Recipient: faire_weather
Summary: After the war, Draco makes wands to try and replace his old one. Harry is the only one willing to buy the wands he makes.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3480
Content/Enticements: Narcissa, Muggle clothes (though not at the same time), and Draco being difficult (pretty much the whole time).

Draco paced around the sitting room, whilst his mother watched him out of the corner of her eye. He could always tell when she did, because she looked slightly away from him to pretend she was much too absorbed in her thoughts to worry about him. The room was silent except for his movement, even though she was on her second cup of tea. He leaned against the mantle in a way he hoped seemed more relaxed than his pacing had been.

It was a quarter past the hour that he'd said he'd arrive on.

'Please sit, Draco,' his mother said. 'You're giving me a headache.'

'Why would he want to give it back?'

'Mr Potter seems like a—'

'I don't care what he seems like, Mother. He hates me. He's told me as much in every encounter we've had since the day we met. I see no reason for him to extend his hand in friendship now.' And he was torn on whether or not he should accept it.

His mother's eyes met his, and he could tell there was worry there. 'I don't think friendship motivated this exchange.'

'He wrote you.'

She looked away from him.

'Mum, what did he say? What does he want from us?'

'I'm sure he wants to simply give you your wand back.' She looked at him and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes and she quickly looked away again. Draco pushed off the mantle and continued his pacing. She took a breath and then whispered, 'I saved his life.'

Draco stopped, but said nothing; he simply waited for her to continue.

'The Dark Lord asked me to see if he was dead and so I went to him and leant over him. Right away I could tell he was breathing, but I didn't tell. I kept it to myself. He wrote to me not you. If this has to do with anything, I am sure it is that. He might want to settle what he considers a debt. I consider it already paid, because you're here, you're alive.'

A house-elf appeared and said, 'A Mr Potter is here to see you, Mrs Malfoy.'

She nodded to the elf and a moment later Harry Potter walked into the room. He stopped a few feet in as though he was unsure if he should come any closer, but he forced himself and shifted his feet, trying to come up with the words to start with. Draco's mother stood and held out her hand to him.

Potter took it and shook it even though it was obvious she meant for him to kiss it. It was the old fashioned greeting and Draco supposed Potter never had to do that before. He didn't offer his own hand and neither did Potter toward him.

'You really didn't need to come all this way, Mr Potter. You could have just sent it with an owl.'

'Oh, it was no trouble...with magic and all.' He'd look at Draco, but then quickly away if their eyes met. 'Besides, I wanted to see how you were doing.'

'We're well.' She smiled and that one did reach her eyes. 'A bit lonely perhaps, but the weather has been lovely and we've spent most of it in the gardens. Do you have it with you? I'm sure Draco would love to see it.'

'Oh,' Potter said, and then began to pat the pockets of his robes. 'Here it is.' He pulled it out and Draco hadn't realized just how much he never wanted to see it again, until Potter held it out for him, expecting him to take it.

He'd given his mother back her wand upon returning to the Manor. At home without his wand, it simply brought him back to his childhood. Seeing the wand brought him back to the war and the last few spells he remembered using it for. His hand shook as he slipped it out of Potter's, and though he knew Potter was talking to him he only caught every other word.

'I'll keep that in mind,' Draco said.

After Potter left, Draco went to his room, running once he entered the hall, and shoved it into the back of a drawer. He thought little of the wand, but a lot of wanting one. The next time Draco saw Potter, Draco not only had a newone, but had made it for himself along with hundreds of others.

Draco was more than a little surprised to see Harry Potter standing at his door, even though he knew he'd been making waves with being a wandkeeper for more than one wandmaker. He never thought Potter's visit could be about business and was at a loss for words when he stated that it was.
'I know a lot of people are uncomfortable with the idea of a keeper being on their own and having a store without a dedicated wandmaker, but it makes much more sense to have variety.' Potter rambled on about wandmakers using different materials and what if the perfect wand for someone could only be made by a wandmaker farthest from him, but he was wasting his breath. Draco had no intention of turning him down.

No one would buy a wand from him; not even a purist who still believed in traditional values would sully their name—or more importantly their child's name—with a Malfoy wand.

'I appreciate the offer, Potter, and I never had a problem with what you are doing. It's brilliant and I think by the time your children go to Hogwarts everyone will think it odd for a wandmaker to keep his own designated shop.'

Potter grinned and held his hand out, ready to seal the deal, but Draco had to cut him off with the wave of his hand. 'I understand you have a contract—non-exclusive—with every well-known wandmaker; what do you want with me?'

'You're a wandmaker and I'm a wandkeeper hoping to have some of every wandmakers' wands available in my shop. I'm an excellent salesman—'

'I don't need your qualifications. I know how well you're doing. I want to know why you, of all people, would want—' Draco couldn't say what he thought; his wands were excellent and if people weren't so blind, they'd see that. 'I don't want pity; I have plenty of money, therefore I don't need your charity.'

'It's not—'

'That being said, I'm not stupid; no one wants them. If you want them, you can have them.'

'I want them.'

They agreed on a price that was much higher than Draco had imagined Potter would offer. Draco knew his wands were good and made of the best materials, his pride allowed for nothing else. But his name made everything around them worthless.

Not just the Malfoy, which he could have dealt with. He wouldn't have been the first Malfoy to rebel against his father to get along with society.

It was the combination of Draco and Malfoy.

They were equally tainted in the eyes of all but a handful of people. Anything he did was looked at as an extension of his father, or further proof of his own cunning, underhanded, manipulative tricks. If he donated money or tried to help the rebuilding of society, in a way, he was a rich selfish prick who was buying his way out of Azkaban.

If he stayed at home, he was a cowardly selfish prick who was too afraid of his past to look the people he hurt in the eye. If he went out shopping, he was an elitist selfish prick who thought he was better than everyone. If he dared to speak a simple good day, he was a racist selfish prick who needed to shut up and go back to his Manor.

No matter where he stood he was a selfish prick.

He decided being a coward wasn't such a bad thing. Luckily, when investing, he never had to deal with other wizards and witches. So he still made plenty of money the same way his father had, even if he didn't particularly enjoy it much like his father never had.

But he had his wands, and his magic, and his four nights a week at Muggle gay bars.

Draco was surprised when Potter walked into one of the bars that he frequented.
He had to have been lost, so Draco dropped the conversation he was having with the fit American bloke and sat next to him at the bar. 'This is a dangerous place for someone like you.'

'Someone like me how—' Potter turned and eyes lit up in surprise then said, 'Malfoy, sorry I didn't know it was you. What are you doing here?'

'Trying to pick up blokes, but I won't have much luck with you sitting here. You know this is a gay pub, right?'

Harry scanned the men drinking around the pub with an eager look in his eyes. 'I know.'

'Well, shite, there goes my sex life.'

'What?'

'The prospect of getting you will—' Draco remembered they were in a Muggle bar and no one would be after Potter for his fame, and though he was sure there was a fit body somewhere under his clothes it was hard to tell standing next to him. No, men would be after him for his personality, which would be just as bad for Draco if he ever looked for more than a one night stand. 'Never mind. Look at you. I still shouldn't have a problem.'

'Oi, what's wrong with me?'

'I have always wondered why do you wear clothes four sizes too big for you? I've seen you in clothes that fit, school uniforms as they were, but they looked a lot better on you than this.' He gestured to the oversized jumper and jeans Potter currently wore.

Potter looked down at himself. 'These aren't that bad.'

'Not that bad does not equal good, and they might not be as bad as some of the gray atrocities you wore at school, but they are not pick-up-men-in-a-pub worthy.' Draco took a drink. 'Do you live near here?'

'Are you asking…?' Potter's eyes were wide, and Draco snorted and rolled his own.

'I was simply curious for two reasons: one, so that I know not to come to bars, pubs, or clubs in this area anymore, if they will be ones you frequent often; and two, so that we could pop over there and perhaps find you a better outfit for the current atmosphere you are in.'

Potter's expression slowly became a glare, but then he looked at all the men around him. Draco looked too and wondered what Potter saw. Was he looking at their clothes or did he see the reaction he was getting from them? Draco saw their reactions and felt suddenly defensive of Potter. How dare they judge him without knowing a thing about him?

'Fuck off, Malfoy.'

As Potter turned to leave, the barman said, 'That was harsh, mate. He's new.'

'Bloody Hell.' Draco stood and went after him. He might not have needed the money Potter paid him for the wands, but he was Draco's only buyer; and though he knew they sat gathering dust on the shelf—he'd gone in and looked for them under a glamour—it still felt good to sell them. 'Potter, wait!'

Potter ignored him, so Draco ran to catch up with him.

'Wait.' He grabbed Potter's arm to make him stop. 'I'm sorry. I was trying to help.'

Potter scoffed. 'You tend to do the opposite.'

'I'm aware.' Draco took a breath. 'I really hadn't meant to insult you—' That much.

'That's not why I left.' Potter shrugged. 'You're right. You said what everyone else was thinking, so I didn't see the point of hanging around any longer.'

When Draco opened his mouth to respond, Potter cut him off. 'You're still a prick, though.' He started walking again and then said over his shoulder, 'You coming or not?' Draco hesitated only a moment, before he followed after and then caught up with Potter.

Upon entering the flat, Potter walked straight to the wardrobe in his room and opened it, gesturing for Draco to look through it. It all looked the same. Muted colors and far too big for Potter. He found the brightest shirt he could, which was burgundy, and what looked like the most recently purchased denims.

'What are you doing?'

'I'm shrinking your clothes to make them fit.' Draco brightened the shirt and darkened the jeans. He'd need to see them on Potter to get the size right. 'Take those off and put this on.' When he looked up, Potter was already standing in his pants. 'I didn't mean in the same room with me.'

'Never been around a naked man before? It's no big deal, Malfoy.'

'I happen to be a gay man, in case that has escaped your notice. We did just run into each other at a—'

'A gay bar, I know. That doesn't mean you're attracted to me... Are you attracted to me?' Potter raised an eyebrow.

'You'd be more attractive in better pants.' Draco cursed his tongue, and was about to deny any attraction, but Potter took off the pants and asked, 'That better?'

Yes, it was much better, but Draco turned away and said, 'You should get dressed. I can't get these the right size without seeing them on you.'

'Alright,' Potter said a few moments after he had dressed.

Draco startled at his voice being so close. He stood a few inches behind Draco, and Draco's shoulder brushed against Potter's chest when he turned. Draco stepped back and began to fix Potter's clothes. Besides his hair, Potter looked good.

Potter rolled his eyes.

'Did I say that aloud?'

'No, but I could tell by the look on your face—there is nothing I can do about my hair; it has a mind of its own.'

'You mind?' Draco gestured to his hair.

Potter shook his head. 'Have at it.'

He should have fixed it in front of a mirror from the back. Standing in front of him was much too intimate, and Potter's breath on his face made it much too difficult to concentrate. Draco used magic to trim it and that helped, but it would not take any type of styling.

'Alright, ready to go?' Draco dropped his hands from Potter's hair, but Potter caught his arm before he could step away.

'I don't want to go anywhere.' Potter pulled him closer and leant in.

Draco stepped back, forcing Potter to free his arm. 'Of course you do. I saw the look on your face when you were eyeing the men at the pub. You definitely want to be out there.'

Potter sighed and sat on his couch. 'Draco, sit down.'

'Oh, it's Draco now, is it?'

'It's been Draco for a long time now, and you know it.'

Draco looked away from him and refused to sit down.

'I had wanted to go out, and I wanted to try to start dating, but you changed my mind.'

'They're just clothes—'

'I know you don't want to hear this, and you certainly don't want to talk about it, but I fancy you.'

'I don't want your charity.' Draco headed for the door, but Potter ran and blocked his path.

'Friendship is charity now?'

'You're not looking for friendship from me.'

'Fine. A relationship then.' Potter studied Draco's face. 'That's how you look at it, isn't it? Because you see my friends as so beneath me? Or do you think relationships have to be built on money? Since you can't buy me, I must be offering you charity?'

'I would like to leave.'

Potter took a deep breath and pushed away from the door. 'Fine.'

Draco caught a glimpse of Potter's wand sticking out of his back pocket and grabbed it. 'I made this.'

'I know.' Potter took his wand from Draco. 'It picked me.'

'But, you already had a wand.'

'Didn't you already have a wand, before you made the one you use now?'

'You know it wasn't the same.' Draco crossed his arms and leant against the door. 'It never felt the same again.' Draco had never heard anything about Potter switching wands. It was something he was sure the Prophet would have noticed.

'When you spend a lot of time around many different wands, sometimes more than one picks you.'

'Were you looking for another wand? Is that why you became a wandkeeper?'

Potter laughed. 'No, but I know you were trying to make yourself a new wand. Have you made anything since you found yours?' He nodded to the wand Draco had concealed in his own back pocket. 'Never mind, I know you haven't. I bought your entire stock and you haven't tried to sell me any others.'

'Maybe someone else bought them.'

'Really?' Potter leant on the wall next to Draco. 'Who?' When Draco didn't answer, Potter said, 'The first one you made, well, I assume it was the first one you made. The duplicate to your original—except, a different dragon's heartstring, I'm sure. It chose someone.'

Their eyes met, then Draco asked, 'Did they buy it?'

Potter shook his head. 'I can't stop thinking about that. The kid was so confused; he had no idea who you were. His parents debated about it. I tried to explain what Ollivander told me. How my wand was the brother to Voldemort's, and it is about the choices we make.'

'But you don't use your wand anymore?'

'I only use this one at home.'

Draco snorted. 'Even you're too scared to use one of my wands in public—how can you blame them.'

'I'm not scared, but I don't want to have to answer their questions. Partly, I don't know how to answer their questions. I'm changing and I'm not the same person I was when I was a child, or when I dueled Voldemort.'

He nodded. 'Carry my wand in public, and then I'll think about that friendship offer.'

'I thought you didn't want charity.'

'Right, which means you have to treat me with respect. Hiding that you use one of my wands doesn't show very much respect for me.' Draco opened the door and left.

'Draco,' his mother said, 'I know you feel it is none of my business, but since you were determined to break your agreement, Mr Potter wrote to me and I invited him to dinner.'

'You what? I don't want to see him.'

'I know, but you agreed... By the way he tells you offered him a relationship.'

Draco tried to think of an argument that would work.

'Now go get dressed, he'll be here shortly.'

'You know what he wants, don't you?'

'None of my business.' She looked away to hide her self-satisfied smirk. Draco rolled his eyes at her and left with a growl. Not fifteen minutes later, a house elf popped into his room as he tried to figure out which of his clothes to wear. Would his mother hex him if he came to dinner in Muggle attire?

'What?' Draco snapped at the house-elf.

'Mrs Malfoy would like you to join her with Mr Potter as soon as possible.'

'Already? I haven't even done my hair.' He grabbed the closest clothes—Muggle—and dressed as quickly as possible and then walked to join them in the sitting room. He didn't want to appear as though he had been in a hurry.

When he entered the room, his mother had disappeared but Potter was there and wearing the clothes Draco had altered for him at his flat a month prior.

'Your mother said that she felt under the weather.' Potter smirked. 'But I think she was lying.'

'That sounds like her.' Draco watched Potter fidget near the fireplace. He watched his fingers roll the wand Draco made, hoping it would work for himself. His seventy-eighth try. He watched him shuffle his feet much like the day Potter brought back his old wand, which still sat at the bottom of an untouched drawer in his room. Draco watched him.

Until Draco was tired of watching him. He had spent far too many years simply watching him. He realised he could spend many more, if he would let himself cross the room, accept Harry, and kiss him.

So he did.