Shades of Grey
Chapter Four: Draco's Wand
"So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death!"
- The Three Brothers
The first thing Draco heard was the patter of water drops against tile. His eyelids were heavy, yet he forced them open, blinking as he adjusted to the dim surroundings of the room in the inn. For a minute, he forgot where he was, but upon propping himself up on his elbows, he soon remembered the hell he'd landed himself in and groaned audibly. The room was still dark with the curtains drawn shut, and Draco forced himself to his feet, his eyes involuntarily flickering over to the bed next to his.
Empty.
His brows knit together of their own accord, and he was once more aware of the sound of water smacking against a hard flooring. There was another sound that rose to his ears in that moment; it was gentle and…sickeningly sweet. It sounded very feminine and very soft—like a hum of sorts. Draco made his way through the room soundlessly, and by the time he'd reached the bathroom, the noises had ceased. He stood by the bathroom, hesitant on opening it, but right as he pulled away the door swung open, revealing a very wet, very shocked-looking Hermione Granger.
She shrieked immediately, wrapping the towel that covered up her feminine bits more tightly around her body. Draco let out a noise of disapproval and staggered back, and Granger whipped her head around furiously as she fumbled to shut the bathroom door, her wet and mangy mop of hair splattering him with water. He was stunned, oddly enough, to discover in the brief moments that he bore witness to his enemy in such an indecent state that she didn't lack feminine qualities, as he'd once believed. Her body curved in ways that didn't show in the over-sized clothing she normally wore, and there was something about the way the water glistened against her creamy skin that made him wonder if he'd been wrong all these years about Granger having a pre-pubescent girl's build.
He was brought back to reality by the sound of the bathroom door slamming closed once again, with Granger tucked safely inside.
"Malfoy!" She shrieked, clearly disregarding the fact that they were staying in a public location. She'd probably placed a Silencing Charm on the room, he mused…or at least he hoped.
"Yes, Granger?" Draco snickered, his lips twitching into a slight smirk. She sounded so upset…it was a delicious emotion to interpret.
"I—you—how in the hell do you—?" She seemed flustered; unable to compose even one coherent sentence, which caused Draco to laugh even harder.
"I seem to have rendered you speechless," Draco began in an amused tone. "There's no need for you to be embarrassed, Granger—while, ideally, it wasn't the sight I wished to be welcomed to upon waking up this morning, it's a comfort to know that after all these years you are, in fact, a member of the female gender. Never could tell under the rags you wore—must say, I'm quite relieved!"
Draco heard a disgruntled growl from behind the door, and what sounded as though Hermione had slapped her palm against the door—in frustration, no doubt.
"You arrogant arse, Malfoy!" She spat, and her insult only deepened the amount of humor he found in the situation. Didn't she understand that reacting to him so violently was extremely amusing to witness?
"Like I said, Granger, I prefer to call it charm," He yelled, stuffing his hands in his pockets and smirking at the closed door. He heard a scoff, and then rummaging around, as though she was trying to root through something.
"Just allow me to get dressed in peace, Malfoy," She snapped, and Draco stifled the urge to snort. "I—you just—you wait out on the balcony and I—I'll tell you when I'm ready!"
Draco rolled his eyes but stomped away nonetheless, mumbling under his breath about just how fucking ridiculous she was. He wasn't looking forward to them being alone together; he cringed whenever he was forced to face the fact that, unlike other missions or Order meetings he'd attended since he'd defected over a year ago, he couldn't just drag himself home at the end of the day and bitch about how insufferable they were to Astoria.
Like it or not, he was stuck with Granger. Indefinitely.
He yanked the sliding door leading to the small balcony open and stepped out, enjoying the warm August morning. The sun was halfway in the sky by now and Draco stretched his limbs, sighing and inhaling the fresh air that surrounded him. On the bright side, he noted, at least they wouldn't be confined to a small room in an inn during their entire journey. They'd be travelling all over, and he suspected most of which would involve camping, and that would mean that—
He cut off his brief string of optimism as the truth came crashing down on him, stinging as any hope of escaping her for at least a moment vanished. They only had one tent. One as in singular, as in Draco had to stay in a confined space with her that made the room at the inn seem like a mansion.
For an extended period of time.
A series of minutes passed in silence, with Draco inspecting the town below and counting his losses before he heard the sliding glass door open. He turned around, spotting a relatively conservatively-dressed Hermione Granger glaring at him. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, and her dark brown eyes were fixated on him with an intensity that rivaled her typically compassionate nature. He merely quirked one brow and smirked, the prospect of a challenge glimmering in his silver eyes.
"Problem, Granger?" He drawled, daring her to snap at him. He'd never pass up a promising argument with Granger; bickering was like second nature to the pair of them.
"No problem at all; the shower's yours," She snapped, turning on her heel and walking back into the hotel room. Her arms were crossed under her breasts, and Draco could practically see the tense muscles in her back as she moved away from him. She was dressed in a simple tank top and shorts, and as he closed the sliding glass door, Granger snatched a jacket from the bed and tugged it on, zipping it up partially.
"Should we call it even and have you come and watch me?" He snickered, walking past her. He noticed her face had turned a deep shade of red and she huffed, but before she could make a comment Draco had snatched his clothes from his trunk and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Once inside, he locked the door and set his wand on the bathroom counter, turning to look at himself in the mirror. He ran a hand through his unkempt blonde hair and noticed he had a bit of scruff along the line of his jaw. His fingers brushed against the facial hair, and he decided it would be beneficial to shave.
Blinking twice, Draco turned and made his way across the small space to the shower. He threw the curtain open and leaned in, grabbing the water spout by its handle and turning it on full force. He heard the familiar patter of water slapping against the tile floor of the shower, and soon a thin layer of steam began to envelop the small space. Draco removed his clothing, stretching once and scratching his lower abdomen before leaning a hand in to check the temperature of the water. It was scalding, and so as he stepped inside he inhaled sharply, the hot water beating at his back. He turned the heat down just a bit before leaning his head back, allowing the water that spurted from the shower head to drench his pale blonde hair and dribble down his face.
Draco wiped the water from his eyes and blinked twice, licking his lips and searching for a bottle of shampoo. He spotted a small complimentary bottle perched on the edge of the tub and scowled, cursing himself for not bringing his shampoo into the bathroom. He grabbed it and turned the bottle over, squirting a decent amount of the cream-colored soap onto his hand. He massaged his scalp and gave a soft moan of content, his fingers working wonders on his aching head. Once he'd thoroughly shampooed his hair, he made sure to rinse, his mind inevitably drifting back to the task at hand. Where were he and Granger supposed to start looking for the damn Hallows in the first place? The only time he'd ever even heard of them was from that book of children's stories his mother once read to him. What was that blasted thing called, anyways? The Stories of…The Tales of…The Adventures of…Shit, he couldn't remember. His father hadn't really endorsed story telling of that sort being spoken of around the house, so Draco had grown up without hearing much about the tales.
He grabbed his wash cloth and rubbed some soap on it before applying it to his body, wondering just what it was that Granger had in mind. He was quite certain, in fact, that there was a reason behind her wanting them to stay at this particular inn; perhaps there was a clue nearby that she'd already looked into? Knowing Granger, she'd already tried to map out their entire fucking mission within the twenty-four hour time span they had between learning of it and leaving for it. He rolled his eyes at the thought, grumbling his distaste for the Witch as he washed the soap off his body. Even thinking about the insufferable Gryffindor who was positioned in the next room infuriated him, and he jerked the faucet off, causing the water to cease.
With a scowl on his face, Draco snatched his towel from the rack and stepped out of the shower, drying himself off. He made his way over to the sink, grabbing his razor and applying a decent amount of shaving cream to his face. He contemplated the various different things he could do in order to rid himself of Granger as he shaved his face—perhaps he could "lose" her, and then complete the mission on his own? Or perhaps he would get injured and be sent back home? No, no, neither one of those seemed very convincing.
With an aggravated grunt, he tossed the razor down and washed his face off, satisfied that he hadn't nicked himself. He used to shave using magic, but ever since he'd defected into the Order, he'd learned how to do a lot of things the Muggle way, and shaving via a Muggle razor had just become habitual to him. He grabbed his neatly folded clothes and began putting them on—a pair of Muggle tan cargo shorts and a white cotton t-shirt to match. While he detested Muggle clothes on the whole, he figured it would be best to at least wear some during this mission for the sake of bystanders.
He smoothed down his ruffled hair and dried it with his wand before exiting the bathroom, his pajamas bundled up under one arm. He entered the main room of the small flat they'd stayed in, one brow arching when he saw Granger sitting on the bed, reading a book. She'd folded the cover over, so he couldn't read the title, and as he stuffed his old clothes in his suitcase, he nodded stiffly towards it.
"What's that?" He answered gruffly, thinking it must have something to do with their mission. Hermione looked up, slightly startled to see him there, and blinked rapidly as she tore herself away from the book. She licked her rose-tinted lips and shut the book, once more keeping the cover out of his view.
"It's just a bit of light reading," She murmured, standing up and tucking a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. Draco shrugged slightly, idly wondering why the hell she'd brought along a book to read if it had nothing to do with their mission. Shouldn't she be devoting her time to finding the Hallows? He licked his lips and shrunk his case, placing it in his pocket along with his wand. He heard rustling on the bed and peered over Hermione's shoulder, watching as she neatly tucked her belongings inside that queer clutch of hers.
"So, what the hell are we even doing here, Granger?" He asked suddenly, unable to contain his curiosity. Hermione stiffened and turned to look at him, an odd and unidentifiable look encompassing her eyes. He nearly questioned her on it, but the desire to know why she'd dragged him all the way out here on their first day was far too great.
"We're going to visit someone," She replied curtly.
"How vague, Granger. Honestly, you'd think someone who spends so much damn time talking would have come up with a better response than that. I guess I'll have to walk you through it, won't I? Now, who are we seeing?"
"Ollivander," She snapped, her chest heaving with suppressed anger. Draco's brows furrowed together and his lips tugged into a slight pout. Ollivander, as in…
"The wand maker? But why? Isn't he located in Diagon Alley?" Draco blurted out, confusion clouding his features. Hermione sighed in exasperation, as though his ignorance of the whereabouts of the old wand maker somehow made him incompetent. To her, it more than likely did.
"Because," She began curtly, stressing the syllables. "After the conclusion of the War, Ollivander relocated to a small shop around here; he claimed that being around Diagon Alley after everything that had happened during the War was too much for him to handle, so now he makes and sells specialty wands. Honestly, don't you read The Daily Prophet? His statement about relocating was issued months ago!"
Draco could practically hear the resentment and disappointment dripping from the tip of her tongue, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes, growing more agitated with the Mudblood by the minute.
"Pardon me for not wishing to read about everyone I was once acquainted with being sentenced to Azkaban," Draco snarled before he could stop himself. He clamped his mouth shut, his silver eyes burning with ferocity as he held her gaze. He'd never admitted that to anyone before; not even Astoria. He figured it would make him look weak, somehow, and decided it would be best to internalize such thoughts. Granger gazed at him curiously, her nostrils flaring as her eyes narrowed into slits.
"Then perhaps you should stop acquainting yourself with such individuals," She snapped, grabbing her clutch off the bed and storming over to the nightstand. She snatched the room keys and headed out the door in a huff, and in Draco's agitation he made sure his shrunken trunk was placed in his pocket and followed. His brows were creased together and he glared at the back of Hermione's head as she walked, praying to Merlin that his menacing glare could somehow burn a hole through the back of her bushy head.
It didn't.
They made their way to the lift, and Hermione punched the elevator button with aggression. They stepped into the small space, and once more made sure to maintain as much space as possible from one another. He noticed that Granger seemed irritated, with her arms folded under her breasts and her jaw set. Good, He thought to himself bitterly. At least he wasn't the only one in a pissy mood today.
He followed Granger's lead towards what he supposed was a dining portion of the inn. It was located in a room that branched off of the main lobby, and Hermione walked over to a booth and set her clutch down, turning to face Draco and tugging a hair behind her ear.
"It's no use if we go into this on empty stomachs," Hermione explained practically, her eyes scanning the eating area. Draco noticed there were several carts of hot and cold food set out, and his lips tugged into a slight frown. Where were the waiters?
As if she could spot his concern, Granger cleared her throat and began to speak once more.
"The inn's restaurant is set up sort of like a buffet, Malfoy," She explained begrudgingly, using her hand to gesture towards the foot stacked up on the carts. "You go and get your own food. Think you can manage?"
She quirked one brow in his direction and Draco scowled, shoving past her and towards the line of food. He grabbed a plate and searched the lines of food, dishing out a helping of scrambled eggs for himself with a side of bacon and a biscuit. He grabbed himself a bottle of water and made his way back over to the booth, noticing that Granger had already managed to get herself a plate of food—a bowl of fruit, some oatmeal, and a glass of orange juice.
Draco picked up his fork and stabbed at the eggs, lifting the fluffy yellow egg bits to his lips and chewing thoughtfully. He watched Hermione curiously as she daintily picked up a fork and used it to pick at a grape, lifting the speared fruit to her mouth and chewing slowly. She refused to meet his gaze, clearing her throat and reaching to take a sip of her juice whenever she appeared to feel far too uncomfortable in his presence.
"You never answered the first part of my question, Granger," He blurted out suddenly, his gaze locking onto her. Hermione lifted her brown eyes from the food in front of her and her brows furrowed, her lips tugging into a slight pout as she struggled to remember what it was he'd even asked her.
"I'm sorry, I don't follow…"
"Why," He continued, nodding his head and forking another bit of egg into his mouth. "I asked why we're going to see Ollivander. What do you think we'll gain from this interaction? Is he supposed to give you something, or—?" Draco trailed off, hoping she'd fill in the blanks. Her eyes took on that queer ferocity once more, and Draco decided it must've been a Gryffindor thing. A lust for adventure, perhaps? He shrugged slightly, noticing that she had leaned across the table slightly.
"During the War," Hermione began in a low voice, scooting her bowl of oatmeal towards her. She scooped up a spoonful and blew on it, her eyes sliding up to lock onto his. "Harry, Ron, and I spoke with Ollivander exclusively about wandlore. We discussed the Elder Wand with him, and even questioned him about the Hallows—he'd never heard of it at the time, or at least that's what he claimed." She paused, brushing a curly strand of hair out of her face and spooning the oatmeal into her mouth. Draco took this time to nibble on his bacon, enthralled in what she had to say.
"He gave us some really useful information, so I wanted to go back and see if he had anything else he could add, or maybe—or maybe refresh my memory," She mumbled with a sigh, shrugging slightly and taking another bite of her oatmeal. Draco nodded his head slowly, processing everything as he bit into his bacon once more. So, Ollivander knew of The Elder Wand? Draco should've supposed as much—he was a serious wand maker who descended from a family dedicated to the business. The Elder Wand must've been something often spoken of during his lifetime.
"Do you think he would know the making of the Elder Wand? Like its core?" Draco asked, his brows furrowing together slightly. Hermione's face scrunched up as she evidently struggled to remember whether or not he'd mentioned anything to her and the other two twats of the Golden Trio, but she clearly had no answer.
"I don't know."
The conversation fell silent after that, with nothing but the hum of couples around them and the scraping of eating utensils against bowls and plates to fill their silence. It was a decent meal, Draco noted, and he accepted the fact that it would probably be the best he'd receive in quite a while once he and Granger were stuck in the wilderness alone together. Again, he shuddered at the thought, suddenly nauseas. He pushed his plate of food to the side, completely stuffed, and noticed that Hermione had already finished her food and was fishing around in her purse. She pulled out the key cards and jerked her head towards the lobby. Draco nodded and stood up, following her away from the kitchen and towards the front desk. There was a different woman at the desk now—a pretty raven-haired girl with a toothy smile plastered on her face as Draco and Hermione approached the desk.
"Hello! Checking out?" She questioned, pulling out the same large black binder that the woman the night before had. Hermione confirmed that yes, they were, and held the key cards tightly in her hand as the woman searched for their names.
"Ah, there you are, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson," She said with a smile, turning over to the computer in front of her and typing furiously. She tore her eyes away from the screen after a few moments, eyeing them closely.
"How long have you two been married?" She questioned cheerfully, standing and smoothing the black work skirt she had on. Draco resisted the urge to wretch in repulsion, merely remaining silent and blinking twice, leaving the conversation to a very red-faced Hermione.
"Oh, not very—not very long," She breathed, forcing a tight smile and holding the hand that held the key cards in it out to the woman. The clerk took the cards, her eyes grazing over Hermione's third finger and frowned slightly, evidently displeased and confused by the fact that Mrs. Wilson wasn't wearing a ring. Hermione ignored the woman's suspicions, wringing her hands together and forcing a tight smile whenever she could. The woman frowned, turning to Draco and Hermione after checking their bill on her computer.
"It says you rented a room with two beds, is the system incorrect? I would assume that—" The woman asked, her lack of couth in the situation nearly enough to make Draco vomit. Honestly, did she just assume that all married couples slept together? Well, traditionally most of them did, and Granger and he weren't married, but…oh, fuck it.
Deciding that he could gain some amusement from this situation, Draco licked his lips and opened his mouth, preparing to speak.
"My wife and I fuck so roughly that we need two beds," Draco drawled in a monotone voice, his lips twitching into a smirk as he refused to meet Hermione's gaze. "We apologize for the broken beds—one just wasn't enough."
The look on the clerk's face informed Draco that she was more than ready to keep her mouth shut from that moment on. Aghast, she quickly averted her gaze to the binder in front of her, successfully checking Hermione and Draco out. He continued to ignore what was sure to be mortification and anger raging on Granger's face, deciding he could deal with the inevitable later.
It wasn't until the pair had exited the inn and were halfway down the street that Hermione dared to say anything to him. She spun around, glaring at him hotly as her nostrils flared. Draco could practically feel the anger radiating off of her, and he watched as her cheeks tinged a deep pink.
"What the bloody hell is your problem, Malfoy?" She snapped, her lips lifting into what Draco could only suppose was a snarl. "There was no need to—no need to embarrass me—us—in such a fashion!"
"I believe you were the only one who was embarrassed, Granger."
"That's not the point! It was crude and—and unnecessary!"
"The woman was making naïve assumptions; I simply put her in her place."
Hermione gave a huff of annoyance and stamped her foot, an action that stripped Granger of all of the sophistication and maturity she struggled so hard to maintain around him.
"Well just—you just—ugh! Just cut it out!" Hermione spat out, turning hotly on her heel and storming forward. Whatever argument she'd built against him seemed to have died out in her current state of fury, and Draco merely shrugged before following her. Fine by him—it wasn't as if he needed to hear her incessantly bitch.
They walked in silence for what seemed like ages, Draco following Hermione's lead. Everyone once in a while, she would make a sharp left or veer right, and following her was soon enough turning into some kind of ridiculous fucking game. After walking for damn near twenty minutes, Granger stopped and gave a soft, audible gasp. She cast her gaze towards a small building on the corner of the street, and Draco turned to look in kind. They'd stopped in front of a small wooden shack, with a large sign that read "Ollivander's" in peeling yellow lettering. Grinning to herself, Hermione turned around to glare at Draco, obviously pleased that she had found the location of his shop.
"Just let me do all the talking," She said in a bossy tone, jutting her chin forward in defiance. "I'm sure Ollivander won't be too keen to see you in his shop, given the circumstances in which you last saw him."
Draco had prepared to argue, but realized she was correct. He hadn't seen Ollivander since the old wandmaker had been imprisoned in his parents' house during the second War, and the Malfoy Heir doubted that the old man would be pleased upon seeing him. Draco gave a stiff nod and mumbled an insult under his breath, following Hermione into the establishment.
The small shop had a musty sort of scent, and Draco noticed the collecting dust on the shelves stuffed with wands galore. It reminded him slightly of the Ollivander's he'd known, though undoubtedly this one seemed a lot cozier. It was smaller, and as Hermione strolled up to the counter and cleared her throat, waiting for the elderly man to appear, Draco allowed his gaze to fall over the wide and tall stacks of wands that were tucked neatly into cubbies or on top of shelves.
After a few moments of silence, Draco heard what appeared to be soft footsteps shuffling against the creaking floorboards of the shop. He tore his eyes away from a shelf with wands in favor of watching as Ollivander appeared from what looked like a hidden compartment in the back of the store. His snow white hair was just as wild as Draco had remembered it, and the scruff on his face mixed with the dull look in his glassy eyes gave way to cause Draco to believe that the old man hadn't slept well recently. He looked up and stopped, spotting Draco and Hermione standing by the counter. He glanced at Draco nervously, wringing his hands together with the old rag he held in his grip before his gaze shifted to Hermione, to whom he gave a slight smile.
"Hermione Granger," He rasped, in a tired sort of voice that revealed a certain amount of turmoil that the aged man must've seen in his long life. "What brings you to my shop?"
Hermione gave the old man a warm smile; the genuine kind that broadened across her face. The kind that made Draco wretch in repulsion.
"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," Hermione began quietly, placing her clutch on the counter and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "The shop looks lovely—are you enjoying it here?"
Ollivander licked his lips, his hands trembling slightly as he moved to wipe off what appeared to be a scuff mark from his counter, nodding slowly.
"It's nice to be up and running again—the location is a bit more…destitute than I'd hoped, but I manage alright," Ollivander replied, giving her a sad smile. Be it paranoia or not, but Draco could've sworn that the old wandmaker cast Draco a sly and disapproving glare before fixating his gaze once more on his bushy-haired partner.
"Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Granger?" Ollivander questioned again, staring at her curiously. Hermione gave a tight smile, looking around the shop and evidently attempting to decide how to approach the subject.
"Well actually, I was wondering if you could help my partner and I—" She paused, jabbing a finger in Draco's direction. "—on official Order business." She leaned forward, practically whispering the last bit. Ollivander seemed shocked, though Draco couldn't ascertain why—was it because they had arrived on Order business, or because of who everyone's beloved Hermione Granger's partner was?
"Alright," Ollivander began uncertainly. He plucked his glasses from the counter and perched them on the edge of his nose, folding his hands together and appearing far more engaged in their discussion than he had been previously. "What can I help you with?"
"I'm not sure whether or not you recall, sir, but during the second Wizarding War, after we aided in your release from Malf—from your imprisonment," Hermione began, correcting herself and avoiding using Draco's surname. "But we spoke to you; well, Harry most specifically, inquiring about—"
"You wish to know about the Elder Wand," Ollivander finished for her. It was not a question. Hesitantly, Hermione nodded, playing with the strap of her clutch absentmindedly.
"I take it you don't recollect much of what I told Mr. Potter about it before?"
Hermione shook her head slowly, obviously embarrassed for having forgotten such important information. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Alright," Ollivander said with a sigh. He grabbed a nearby stool and brought it over to the counter, propping himself up on it and resting the rag that had been clutched in his hands on the counter. "What do you wish to know?"
"Just to uhm—just to clarify, sir, the wand has to be…it has to be passed to another through murder, correct? The predecessor has to be killed before the Wand's allegiance will bend?"
Ollivander paused, musing over her question for a few moments before replying.
"In theory? Yes. However, its allegiance will bend to the more powerful Wizard—murder is by no means a necessity, merely the means by which most people acquire it." He paused, his gaze passing over Draco, and the young Malfoy felt himself stiffen considerably. The way the old crackpot kept passing quick glances in his direction made him uneasy, and Draco's brows furrowed together in confusion and apprehension.
"So—so if someone found the wand without rightfully winning it, they won't be able to use the wand correctly, right?" Hermione asked hopefully, slightly breathless. Much to their dismay, Ollivander shook his head glumly.
"The possessor still be able to use it, of course, and if my suspicions are correct—which I assume they are—then the possessor will have no knowledge of the rule of allegiance. The wand will work for them, just as it did with V—You-Know-Who, but it won't work to the best of its ability."
Hermione fell silent, nibbling on her lower lip. Draco caught Ollivander eyeing him again and huffed, growing more aggravated by the second.
"Is there something you're looking at?" Draco snapped, his lip curling into a slight snarl. He tapped his foot impatiently, and Ollivander merely stared at him for a second more before once more focusing on Hermione. Figures he wouldn't answer him. Hermione shot Draco a haughty glare, which caused the pale-haired boy to merely grumble and scowl.
"Have there ever been cases where the owner of the wand wasn't considered a threat?" Hermione continued, tucking a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.
"Anyone who possesses the wand is a threat—a threat to others; a threat to himself. It's dangerous to possess that much magic, and many don't know how to use it. The wand's core is Thestral-hair, so it's not one that is commonly found, of course."
Hermione merely nodded, clearing her throat before continuing. "Is there an age restriction on the wand? Does someone have to reach a particularly…advanced stage of Wizardry or a certain age to be qualified to possess it?"
A wry smile stretched across Ollivander's face, one that made Draco both curious and ill to watch. He felt antsy suddenly, and stuffed his hands deep within the confines of his pockets. He felt the handle of his wand, and his thumb brushed across the wood in a comforting manner.
"The youngest possessor, I believe, was but a boy—sixteen years old."
Hermione's eyes widened considerably, and Draco's brows furrowed together. Sixteen? Could Ollivander possibly be correct? No, no, the old man had to be losing his fucking marbles—there was no way that the most powerful wand known could've been won by a sixteen year old boy. It was impossible!
Granger seemed taken aback and frantically began searching the shop, her hazel eyes flickering over Ollivander's inventory. She appeared to be searching for something—such as a question to pose or something of the sort. Draco himself was fixated on Ollivander, and the queer look that the man was giving him.
"Draco Malfoy," The elder man said suddenly in that raspy and aged voice of his, and Draco arched one brow in response, waiting for the loon to continue. "Precisely ten inches, I believe; made of Hawthorn wood with a unicorn hair core. Reasonably springy. Am I correct?"
Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, stiffening considerably. Granger had torn her attention away from the room, now staring at Ollivander with just as much burning curiosity as Draco was. What was the crackpot getting at, exactly?
"Was there ever a time, Mr. Malfoy, in which your wand did not seem quite so in tune with you? As though you had betrayed it in favor of another?" Ollivander inquired, growing quite interested. Draco tried to reflect back on a time when his wand had behaved in such a fashion—which, of course, was fucking ridiculous; wands couldn't behave queerly…could they? It wasn't as if they had—as if they had emotions, or something of the sort.
However, upon reflection, Draco was able to distinctly recall a time in the weeks following the fall of Albus Dumbledore in which his wand had, in fact, acted odd. It wouldn't quite work correctly all the time, and it had scared the shit out of him. He'd thought, for a brief period of time, that it had simply stopped working. That it was broken, somehow. But now? His eyes flickered down to his pocket, where the wand resided, and he realized his wand hadn't reacted to him in such a way for so long.
"It's fine," He said flatly, his lips pressed into a tight line. They hadn't come here to talk about him; they'd come to discuss the Elder Wand.
"Interesting," was all the wandmaker could say in response.
Ollivander shrugged slightly, seeming as though he was finished with the discussion for the time being. He stood, removing the stool from its place near the counter and placing it next to one of the shelves stuffed with wands. He picked up his rag again and walked over to one of the shelves, intently brushing the particles of dust off of it. He suddenly looked far too busy for company, and Hermione stared after him curiously.
"I—err—well thank you, Mr. Ollivander, but my partner and I should really be going now," Hermione babbled, and Draco could tell from the inflection in her voice that she suddenly felt far too uncomfortable in this situation. He didn't blame Granger, exactly—it was all very odd. Perhaps the War had finally destroyed the old loon. Ollivander said nothing in response, and Hermione jerked her head towards the doorway. Draco exhaled in relief, following her through the shop towards the exit. It wasn't until they'd reached the door that Ollivander coughed, and upon impulse both Draco and Hermione turned to face him.
"It's interesting, Miss Granger, that you should come to me about the Elder Wand," Ollivander said quietly, but his voice carried through the empty shop. "When the youngest known possessor of such a wand is already in your acquaintance."
Hermione's brows furrowed together and her lips tugged into a slight pout, and she appeared as though she were trying very hard to think of the once-sixteen-year-old who had apparently owned the wand at some point.
"Who?" She asked finally, evidently giving up on trying to remember. Ollivander's lips curled into a slight knowing smile, and his glassy eyes trailed over and rested on Draco's.
"Draco Malfoy."
a/N: Hello, everyone! I apologize that it's taken me a while to update—this chapter's a bit longer than they usually are, and between being sick and school, I just haven't had time to complete it! It's up now, obviously, and I hope you all enjoy it! As far as I can recollect, it was unstated in the books as to whether or not Draco was intelligent of the fact that he had once been the possessor of the Elder Wand, so I used that to my advantage in this chapter. As always, read/review/enjoy! Thanks!