"You could've just sent it with an owl," Draco says. "Sit down. This will take a while."
"I'm far less likely to be driven mad from boredom if I don't sit," Potter says, but he drops into one of the uncomfortable, leather-upholstered chairs across from Draco anyway and drums his fingers on the armrest.
Draco turns the prosthetic eye over in his hand carefully, checking for any potential problems with Potter's paint job.
"Brown," Draco says. "Wizardingkind will despair."
"Well, like you said, they'd never match. I thought I should create something new instead of trying to replace it."
Easy enough to say, harder in practice. He's seen patients struggle with that before.
Draco grabs his Reveliospecs and flicks down the first lens so he can focus on the spellwork he's weaving over the eye. "You don't have to stay. I won't have a good alibi if this ends up hurting you, so I'm very unlikely to curse it."
"Are you kicking me out, or just letting me know?"
"The latter."
"Then I'll stay."
It's slow work. When Draco was first training for this job, he hadn't imagined working on anyone he knew personally. He had been wary, too, of the complexity of the spellwork he'd have to learn. His hands had shaken for many years after the war — damage sustained from a few too many encounters with the Cruciatus Curse.
It had functioned as a sort of rehabilitation, to learn to master the soft, precise movements necessary to cast these enchantments. His father had been the first person to teach Draco magic as a child, and that had shaped the way Draco cast all throughout Hogwarts, but his techniques were too harsh for this line of work.
Your hands look just like your father's, Draco's mother had said. He still worries, sometimes, that hands like these can never learn how to be gentle.
He'd been scared to handle Scorpius when he was an infant. I'll hurt him, Draco had insisted.
Astoria had bundled Scorpius into his arms and pressed a kiss to Draco's cheek. It's better to have a father that's scared of dropping you than one that never picks you up.
Now, Draco can manage the kind of complicated, little motions these spells require. He just wishes they didn't take so long. Potter watches him silently.
The paint job on the eye is impressive, all delicate strokes and cautious shading, nothing like Potter himself. The browns have been layered painstakingly to provide a sense of depth. Draco can't shake the sensation that he's weaving his charms over something that's already a part of Potter.
Every time he closes a gap, three more appear. If he simply does this the way he usually would, his magic and Potter's will feud. He has to introduce his spellwork like a fish to new water, letting it acclimate before he drops it in.
An hour later, Draco's left hand cramps, and he has to stop to massage it. It's always been worse than his right. The tail ends of Draco's Colour Distinction Enchantment slither away before he can tie them off. He puffs out a breath of exasperation.
"You enjoy this," Potter says suddenly.
Draco glances up to find Potter staring at him, and forgets whatever he was about to say.
Threads of magic shoot out from Potter's body in every direction, a golden, buttery yellow. They climb up his torso like vines. For a second, Draco is watching him dive after the Snitch at Hogwarts again, wind pushing back his hair, drenched in sunlight and laughing. That Potter scarcely lines up with this one, but something about the moment sends Draco's heart spinning. He's never seen this much magic coming from one person before.
"Well, don't you?" Potter prompts.
"I... hm?"
The snort that gets him is almost charming. "Don't you enjoy it?"
"What makes you say that?"
"You get this odd little smile on your face every time you've done something you like. Hermione gets the same look when she's working."
Self-consciously, Draco forces the edges of his lips down.
"Sorry," Potter says, "I shouldn't have mentioned it. I knew you'd stop once I did."
Draco frowns more severely this time, shaking out his wrist and picking up his wand again, turning away. "There's nothing wrong with liking your job."
"Of course not. I just didn't expect you to, 's all."
"Don't you like yours?"
Potter is silent for so long that Draco forgets he's even asked a question until Potter says, "Yes."
Draco does not dare to look up again.
It's another half hour of pulling threads of magic together over the prosthesis — making sure there's no visible space between the strands — before he nears the end. He's just tied off the last two lines when Potter coughs, and Draco's attention jerks upward again.
It's the strangest thing, how he almost manages to forget Potter's presence without losing awareness that he's being watched.
"Are you almost done?" Potter rubs a sheepish hand at the back of his neck. "Only, it seems like you must be, from the way you've slowed down."
"The enchantments are nearly there, but I haven't added the pupil yet."
Potter bends closer to inspect, and Draco shifts backwards.
"Why'd you wait?" Potter asks.
"The eye comes alive once you do, swinging all over the place but not connected to any brain signals. It's hard to add magic over that."
Draco pauses for a moment, then carefully removes his Reveliospecs and holds them out to Potter.
"Put them on. I don't need them right now. Watch this next part."
Potter looks confused, but he does as he's told. He lets out an arrested gasp that presses intently at Draco's mind, small and overwhelming.
Potter turns his head around the room, finally settling on Draco and the eye as he flips the golden clasp of the case of paint brushes beside him. Draco extracts one and gives the bristles a tiny flick to make sure they're ready.
He then dips the brush into a small jar of black paint, holding the eye firmly between two fingers of his other hand and swirling a circle between them.
The eye starts to jerk beneath his fingertips and Draco applies more pressure, neatening the edges of the pupil he's just made until he's satisfied, nodding as he releases it. The eye goes haywire, spinning in its frame, darting to every corner, rolling around until all he can see is whiteness, and then fixing on him again, unblinking, quivering with restless energy.
He picks it up carefully off the desk and connects the straps, gesturing for Potter to come closer. He does, removing the Reveliospecs as well as his glasses and bending over.
Draco's hands are unsteady as he presses the magical prosthesis to Potter's eye socket and secures it, fingers fumbling with the leather.
Potter pulls back, fiddling with the goggle until he seems satisfied. "S'pose there's a spell you've got to do now so I can see with it?"
"Right," Draco waves his wand, tapping at the metal rim of the prosthesis, "Adjungo."
The eye stops whizzing about and steadies on him, along with Potter's other one.
Potter blinks, wobbling, and Draco reaches out a hand to steady him.
"Easy. It's a lot to get used to. For the first couple of days, I recommend that you only put it on for fifteen minutes at a time and wait an hour between sessions. You can work your way up to wearing it longer after that."
Potter lets out a sharp puff through flared nostrils. "And what if I can't get used to it?"
"Then come back here, and I'll fix you up another, free of charge. No enchantments on that one except to make it blink with you."
Potter nods slowly. "Fine."
"Don't suppose you've thought more about the auction?"
Potter lets out an exasperated sigh. "Are you always working an angle?"
"It's what I do best."
Potter spends a long moment staring at him, so Draco sits back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other, unashamed to be looking too.
Potter's stubble has grown out. It makes him look older, but not in a bad way. From here, the brown of his magical eye is a bottomless well. Draco imagines tumbling in.
"I'm trying to help my son," Draco says. He adjusts his sleeves. "That should be abundantly clear. That's my only angle. I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think you'd at least consider it."
Potter studies him guardedly. "I shouldn't be considering it, for what it's worth."
"You won't hear me disagree. But you're too noble for your own good."
Potter opens the door and steps out, but he glances over his shoulder before he leaves. Both of Potter's eyes close for a moment, and tension colours his face.
"Dizzy?" Draco asks.
"It's like the world is flipping over backwards while I stand in place."
"Give it time. Take plenty of breaks, but don't stop practising. You'll manage soon enough."
Potter's eyes open again. "If you're right, I'll be at the auction."
"If I'm right? Of course I'm right."
Potter frowns. "We'll see." The door slams behind him.
Draco picks up a quill and resumes the work Potter interrupted. "So we will," he murmurs.
The empty office gives no reply.