The Darkwood Wand

Honor

Draco found himself doing so without thought. Hermione hummed to herself as she cast a series of charms, then conjured a little mirror and handed it to him.

He was rather impressed. She hadn't changed his appearance much, just darkened his hair and thinned his eyebrows, but he looked like a different person. "That will do, I suppose," he said, handing back the mirror.

Hermione tilted her head and squinted. "I like it. You look like Justin."

Draco ground his teeth, but said nothing. The witch spun around to face the misshapen statue. "Dissendium," she said brightly, and the statue opened to reveal a short slide.

At the bottom of the slide, Hermione lit the darkwood, revealing a passage. "It's about an hour's walk to Hogsmeade. Come on." She slid a mittened hand into his and Draco didn't pull away; instead, his black leather-gloved fingers wrapped around the thick yarn and he slowed his pace to match hers.

It was an odd walk. It felt natural to walk hand-in-hand with her, gossiping about classes and trading light-hearted jabs. Hermione had stuck the darkwood on top of her hat and the light bobbed crazily as she nodded and gestured. Merlin, he hoped his father never heard about this.

"Does this tunnel only go to Hogsmeade?" he asked.

"There are turnoffs, like that one," Hermione answered. "Most lead to dead ends, but one or two loop around. Nobody's really explored them."

Draco stopped in front of a shadowy hole in the tunnel wall, intrigued. Then he turned to Hermione, who beamed back at him for no reason whatsoever. Such a random display of approval was entirely foreign to Draco, but he rather liked it. He was tempted to ask her to meet him after dinner, but he'd only get a lecture about Advanced Potions and NEWTs and fulfilling his potential. Draco had no intention of fulfilling anything; he'd seen enough Malfoy potential for a lifetime, thank you. A lifelong underachiever was the kindest thing his family could offer the wizarding world.

So he allowed Hermione to tow him along the tunnel until they met stone stairs leading up to a wooden trapdoor. There Draco stopped and began unwinding her scarf.

"I'm sure there's a witch in here somewhere," he said. He tossed the scarf aside and placed his gloved hands on Hermione's bare throat.

"We need to be careful in London," she said. "If anyone recognizes you—"

"It will be fine." Draco tilted up her face.

"We don't have to go to the shop. My wand is healing and your wand is ... well, just a little stubborn."

Draco scoffed. "Where's your Gryffindor courage, Granger?"

"You're the one at risk—"

He stroked her cheek, more touched than he let on. No one had ever worried about him except his mother. "No one will know it's me, except Ollivander, probably." That old creep looked hard to fool.

Draco was about to bend to kiss her, but she beat him to it, standing on her tiptoes and tugging at his cloak to bring him down to her. Her mouth was warm, and Draco's thwarted plans from the night before immediately came to mind.

"Two working wands, right?" he said breathily.

"Yes," she said, flushing enough for her red cheeks to show in the darkwood's small light. "Let's go get them."

His wand once again in hand, Draco Apparated them from Honeyduke's cellars to a grimy alley behind the wand shop. (He'd waited there as a lookout when the other Death Eaters kidnapped Ollivander, a bit of wartime trivia he was keeping to himself.) They pulled up their hoods and ran to the alley's opening.