𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐒 2008

The Beauty of Trees

Author: megyal
Title: The Beauty of Trees
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG
Summary: Draco requires Potter's help; to his dismayed annoyance, Potter's help entails trampling around in a forest.
Warnings: Pre-slash, not Epilogue-compliant
Total word count: ~8,100

The Beauty of Trees

:: ::

What did the tree learn from the earth
to be able to talk with the sky?
- Pablo Neruda

:: ::

Draco Malfoy walked carefully down Diagon Alley, placing the Portkey his mother had made into his pocket, taking care to not brush against any of the busy shoppers as they bustled past. None of them gave him a second look; his glamour presented a young man with dark-brown hair and brown eyes, nondescript in brown robes. Brown seemed to be the colour of the mundane, for people's eyes slid right over him as if the shade itself was a slippery surface. The material of the robe was very soft and just as warm, and he pulled it close to his throat, fending off the cool spring wind.

He stood across the street from the newly refurbished Ollivander's, waiting for the evening crowd to disperse; dusk was falling fairly quickly, shadows forming in the narrow service alleys between shops. The street-lamps, which hovered in mid-air at regular intervals along the cobbled street, glowed to life in a practiced sequence, warm yellow lights caught in decorative iron cages.

Draco set his jaw and crossed the street. He stood aside, allowing a tall, old wizard to exit the shop in a slow shuffle, bent almost in half and yet still taller than Draco himself, who had inherited his enviable height from his father.

"Merlin keep yeh," the old wizard rasped gratefully, pulling his tall, pointed hat over top of his mostly bald head, wisps of lank grey hair barely hanging on. Draco nodded coolly, watching as the wizard tottered slowly down the pavement, a thick cane gripped in one hand. Draco wondered briefly what a wizard his age would be doing in a wand shop, then shrugged.

Inside, it was wonderfully warm; Draco felt the heating charm woven in his robes adjust itself so he wasn't roasting. He removed his own hat, looking around the small room with a wry smile, remembering the first time he'd been taken into this shop. It was much the same, the dark-wood of the worn counter shiny and smooth from years of people resting their elbows against it. Long, narrow boxes, all a dark-tan colour, were stacked neatly on the counter, protective casings for their precious cargo. Beyond that, there were tall shelves stretching back, much farther than the outside length of the shop suggested. There was a glass cupboard on this side of the counter, displaying a collection of wand-polish and soft cloths that hadn't been here when Draco had last entered this shop and now he peered closely at the dark, tall bottles, reading the hand-written French labels with a little difficulty in the low light.

"Hello?" he called, as he turned away from the glass case. There was a movement at the end of the narrow corridor created by the shelves, someone leaning back to peer down at him. The person was seated at some work-area tucked in at the very end; Draco could now make out the straight wooden back of the chair. Draco approached the counter, wondering if the old man would know who he was, even behind the glamour and refuse to assist him. Well, he would know soon enough.

"Sorry! I didn't hear!" The person had gotten up and was approaching more rapidly than Ollivander should have, hands absently pushing wand-boxes back into their slots as he came closer. Draco held his breath as Harry Potter stepped out of the dark shadows of the corridor, smiling slightly in welcome as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.