Draco Malfoy loved his wand. It was loyal to him. Even after that time it had lost its way in the hands of Harry Potter, when the git returned it to him after the war in a resembling act of truce, the wand had vibrated in his hands sending jolts of electric joy throughout every inch of his skin. He welcomed it back like an old friend, no, like the extension of his body it had become through the years, a prosthetic limb of sorts he had forcibly part ways with and once intertwined in his biometrics he didn't plan to ever let go.