Work Text:
July 2003
The slowly falling rain made the forest around Harry sing of life. The few drops that made it to the ground made soft, gentle noises as they met the overgrown path, surprising insects inside their hiding places and luring fairies out of their nests. They watched in interest as Harry walked on.
Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to engrave the smell into his brain for when he’d return to London. Damp soil and plants released their petrichor smell as the downpour met the surface. The low breeze carried all this and so much more around him, spurring him on, telling him to keep on moving to find what he desired.
So Harry kept walking, his eyes roaming over the trees beside the path.
The forest was old, and Muggles tended to stay away from it as they couldn't quite point their fingers at what made them feel so uneasy while going near it. It was the magic humming through the air that scared them away. There weren't many places like this left, destroyed by greed and late stage capitalism, but the forest had remained untouched.
It was the perfect place for looking for something. He'd know it when he found it, that much Harry knew by now. But until then, he kept on walking.
January 1999
Harry wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, unsure if he really wanted to enter the shop. Hermione had told him about the opportunity, a once in a lifetime chance, but he still wasn't sure if this was a great idea.
The war had damaged Harry, something that had become very clear once he had started his Auror training. He had to hand in his robes after only three months. The dueling practices were the worst, leaving him sleepless and jittery, which set his nerves on edge. He just couldn't do it.
Which made everything a bit more complicated than Harry would have liked. He hadn't ever wasted a single thought on becoming anything other than an Auror. Fighting against dark wizards was all he'd ever known, all he had ever done.
So, when Hermione had burst into his flat, a letter in her hands about a vacancy for an apprentice, Harry wasn't too sure if he would even try.
Nevertheless, Harry had found himself in front of Ollivander's, nerves on edge, while trying to talk himself into just reaching for the door.
July 2003
Harry stumbled over a root that had definitely not been there mere seconds ago. Falling face first into mud thankfully was a sensation he had gotten used to during the last four years. It happened less in forests frequented by Muggles, but it occasionally still happened.
With forests like this one he had only waited for it to happen.
Sitting up, Harry glowered at the Oak tree as its leaves rustled in the wind, adding insult to injury by letting huge drops of rain fall down on him.
"Think you're funny?" Harry grumbled as he got up and tried to get rid of at least some of the mud. "You're lucky I don't need any oak today, at least not that I'd know. And even if I did, I wouldn't take it from you. Nasty little bugger." This tree would make a great wand for George. Harry had to remember to come looking for it in case George ever needed a new one. Or one of his kids. The second one was on its way. This tree truly was lucky that Harry refused to make wands many years in advance. "I'll come for you in a few years," Harry warned.
Getting up, Harry kept on following the trail until he reached a fork.
Looking up and down the two paths he could choose from, Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'Sometimes all you can do is listen, Harry. Close your eyes and let the trees guide you if you ever find yourself lost. Be it for finding your way out or finding the right tree.' That’s what Mr Ollivander had told him, and it had never failed Harry to this date. They were the watchwords he lived by.
The whisper of the forest lured him deeper, the network of roots under his feet vibrating with life. Harry stayed still until all he could hear was the heartbeat of the forest, alive and old. Magic thrummed through the air. The heart of the forest had been in this place for hundreds of years and would remain there for even longer.
A whisper in the air, an ancient song of life, made Harry snap out of his trance. Left. He had to take the left path.
Feeling his heart speed up, Harry followed the call, knowing he was getting close.
February 2000
Harry left the workshop late. Mr Ollivander had invited him to have a go at wand cores for the very first time, and Harry had been more than excited to get to work.
Mr Ollivander sold his wands only with the finest cores: unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feathers. But for Harry he had stocked up his workshop, introducing him to more common cores, and those he himself found too fickle or too spirited to work with.
"You are the master of the Elder Wand, Harry. Wands are not just plain wood with any old core stuffed into it. They are sentient. Wands created by you will know you made them, and the wand that chose you as his master, even if you don't carry the Elder Wand with you. It's a special gift, one that should not go to waste."
Tonight, Harry had learnt more than he had from any of the books Mr Ollivander had given to him the whole of last year.
For example, he should never again touch anything that came from a troll. The blasted hair went up into flames the second Harry started to inspect it closer. He couldn't even place it in the training wand shell before the thing was entirely gone.
He had even left a note for Mr Ollivander informing him of what had happened before he had left for the weekend. He was still haunted by the stench the burning troll hair had left behind.
Harry was in desperate need of a shower, dinner, and a good long sleep.
July 2003
Harry stumbled into a clearing and knew this was it. Freeing his trousers from the thorn twines that were grabbing for him, he walked closer to the big old tree in the centre of the clearing.
At some point, it must have stopped raining. Golden sun rays illuminated the area, making the leftover water droplets shine like tiny diamonds on the leaves and dark-green moss, making him feel like an intruder in a fairy tale.
The tree was big, its branches heavy with silver-green, heart-shaped leaves. Reaching into his bag, Harry pulled out a handful of woodlice before he stepped into its shadow. Bowtruckles could make his work rather unpleasant, and he didn't expect it to be any different this time round.
And sure as day, the second they spotted him, the Bowtruckles tried to defend their tree at all cost. Chuckling, Harry threw the first load of woodlice at them, hoping to distract them just enough so he could climb up and get a better picture of the silver lime tree and its wood.
By the time he had found a perfect spot to carefully cut some of the twigs off, Bowtruckles were climbing all over him, pulling at his hair and pinching his skin to either make him leave or give them more lice. Bowtruckles were a good sign that this tree would give brilliant wand wood, Harry only hoped he had enough lice to keep them all occupied until he finished his hunt.
Harry emptied the bag of woodlice when he got what he came for, leaving the Bowtruckles to pick them up. It was the least he could do after taking five strong twigs he could potentially make into wands.
For his final work Harry would only pick one of them though. He'd see which one once he finished processing them.
Mr Ollivander had long left the shop, leaving Harry to his work.
He had started with stripping the branches by hand, getting rid of all the bark peeling, carefully stroking his knife over the piece of wood. It was a hypnotising task. He was entirely focused, no thought to be found in his head, just him and the silence.
Once Harry finished that, he prepared their bath, soaking the twigs in a potion he had prepared earlier that week. They had to rest there for twelve hours at least, which gave Harry the perfect excuse to clean up the workshop and pay a late night visit to Luna and Ginny.
Unsurprisingly, both witches were still awake and knew about his presence the second he had stepped into their garden. Which became more than clear once Ginny stuck her head out of a window to shout at him.
"Oy Potter! Why are you sneaking up on two poor, defenseless women in the middle of the night?"
Snorting, Harry shook his head. "I'd hardly call you defenseless, Gin! That's a mistake only an idiot would make. Which I am not."
"Are you sure about that?" Ginny asked with a shit-eating grin. "So, what do you need? Only a visit or once again work-related?"
"Work. I'm supposed to make my final wand for the end of my apprenticeship. I'll need a few hairs, if Luna doesn't mind."
"She knew you'd come sooner or later. You know where to find them, Luna is taking a bath, so you'll have to do it alone."
"I think I can handle that, thanks, Gin."
"Good luck with that wand." Ginny waved at him before she closed her window again.
Trusting her to not lie about Luna's consent, Harry started following the path around the house and into yet another forest.
This one was smaller and darker, magically warded against intruders and harbouring a big herd of Thestrals who had partially followed Luna from Hogwarts to her home. It hadn't taken long before Luna had begun to attract more and more of them. By now, she had an active breeding programme with the Thestrals of Hogwarts, and that was something which had come in very handy for Harry.
Thestral hair never actually made it onto Ollivander's favourite wand cores, but for Harry it absolutely was. Of course there were more than enough wizards and witches who couldn't deal with such a finicky wand core. But Harry so far had made a few very great and potentially powerful wands with Thestral hair cores.
Mr Ollivander was at a total loss about why Harry's best works included Thestral hair, but Hermione had a few theories, because of course she had.
She included everything from Harry dying, to him being the Master of Death, to all the people he lost and his strong survivor's guilt after the war.
Whatever the reason might be, Harry couldn't bring himself to complain too much. Not if he could make wands with them and therefore help people find their perfect match.
Harry found the Thestrals at their preferred clearing. By now they knew him and the more curious ones approached him for pets and the hope of a snack.
Snickering, Harry fished some raw meat from the depths of his pocket and fed the first one that reached him before taking a brush and combing its tail.
There was no need to forcefully remove their hair or try and pick them from bushes piece by piece. Combing did the trick just fine, and the Thestrals even seemed to enjoy it, at least as far as Harry could tell.
When he packed up the brush, it had become late and Harry couldn't keep himself from yawning. This day had been far longer than he had intended it to be, and he was so ready to fall into his bed.
Late July 2003
"Silver lime and—Thestral hair? Eleven and a half inches. Interesting." Mr Ollivander said, his eyes trained on the wand that Harry had spent the last two weeks creating. "It's an interesting choice, that much I have to say. Silver lime isn't that commonly used anymore. And you know my stand on Thestral hair, but it works wonders for you, and I'm not one to stop progress."
"You told me your father used to make a lot of wands out of lime wood," Harry said, not letting his eyes drift away from the wand. It clearly was a masterpiece, at least to him. It looked elegant, he had added a nice handle and engraved it with his signature golden ring around the base, but at the same time it looked sturdy enough that Harry could tell that this wand wouldn't easily fit in a child's hand. No, this one was meant for an adult.
"He did, yes. He was very proud of every single one of them. There is something about lime tree wood that makes the wandmaker fall in love with them. I see not even you can resist the pull of its magic. But this wand isn't for you, Harry."
Blinking a couple of times, Harry forced his gaze away from the wand and looked at Mr Ollivander. "Who is supposed to have it then?"
"That is the question! I can tell that this wand is as good as any other you will find in this shop. The person this wand will choose will have a reliable companion for many years to come. I don't question your ability to make an extraordinary wand for even one second, Harry. Your final test, the proof that you have learnt what I was trying to teach you these past few years, is to find the owner of this wand. Not just anyone. Many people will be able to use this wand with some degree of success. No. I want you to find the one person this wand was made for. Once you've found them, you may call yourself a wandmaker."
"But, Sir," Furrowing his brows, Harry looked at Mr Ollivander. "How am I supposed to find the person? There must be thousands of wizards and witches out there, and the person it chooses mightn't currently be in need of a wand."
"Exactly. You better get started."
September 2003
Two months had passed since Harry had presented the wand to Mr Ollivander and been tasked to find the owner. His patience was growing short. It didn't help that Mr Ollivander had begun to send him away every time Harry tried to help him in the shop. His sole task was to find the mysterious witch or wizard and to drag them back to Mr Ollivander for confirmation.
According to Mr Ollivander, the temptation of handing the wand to every person entering the shop would be too big, and Harry had to agree that, by now, he was coming around to the old wizard's point of view.
Harry was at the end of his nerves. Of course he had tried all of his friends, even going as far as asking bloody McLaggen to just give it a try. But nothing.
Nobody he knew, no matter how little or much, was a match for the wand.
Hermione had tried to help him, making lists and sheets about everything he knew about the wand's wood and core. But she couldn't find anything helpful either. Except that Harry now had a handy list to carry around on top of it. A Seer or a strong Legilimens were her best suggestions and those weren't exactly people one found very often nowadays.
On his very bad days, Harry contemplated going to Hogwarts and shoving the wand at Professor Trelawney, just to be done with it, even though he knew she wasn't the one he was looking for. But at least she was somewhat of a Seer, and at this point he really couldn't be too picky.
Sighing in resignation, Harry forced his eyes from the wand on his kitchen shelf. He had been staring at it all morning long. Slowly but surely, his head had begun to hurt. A change of scenery was the only thing that might keep him from slowly losing his marbles.
Grabbing his coat, Harry Apparated to the centre of London. The people bustling on the street would make him vanish in their masses, that way he could allow himself to get carried away, following the flood of people one way or the other, not caring about the destination.
That was the good thing about having magic. He couldn't actually get lost. Wherever he found himself, he could easily Apparate back home.
When his stomach started to grumble, Harry decided to visit the next café he walked past to get a snack and something to drink. At least the walk had helped to clear his mind a bit and had eased the pounding of his head. If he wanted to find the owner of the wand, Harry needed to have a clear mind. Constantly pondering over it wouldn't help at all, it just made him moody and blind to the obvious.
Sitting down at a small table, Harry let his gaze wander over the mostly empty café. It looked nice and tidy, not as crammed with kitsch as Madam Puddifoot's but also not as nondescript or as empty as the one they had fled to on the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was large, and rather comfortable with small potted plants here and there, a few pictures on the wall, and a huge chocolate cake that made his mouth water sitting in the centre of the showcase.
"Potter, what a pleasant surprise. What can I get for you?"
Harry jumped. Too fixated on the cake to notice anything else, he hadn't seen anyone coming towards his table. Looking up, he found none other than Malfoy standing beside him, cheeks pink, wearing a small brown apron and holding a notebook in his hands to take Harry's order. Harry's mouth dropped open.
"Malfoy?"
"Well, your surprised face and general dumb expression at least informs me that you're not stalking me again. What can I get for you?"
"I never—" Biting his tongue Harry took a deep breath. He did stalk Malfoy, and his expression probably was dumbfounded right now. But what else was he supposed to look like after stumbling over his former arch nemesis in a Muggle café, smack bang in the middle of London? "A cappuccino, please. With extra sugar. And a piece of that chocolate cake. I'm starving."
"Looking for an early end due to diabetes nowadays, I see," Malfoy sighed as he wrote Harry's order down and turned on his heels to slip behind the counter and get to work making the cappuccino in front of the coffee machine.
Once Malfoy had placed everything on a small tray, he carried it over to his table and set everything in front of Harry.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, his eyes never leaving the blond's face.
"Working. If that's all, that'll be fifteen pounds, because it's you, and I know you can afford to give me a generous tip."
Laughing, Harry fished some money out of his wallet and handed it to Malfoy. "If it's poisoned, I want my money back."
"If it's poisoned, your money will be the least of your problems, Potter."
Harry came back the next day, and the day after, and then again. He hadn't gotten anywhere with finding the owner of his wand, Mr Ollivander didn't want to see him in the shop, and seeing Draco was at least somewhat of a refreshing change.
He had complained about Harry being there and wasting his time, even promised to actually poison his cappuccino one day, but so far he hadn't.
Harry enjoyed Malfoy's snark. It had lost some of its bite, had switched from hostile to somewhat lighthearted, which never failed to make Harry laugh. At some point, Malfoy had started to show just the tiniest hint of a smile whenever Harry laughed about one of his remarks, and the sight of it did something to Harry. Maybe because Malfoy hadn't ever smiled at him back in their schooldays, or maybe he was going insane over the entire wand situation. Whatever it was, Harry enjoyed their conversations nevertheless.
On his fourth day of visiting the small café, Harry sat down at his regular table, waiting for Draco to come over with his cappuccino and the cake of the day. This time though, Draco brought a second mug and a few biscuits as well. He took the seat opposite to Harry.
"Business is slow today, I decided to grace you with my presence."
"Be my guest." Harry snorted before he poured an ungodly amount of sugar into his cup and began to stir.
"So, Potter, besides stalking me, what else are you up to nowadays?" Malfoy asked, taking a sip of his tea.
"Nothing much, actually. I'm aiming to become a wandmaker soon. And else..." Harry shrugged. "Living in London, visiting friends occasionally. The usual. What about you?"
"You mean besides working as much as I can to afford the tiny shit flat I managed to get from a very suspicious landlord?" Draco huffed. "Not much either. Sometimes I visit Mother or Pansy. Greg doesn't live too far away either, but it's hard to get around with public transport. I've barely enough money to feed myself."
"Oh, that's—why didn't you stay at the Manor? I know you were under house arrest, but after that was over, you could have stayed."
"I'd rather live in a cardboard box than stay at the Manor, Potter. And besides that, I can't use magic, so why not live in a shitty but at least affordable Muggle flat in London and be free of my past until someone decides to stumble back into my life uninvited?"
Humming, Harry ate a fork full of cheesecake. Malfoy's expression didn't look like he'd be keen to answer any questions, even though Harry was fired up to ask what had happened to his magic. Swallowing his cake, he decided that this question could wait. "Sorry. It wasn’t my intention to find you here, I was out for a walk because I was annoyed."
"So you came here to annoy me instead." Malfoy smirked. "I don't mind overly so. It gave me something else to do than being nice to every customer walking through the door. Has something therapeutic to it."
Harry laughed. "I'd be worried if you'd be all customer service voice with me, actually."
"Well, that won't happen any time soon, Potter."
"Good. We can't have you being overly nice to me now, can we?" Harry smirked, once again feeling all kinds of things when the corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh.
October 2003
It was raining because of course it was. The weather fit his mood perfectly, Harry himself felt rather blue. The whole wand situation was making him lose his marbles. He had even missed Malfoy in his café yesterday because he’d lost track of time. And by the time he had arrived, Malfoy's shift had ended and Harry had to drink his cappuccino made by Steven, who actually used his customer service voice with Harry. It drove him a little bit insane. Harry hadn't even finished his cup, and it hadn't tasted anywhere near as good as when it wasn't served with a snide remark and the pretence promise of being poisoned.
Stepping into the café, Harry cast just the tiniest Drying Charm over himself so he wouldn't have to sit there drenched to the bones. Looking around, Harry let out a pleased sigh when he spotted Malfoy behind the counter. At least he had made it here in time today. That alone improved his mood tenfold.
"Potter! I thought you found another hobby and gave up terrorising innocent citizens like me," Draco said, placing the cup of cappuccino in front of Harry.
"It was just a shit day yesterday. By the time I realised how late it was, you were already gone." Harry smiled weakly. "And I think the only one terrorising innocent citizens here is you."
"I'd never do such a thing," Draco snorted with a roll of his eyes. "So, what happened? Must be important if you forgot me because of it."
Taking a deep breath, Harry glowered down on his marzipan covered muffin. And then he told Malfoy everything. About his apprenticeship at Ollivander’s, about the blasted wand he had made, and the troubles he was having finding the owner. By the time he finished, his cappuccino had gone cold, but Malfoy had listened patiently, nodding along with Harry's words without interrupting him once. It felt nice to just tell someone who hadn't heard the long, twisty story before.
"So, the only thing standing between you and your dream of being a wandmaker is a stubborn wand without an owner? And you have to find the person it was made for?" Draco asked while reaching over the table to break a piece off of Harry's muffin to eat it.
"Yes. There's so many people out there, so many. "Throwing his arms in the air, Harry gesticulated wildly. "I don't know how to find them."
"Well, whenever you do find them, let me know. I'm in need of a new wand. I'll wait, it's not like I have anything better to do."
This brought Harry out of his near meltdown. "Why do you need a new wand?"
"The Ministry misplaced mine while I was under house arrest," Draco snarled, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "And not a single wand shop will sell me one of their wands."
"Is that why you're," Harry gestured at the small café. "Because you don't have a wand?"
"Yes. I'm okay with wandless magic for the absolute basics but nothing bigger unfortunately. I don't mind that much, it's surprisingly easy to live the Muggle way once you've gotten used to it." Draco shrugged. "But I still miss having a wand."
"I'll make you one. Hell, I'll make ten wands for you if necessary. Fuck, I can't believe nobody wants to sell a wand to you." Harry felt anger pool in his stomach. It wasn't like Draco wanted a wand to go and hunt Muggles for sports, for fuck’s sake. That nobody wanted to sell a wand to him was not only not okay, it was downright cruel.
"One will do, thanks." Draco snorted before he kicked Harry's foot under the table. "Stop being angry. Your face is still an open book. I've survived just fine."
"Yeah, but I just can't believe it. That's—" Harry was at a loss of words. "I'll find whoever belongs to this wand. And then I'll make yours. You can help me with it, then the wand will know you from the start."
"I'd like that," Draco smiled, honest and open. "Thank you, Potter."
"Harry. Not Potter."
"Thank you, Harry."
Feeling his stomach drop, Harry busied himself with his muffin.
December 2003
"Any progress with the wand?" Draco asked the moment he sat down in the empty chair opposite Harry.
It was almost Christmas. Harry still hadn't found the owner. Last week he had finally caved in and visited Hogwarts in order to let Professor Trelawney have a go at it. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't a match. Instead, half of her teacups had exploded into a million little pieces.
"Trelawney wasn't a match. I fear you'll never get a wand if things progress like this."
"I think you're too impatient, Harry. How long had your wand been at Ollivander’s before you bought it?"
"I won't wait twenty odd years to make you a wand, Draco. There must be something I'm missing. Are there any Seers I don't know of?" Harry sighed, exasperated.
"Plenty, probably." Draco slurped his tea obnoxiously loudly, distracting Harry from his pondering.
"That's the most offensive thing you've ever done since I stumbled into you," Harry said, wrinkling his nose at Draco's amused face.
"It did what it was supposed to do. It distracted you. I think you need something else to busy yourself with. Forget about the blasted wand for a minute."
Sighing, Harry stirred his cappuccino. "You're probably right. Are you free tonight? For dinner? We could watch a movie or something after we ate."
Harry was so done with his nerves that he didn't even realise what he had said until it had left his mouth. They hadn't ever met anywhere outside the small café. He had no idea what had made him ask the question.
Draco looked equally stunned, probably thinking the same. But he recovered soon enough. "Sure. Sounds perfect. Want me to come over after work?"
"I can pick you up." Harry smiled. "Tell me your address and I'll Side-Along you, save you from the public transport."
"It's a date then," Draco winked, making Harry choke on his cappuccino. "I'll write my address down for you when you leave."
Harry was nervous. After leaving the café, he had gone to buy groceries so they could cook together, only to realise that he had no idea what food Draco liked. He might have allergies Harry didn't know of. What if he cooked something that put Draco in St Mungo’s? And also, Draco had called it a date. Was this a date? A real one?
Harry's nerves were shot.
He rushed to his bedroom and redressed about four or five times, unsure what he should wear. In the end, he decided that it wouldn't hurt to dress just slightly better than he usually managed, but not too good, just in case this wasn't an actual date, after all.
Date.
Harry had a very hard think about it and came to the realisation that he'd actually loved it if this turned out to be one. He enjoyed Draco's company; he was funny and snarky, and he still promised to poison him at least twice a week. It was nice being with him, and Harry wouldn't mind having him around more often.
Maybe having dinner, even if it wasn't a date, was something they could do more often. At least once his nerves managed to get used to it.
At six sharp, Harry Apparated to an alley not far from Draco's address and walked the short distance to ring Draco's doorbell. The building had multiple tenants, and Draco lived nearly all the way up. Thank god, they had both gotten used to walking tall flights of stairs at Hogwarts, because this building didn't look like it'd have an elevator.
When Draco finally appeared at the door, his face flushed pink and slightly out of breath, Harry's heart missed a beat. He had entirely forgotten that Draco probably wouldn't wear the apron. Instead, he stood in front of him with tight black jeans and a dark-green button down, looking absolutely breathtaking. "You look nice."
Draco laughed. "Thanks. It's rare that I get to wear my nicer clothes nowadays. Glad you like them."
"I do. So, uhm, hungry?" Harry's mind was still blank, but he really tried to function.
"Yes. I thought that's the idea of having dinner together. One should be hungry for that."
Huffing, Harry shook his head and offered his arm to Draco, leading them back to the alley. "Let's go then. I bought a few options as I didn't know what you'd like, so I hope you won't starve until we finish cooking."
"Can't promise anything. I might demand a snack if it's taking too long." Draco sighed theatrically.
"I'm not sure if I have anything snack worthy at home, sorry." Harry laughed as they rounded the corner and looked around for people nearby.
"You look tasty today, might have that," Draco grinned all teeth.
Harry burst out laughing. Oh, this so was a date. And Harry surely wouldn't complain about that. "Dessert comes after dinner, you maniac."
This time it was on Draco to gawk while Harry winked at him before he spun them around to take them right into his living room.
Cooking dinner together had been quite the experience. Draco wasn't useless around the kitchen, but Harry hadn't expected him to be. It's been a few years since he had left the wizarding world and started living on his own without magic after all. What Harry hadn’t been prepared for was how often they'd touch or accidentally brush against each other. By the time the lasagna was in the oven, Harry felt more than just a bit on edge, but not because of the blasted wand for once.
Excusing himself to use the loo, Harry left the kitchen. He needed a breather, else he'd probably ravish Draco on the kitchen table and the lasagna would burn.
While washing his hands, Harry sighed and looked into the mirror to examine his flushed face, his thoughts travelling back to Draco. Draco who turned out to be rather good company. The whole scenario was plain and simply crazy. Their history alone was enough to fill a book, and sadly not all of those stories could be waved away as a simple ’boys will be boys’.
A bang of guilt rushed through Harry's body as the memory of Draco bleeding out in a bathroom came to his mind.
Turning off the water, Harry dried his hands and walked back to the kitchen. They desperately needed to work through their past, no matter how unimportant it might appear nowadays.
Rounding the corner, Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Inside the kitchen, Draco was eyeing the wand Harry had made, the blasted piece of wood that had stolen Harry's sleep and sanity nearly as often as Draco himself had.
"It looks nice, doesn't it?" Harry sighed as he finally stepped into the kitchen.
Jumping, Draco turned away from the wand to face Harry. "It does, yes. I didn't mean to—"
Laughing, Harry walked closer until he stood right next to Draco. "I don't mind, you can take it, but don't be sad if it doesn't work properly. I'll make one for you the second I find whoever this one belongs to."
"The second I touch it, nobody will want to have it anymore," Draco said quietly, turning back to look at the wand again. "You obviously make great wands. Ollivander has taught you well. I think that's the prettiest wand I've ever seen."
"You miss having one," Harry stated. It was more than obvious that Draco did. Harry didn't even need to see him nod to know it was true. Deciding to be bold, Harry stepped behind Draco and hugged him, leaning his chin on Draco's shoulder, drinking in the warmness of his body. "You can take it. I don't mind."
Draco's hand shook as he reached out, but he still hesitated a few inches away from the wand. "Are you sure? What if it breaks, what if I'm—"
"What, break it?" Harry huffed, nuzzling Draco's neck enjoying the shudder it caused the other one. "I think it's hardly that fragile. It's just a wand. Here—" Concentrating on the piece of wood, Harry levitated it off the shelf and into Draco's hand.
Suddenly, the room was alite in a sudden burst of light and colours as a wave of magic washed over the both of them. Both Harry and Draco stared openmouthed at the wand in Draco's hand.
"Is this—what?" Harry babbled, letting go of Draco to turn him around. "All this time, and it's been you."
"That's not possible," Draco whispered, looking back and forth between Harry and the wand, stunned. "It can't—how?"
Harry didn't care. His heart felt like it might explode if he didn't let out some of the happiness and excitement he felt.
Stepping forward, Harry pressed his lips against Draco's. Of course it's been him. "It's all yours." Harry laughed between kisses. "I should have known. Isn't it funny how things work between the two of us?"
"I—Salazar, fuck. Cast a stasis over this blasted lasagna, Harry. There's a few spells for the bedroom that I've been dying to try on you. Now."
Pointing his wand at the oven, Harry let the lasagna fly out. It could wait. "Upstairs, second door left."
"Thanks, but we won't make it that far." Draco crashed his mouth against Harry's again, and a wave of magic washed over them, leaving them naked and pressed up against each other.
The look on Draco's face was enough for Harry's knees to nearly give in.
It seemed like the lasagna had to wait for a good while.