(no subject)
...that the end of the Harry Potter series made me want to write HP fic for the first time in almost three years. Huh, I always figured it'd be the opposite, but DH was simply an amazing book. It had its flaws, but I think I've found a new favourite.
And, um. Because it's been so long anyway,
"I still say you're mad for not keeping it."
Harry could only smile wanly at Ron as the three of them descended the staircase and passed the now-lopsided gargoyle on the way out of Dumbledore's office.
"The Elder Wand, mate, I mean just think about it--"
"Ron, stop, it's perfectly understandable that Harry wouldn't want to keep it," Hermione interjected, though clearly still trying to understand herself. "Only think of the responsibilities that come with having such a thing--"
"Because I have absolutely no experience with huge responsibilities, Hermione?"
There was that exasperated expression again. "That is NOT what I meant! That wand is like a flashing invitation for greediest, most power-hungry wizards to have a go at you, and it's like you said, you've had enough trouble..." she trailed off, seeming to realize that Harry had stopped listening, his eyes a little glazed.
"Is everything ok, Harry?" Ron had noticed the same.
"M'fine, I just...plan on crawling into bed and not getting up til next Christmas, is all." Harry turned in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, hardly able to believe just how badly he was anticipating the feel of his bed in Gryffindor after so long. Hardly able to believe that he finally had the option of being able to just sleep for...well, if not until Christmas, at least a very long time.
“That is the best plan I’ve heard all year,” Ron agreed, as he and Hermione fell into step on either side of him, even now unwilling to let him out of their sights.
The three of them formed an impenetrable wall as they wound their way back through the castle - however, Harry fell back as they passed the grand staircase leading down into the Entrance Hall. He could still see the scorch mark that Voldemort's shell had left on the stones, and simply remembering that final showdown made him feel as though all three wands he carried on him were burning a hole through his pocket.
His own wand, which he was determined never to part with again. The Elder Wand … which he really had to get rid of as soon as possible. And the wand that defeated Voldemort.
Not his.
"Harry?" His friends had finally noticed that he was not with them anymore. He looked back at them, hesitated for a moment, and then waved them on. "Actually, I'll catch up with you two in a bit, there's something I have to do first."
"What?"
"Oh Harry, there's no reason to head to Dumbledore's tomb right this very second--"
"It's not that, it's just - really something that I should do." Not waiting for a response, he hurried down into the Entrance Hall, and headed toward the Great Hall, where it seemed that half the wizarding world had gathered.
After all they had been through this year, it was impossible not to put a lot of stock into Ron and Hermione's input, but he couldn't imagine they would have anything positive to say about the idea that had suddenly come to mind. He could already hear Ron’s spluttered protests at the very thought of handing Draco Malfoy the wand that had felled Voldemort, and he did not need another reason to back out of what he was doing, especially since the idea of facing Draco -- or any of the Malfoys really -- was curdling his insides.
Even considering what he had seen in their faces during the war, the memories of Hermione's screams as she was tortured overhead, Dobby's last shudder, Sirius falling through the veil, Fred, they were not leaving him. And yet--
"Don't kill him, DON'T KILL HIM--"
This was not leaving him either, even though he knew perfectly well why Draco had tried so hard to call off Crabbe and Goyle.
So he hovered stupidly outside the doors to the Great Hall, his gaze fixed on the tight, solitary huddle of white-blond hair at the Slytherin table until, randomly, Draco looked up from his position against his mother's shoulder and met Harry's eyes. It occurred to Harry that, given how much time he and Draco Malfoy had spent watching each other over the past seven years; this really should not have surprised him.
Then it occurred to him that Draco was looking rather terrified at the mere sight of him, and he suddenly wished he had not come -- but he had already been seen, so he beckoned to Draco before ducking back behind the doorframe, lest he be spotted by yet another well-wisher.
Five minutes, Harry told himself, but not even three were needed before Malfoy -- Draco, there were too many Malfoys present to call Draco by his last name -- had slipped out of the Great Hall and was facing him with false bravado and an even greater amount of fear. The tension was unbearable; Harry could not help but think wistfully of the old tension between them. It was odd to fully appreciate just how easy simply throwing a hex or a punch would be instead of talking, when it came to Draco Malfoy.
Who looked as though he were trying to think of something clever to say; it had never seemed like such hard work for him before. Harry forestalled him.
“Malfoy.” (So much for “Draco”.) And after a full minute in which he was simply stared at while his mind chose to go completely blank, “Here.”
Draco stared uncomprehendingly at the hawthorn wand that had just been shoved at him, as though he had never seen it before. Harry pressed on.
“I - well, it’s yours, and I have mine, and you lost yours, I mean your other one in the Room of Requirement-“ but he cut himself off there as a spasm of something crossed Draco’s face, and he himself was hit with Crabbe and Fred and diadem and the utterly mad contradiction that he could wish Draco Malfoy would fall into a black hole somewhere and vanish forever, but could never want him to die a fiery death.
The resulting silence was broken by Draco this time. He seemed afraid to touch the wand. “Winners, keepers, remember?”
“Yes, but I have mine-“ Realizing he was repeating himself, Harry changed tactics. “The wand chooses the wizard, and it was yours first.”
Draco still did not take the wand. “What am I going to do with it?”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Er…the same thing I imagine you’d do with any wand, Malfoy.”
The other boy scowled, which oddly enough made Harry feel more at ease than he had since leaving Hermione and Ron; the expression was just that familiar. “I don’t want it,” Draco told him, taking a step back toward the Great Hall. Harry heard the faint thread of panic in his voice. “I don’t really need it, I’ll just get another one from somewhere-“
Harry tried to suppress his scorn, but judging from the glare he received, failed miserably. “Malfoy, it’s not like Vol-“
“Don’t say that name!”
Now it was Harry’s turn to feel anger. “He’s DEAD, he’s not coming back-“ But there were people starting to come out of the Great Hall; the two of them were getting curious looks and Harry pushed it down, watching Draco visibly do the same. Voldemort had been dead only five hours. Harry was not going to be the one to snap everyone back to reality by getting into a fight with a known, if reluctant Death Eater.
What was he doing here?
Draco was clearly wondering the same thing. “Are we done?” Without waiting for a response, he was already heading back into the Hall; inexplicably, Harry grabbed his arm before he could leave.
“Wait!”
Draco spun around, having lost whatever patience he had had to begin with. “Potter, what do you want?” he hissed, pale eyes darting in every direction; presumably taking stock of any eavesdroppers, but the corridors were empty again. “I…I’m already in enough trouble as it is, I don’t need any more-“
“I’m not trying to cause trouble-“ Harry protested, but Draco pretended not to have heard.
“-I really can’t be seen with you right now, not having a wand’ll be the least of my worries soon enough, never mind having the one you killed him with-“
“Malfoy-Draco.” Harry had been brought closer during Draco’s attempts to shake him off, and how ridiculous was it that he was now looking up at Malfoy, when he had been the taller of the two in first year? There was a pause in which Harry realized he had absolutely nothing to say besides Draco’s name.
Well no, he was thinking about plenty: about the terrified face casting Crucio over and over again, about the eyes that refused to meet his to identify him, even in the face of overwhelming evidence and pressure from his entire family…he was thinking about only being able to watch, and not being able to help, but how could he say anything about that?
He was also being glowered pointedly at, so he winged it. “I just - really don’t like the idea of you being defenceless without one.” Then he went red, for some reason he had no hope of explaining to himself; but Draco’s glare had become suspicious, which was, for him, slightly friendlier.
Harry coughed and pushed the wand at him again. “The last thing this wand cast was Expelliarmus,” he said. “And, er, I promise he’s not going to come crawling out of it or anything…”
Draco touched the tip of the wand, as though testing that theory. “Why did it work so well for you?” he asked. The question was barely audible.
Harry blinked, then shrugged. “Maybe it was the way I took it from you?”
Draco took the wand back then, and put it in his robe pocket. Harry cleared his throat again.
“So…okay.”
“Yeah.”
Awkward-silence-number-four might have fallen, but then Harry heard someone calling his name. Evidently, Hermione and Ron had gotten tired of waiting up. More people were starting to come out of the Great Hall, Narcissa Malfoy among them, looking pointedly in her son’s direction.
Draco opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. They gave each other one glance before turning away, Draco returning to his mother, and Harry to his own family.
I couldn't help myself. But it's not beta-read or anything, so it's not great work -- I just wanted Malfoy to get
that wand back so badly.
And, um. Because it's been so long anyway,
"I still say you're mad for not keeping it."
Harry could only smile wanly at Ron as the three of them descended the staircase and passed the now-lopsided gargoyle on the way out of Dumbledore's office.
"The Elder Wand, mate, I mean just think about it--"
"Ron, stop, it's perfectly understandable that Harry wouldn't want to keep it," Hermione interjected, though clearly still trying to understand herself. "Only think of the responsibilities that come with having such a thing--"
"Because I have absolutely no experience with huge responsibilities, Hermione?"
There was that exasperated expression again. "That is NOT what I meant! That wand is like a flashing invitation for greediest, most power-hungry wizards to have a go at you, and it's like you said, you've had enough trouble..." she trailed off, seeming to realize that Harry had stopped listening, his eyes a little glazed.
"Is everything ok, Harry?" Ron had noticed the same.
"M'fine, I just...plan on crawling into bed and not getting up til next Christmas, is all." Harry turned in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, hardly able to believe just how badly he was anticipating the feel of his bed in Gryffindor after so long. Hardly able to believe that he finally had the option of being able to just sleep for...well, if not until Christmas, at least a very long time.
“That is the best plan I’ve heard all year,” Ron agreed, as he and Hermione fell into step on either side of him, even now unwilling to let him out of their sights.
The three of them formed an impenetrable wall as they wound their way back through the castle - however, Harry fell back as they passed the grand staircase leading down into the Entrance Hall. He could still see the scorch mark that Voldemort's shell had left on the stones, and simply remembering that final showdown made him feel as though all three wands he carried on him were burning a hole through his pocket.
His own wand, which he was determined never to part with again. The Elder Wand … which he really had to get rid of as soon as possible. And the wand that defeated Voldemort.
Not his.
"Harry?" His friends had finally noticed that he was not with them anymore. He looked back at them, hesitated for a moment, and then waved them on. "Actually, I'll catch up with you two in a bit, there's something I have to do first."
"What?"
"Oh Harry, there's no reason to head to Dumbledore's tomb right this very second--"
"It's not that, it's just - really something that I should do." Not waiting for a response, he hurried down into the Entrance Hall, and headed toward the Great Hall, where it seemed that half the wizarding world had gathered.
After all they had been through this year, it was impossible not to put a lot of stock into Ron and Hermione's input, but he couldn't imagine they would have anything positive to say about the idea that had suddenly come to mind. He could already hear Ron’s spluttered protests at the very thought of handing Draco Malfoy the wand that had felled Voldemort, and he did not need another reason to back out of what he was doing, especially since the idea of facing Draco -- or any of the Malfoys really -- was curdling his insides.
Even considering what he had seen in their faces during the war, the memories of Hermione's screams as she was tortured overhead, Dobby's last shudder, Sirius falling through the veil, Fred, they were not leaving him. And yet--
"Don't kill him, DON'T KILL HIM--"
This was not leaving him either, even though he knew perfectly well why Draco had tried so hard to call off Crabbe and Goyle.
So he hovered stupidly outside the doors to the Great Hall, his gaze fixed on the tight, solitary huddle of white-blond hair at the Slytherin table until, randomly, Draco looked up from his position against his mother's shoulder and met Harry's eyes. It occurred to Harry that, given how much time he and Draco Malfoy had spent watching each other over the past seven years; this really should not have surprised him.
Then it occurred to him that Draco was looking rather terrified at the mere sight of him, and he suddenly wished he had not come -- but he had already been seen, so he beckoned to Draco before ducking back behind the doorframe, lest he be spotted by yet another well-wisher.
Five minutes, Harry told himself, but not even three were needed before Malfoy -- Draco, there were too many Malfoys present to call Draco by his last name -- had slipped out of the Great Hall and was facing him with false bravado and an even greater amount of fear. The tension was unbearable; Harry could not help but think wistfully of the old tension between them. It was odd to fully appreciate just how easy simply throwing a hex or a punch would be instead of talking, when it came to Draco Malfoy.
Who looked as though he were trying to think of something clever to say; it had never seemed like such hard work for him before. Harry forestalled him.
“Malfoy.” (So much for “Draco”.) And after a full minute in which he was simply stared at while his mind chose to go completely blank, “Here.”
Draco stared uncomprehendingly at the hawthorn wand that had just been shoved at him, as though he had never seen it before. Harry pressed on.
“I - well, it’s yours, and I have mine, and you lost yours, I mean your other one in the Room of Requirement-“ but he cut himself off there as a spasm of something crossed Draco’s face, and he himself was hit with Crabbe and Fred and diadem and the utterly mad contradiction that he could wish Draco Malfoy would fall into a black hole somewhere and vanish forever, but could never want him to die a fiery death.
The resulting silence was broken by Draco this time. He seemed afraid to touch the wand. “Winners, keepers, remember?”
“Yes, but I have mine-“ Realizing he was repeating himself, Harry changed tactics. “The wand chooses the wizard, and it was yours first.”
Draco still did not take the wand. “What am I going to do with it?”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Er…the same thing I imagine you’d do with any wand, Malfoy.”
The other boy scowled, which oddly enough made Harry feel more at ease than he had since leaving Hermione and Ron; the expression was just that familiar. “I don’t want it,” Draco told him, taking a step back toward the Great Hall. Harry heard the faint thread of panic in his voice. “I don’t really need it, I’ll just get another one from somewhere-“
Harry tried to suppress his scorn, but judging from the glare he received, failed miserably. “Malfoy, it’s not like Vol-“
“Don’t say that name!”
Now it was Harry’s turn to feel anger. “He’s DEAD, he’s not coming back-“ But there were people starting to come out of the Great Hall; the two of them were getting curious looks and Harry pushed it down, watching Draco visibly do the same. Voldemort had been dead only five hours. Harry was not going to be the one to snap everyone back to reality by getting into a fight with a known, if reluctant Death Eater.
What was he doing here?
Draco was clearly wondering the same thing. “Are we done?” Without waiting for a response, he was already heading back into the Hall; inexplicably, Harry grabbed his arm before he could leave.
“Wait!”
Draco spun around, having lost whatever patience he had had to begin with. “Potter, what do you want?” he hissed, pale eyes darting in every direction; presumably taking stock of any eavesdroppers, but the corridors were empty again. “I…I’m already in enough trouble as it is, I don’t need any more-“
“I’m not trying to cause trouble-“ Harry protested, but Draco pretended not to have heard.
“-I really can’t be seen with you right now, not having a wand’ll be the least of my worries soon enough, never mind having the one you killed him with-“
“Malfoy-Draco.” Harry had been brought closer during Draco’s attempts to shake him off, and how ridiculous was it that he was now looking up at Malfoy, when he had been the taller of the two in first year? There was a pause in which Harry realized he had absolutely nothing to say besides Draco’s name.
Well no, he was thinking about plenty: about the terrified face casting Crucio over and over again, about the eyes that refused to meet his to identify him, even in the face of overwhelming evidence and pressure from his entire family…he was thinking about only being able to watch, and not being able to help, but how could he say anything about that?
He was also being glowered pointedly at, so he winged it. “I just - really don’t like the idea of you being defenceless without one.” Then he went red, for some reason he had no hope of explaining to himself; but Draco’s glare had become suspicious, which was, for him, slightly friendlier.
Harry coughed and pushed the wand at him again. “The last thing this wand cast was Expelliarmus,” he said. “And, er, I promise he’s not going to come crawling out of it or anything…”
Draco touched the tip of the wand, as though testing that theory. “Why did it work so well for you?” he asked. The question was barely audible.
Harry blinked, then shrugged. “Maybe it was the way I took it from you?”
Draco took the wand back then, and put it in his robe pocket. Harry cleared his throat again.
“So…okay.”
“Yeah.”
Awkward-silence-number-four might have fallen, but then Harry heard someone calling his name. Evidently, Hermione and Ron had gotten tired of waiting up. More people were starting to come out of the Great Hall, Narcissa Malfoy among them, looking pointedly in her son’s direction.
Draco opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. They gave each other one glance before turning away, Draco returning to his mother, and Harry to his own family.
I couldn't help myself. But it's not beta-read or anything, so it's not great work -- I just wanted Malfoy to get
that wand back so badly.