Chapter Seven

This chapter was written by literaryspell. My apologies for the delay.

"And... that was it." Harry shrugged and took a sip of his beer.

"What do you mean?" Ron demanded before calling Rosmerta over for another pitcher; they both ignored Hermione shaking her head at their drinking.

She did have a point...it was six o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, after all. But it had been a long day. Harry had earned it.

"I mean, my hex hit him. He fell over. Parkinson Disapparated them both while he was still out. That was it. Not much of a fight." Despite his nonchalant tone, Harry found himself consternated by Draco's failure to protect himself against a pretty standard hex. It was understandable, he supposed, given that Draco had been living as a Muggle for so long and he'd only just gotten his wand back, but self-defence was, for most wizards, an ingrained instinct. He didn't think Draco could have lost that basic reaction just because he'd been wandless for a few years.

"Merlin, what I wouldn't have given to see that." Ron leaned back in his chair, looking proud. "Eh, Hermione?"

"Yes, seeing Draco Malfoy get hexed into unconsciousness while he did nothing to protect himself sounds just lovely."

"Oi," Ron protested, topping up his and Harry's glasses with the beer Rosmerta delivered. "Don't act like you don't want to see him taken down a bit."

"From what I've heard, he's already been taken down, and down, and down." She sighed. "I'm the last person to feel sympathetic toward his plight, but..."

"...But you feel sympathetic toward his plight," Harry finished with a smile.

She shrugged. "He's been through a lot. Maybe he's learned, maybe he hasn't. It isn't our place to judge that. All I know is that he's back, apparently can't protect himself, and still hates Harry. At least we can always count on the latter."

For some reason, Hermione's words bothered him more than he cared to admit...he might not have even noticed under normal circumstances, but Draco's cruelty had cut him. Had he expected them to become friends? Absolutely not. Harry's life was easier and more enjoyable without any Malfoys in it. Had he, a part of him, hoped that they would be able to move past petty childhood rivalries to at least be able to be in the same room together? Yes, he could admit that he had hoped that.

Now all of that was obviously no more than a passing fancy. Draco had no intentions of burying the hatchet, if his words at the Three Broomsticks were any indication. Harry cringed to himself as he thought back to them: pathetic, drunken louse, and bleary-eyed sot. Yes, maybe it had been a little early in the afternoon to have imbibed to that extent, but with Ginny sitting across from him, alternating between glaring at him and giving him hopeful glances, he'd needed to escape a little.

"Whatever his problem is," Ron said, his glass hitting the tabletop hard for emphasis, "it doesn't give him the right to talk to Harry like that. I'm surprised you didn't kick his arse, mate. I would've."

"Wasn't worth it," Harry said, shrugging. But the truth was, with his hands on Draco, hauling him out of the tavern like that... it had seemed worth it. Very worth it. Only it had become about something other than just besting Draco, beating him. He'd told Draco they were going to end it once and for all, and yet... it felt anything but finished.

"I wonder why he didn't hex back, or hex first?" Hermione said. She tapped her chin with her finger and looked at Harry as if he were withholding the answer on purpose.

"Dunno." Harry shrugged again, not wanting to let them know how much that question had been plaguing him.

"Coward," Ron offered knowingly, looking satisfied with his conclusion.

Harry grunted as his lap became full of a wriggling, gin-smelling Justin Finch-Fletchley. He saw, over Justin's blond head, Hermione and Ron exchange a glance, but he couldn't decipher it in his admittedly inebriated state.

"What do you want, Justin?" Harry asked, trying to push his pushy ex off his lap.

"I miss you," Justin said, nuzzling in to Harry's neck. His tongue darted out a quick lick, and before Harry could chastise himself, he groaned. It was so familiar, so easy with Justin.

"You miss his money," Ron said, glaring at him and then at Harry for good measure.

"No," Justin said, a slow smile making his normally handsome features a little cruel. "What I really miss is the way his big, thick co..."

"That's enough!" Harry said, pushing Justin to the floor...his cat-like reflexes allowed him to regain his balance with only a little embarrassment.

Justin glared at Harry and stormed off, but there was mutual agreement around the table that he'd be back. Harry was just glad no one had really seen the incident. He wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea. Then he frowned...who would get the wrong idea? Ginny knew he was gay, even if she hadn't quite accepted it. What was the wrong idea...that he was gay, or that he was taken?

Why would it bother him that someone think he was taken?

His thoughts going in circles, Harry decided to call it a night. He wasn't feeling all too well and he still had to work the next day. He left Hermione looking thoughtful and distracted and Ron looking bright-eyed and well on his way to a wicked hangover.

Despite his decision to make an early night of it, Harry had a few more beers when he returned to his flat. He tried not to dwell on how his wand seemed a little too rough when it came to certain charms...like when he'd tried to spell the cap of his beer off and the neck had shattered. He didn't miss Draco's wand, he didn't. It was just a stupid stick. Sure, it had been his for so long that Draco hardly had any claim to it at all... Harry's muddled thoughts slowed to a standstill. Yes, Draco's wand had belonged to him. He was the owner.

He was the master. Not Draco.

Oh, Merlin. He needed Hermione.

*

The only thing that made Harry's hangover bearable was Ron's hangover.

Firmly of the school that misery loves company, Ron had been hanging around Harry and Neville's office for most of the morning, trying to garner sympathy for an age-old ailment. He wasn't getting any from Harry, but Neville was kind enough to offer coffee and a headache potion.

"Aren't you two a little old to be out drinking on a workday?" Neville chided, refilling Harry's mug as well and topping it off with the potion.

Harry lifted his mug in thanks. "Never too old, Neville. You should join us, you might have fun."

Neville laughed and rolled his eyes. "I did have fun last night. My new batch of octo-orchids sprouted and I was up 'til late, nursing them."

Exchanging a glance with Ron, Harry managed to keep the sarcasm from his voice when he said, "That does sound fun."

"If you and your plants ever need to get out and cut loose, you know where to find us," Ron added with a chuckle.

"I certainly do," Neville said. His tone made Harry look at him sideways.

Maybe he was just sensitive after Draco's callous name-calling, but Neville's remark had almost seemed like a chastisement. Honestly, it wasn't like he drank that much. He hardly ever went to the bars, really...only when Ron managed to convince him or when his excuses weren't solid enough.

Draco had just caught him on a really bad day.

But if Harry's realisation from the night before bore any weight, he wasn't the only one who'd had a bad day.

As if brought to fruition by his very thoughts, a memo from Hermione whizzed around Ron's head, pecking him a few times as if to tell him to get back to work, before landing on Harry's desk.

"Remember," Ron said on his way out, "Protocol training at two o'clock. Don't be late, Harry...remember what Robards said last time."

"I'll get him there," Neville said.

Harry waved them both off. He hadn't been listening, too involved in Hermione's note.

Harry...

Harry groaned as he finished the letter. He'd hoped he was wrong. He didn't want to be the reason why Draco suddenly couldn't work a wand. He didn't want anything to do with Draco after the last conflagration. If nothing else, that had proven that there couldn't ever be anything but anger and old spite between them.

For about fifteen minutes, Harry seriously considered not telling Draco anything. It would be easy enough. There was no reason Draco would suspect that Harry was behind his wand not working. Harry'd only put it together in a fit of drunken brilliance, and Draco didn't seem like the type to over-imbibe, so he wouldn't be having one of those any time soon.

Of course, it was possible that Draco could suss out the truth the old-fashioned way. Harry could risk that. He could plead ignorance if Draco ever confronted him.

And so, asked his conscience, which sounded too like Hermione for his comfort, how will you feel if something happened to Draco, something that could have been prevented if he'd had his wand?

What, he argued back, inside his head of course, like if he verbally attacks and insults someone to the point where they'd risk their job and health just to put him in his place, and he's stuck without a means of protecting himself?

Yes. Exactly like that. Because not only had it already happened, it was very likely to happen again. Draco just wasn't the 'plays well with others' sort. He could come into the path of harm and the guilt would fall on Harry if Draco got hurt.

"Stupid Hermione-conscience," Harry muttered.

"What was that?" Neville asked, looking up from his paperwork.

"I have to go," Harry said, rising. "Er, tell Ron... tell Robards... just... I have to go."

"Need back-up?" Neville called as Harry strode from the office.

"Merlin, I hope not," he said under his breath. He waved Neville off, shooting a reassuring smile back at his partner before getting into the lift.

It all happened so quickly that Harry didn't have time to talk himself out of it, but when he was fresh-squeezed from his Apparition and standing in front of Malfoy Manor, he gave himself a moment to again consider just pretending he knew nothing.

What good was telling Draco going to do, anyway? What could he say? Remember that time at your house when I overpowered you and unknowingly gained mastery of the Elder Wand? Well, I also became master of your wand, which you might not ever be able to use again.

As far as plans went, Harry had come up with better.

"If you've come to arrest me, I'd like to file a complaint, first."

Harry looked up, surprised to see Draco standing in the doorway with a scowl on his face. He was wearing black slacks and a dove grey, ribbed jumper. Despite how frustrated and annoyed he made Harry, there was no denying the annoying but visceral pull Harry felt toward him. Luckily, it was all physical. He had an unfortunate history of going after blokes on looks alone, so he felt confident that it would pass, and soon.

"Let me guess...you were manhandled by an off-duty Auror and challenged to a duel you couldn't fight in?"

Draco's scowl deepened, demarcating his face with shadowed lines. "If you don't get out of here, I'll add trespassing and harassment to the charges."

"Will you now," Harry said, rolling his eyes. How did they always manage to fall back into fifth year? It was ridiculous and yet horrifyingly comfortable. "I'm not here to arrest you, so you can relax." Draco remained as stiff as ever, glaring down at Harry from his vantage point a few steps up. "Do you even know how to? It's when you let your guard down a little, stop plotting the demise of you enemies and just... be yourself?"

Draco's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Maybe I just need a few pints of alcohol in me first. Say, you wouldn't happen to know the location of a pub or eight, would you?"

Unruffled, Harry said, "Sure, but they'd be pretty tough to get to without Apparition. Or would you like me to make you a Portkey, seeing as you can't do it yourself?"

Draco gasped, quickly covering it with a scoff...but his eyes were uncertain. Harry closed the distance between them and waited for Draco to move aside and let him in. "I really do need to talk to you," he said, forcing his words to sound sincere when all he wanted was to turn around and just let Draco fall victim to whatever fate awaited a magicless wizard.

"What is it in regards to?"

"Your wand, Draco. Come on."

Draco's lips pursed together, turning white in the process. "Very well," he said, stepping back to late Harry pass.

Draco closed the front door and led them into a parlour, taking a seat on a chaise and gesturing for Harry to sit as well.

So far no major confrontations or disasters. Harry was duly impressed. He waited for Draco to pour tea from a silver service, taking a sip when a cup was passed to him. He was pleased with Draco's civility, but he couldn't stop himself from sniffing the drink first.

"I'm not so stupid as to murder Harry Potter in my own home," Draco said, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual elegance.

"But in someone else's home?"

Draco's lip quirked. "One never knows."

"Listen, Draco..."

"For Merlin's sake, call me by my surname. Hearing my name on your lips..." Here, Draco's cheeks inexplicably reddened and he cleared his throat. "You using my first name is insulting."

"I don't see why, I certainly don't mean it that way," Harry said honestly. "And I'm not going to stop just because you don't like it. Grow up."

Draco's fingers tightened around his teacup, and through gritted teeth, he said, "Is there something I can help you with, Potter?"

"As I was trying to say, I have a feeling I know what's wrong with your wand."

"What makes you think something's wrong with my wand?" Draco was obviously trying to appear nonchalant, but Harry could read him better now than he could when they were students. He was nervous about something, or maybe even ashamed.

"You didn't use it to defend yourself from my hex."

"Maybe I simply wasn't concerned about some half-arsed curse from a..."

"Draco," Harry interrupted. He put his teacup down and leaned forward, perching his elbows on his knees. "Listen to me. It doesn't have to be like this. I'm not calling you weak and I'm not going to take advantage of the fact that you're wandless. I really do want to help."

"I don't suppose you'll ever learn that some people just don't need saving?"

In the ensuing silence, Harry knew without a doubt they were both thinking back to Draco lying motionless on the study floor, paralysed by his own wards.

"Some people don't. You do."

Draco rose to his feet in a rush; somehow, without wizard's robes, the action wasn't terribly impressive. "You can leave now."

Harry stood as well, drawing his wand. He was glad to see Draco reactively reach for his own. Despite Harry's near-certainty that it wouldn't work, Draco still kept it on him. That was a good sign...it meant he wanted his magic back.

"I'll leave as soon as you show me that your wand works."

"I don't need to prove anything to you! Is this even official Auror business? What are you doing here?"

Harry forced himself to remain calm. "I'm here to help you master your wand again."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, looking like the wind had been vacuumed from his sails.

"When I took your wand from you, here in your house, back when the Snatchers brought us here... I became the master of both your wand and the Elder Wand. That's why it won't work...it's rejected you."

"What are you on about? That's not..."

"Then use it." Harry's voice was quiet, insistent. "Cast a spell, hell, cast a curse. It won't work, Draco, and you know it."

Draco's hand trembled as he put his wand back into his pocket. He seemed... not defeated, but resigned. "How can I fix it?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair. He probably should have spoken to Hermione more on the matter before he'd rushed off. He didn't exactly know how to get the wand to see Draco as the master. Draco'd become master of the Elder Wand from Dumbledore. Harry'd become master by beating Draco.

So... Draco just had to win it back.

"You have to beat me to get it back," Harry said slowly, knowing it was true.

Though Draco's eyes lit up a little at Harry's words, he immediately found a flaw in the plan. "Won't that give me mastery of your wand, too?"

"I don't think so. Hermione said that what's happened to you is actually really rare. Most of the time, wands can be used interchangeably and even a defeated wizard can use his old wand, just not very well. I think it might have something to do with the fact that you lost mastery of two wands at once. Fuck in both ends, if you know what I mean."

"I certainly don't," Draco said. "You're saying my wand thinks I'm incapable of using it because I lost power over it and another wand?"

Harry shrugged. "Makes sense, doesn't it? You still have magic, don't you?"

Draco nodded. "When I get angry, I can feel it..." He looked like he was going to say more, but he didn't.

"So I guess you'll just have to get it back from me, then."

Draco, even when perfectly coiffed, gave off the impression of someone ready to tear his own hair out. "How do you propose I do that? I can't beat you magically, not without a wand. Though rest assured I'd be able to best you otherwise."

"That's sort of a moot point, isn't it, since I am the master of your wand, meaning I beat you."

Not willing to cede the point, Draco waved him off. "And I can't very well fight you like a Muggle...I've no experience with such barbaric tactics, and you must admit you're built for just those type of barroom antics."

Harry couldn't help it...he leered. Hearing Draco talk about how he was built brought out something primal in him. Luckily, he wrangled it under control before Draco could recognise the look. "I could teach you to fight," he offered.

"Why are you even doing this?" Draco suddenly asked, looking suspicious.

Since Harry didn't have a satisfactory answer for himself, let alone for Draco, he settled for a rote response. "It's the right thing to do."

"Of course. Merlin forbid Harry Potter do anything else."

"You say Harry Potter like it's some sort of title, but that's just who I am, Draco. I know you can't possibly understand it, but that's me. I took your wand. I don't feel bad and I'll never apologise...I killed Voldemort with that wand. But I shouldn't have kept it for so long. It's your wand and I'm going to help you win it back." The whether you like it or not was strongly implied.

"I..." Draco frowned and looked at Harry before casting his eyes to the ground. "So what do we do?"

Cheered by the response, Harry said, "Well, I suppose I could teach you wandless magic. I've never been very good at it but I know how to do it. And it seems like something you'd be good at. It's all about control, precision, and dedication."

Seeming to realised he'd just been complimented, Draco flushed. Harry offered him a small smile, but it wasn't returned, though Harry rather thought Draco's eyes weren't as hard as they'd been a moment ago.

"I could do that," Draco said, nodding.

"I know." And as far as plans went, Harry'd come up with worse.