__<br/><br/>When Draco had sent for Coote to retrieve Harry’s wand, Harry had been struck with a worry he couldn’t quite verbalize. After almost two months without it, there was a strange fear of rejection, that every small observation Draco had made on the changing nature of Harry’s magic would all together amount to a change so severe and radical, that he had become unrecognizable to his own wand.<br/>Harry had felt his shoulders settle when that hadn’t been the case. Far from it, really.<br/>Standing in the middle of Draco’s office, Harry had summoned several objects with precision, and gone through another few household spells with ease. Latest, Harry had performed a pathed<span style="font-style: italic">Accio</span>, forcing the teacup to take the longest but safest path to him, rather than the shorter, more perilous route littered with obstacles.<br/>Catching the cup mid air, Harry’s eyes returned onto Draco, awaiting judgement, as he placed the cup down on the closest surface. There was, however, an undeniable sense of restless ease about the way Harry fidgeted with his wand, feeling quite certain nothing was wrong.