Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author: Penguin

Title: LIKE GLASS

Part 6

Remus Lupin Apparated into the empty bar of The Leaky Cauldron at a quarter past midnight. A tired wizard was wiping sticky tables with a dishtowel and an equally tired-looking broom was sweeping the floor.

"Mr Malfoy's in room 17," the wizard answered to Lupin's question, and Lupin climbed the stairs.

Draco Malfoy was paler than usual in the candlelight, and Lupin wondered whether this had been too much to ask of the boy. He had long sensed that there were unresolved issues between Draco and Harry, perhaps issues that neither of them was aware of, and he had deemed this a good opportunity for some of the issues to at least surface, if not get resolution. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps it had all been too much for a young man like Draco, who was still battling his own grief and his own issues with abandonment, disillusionment and the death of ideals.

"You've done a marvellous job, Draco," Lupin said warmly when he had heard Draco's story. "You can rest now, and I'll take over from here. Go home if you want."

Draco made a small, involuntary gesture of protest, but immediately suppressed it. It wasn't his habit to show his feelings. Lupin gave him a questioning look.

"You don't want me to take over? From your letter, I thought…"

"I only said I wanted help," said Draco hotly. "I want to… I… this is interesting." He paused and frowned, trying to analyse and explain his statement. "I had never known you could lose your magic," he continued in a calmer voice. "I'd like to… to follow Potter's case." He swallowed. It was clear to Lupin that this was much more personal to the boy than he wanted to let on. "How can anyone lose their magic? There was a connection between Potter and him… Voldemort. Is it because he died? Were Potter's powers destroyed because his were?"

It was simultaneously a question and a plea. Harry's predicament interested Draco both as a scientific problem and on a more basic, human level. How did the connection between Potter and Voldemort work? And was it a fact that anyone could lose their magic?

Lupin shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I've never heard of anyone losing their magic before. We need to do some research into this, and I will be very glad of your help. Here's the plan: We take Harry back to hospital at Hogwarts. He needs rest, not publicity, so I've requested a private room for him there and asked the staff to keep his presence quiet for the time being. We can't keep his return a secret for ever, of course, but we can at least buy him some time to get treatment for his drug addiction. And in the meantime, we research loss of magic."

Draco nodded, relieved at being included in the plans but trying not to show it.

"I'll do whatever I can," he said.

Draco had preferred to Apparate to Hogsmeade, but Harry and Lupin travelled by Portkey (a charmed copy of The Daily Prophet). They landed in the Matron's dark, empty office in the Hogwarts hospital wing, groaning as they hit the stone-flagged floor. The smell that met them was so familiar that Harry laughed, despite being dizzy and nauseous from the unpleasant journey. Not that it was funny, really, but the smell made things come back to him instantly; things he had no idea he still remembered: Madam Pomfrey scolding him for being back at the hospital wing yet again... The complete, satisfying exhaustion after a tough Quidditch match... The ringing echo of the Weasley twins laughing…Peeves emptying inkwells over people's heads… The eerie, lamplike eyes of Mrs Norris in a dark corridor… Professor Vector's eternally squeaky shoes...

After a few seconds he had identified the smell. It was Skele-Gro.

Lupin took Harry to his room. It was small, with a high ceiling and two high, narrow windows, and instead of a hospital bed there was a curtained four-poster. And on the window seat…

Hedwig was across the room in a white flash. She perched on Harry's shoulder and nibbled his earlobe affectionately, making soft little noises. Lupin sensed that Harry couldn't fight his tears much longer and didn't want anyone to see them, so he mumbled a goodnight and discreetly left the room.

He hesitated outside the closed door, but then raised his wand and locked the door securely.

Draco could have got a carriage back to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade, but decided to walk. He needed air and he needed to think, and there was no longer any risk of being attacked in the dark.

He took in the clean night air in deep breaths, trying to clear his mind. Potter was back at Hogwarts, well and good. And the inevitable centre of attention again, just like he'd always been. All through their school years, this had annoyed Draco endlessly, although he was as guilty as anyone else – his own attention had been directed at Potter from the moment he met him. It still was, but this time he felt no resentment. On the contrary – it was strangely comforting to have Potter back. As if the wizarding world needed something to focus on, something at its centre.

I'm exaggerating, as always, Draco thought, and suddenly he was in a much lighter frame of mind. He ought to have been tired, but he didn't feel it. He walked the rest of the way to Hogwarts on light feet and enjoyed the dark, listening to the thousand little noises of secret creatures living their secret lives.

Draco went to see Potter in the morning. The room was light and airy, a window was open and Potter was smiling when Draco closed the door behind him. He looked very much better than he had a mere couple of days back, when Draco had dragged him out of that Muggle bar.

"Hello, Malfoy. Look who's here." He held up his arm, where Hedwig was perched, looking very pleased.

Intense sadness and powerful joy mingled in Draco's chest and made it impossible for him to speak. No one had ever made him feel as strongly as Potter had. Perhaps he had missed it. Perhaps this was why he was glad to have Potter back.

He went over to the window and looked out to avoid letting Potter see his face.

"Thanks, Malfoy," Potter said softly behind him.

"For what?" Draco said without turning around, his voice shaky.

"For taking me back here. For being so bloody decent about the whole thing." He paused. "Lupin told me you'd taken care of Hedwig. Thanks for that, too."

Draco turned and looked at the too-thin and at the moment very earnest young man with the intense green eyes.

"She missed you," he said in a low voice. And so did I.

Potter looked at him very steadily. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it again and nodded. Draco looked back. It occurred to him that he was looking for something in Potter's eyes, something he hoped to find there, and that he always had. He wasn't sure what.

In the corridor, Draco met Lupin. He had a busy air about him and asked Draco to come back to his office.

"Would you mind going back to London again today?" he asked.

Draco shook his head.

"Good. I have a task for you." He handed Draco a narrow box. "This."

Draco set off for Hogsmeade directly after breakfast. He Apparated into Diagon Alley and went straight to Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands, where the atmosphere always sent a thrill down his spine. It still did.

Draco pushed the narrow box across the counter towards Mr Ollivander himself, and the old man's wrinkled, curious face and moon-like eyes lit up when he opened the lid and saw what was in it.

"Ah!" he said with deep satisfaction. "You know, Mr Malfoy, that I proudly claim to remember every wand I have ever sold, and this one is certainly no exception. How could I not remember it? Little Harry Potter, eleven years old. His nose barely reached above the counter, and he had no real idea of what he had come in here to do. Those Muggles he grew up with – pfui!" If Mr Ollivander had been less of a gentleman, he would have spat on the wood floor. "Tiny he was, yes, the scrawniest little boy, but I have learnt never to judge a wizard by his size. This boy had already done great deeds, and I knew there were others in store for him – the wand chooses the wizard, as you well know, and this wand was destined for great things."

Mr Ollivander's long, wrinkled fingers deftly lifted the wand out of its case, and he held it up against the light and peered at it. Then his gaze abruptly moved from the wand to Draco, who was watching him nervously.

"Well, my young friend? Oh, don't think I don't remember. I do, you see – I remember everything that is worth remembering. You came in here the very same day the Potter boy got his wand, to get yourself a new wand for school – a real wand, not a children's one. Black walnut, unicorn hair, eleven and a half inches. Is it still in your possession? Has it served you well?"

"Yes and yes," said Draco, nerves making him impatient. He didn't like to be reminded of who he had been all those years ago, either of the boisterous brat with a too-high opinion of himself, or the loud-mouthed teenager whose bragging and brawling covered up all kinds of unworthy, undignified emotions. Envy, insecurity, fear... He was nervous, too, to hear Mr Ollivander's verdict on Potter's wand.

But Mr Ollivander was ramblingly reminiscing now, delighted with his own excellent memory, and there was no stopping him.

"You couldn't get him out of your mind, could you? Young Malfoy, intrigued by little Potter! You kept running to the window to see if you could get a glimpse of him in the street, until you were reprimanded by Lucius (rest his soul)."

Draco winced at the mention of his father's name, and Mr Ollivander nodded wisely.

"The new wand wasn't quite to your father's liking, either, was it? He was disappointed that it wasn't ebony and dragon heartstring." He lifted a hand to stop Draco's protest."Ah, yes. Hurt pride. Never goes down well with the Malfoys." Mr Ollivander wouldn't let him off the hook. He seemed to enjoy the situation thoroughly. "But if you excuse my saying so, young Malfoy, your father didn't always appreciate the finer points in life. He went for the more immediately impressive. He didn't see what I know, that walnut and unicorn hair is an exquisite combination, complex and unpredictable, very interesting indeed. And as far as I can see, you have lived up to the expectations."

Draco's face was wooden. He did not want to listen to this.

Mr Ollivander continued, unperturbed: "You never got along very well with Potter, did you? Ran in both families, I'd say. Your father never could abide James Potter. Well, well. History repeats itself – and then decides to take an unexpected leap!" He illustrated this with a sweep of his hand and laughed wheezily.

Draco's skin crawled. He said hastily, to stop Ollivander from elaborating on this:

"Things are different now. And I would very much like to hear your expert opinion of Potter's wand, if you don't mind."

Mr Ollivander's gaze returned to the wand he was holding, and a sudden look of sadness touched his face.

"It's curious…" he said slowly. "Yes. Very curious."

He was silent for a long time, thoughtfully weighing the wand in his hand. Draco felt impatience creep up his legs like cold.

"Excuse me, but what's curious?"

Ollivander started and said, oddly: "History repeats itself, yes, yes. Even words." He returned the wand to its box.

"I would have said… if I hadn't known… had it been an unknown wand, and an unknown wizard, I would have said that the owner of this wand is dead. The wand certainly is, you see. The power, the magic qualities have left it. But as far as I have been informed, only the owner of the twin of this wand is dead." He turned his moon-like eyes to Draco again. "Is this not correct? I hope you have not come to tell me that Harry Potter is dead?"

"No," said Draco in a low voice. "No, he is not dead. We don't know what has happened to him."

"Curious," Mr Ollivander mumbled again. "Very curious."