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Draco squinted. He saw his parents. He saw Potter and Granger. All had serious expressions on their faces. They disappeared in a flash of green light while a wicked voice cackled. He stood in a bright mist, a cloudy vapour that had not taken form yet. The fog slowly took shape, curling and warping into a person.
First the body, a woman’s. Short. Solid gait. Then the smoke morphed, fingers of mist drawing out into specific tendrils and dotting the face with freckles. The hazy figure blinked, but had no expression.
Granger.
She was here, and yet, she wasn’t. Carved out of vapour. Made of light and illusion.
Her hand reached out for him.
Without a word, he reached back.
Her silvery light suddenly dissipated. Her cloudy form shrunk and was whisked away violently by an unknown aspirating force.
Draco shot up from bed, flailing and near-shouting. His eyes opened and he saw that it was still dark out. He touched his chest, beating palpably, then his face. To remind himself that he was there. Solid.
He wiped his eyes. There were tears.
Draco looked up at the newly established golden lettering on the sign, Ollivander’s: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.
Just like almost a decade before to the day, he saw a single wand laid upon a mauve cushion in the streaked window.
A twinkling bell rang from above the shop door as he stepped inside. It was a tiny place, much smaller than he remembered.
“Good morning,” said a soft voice, “I’ll be with you in a moment.” The shop was seemingly empty except for a single spindly chair near the register counter.
He couldn’t see anyone, so Draco window shopped, a finger dragging across the dust gathered along shelves stacked with thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly up to the ceiling. He sneered to himself.
For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to ripple with some ancient magic.
A loud explosion came from the back. A strong jet of green and purple sparks blew a wide hole in one of Ollivander’s walls. Draco ducked just in time or his head would have blown cleanly off.
A woman’s voice rang out. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”
“Nonsense. Nonsense. It’s all trial and error.”
“Try this one. Alder and dragonheart string. Nine inches. Unyielding.”
Draco turned the corner to see a mass of dark, curly hair and a pile of tried wands stacked high in the back counter.
The mass of wild hair picked up the wand and swished and flicked. Nothing happened. She let out a sound of disappointment.
“No worries. We will try again.”
Ollivander’s pale eyes widened when he saw Draco, recognizing him. He looked older. Smaller. A bit more crooked. “Mr. Malfoy.”
The woman let out an almost imperceptible gasp, turning toward the corner where Draco stood. He recognized her. He would know her anywhere. Hermione Granger.
“I-I’ll go. I’ll come back later.”
Hermione’s large brown eyes blinked rapidly and she swallowed, her mind processing quickly. She glanced downward to see the tail end of Draco's Dark Mark on his wrist and grimaced.
Draco followed her gaze and quickly rolled down his cuffed sleeves.
Her eyes flickered up at him, and a small spark inside both of them clicked. She decided on something. How he knew that, he wasn't sure.
Hermione stuck out her chin and said with a slight waver in her voice, “Don't be daft. You’re already here.”
Draco walked forward, approaching the old man warily, whose eyes were round and shining like moons.
“I remember you.”
“And I, you, Mr. Ollivander.”
“I wondered when I’d be seeing you again. I received your owl. It was well-written.”
“I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies, although I understand if you do not.”
“Ah, well, it was dark times indeed, and we all did what we must to survive. Including you, young Malfoy. These things take time. I assume you are here for a new wand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll have to wait. I am still helping Ms. Granger.”
“Yes,” Draco nodded.
“You lost your wand too,” Hermione said. Not a question.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Potter—”
“Right. Right.” She shook her head rapidly as if admonishing herself.
“Uh, yours?”
“The Snatchers that brought us to your Manor, they took it from me. I don’t know where it is. Probably snapped.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be done about it.” Her quivering chin belied her words. “Anyway, how are you? I received your owl too.”
Draco’s pale face flushed. “I, uh, just wanted to thank you for speaking at my trial. You and Potter. You didn’t have to—”
“I know. I read it,” she clipped.
Mr. Ollivander’s eyes flickered between Draco and Hermione. He walked closer to Hermione, studying her freckled, round face. “Hm … I wonder.” Climbing up the rolling ladder, he plucked a narrow box from a high shelf on the far right. “Ash and phoenix feather. 10 inches. Rigid. Rare combination.”
Hermione gripped the smooth wood, and a bright light spread from between her fingers to her arms and up her neck, creating an ethereal halo around her face. She laughed disbelievingly. "Ha!"
This was the first time that Draco dared to look at her in a long time. He hadn’t looked up during the trial out of shame. They shared a fleeting glance at the Battle of Hogwarts when he looked back before walking toward his parents. So quick that he thought he imagined it. Her face was gaunt and dirty then.
Now her face regained some of the plumpness he saw at Hogwarts. Holding her new wand, her eyes glowed amber. He could feel her Magic emanating off her person. Powerful and bright, like her.
Hermione raised the wand above her hand and slashed it through the air. A stream of golden sparks shot from the tip like brilliant fireworks. She cackled. She flicked her wand again, and the narrow boxes all flew back into their original slots except for the one she held.
Ollivander’s eyes squinted in a smile. “Thank you, Ms. Granger. You are very kind.”
She broke out into a broad smile, revealing her slightly buck teeth.
Draco realised then that he found her rather pretty. Warm and confident. Long, riotous hair that looked softer than he remembered. If he were honest with himself, he would know that he always knew that. But now, he could admit it freely. Almost.
Hermione ruffled through her coin purse for galleons.
“Let me,” Draco immediately said.
“No, it’s okay.”
“I–”
“No, Malfoy.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“NO!”, she yelled.
Everyone froze.
“Sorry, I—”
Hermione’s eyes watered slightly. “I know you mean well. And you want to—I just need to do this for myself. I need this to be mine. I’ve been using your aunt’s wan—” She caught herself. “That was insensitive.”
Draco snorted. “You have nothing to be sorry for. She tortured y—Bellatrix was balmy and fanatical. There is no love lost there.”
“Still, she’s your family.”
“I’ve come to learn that it means less and less.”
Hermione handed seven gold galleons to Ollivander; he bowed; and she turned to leave.
Draco didn’t know what compelled him to do so but he reached out to lightly touch her right arm. He heard a small choke of air. The words rushed out of him. “If you have nothing to do, would you mind waiting? I’d like to take you to Three Broomsticks and buy you a butterbeer. To properly apologize, if nothing else.”
Hermione twirled a curl around her finger nervously. She tugged on her sleeve, and he realised that she was trying to hide the scars that his aunt gave her. She hesitated but said, “Uh, okay, sure.”
Mr. Ollivander narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Malfoy, your turn. Yours was a hawthorn with a unicorn hair core.”
Draco quirked his eyebrow.
Reading him easily, Ollivander fixed Draco with his pale stare, “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold. Every. Single. Wand. Including yours. But now, I surmise the same wand would not suit you anymore. I can see it in your eyes. No one is unchanged by war.” His head cocked toward Hermione.
Hermione was barely listening. She was busy casting simple spells with her new wand. “Wingardium leviosa,” she said quietly, floating her purple beaded bag in mid-air.
“Alright then. Let’s start.” Ollivander flicked his wrist and a tape measure flew around Draco’s left arm, measuring shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round his head. “That’ll do.” The tape crumpled to the floor.
Ollivander flitted between the back shelves, taking down box after box. “This one is yew and unicorn hair. Quite whippy. Eight inches—”
“That’s too short!” Draco complained, “At least nine.”
Hermione giggled.
“Try it first.”
Draco glared at the old man and grabbed the yew wood. Nothing happened. Barely a tingle.
“Then perhaps this. Cherry and dragon heartstring. Nine and a half inches. Pliable. Prestigious and powerful.”
Draco rolled the wood between his fingers and waved. It resisted.
Ollivander snatched the wand away and almost immediately pressed another into his hand. “Elder and unicorn hair.”
Draco flicked his wrist. The rolling ladder shelf splintered into a thousand pieces.
“Oh dear. Apparently not,” Ollivander shook his head, “Give this one a whirl.”
Draco tried another. And another. And another. None of them worked. One of them kept opening the till. Another sent a veritable tornado through the store, messing up his perfectly coiffed hair and lifting up Hermione’s skirt.
Hermione yelled, “Finite incantatem!”, while holding down the flimsy chiffon material.
“Thank you, Ms. Granger,” Ollivander said, as he righted his sparse, grey hair.
The pile of tried wands mounted higher and higher.
Mr. Ollivander was silent for a long while, as he considered the both of them, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I wonder …”
He walked to the back of the store and disappeared for several minutes, leaving Hermione and Draco to stare at each other awkwardly.
Draco was about to tell Hermione that she should leave, because there was no telling how long he’d be here.
“Here, here! Go on, try this one.” Ollivander stumbled forward, handing him a slender wood. “Blackthorn with phoenix feather core. Twelve inches.”
Draco gripped the wand and a feeling of wellbeing swelled in his chest. A rush of Magic filled his being, crackling, from the tips of his fingers, up his head, and down to his toes. To be honest, he got a little hard. He whipped his wand again, and thousands of bright, dancing spots shifting into different constellations enchanted the shop’s ceilings. He turned to Hermione, whose dark gaze was intent on him. She gripped her ash wood tightly.
The corner of Ollivander’s mouth twitched. “Curious. Very curious.”
“What?” Draco asked. With Herculean effort, he turned his head away from Hermione. Something happened. There was a push. A calling to her. He had to be near her.
“It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand, gave another one – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its mirror is standing right next to you.”
Hermione and Draco’s mouths gaped.
“W-what?! What does that mean?” Hermione’s mind was already churning at the possibilities.
Ollivander shrugged and waved his hand dismissively. “The wand chooses the Wixen, remember. Like recognizes like. What that means specifically, it could mean you are meant to be in each other’s lives. Enemies? Lovers? In what capacity, I do not know. I’m no Seer.”
One year later.
“Scared, Granger?”
“You wish.”
Malfoy raised his wand quickly and whipped it down. The tip of his wand exploded into bright sparks aimed at Hermione. She rolled and ducked through the thick undergrowth, then round the trunk of a large, yew tree.
Hermione aimed her wand, “Expelliarmus!” A dazzling flash of scarlet light shot out of her ash wood.
Draco’s blackthorn wand flew out of his hand.
She smirked, straightening her back but dropped her smile when Draco Disapparated in a twisting, smoky swirl.
A loud pop.
He appeared behind her, grappling around her neck and flinging her to the ground. They wrestled. Him grabbing at her wand. Her biting his wrist. She grabbed his hair and pulled.
Draco howled in pain.
She bracketed her thighs around his hips, flipping them around, so she straddled him. “Submit?”
He didn’t answer. He flailed his long limbs until he caught hold of her right arm, clasping both her wrists in each of his hands on either side of his face.
Her chestnut curls tickled his face. “Submit!”, she yelled, her chest bursting and heaving for air.
Draco had the audacity to give her a wicked smile.
She struggled against his hands, almost growling.
He turned his face to her arm, and kissed each letter.
Hermione’s mouth dropped open.
With that distraction, he hooked his ankle around hers, grabbing her shoulders and turning them around. They landed with an oof, dust and leaves billowing up around them.
He was on top, looking down on her. With tenderness. Adoration. Love.
She grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely. His hand slid into her hair, tangling around several tendrils. The other hand released their hold on her arm and slid around her throat. Danced and slipped his fingers over the dip of her clavicle.
Draco opened up to her. His mouth tracing the shape of her lips. Peppering her jaw and cheeks with drops of kisses. Licking the seam of her mouth. Sliding his tongue slowly against hers. He ended the kiss with several more in her hair, temples, and finally the tip of her nose.
“To you? Always.”