Draco sounded like he was running his fingers through his hair, but he stopped at that last word. "Oh. Well, I've known him really well ever since I can remember, so yeah. I've always called him that, but when I came here he said to make it Professor in class and such. Anyway, after I convinced him I was dead if I ever went back home, he got it all set up for me to never have to."
"What on earth is your game?" Harry gasped. "Why would your father want to kill you?"
"Oh, a bunch of reasons," Draco returned, rising from his chair. "But the main one is this. Don't kick me again, okay? I just want to give you something."
"I don't want anything you could give me," Harry sneered.
"Yeah, Dumbledore gave me back that little token I tossed you," Draco acknowledged. "But this is different. You'll want it, or my name isn't Mal... well, never mind. You'll want it, that's all."
Harry felt a slight weight settle onto his stomach. "What did you just put on me?"
"Touch it. Go on..."
To Harry's ear, Draco had an inordinate amount of interest in Harry's reaction, which of course made the Gryffindor suspicious. "For all I know, it's a sleeping baby blast-ended screwt," he erupted. "I could lose a hand if I go on!"
"You really think I could smuggle in livestock, right under Pomfrey's nose?" Draco chortled. "That's so flattering! I think it might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Just get it off me, whatever it is!"
"Where's that famous Gryffindor bravery?"
Harry drew in a deep breath, intending to let fly with another scream for Madame Pomfrey.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco sighed, his teasing manner vanishing clean away. Ignoring the likelihood that Harry would lash out at him, he quickly picked up Harry's hand and settled it atop his abdomen, then let go. "There, see?"
If Harry had made a list of all the things Malfoy would never, ever give him, this would have been emblazoned straight across the top in letters ten inches tall.
A wand.
And not just any wand, but his. He felt the smooth holly, caressing the length of it, recognizing it not just with his hands but with his magic, too. Magic he couldn't quite reach, but he could feel it, all the same. It was there, a beautiful glow inside him just like it had that first day in Ollivander's shop, the sensation one he hadn't felt since before his operation at Frimley Park. Harry sighed with pleasure, forgetting Malfoy for the moment, and wallowed in the delicious feeling of magic flowing through him.
What he wouldn't give to try casting a spell... but hard on the heels of that thought was the realization that Malfoy was sitting there, watching. The Daily Prophet might have blabbed his lack of magic to the whole Wizarding world, but that didn't mean that Harry was disposed to fail a simple Lumos with the Slytherin boy watching.
"How'd you get this?" he finally asked Draco.
"Nicked it from my father."
Harry drew in a breath. "Oh. That would certainly get you disowned."
"And marked for death, don't forget."
"Yeah, well that part doesn't sound half bad to me, even if you did just give me back my wand."
"Don't joke," Draco urged him. "Not about that."
"What the hell makes you think I'm joking?"
Draco sighed. "Because I've been there, Potter. I've wished you dead. Hell, if you want the truth, I wished you tortured first, too. But I didn't really understand the ugly reality of a wish like that, and when I heard what my father had done to you, I was just... well, revolted isn't even the word. I knew then that I didn't really want a life like that, doing things like that. So..."
"So you stole my wand to get in good with Dumbledore," Harry surmised, curling a lip. "Very Slytherin."
"Yes, it was," Draco unapologetically returned. "But it wasn't like you're thinking. I didn't do it for some coldhearted advantage. I did it because I had to. For one, leaving the family business would put me squarely on your side in this war, and that wand's your best weapon! See, I know who has the twin, and what that means. And for another, I was in deep shite, trying to escape my father's plans for me. I needed help, and that meant I needed a good-will token to prove my intentions, because otherwise, not even Severus would have believed I was sincere!"
"Yeah, well don't think I believe you, whatever Snape has to say," Harry put in, and then dropped a broad hint. "Shouldn't you be in class? It's not the weekend."
"Potions," Draco explained. "Severus let me out."
Oh, Severus had let him out.
"Well, run along and tell him you did you good deed for the day," Harry sniped. "Brought the blind boy his wand, aren't you just the sweetest thing?"
Draco didn't move, not one muscle. Well, as far as Harry could tell.
"What part of get your fucking arse out of this room do you not understand?" Harry bellowed, frustrated.
Footsteps came running, and then Draco was smoothly remarking, "He's fine, Madame Pomfrey. Just blowing off steam. Most probably healthy, wouldn't you say?"
"I. Want. Malfoy. To. Leave." Harry stated in the clearest possible language. "Now."
"Professor Snape asked me to catch him up on what he's missed," Draco explained, his voice so much the personification of innocence that Harry could have screamed. "We're all really concerned that Potter here doesn't fall too far behind. N.E.W.T.s are just two years off, you know!"
The Medi-Witch was muttering as she moved away, that time.
"You're a really bad liar," Harry sneered. "Snape didn't ask you to do any such thing!"
"No, but I bet he'd approve," Draco confidently asserted. "What do you say? I'll just read to you from Potions, and tell you what we did in class with each chapter. It's got to be better than lying here bored to death."
"Fuck off."
Draco's voice went as smooth as glass. "Oh, come now. You'll love listening to me; I've had diction lessons since I was three. I do wondrous declamations. Would you like to hear something classical so you'll know what you're passing up? Perhaps Adelafa Steppleburn's Sonnet 253?" He launched straight into it. "Wast thou awake beside my bed, By Thor's own hammer, dearly led. A pair of nifflers I declare, would be thy trophy in my lair--"
"Shut up," Harry ordered, trying hard not to laugh. It might give Malfoy the wrong idea, might make him think that Harry found him amusing, or Merlin forbid, could actually stand him. "That poem stinks, and as for your declaiming--"
"I'll keep right on with it unless you want to hear about Potions," Draco threatened. "Hmm, you know what would be really fun? How about I start with Sonnet 1 and work my way up from there, see how many I can remember? Hmm, I think I know through about 62 really well--"
"Fine, Potions!"
Draco laughed and pulled a book from the stack. "Oh, don't look so put out, Potter. I do have an ulterior motive, you know. See, I knew that would brighten you right up."
"What motive?"
The Slytherin's voice lost all amusement. "Well. I'm sure you remember that I like to be on the winning side. And you're sort of our vanguard, see? So it won't do to have you leave school unqualified for the Auror's program, no indeed. And no offense, but you need some serious help in Potions."
"I scored Outstanding on my O.W.L!" Harry objected.
"But the advanced level is ten times harder than Ordinary Wizarding," Draco came back. "Tell Granger to tutor you, she's good enough at it. But don't let it slide. We can't afford it."