Harry had returned Malfoy his wand three months after the trials. It’d been a cold September day and the village near the Malfoy woods had smelled of rain and woodsmoke. Harry waited for him at a table at the back of an old, low-ceilinged pub. It was busy in the early evening, hazy with smoke and full of the odour of sausages and spilled lager. Malfoy entered on time, pulling leather gloves from his fingers and casting a look around until he saw Harry. He gestured at the pint in front of him. ‘Another?’‘I don’t think I should have more.’‘Hm. Well, I don’t intend to see this meeting through sober.’He had a point and Harry relented. Malfoy returned with their drinks. He took his coat off and sat down, downing his whisky chaser at once. Harry didn’t speak for some moments, looking instead at Malfoy’s attempt at Muggle clothing. He was dressed sharply — for a 19th-century gentleman. His movements were languid and graceful, but his eyes seemed as wounded as the ones Harry saw in the mirror every morning.‘Is there a purpose to this meeting or did you ask me out here to stare at me?’ Malfoy drawled.Harry felt his cheeks burning. ‘How are your parents?’ he deflected.Malfoy paused with his pint at his lips. ‘Are we exchanging pleasantries now?’Harry snorted. ‘That’s not us, is it?’Malfoy gave him a small smile. ‘No, that’s never been us.’Harry figured he might as well get on with it. He took the wand out of his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘I wanted to return this. I know you’ve had trouble finding a new wand, so I figured—’Malfoy stared. He put down his pint slowly and glanced at the wand, then back at Harry. ‘I can have it back?’ He didn’t ask how Harry knew about the wandmakers that had turned down his custom.Harry pushed it to him and Malfoy wrapped his fingers around it. Some sparks erupted from the tip, and Harry looked around in alarm, but the patrons were absorbed in their dinners and no one seemed to have noticed. ‘Put that away, you’ll break the Statute.’Malfoy smiled as he tucked the wand away. ‘It’s happy, Potter. I can’t help it being excited now that it’s back in the hands of a proper wizard. Now that it’ll see proper magic and not whatever pathetic spells you attempted—’‘Like killing Voldemort?’ Harry said casually.Malfoy flinched. He stared back at his pocket, his chest rising and falling. ‘I forgot,’ he said simply.‘Lucky you,’ Harry said, his voice bitter.Malfoy stared at him now. Harry knew what he looked like; dark circles from sleepless nights and hands that couldn’t stay still. He’d thought that after it was done, after Voldemort was gone, things would be different. That life would unfold with no cares or worries. But he couldn’t shake off the war. The terror that he’d assumed he’d buried, along with his friends and enemies, had taken residence in his veins and suffocated him from the inside out.Malfoy nodded, as if Harry’s face had told him something he agreed with. ‘I appreciate you coming all this way,’ he said.Harry shrugged, his fingers ceaselessly tapping his pint. ‘Happy to. I mean, I could do with— you know, it’s nice to get away for a bit.’ He bit his lip, wondering if Malfoy could discern how much Harry hated being in London and in the Ministry; how cooped up he felt.Malfoy downed his drink. Harry sat back, expecting him to get up and leave. Instead, Malfoy leaned back in his chair and looked at Harry. ‘Well? Are you getting the next round?’It was a way of saying thank-you, Harry supposed, when he placed the order at the bar. Malfoy offering him the only thing he could at the moment: some company, even if it wasn’t particularly agreeable.One round followed another. A stream of people came and went, eating, drinking and taking little notice of the two of them at the back, except to frown at Malfoy’s tapered trousers, scarlet waistcoat and silk white scarf. After four pints, Harry felt comfortable enough to tease him about it. Malfoy threatened with making badges.‘They were quite successful last time.’‘I hated them.’Malfoy pointed at him with his pint. ‘Exactly.’