Synopsis: Draco's friends think his new wand seems awfully familiar, but Draco's positive it's just plain awful.

A/N: A bit of wandfic comedy for you. Slash. H/D. Rated NC-17.

Warnings: Crack comedy, terrible innuendo, and use of the phrase "impossibly hard."

Thanks to my prereaders and betas: sapphirescribe, ottaff, and twilightmundi.

Disclaimer: All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc., mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express authorization.

Draco's jaw would have dropped open in a most unbecoming gape—had he been anyone other than a Malfoy, of course.

As it was, he'd been trained since infancy to disguise any and all emotions, save utter disdain, ruthless condescension, and consummate superiority. Which meant, for Draco Malfoy, there was only one reason to fully disengage one's jaw and part one's lips in such an obscene gaping manner.

This was not one of those occasions.

And so, Draco's lips remained pinch tightly closed as he stepped back in horror and trained his best sneer on Mr Ollivander.

"Absolutely not."

"But, as you know, Mr Malfoy, the wand chooses the wizard."

"That thing is not a wand."

"I assure you that it is. And it has chosen you."

Bloody hell. Draco closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. Was there no justice in the world? "Let me see some others."

"Of course, Mr Malfoy. Though I am sure that you will find them as ineffective as the first forty-seven that you've tried. The wand, as you know, chooses the—"

"The wizard. Yes, I know. The wizard." Draco gritted his teeth and pointed to a boxed wand shelved in a dusty corner of the wand shop. "I've not tried that one yet."

Ollivander nodded and moved to pick up the boxed wand. Blowing the dust away, he removed the wand and handed it to Draco. "Birch with dragon heart-string, seven inches, firm."

Draco accepted it and offered a quick plea for help to the Malfoy ancestors. (Gods, all of them, excepting, of course, his great great great Aunt Willaberta who had succumbed to the pressures of Malfoy perfection and had ridden off to join the Muggle circus on the back of a unicorn.)

Draco trained the wand on a spider making its way across the aged wooden floorboards. "Wingardium Leviosa," he commanded most authoritatively.

A small puff of yellow emerged from the end of his wand before harmlessly evaporating into the air. The spider scuttled off into the corner, mocking Draco with every step that remained firmly planted on the ground.

Draco scowled.

Spinning back to face Ollivander, he handed the wand over and pointed to another. "That one," he said, determined. Was it so impossible to imagine that a second wand might choose him as well? He had to try.

Ollivander carefully placed the birch wand back in its padded case and tucked it into the corner from which it came, before moving to the next one Draco had requested. It sat below a stack of yellowed books and a few sheets of loose parchment. Hesitating, he looked at Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, may I remind you once more that it is the wand that chooses—yes. Right. Well." Seeing Draco's glare, Ollivander gave up and retrieved the new wand. "Apple wood with unicorn hair core, twelve and one quarter inches, unexpectedly bendy."

Taking the wand, Draco examined it. Surely this one would work for him, wouldn't it? He turned to face the front door of the shop. "Alohomora!"

A trickle of nearly translucent magic emerged from tip of the wand and dripped off the side as the lock on the shop door clicked shut with an authoritative clunk.

Draco cursed and threw the wand at Ollivander. It bounced off the old man's forehead and rolled off under the back counter.

"Accio Draco Malfoy's new wand!" Draco yelled in frustration.

He stared in disbelief as the thing that was not his new wand snapped up from the counter and planted itself firmly into his grasp. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Malfoy," Ollivander said.

"No, I choose. I choose the wizard—I mean, the wand. I choose the wand!" Draco very narrowly avoided stomping his foot in frustration.

Ollivander raised an eyebrow.

"Fuck." Draco glared at Ollivander as he threw the sufficient number of galleons on the counter and stalked out of the shop with his purchase.


On his way home, Draco stopped by Pansy's flat in the best corner of Wizarding London.

"Wine," he demanded upon entry.

"Draco, darling, it's not yet noon. Wouldn't want to let Mummy down, would we?" She tapped her fingernails on the end table beside her chair, a move clearly designed to remind anyone in her presence of her new engagement via the perfect diamond that adorned her finger.

Draco snorted; Pansy's unsteady rhythm—and flushed cheeks—gave her away. "You're still drunk from last night, aren't you?"

"Fuck yes," she agreed, and summoned her house elf to bring a bottle (no, two) of her favourite Chardonnay (with glasses this time). She shrugged. "Hair of the three-headed dog and all."

Draco nodded and collapsed into a chair of his own, running his hand over his face and sighing deeply once he had done so.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, darling. Tell Pansykins all about it."

"It's bad, Pans."

"Then you definitely must tell me as soon as possible. I do love it when others have problems." She trailed her fingers along the edge of her armrest before stopping suddenly. "Wait. Wasn't the ban on D.E. wand purchases lifted yesterday? Did you go to Ollivander's? Let me guess, you ran into Potter while you were there?"

"Hardly. I'm sure he's too busy rescuing orphans and raising misunderstood werewolves for casual shopping ventures to Diagon."

She shrugged. "It was a reasonable guess. You generally only throw such fits when he's involved."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, you're wrong. I didn't see Potter. In fact, it's much, much worse." Grimacing, he reached into his bag and pulled out the box holding his new wand. "It's horrifying. I'll never be able to cast in public ever again."

"Oh gods," she said horrified. "Is it very small? Draco, darling, spare me the horror of looking. I can't handle anything less than four inches this early in the day."

He sighed. "There's plenty of length there, I assure you."

"Thank Merlin," she said as she opened the box. "I slept with a wizard once who had one that short. It was rather pitiful to see, even if he did manage to use it rather...Oh!" she said, her story entirely forgotten as she saw Draco's new wand for the first time.

Draco sunk into his chair and felt his cheeks redden as she continued to study it.

"Well," she said finally, looking up at Draco. "I'd have thought you'd have rather liked it." She pursed her lips and stared at it. "Even if it does angle a bit to the right."

Draco groaned. "Can't your house elf get here any faster with that wine?"

"It is a bit of a disaster," she admitted, "But look at the bright side, darling. I can't imagine Potter would want to take this one from you."

She plucked the wand from the box and ran her fingernail along the length of the pale wood. Draco shuddered.

"Although, actually, now that I think about it, there's a certain resemblance, isn't there?" she said after a moment, staring at it once again as she wrapped her hand around the base.

"Resemblance?" Draco prodded when she fell silent, lost in her thoughts.

"Hmm?" she looked up at him, seemingly surprised to see him still sitting there. "Oh, nothing...I'm sure I'm not remembering correctly. After all, it's been years since I last spied on the Gryffindor Quidditch showers."

She grinned at Draco's shocked face. "Don't be jealous, darling. We'd have brought you with us but you were always running off to your bed to wank after your matches with Potter."

"I did no such thing," Draco protested.

Pansy just laughed and put the wand back in its box, handing it back to Draco as the house elf appeared with the wine. Handing Draco a glass, she relaxed once again in her chair.

"So where's Theo?" Draco asked, taking a sip.

"In the bedroom, waiting for me. Your visit is perfectly timed. I'm testing his self-control at the moment."

Draco closed his eyes and counted to three. "Pansy, I'll not be used in your sex games."

She grinned wickedly. "Let's just say that if his palm is covered in an uncomfortable looking violet rash next time you see him, you may assume that his hand is not the only affected area."

Draco swallowed his revulsion as he gulped the rest of his wine. "I've got to be going. Immediately." He stood and placed his glass on the table.

"Don't forget to take your new wand. What is it, eight? Eight and a half inches?" she asked slyly.

He ignored her and straightened his robes as he headed to the Floo. "Thanks ever so, Pans."

"Any time, darling. Firecall next week, won't you? We'll do lunch. And you can tell me all about how you're getting it on with that wand of yours. Oh, dear, did I misspeak? I meant getting on with, of course."

"Of course," Draco said dryly as he stepped into the fireplace and called out the location of Zabini's downtown apartment. Perhaps Blaise would have a bit more sympathy for him.


"Circe's tit!"

Draco covered his eyes. "I know."

Zabini stared at the Draco's new wand, turning it over in his hands. "It's even bigger than—"

"I know!" Draco groaned.

"Thicker too, isn't it?"

Draco nodded.

"Thick, but not too thick, know what I mean?" Zabini smirked at Draco, who proceeded to roll his eyes.

Zabini continued to examine it, studying the unique grain along the underside of the wand. "Redwood?"

Another nod.

Zabini inhaled deeply, the rich smell of the wood filling his lungs. "Fuck," he breathed, before giving it a final once over.

"Merlin, how long is it?" Zabini asked as he reluctantly handed it back to Draco.

Draco sighed. "Ollivander said it's eight and two-thirds inches. And..." Draco's shoulder slumped and he looked up at Blaise. "Eight and two-thirds, and impossibly hard. What the bloody hell am I going to do with it?"

Zabini shook his head and got up to pour each of them a drink. The amber liquid burned Draco's throat but he welcomed the warmth.

"I was finally able to get a new wand, you know? Ready to get on with it. I put paid my dues, went without magic for the year," Draco paused to study his glass. "And now this. I'm already a social pariah, and now I can't even cast magic in public. I might as well be a bloody squib!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you talking about?" Blaise interrupted. "This wand is brilliant!"

"Excuse me?" Draco looked up, horrified. "That's not even a wand, it's a disaster!"

"Don't you realize? You've got one beautiful length of wood there. Most wizards would pay trillions of galleons to have such perfection at their fingertips," Blaise informed him.

Draco snorted. "That may be, but not to use as a wand!"

Blaise just gave a sly grin and took a sip from his tumbler. "So what did Boy Wonder say?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I showed it to Potter? I haven't talked to him since the trials."

"Well how'd you get him to model for it then?"

Draco's mouth dropped open then, there was no controlling it. "Why the fuck does everyone keep insinuating that my wand looks like Potter's..."

"Potter's prick? Because it does. That wand of yours is the spitting image of Boy Wonder's scrumptious cock. Why'd you pick it if you didn't know that?"

"I don't—I didn't—wait, what? I didn't choose it, it chose me, you wanker! And how in the hell do you know what Potter's cock looks like?"

Zabini shrugged. "There aren't that many gay wizards in London. Plus, I may have had a look one night in the loo at Poof! Can't blame a bloke, can you? Who hasn't wanted a nice piece of Potter?"

Draco just stared. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Nope. So, have you actually used it yet?" Blaise asked.

Draco shook his head.

"Really? Not even to cast spells?" Zabini smirked.

Draco was confused. "What the bloody hell else would I use it for—oh for fuck's sake! Piss off, Blaise, you're a right bastard, you know that?"

Zabini was laughing too hard to reply, which left Draco absolutely no choice but to down the last of his Firewhiskey and huff off in the direction of the Floo.


"Draco?" Millicent looked confused when Draco stumbled out of her Floo. "Did you...intend to come by?"

"Of course," he replied, brushing the ash from the sleeves of his robe. "I thought to myself that I really hadn't seen my good friend Millie in a while, so I might as well stop by for a chat."

"I see." She frowned at him until she spotted the box in his hand, at which point she brightened considerably. "Well, at least you brought me a gift. I was beginning to think you were only wanting to talk to me because you had another run in with Potter. That's the only time you visit, isn't it? But, I can forgive you that if you've brought a present."

"Well, I, it's not—" He tried to tuck the box with his wand in it behind his back.

She held out her hand. "Chocolates from Honeydukes?"

"Not exactly," Draco cringed, and glanced around for something he could transfigure into a gift, even if only temporarily. A paper clip or scrap of paper or even a medium to large sized dust bunny, perhaps.

His eyes lit on a stray elastic band laying on the table. Perfect, he'd whip up a bracelet in no time. If he could just snag it without her noticing, and then slip off to the loo for a moment—

"Ah! Got it, cheers, Draco!"

Taking matters into her own hands, she'd pried Draco's box right out of his hand while he was distracted. He tried to grab it back, but frankly Millicent was both taller and more muscular and more than likely didn't have Firewhiskey in her veins mucking about with her coordination. He didn't stand a chance.

He could barely watch as she tore off the lid. Her eyes opened comically wide as she studied the contents before looking up with a huge grin.

"Oh, thank you, Draco!" She clutched the box to her substantial bosom. "I admit I was surprised. It's not exactly a customary gift, but it certainly makes up for all of the times you blathered my ears off about—"

"Wait, Millie—"

"It's exactly the one I wanted too! It's the most popular model. But still, how did you know?" She leaned toward him and whispered conspiratorially. "Daphne told you, didn't she? I'm going to get her!" She broke off in giggles.

"The one you wanted?" Draco was confused. "Did you go wand shopping too? I didn't realize yours had been confiscated."

"Wand shopping? No, why would I do that? I've mine right here," she said, tapping the pocket of her wand.

"But then why would you want—?"

"Because it's modelled after Potter's, of course."

"What are you talking about? Potter's is holly and phoenix feath—Oh gods, Mill, no... that's not a...that's...I know it looks like—but—No...It's actually, well, it's my new wand."

She looked up, her forehead creased. "What do you mean, exactly? Your...wand? It's not a...It''s not my gift?" Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Draco. You tell me right now."

"It's my new wand, all right?" he huffed. "It's a wand. Definitely a wand. Not a—well, not anything besides a wand. And I hate it. But it chose me. What was I supposed to do?"

She glared at him. "And it's just pure coincidence that it looks like Potter's—"

"Entirely coincidental, yes," Draco confirmed.

"Well then why were you going to give me your new wand? That's a terrible gift!'

"I didn't mean to... I, well, I left your gift at home by accident. I'll have to Owl it to you." Draco sighed. He'd just purchase something later that day and send it. "Can I have my stupid wand back now?"

Millicent looked down at the beautiful wood in her hands and bit her lip. "No?"

"Haha, you're very humorous. Now c'mon, stop playing around." Draco held out his hand.

"No," she repeated, more firmly this time, clutching the box firmly.


"No. it."

"C'mon! Give it back!" Draco swiped for it, but she held it up above her head and out of reach.

"No! I want it!" she yelped as Draco tried to pull down her arm. "Besides, you said you hated it."

Draco sighed. "I do, but it's my coc—wand. My wand. Now, please?"

Millicent shook her head firmly then, laughing, ran off to her bedroom and locked the door—taking the wand with her, and leaving a stunned Draco in her dust.


"Draco, my little dragon, what happened? Were you hexed in Diagon?" Narcissa looked on, horrified, as Draco limped from the Manor Floo some time later that afternoon. His robes were in tatters, he had a lengthy scratch across his right cheek and one elbow had been spelled to bend backwards.

Worse still, while he'd eventually taken Millicent's door from its hinges and regained possession of his wand, the wand's box hadn't survived the mayhem. Of course he'd carefully tucked the wand into his robes so his mother wouldn't see it when he got home, but what mother wouldn't want to see her little dragon's new wand? Still, Draco tried his best to convince her otherwise. "It's nothing special. Really. Plain old redwood," he said, patting his pocket as he tried escape to his bedroom to heal his cuts and lick his wounds.

"Well, let me see," his mother said, reaching for the arm of his robe before he could move past her.

Draco hesitated.

"What's the matter? Are you certain you weren't hexed?" She motioned to the sitting room. "Would you like to talk about it, my little dragon? I'll get the elves to bring us tea."

Knowing there was no possible way to hide it from her forever, Draco gave in and, blushing furiously, took it from his pocket and handed it to her.

Narcissa's eyes widened as she stared at it, her lips pursed.

After some seconds of silence, during which Draco very much wanted to be swallowed up by the floor, she finally spoke.

"And this wand chose you?" Her voice was strained. "You didn't choose it?"

"Gods, mother, no! You think I chose it?"

"Well, my little dragon—actually, you aren't so little any more, are you?—it's just that it's a tad fitting, isn't it?"

"Fitting? You mean, because I'm gay, you think I'd choose a wand shaped like a..." Draco trailed off, unable to utter the word in front of the woman who'd sent house elves to teach him of the birds and bees the day after he turned 17.

"No, Draco," she corrected. "Not because you're gay. Because it's shaped precisely like Potter's willy."

"Well, I didn't choose it!" Draco stomped his foot, startling a nearby house elf and rattling his mother's china display.

He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. "Besides, Mother, how in Merlin's name doyou know what Potter's...what Potter looks like?" he asked in a low voice.

Was Draco the only wizard who'd not at least had a glimpse of Boy Wonder's bits? Gods, even his mother had seen. It wasn't fair!

She looked surprised at the question. "He was the centrefold in the March issue of Wicked Witch magazine. I thought everyone knew that. It was very tasteful. Would you like to see? I have a copy in my night table. Proceeds to charity, of course."

Draco shuddered and declined the disturbing offer. He might be dying to take a look—purely to mock any and all inadequacies, of course—but he'd buy it in London or order it anonymously and have it delivered in discreet packaging via Rush Owl, not borrow his mother's copy.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, counting to three before opening them again to address his mother. "I'll pass, thank you. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like my wand back."

"Of course, my little dragon," she said, handing it back.

"I'm going to use it to heal my cuts," he clarified. "When I go to my rooms."

"Of course you are."

"And to repair my robes," he said, his mouth still moving on its own accord. "And maybe make my hair a bit shinier."

Narcissa nodded.

"Nothing else though," Draco insisted, tucking his wand into his pocket. "Only wand-related things."

"As would only be proper," Narcissa nodded.



"All right."

"Draco? Run along, darling. You'll want to clean up before you go meet Potter."

"I'm not going to meet Potter. Who said I was going to meet Potter? Why would you think that?"

"Because I'm your mother. Now hurry, and you can catch him at The Leaky Cauldron with his mates after work."

"I've no interest in socializing with those twits."

"Of course not. Now go, hurry up, little dragon. And wear your charcoal grey robes with the dark edging."

"Mother, I've no idea what you're-"

She raised an eyebrow.

He spun with a dignified huff and headed off to his rooms. Not that he was going to meet Potter, of course. But if he felt like a drink at The Leaky after the day he'd had, well that would be completely reasonable. It would not be at all tied to the heavy wand pressed against his leg in his robe pocket, nor its resemblance to a certain Boy Wonder's bits.


Draco strode down the crowded city streets, his distinctive wand hidden away in his pocket and his chin held high. He was going to meet Millicent for a pint after a quick stop at Flourish and Blotts, where he'd picked up a gift for her—he could take a hint, and he was certain she'd appreciate the latest edition of Twelve Fail-safe Ways to Charm Witches—and a certain issue of Wicked Witch for himself.

A few minutes late already, he hurried along. He was almost at The Leaky when he felt a strange and unexpected tingling sensation in his left foot. Looking down, he realized the laces of his boot had become untied. Such a childish hex, he thought, sighing as he looked around. He quickly found the culprit—a little brown-haired boy was glaring at him from across the street as his mother ignored him to fuss with a baby in a pram. Catching Draco's eye, the boy mouthed a few words and then waved his wand in Draco's direction once again. Sure enough, Draco felt the tingle in his other foot and his other boot became similarly undone.

Draco scowled. He didn't want to pull his wand out in retaliation, and talking to the mother would hardly be worth it; the mothers always felt Draco deserved whatever mischief their children had thought up. He'd just have to ignore it this time, he decided. It wasn't worth more than that.

Turning abruptly, Draco quickly stepped off the main path and into a corner where he knelt down to retie his laces.

Except that they wouldn't tie.

Neither the right, nor the left; no matter how many times he tried to loop one bunny ear 'round the other, they refused to knot.

Bloody hex.

Draco decided to find that irritating child's mother after all. No one made him look foolish, and walking around with laces undone, well, it was almost as bad as walking around with a nest of messy black hair and wrinkled robes like Potter always did.

He was heading back to the spot where he'd last seen the child when another wizard stepped on one of his laces, causing Draco to trip over his loosened boot. With an undignified "Oof!" he landed sprawled across the pavement, one shoe coming off entirely and his belongings scattered every which way on impact.

"Fuck!" he yelled at the ground, pinching his eyes shut and banging his head against his scraped arm. "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!"

"Malfoy?" a familiar voice asked.

"FUCK!" Draco said it again as he instantly recognized the voice. He looked up. Seven hells, Potter stood before him, taking in the scene.

As he scrambled to his feet, Draco worked on formulating his best insult yet—likely something about Potter's hair, his Muggle loving tendencies, and his general git-like nature, all in one go—while entirely ignoring the fact that he was only wearing one boot, as his other was back two strides where it had slipped off his foot. Except Potter wasn't even watching him.

Instead, Potter's attention remained focused on the ground. And not on Draco's stockinged foot.

He followed Potter's gaze.


Draco's book for Millie had landed to the left, its fancy wrappings torn.

His copy of Witch Weekly had landed a bit further away. And because the world had never been kind to Draco, the magazine had opened to the centrefold, where Potter's image winked and blew kisses while unfastening the buttons of his Auror uniform.

And his wand, gods, his wand. It had popped out of his robes and was right there in the open for all to see, nearly nine inches of thick, impossibly hard, red wood.

Draco swallowed, his face instantly aflame.

He blinked at Potter, who, Draco realized, stood flanked by a shocked Headmistress McGonagall on one side and a delighted Weasel on his other.

And exactly what was he supposed to do now? Draco could think of only one solution.

He quickly stepped out of his remaining boot, turned his back to Potter, and ran.


"Go away!" Draco huffed from behind the locked door that separated his suite of rooms from the rest of the Manor. He was pouting about his recent humiliations, something that would likely continue for several hours at least. Draco's practised method of recovery from such embarrassments was both detailed and lengthy, and involved no small amount of scotch.

But while his mother generally knew from experience not to bother him during this process, there she was knocking at his door. For the third time. He'd had enough. "Mother, I asked you to please leave me be. Your little dragon is simply not in the mood to—"

"Malfoy?" a male voice called through the door. "Malfoy? It's Potter. Er, Harry. Harry Potter."

"You're not Mother. What've you done with Mother?" Draco scowled at the locked door.

"She's not here. Well, she's somewhere, I'm sure. She showed me to your door here and suggested I knock. I came by to drop off your book and your magazine and your, er, your—well, I have your things then, don't I? You just left them on the street."

"Go away. I don't want them," Draco said petulantly.

"And what, exactly, am I to do with them? You know what? Never mind. It's fine. I'll just leave them here outside your door. I don't know why I expected you to be anything other than a total prat anyway."

Draco glared at the door until he judged Potter was gone. Stalking over to it, he threw it open to retrieve his belongings and sure enough, there was a neat little stack of his things in his doorway.

But they weren't alone. Next to the little pile was Potter, who just stood there, smirking as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. Instead of leaving as Draco had asked, he'd just stood there waiting, looking all wrinkled and messy and handsome right there in Draco's hallway.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you'd like a thank you. It wasn't enough to see me sprawled out on the pavement, was it? Well, I won't give you one. You didn't even bring back my boots."

"I did, actually. Your mother gave them to the elves to repair. Did you know your laces were cursed?"

"Oh were they? I hadn't noticed," Draco replied dryly. "Fine, thank you for bringing back my things. I'm ever so glad to get my bloody wand back. Now please go. A house elf will show you out." He picked up the items off the floor.

"Your wand?" Potter scrunched up his forehead. "I don't—wait—that's a wand?"

Draco rolled his eyes and cast a quick Reparo on the gift wrappings of Millicent's book. "See, Potter? Wand."

Harry smirked. "You do realize it looks like—"

"Your cock. Yes, Potter. Just like your perfect prick. Thanks ever so for bringing that up," Draco interrupted. Gods, the Boy Wonder was a bit cocky, wasn't he? Then again, if Draco had bits like Potter's, he might be too, he conceded.

Potter looked alarmed. "Wait, mine? It looks like mine? No way. Give it here. I wanna see!"

Draco stuck the wand in his pocket, ignoring him. "Everyone else seems to think so. A perfect replica, or so I'm told. Apparently you're quite the exhibitionist." He fanned through the pages of Witch Weekly in front of Potter's nose.

Harry smirked, still leaning casually against the door frame. "It was for charity."


"It was."

"Sure." Draco turned and went inside, tossing the items onto the edge of his bed.

Harry followed, stepping up rather close to Draco. "Well then, what'd you think?"

Draco held his gaze, Potter's eyes greener than ever at such close range. "Think of what?"

Potter gestured at the bed where the magazine lay.

"Well I don't know then, do I? Seeing as I dropped the copy I purchased earlier today, the one which you so kindly returned just a moment ago."

"Too bad," Potter replied, watching Draco's throat as he swallowed in response.

Potter turned away, stepping over to the window, Draco's gaze on him as he went.

"It's just that the wand looked so right in your hand," Harry said after some moments, his face unreadable as he looked out the window.

Two could play this game, Draco thought, grabbing the wand and stepping up behind Potter. "Is that right? Did you like seeing my hand wrapped tightly around the base of that beautiful length of wood?"

Harry sucked in a breath. "Beautiful?"

Draco paused. In the past, he'd have insulted Potter, but he couldn't seem to formulate the cutting words. So instead, he offered up the one that fell most easily from his lips. "Gorgeous," he whispered.

Harry spun around, close, so close to Draco. "Yeah?"

Draco nodded.

"Ron would kill me if I kissed you, you know," Potter said.

"If you're thinking about Ron right now, perhaps it's best that you refrain—mmmfhphnmph." Draco's words were lost when Potter's lips closed in on his.

Draco smirked at the flush that covered Potter's cheeks when they pulled apart, suddenly very glad that the wand had insisted on belonging to Draco. In fact, Draco had a bit of an idea... He began running his hand over the thick wood of his wand, delighting in just how wide Potter's eyes got in response.

Adopting his best pout, Draco raised the wand to his lips, running the length of it along them, humming in pleasure as he did so. Draco could see Harry's fingers flexing, dying to reach out as he watched.

Licking his lips, he began stroking the wand, delighting in Potter's soft moan.

"Gods, Draco," Harry murmured as he gazed at Draco's hand as it continued to stroke the redwood.

Deciding Harry'd been tortured enough, Draco laughed and lifted the wand, aiming it at the door to cast a locking spell.

"Fuck," Harry said breathlessly as thick spurts of white magic erupted from the end of the wood while the door swung shut and locked tightly.

Draco grinned and kissed Potter again, though when Potter pulled back afterwards, he looked at Draco thoughtfully. "I think that I'd rather you not use that wand. At least not in public. If it's as similar to my, er, well... as similar as you say." He cleared his throat.

Draco frowned. "What would you have me do, Potter? Do you think that I chose the wand? I tried nearly every other wand in Ollivander's shop. None of the others worked at all. Trust me, I'm not eager to share you with the world every time I cast a spell."

Harry grinned and reached into his pocket. "Would this help?" He pulled out two wands: his own and Draco's original hawthorn wand.

Draco scowled. "You still had my wand? You could've returned it sooner, you know."

Harry shrugged. "Today was the first day the ban was lifted. I was going to bring it by this weekend."

"I suppose," he acquiesced, taking it from Harry. Giving it a swish, he felt his magic swirl about happily, eager to once again have its rightful outlet in the familiar hawthorn. Draco breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Potter."

Harry reached out and took the other redwood one from Draco. He studied it for a moment, turning it over in his hand. "An exact replica, you say? Perhaps you should keep this wand." He looked at Draco, who raised an eyebrow.

"Just for... fun." Harry waggled his eyebrows. "Don't you think we could this wand? Just imagine the possibilities."

Draco snorted. Taking the wand back from Harry, he tossed it onto the bed, and then pulled Harry up against him. "But for now, I think I'd like to take advantage of the real thing."

"Brilliant," Potter breathed, pushing Draco back onto the bed and falling on top of him.

Draco landed on top of the redwood wand, laughing at the feel of the length of it pressing against his arse as Harry ground his hips against Draco's from above.

Yes, Draco though, wriggling against Harry's various wands, definite possibilities indeed.