Ollivander’s Wand Shop. One of the places that Harry’s real life, his real childhood has began. One of the stages in breaking out of the shell his adopted Muggle parents shoved him in and learning to fly. It was an ancient building, built long before even Dumbledore’s time, and still old Ollivander remembered absolutely every wand that had ever passed from his hands into those of another. His silvery, unblinking stare was still as apt and intelligent as always, and he showed no sign of ever slowing down. The whole thing still gave Harry the creeps. But this is where Draco said he’d be, and so the second Harry had finished filing they’re report on the capture of the second of Draco’s schoolmates, he’d made a direct line for the store. With the eery gap that was beginning to settle between them, he thought it would be best if they spent as much time together as physically possible to try to fix it. But when he pushed open the doors to the place and glanced around, he realized instantly that his lover was no where to be seen. Worried, he pulled out his wand and set it on his palm, doing a locator spell. The wand spun for a moment, as if sensing around for Draco, and then stopped, pointing directly back into him. “Harry?” A voice came from behind. “What’s going on?” With a jerk Harry spun, his hyper active Auror senses jarred. Draco was standing in the doorway to the shop, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, staring at Harry with an amused smile but an odd look in his eyes. Put off for a moment, Harry remained silent, then remembered he wasn’t doing anything to be guilty for and blinked. “Just looking for you,” he answered, “thought we could go out to lunch once you were done getting your wand.” Sensing the unvocalized accusation in Harry’s voice, Draco thought fast for a cover story, and then realized he didn’t really need one. “I haven’t got it yet,” he said calmly, “I heard some rumors about some renegade Death Eaters so I decided to check around first. Turned out to just be a bunch of tall tales though, like usual. I just thought it needed a second look when I heard that Flint may be involved.” Harry’s lip curled just at the mention of the name. He’d hated Marcus enough when they were just rivals on the Quidditch field, moreso when he’d tried that trick with the Dementor outfit, but most of all since he was known as one of the most widespread Muggle killers in the war. He didn’t blame Draco at all for trying to follow up on the claim, bringing in Flint would be one of the heaviest blow the few remaining Death Eaters had taken in some time. Too bad it turned out to be fake... He shook off the feeling, and grinned at Draco. “All right then,” he said, “let’s get your wand quick, and then something to eat.” Draco nodded, glancing at the floor. If his conscience was a gun, he’d just loaded the chamber.