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Summary
He'd been scanning the notice board at the Ministry for a week, looking at cramped bedsits he couldn't afford and dodgy rooms in buildings that looked one spell away from collapse, when the owl found him.
The letter was on heavy cream parchment, the handwriting elegant and precise.
Potter,
I understand you're looking for accommodation. I have a spare room. The rent is reasonable. If you're interested, come to 47 Wisteria Lane, Godric's Hollow, tomorrow at seven.
—D. Malfoy
Harry read it three times, standing in the middle of the Auror office while his colleagues moved around him.
Draco Malfoy was offering him a room.
Draco Malfoy, who lived in Godric's Hollow. In the same village where his parents had died. Where he'd nearly died.
It was absurd. It was impossible.
He went anyway.