth full.
“And with what appears to be much of the original furniture, unless you went out and bought your own period-appropriate vintage furniture when you moved in?”
“Definitely not,” Harry said. “Yeah, most of this stuff was here when I got here.”
“Really.” Draco took a bite of his curry and chewed thoughtfully. “I expected you to live in some frightful Muggle dump.”
“Well, that may happen yet,” Harry said. “I’ve been meaning to sell this place for a while now. Just haven’t gotten around to it.”
“What? Potter, no!” Draco’s eyes widened dramatically. “You have such terrible taste. You must never sell this house. Or sell it to me. Mother would love this place. It’s just her sort of thing.”
“Figures you would like this house,” Harry said, chewing. “Have you been here before?”
“What do you mean?” Draco put his spoon down again, frowning. “Potter? Who did you buy this house from?”
“I didn’t buy it.” Harry took a sip from his glass of water. “I inherited it. From my godfather.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Harry’s face. Harry ignored him and continued to eat.
“This is one of the Black properties!” Draco announced suddenly.
“One of…?” Harry looked up in surprise.
“The Blacks were incredibly wealthy and there were, at one point, multiple branches of the family. You didn’t think this was the only house any of them ever owned, did you? My mother is a Black, and she grew up somewhere else…” At this point, Draco trailed off. He stood up and walked around the kitchen again with renewed interest.
Harry looked at his kitchen as Draco might be seeing it. Harry had left all the original wooden cupboards. He’d had them sanded and repainted, but he’d kept them black as they had been before. The handles were ornate and silver, and imprinted with what looked like tiny scales.
Harry had replaced the countertops with black swirling marble, and he’d added the breakfast bar: the additional countertop area with the stool seating.
Draco didn’t comment on Harry’s remodeling choices. He just examined everything closely. Then he left the kitchen and went back to the sitting room.
Harry sighed. So much for keeping Draco from being nosy.
“Your curry’s getting cold,” Harry called out after a while. It took several more minutes, but Draco finally came back and sat down across from Harry.
“Potter,” he said solemnly. “This is my great-great-great grandfather’s house. You’re living in my great-great-great grandfather’s house.”
“Do you really have your family tree memorized that far back?” Harry said.
“No, I found a tapestry with my family tree hanging on your wall and I consulted it,” Draco said. “My mother’s father, Cygnus Black, was the brother of Walburga Black, Sirius’ mother. They were both second cousins to Sirius’ father, Orion Black, and they all had the same great-grandfather, who once owned this house.”
“Fascinating,” Harry muttered.
“Potter. You have a tapestry on your wall with my name on it.” Draco sounded pleased with himself.
“Well it sounds weird when you put it like that,” Harry said. “Do you want me to warm up your curry for you? It doesn’t taste as good when it’s cold.”
“I have a wand,” Draco said, sounding offended, and he finally began to apply himself to his dinner in earnest.
“Look, about the session today…” Harry said, trying to get back to the reason Draco was here in his house in the first place.
“Terrible,” Draco agreed. “A complete disaster.”
“What I’ve been trying to tell you is that it’s normal for the first session to feel a bit awkward,” Harry said. “Mind healing depends a lot on the relationship between the mind healer and the client. And it takes time to build that relationship, to build trust. Your family just needs to keep coming to their sessions, keep making an effort, and you’ll see progress over time.”
“Time. We don’t have time!” Draco swished his spoon through the air impatiently.
“That’s just how it is,” Harry said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Mind healing is a process. It takes time.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Draco said. “If my mother thinks this is a waste of time, she’ll quit, and then there’s nothing to stop them from getting a divorce.”
“Oh,” Harry sat up straighter. “Is that what this is about? Your parents are thinking of getting a divorce?”
“Didn’t she tell you?” Draco frowned.
“Ah, no. The three of you seem to be trying to tell me as little as possible, to be honest.”
“See, that’s just the problem,” Draco said, jabbing a finger towards Harry. “They don’t talk to people. Oh, they can make small talk just fine. They’re great at talking about nothing. But the things you want them to talk about, the questions you’re asking them… They don’t even talk to their friends about those things, and here you are, practically a stranger. You’re asking them to break the code.”
“The code?” Harry raised his eyebrows.
“It’s not a real code. It’s just how I think of it,” Draco said. “It’s something all the old, wealthy pureblood families drill into their children. We don’t talk to outsiders about the family. Personal matters, problems between family members, anything that could potentially embarrass the family — we don’t talk about those things outside the family. To be on the safe side, we don’t really talk about those things inside the family either.”
“Okay, well, that will definitely give us some things to talk about during our sessions,” Harry said.
“You can’t tell them I told you that,” Draco said quickly. “I’m breaking the code right now just telling you about it.”
“Okay…” Harry couldn’t help rolling his eyes a little. “So what do you want me to do, then?”
“Well.” Draco paused and pursed his lips. “It might help if they could see you as a friend.”
“I’m not their friend,” Harry said.
“Look, Potter.” Draco leaned forward, both elbows on the counter. “I never would have asked you to do this. I would not have presumed to ask, not in a million years. But you volunteered to see my parents.”
“I was going to say,” Harry said, raising his voice a little. “I’m not their friend, I’m their mind healer. There’s a line that needs to be drawn in any mind healer/client relationship. It’s an important distinction.”
“Oh.” Draco sat back in his chair, deflating. “It’s just that… I think it would help them if they could pretend you’re a friend rather than a mind healer.”
“It would help if you actually talked during the sessions. You’re talking now; I know you’re capable of it,” Harry said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said dismissively. “I can’t talk in front of them. Anyway, the mind healing sessions are for them, not me.”
“They could be for you too,” Harry said.
“No, Potter, what you should do is this!” Draco gestured at the plates of curry between them.
“What?” Harry said.
“Only you’ll have to make something more traditionally English, because my parents might actually die if they eat something with this many spices.”
“I’m not inviting your parents to my house for dinner,” Harry said.
“Fine, you can come to our house for dinner,” Draco said. “If you’re our guest, then my parents will feel more in control of the situation. That would be good.”
“I’m not going to your house,” Harry said.
“Why not? You know the Dark Lord’s not there anymore, don’t you? He’s dead.”
“I’m aware. I killed him,” Harry ground out. “And I’m not going to your house. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Fine. Lunch at your office, during our session. Don’t worry about anything, I’ll bring everything we need.” Draco stood abruptly. “Thank you for the meal. It was… definitely memorable.”
“Draco, wait,” Harry said, because Draco looked ready to dash off. “You called the emergency number. Was there something else you wanted to talk about?”
“No, that should cover it,” Draco said, backing away.
“Look, Draco,” Harry said. “I just want you to know that if you ever need to talk, I’m here. I’m your mind healer too. Or if you would feel more comfortable talking to someone else, I can help you find a different mind healer. I’m sure I can find someone who would be willing to talk to you without your parents.”
“That’s very generous of you, to be sure,” Draco said. He was halfway through the kitchen doorway now. “But I won’t impose on your time any longer. Good night, Potter!”
Draco practically fled. Harry sat at the counter, watching the spot where Draco disappeared, until he heard a door shut. The noise made Harry bolt to his feet with the sudden realization.
Harry had his Floo connection set up as an exception to his Fidelius. He was able to allow people in and out of his house through his fireplace without giving up the secret of his house’s location. But Draco hadn’t left through the fireplace. He had just left through the front door. He wouldn’t be able to see Grimmauld Place once he was outside, but that didn’t change the facts.
Draco Malfoy had just discovered where Harry Potter lived.