He didn't sleep that night. He laid in his room, the same room he'd occupied since childhood, and he stared up at the black silk canopy above his bed. His leg burned and ached and throbbed. He'd had his nightly dose of drowsiness draught mixed with dreamless sleep. He'd had a concentrated blend of draught of relief and alleviation tonic. He'd even taken a calming draught to dull his nerves and soothe his anxieties. And yet he stared at the ceiling.

'…it really was good to see you, Draco.'

The words went round and around in his head. They wouldn't leave him alone; his occlumency seemed unable to locked them away in his mind. They kept slipping between the cracks and filling up the available space in his brain.

He allowed his head to loll to the side. There was a bottle on his nightstand. He shouldn't take it, not with everything else he'd taken; the healer inside of him was horrified that he was even contemplating it. The pain in his leg and the incessant words in his head and the fact that he hadn't slept well in, fuck, years made him pick it up and flick the cork out with his thumb. He put it to his lips and tipped his head back, swallowing a large dose of sleeping draught.

Sleeping draught was like dreamless sleep and drowsiness draught mixed and times ten. As soon as it hit the acid the in his stomach, he could feel it starting to take effect. He managed to snap his fingers and his house elf, Tibley, appeared at his bedside.

'Master Draco needs something from Tibley?' she asked.

'Wake—' he slurred and shook his head. 'Wake me, ugh, in eight hours. Invigoration draught, if you have to.'

His head fell back to the pillow. As darkness took him, he heard, 'Tibley will do as Master Draco says.'


He awoke to the sensation of drowning, and of a weight on his chest. He threw his arm out sluggishly and caught something. He heard a thud and a hiss of stifled pain. He turned on his side and wretched, the foul taste of bile and regurgitated invigoration draught filling his mouth before it spilled out onto his silk sheets.

Tears filled his eyes, and he wiped them away hurriedly, along with the mess around his mouth and on his chin. He remembered the thud, and the events of last night came flooding back.

He shot up and snarled in pain as his leg protested the sudden move. 'Tibley,' he snapped.

A voice from the floor said, 'Yes, Master Draco?'

He sighed and tried to rein in his agony. 'You okay?'

'Tibley is fine, Master Draco. Tibley did as Master Draco wanted.'

He nodded to himself. 'You did. Well done, Tibley. You're… you're dismissed, for now.'

There was a crack and the room felt emptier. Draco looked at the mess of vomit on his bed and down his chest and sighed. He pawed at his nightstand and found his pocket watch. 9:15. He was due at St. Mungo's in less than an hour. He sighed again and traded the watch for a half empty bottle of extract of easement. He took that and washed the taste from his mouth with his own patented blend of preservation potion mixed with a concoction designed to promote flexibility in his muscles. He finished off with a lucidity tonic, then he grabbed his stick and managed to push himself out of bed.

Time to get ready for work.


He sat on a chair under the shower, letting the spray wash the night's sweat from his body, along with the splatter of vomit and potion off his chest. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, and then down his face.

'Hello, Draco. It's lovely to see you.'

He growled. Her voice wouldn't leave him be, and he knew exactly why that was. Sleep deprived Draco was none-the-wiser, but Shower Draco knew all. It was the sincerity. That's what it was. This wasn't some random person showing an act of charity to the former Death Eater turned cripple. This wasn't the normal platitudes that one said in polite conversation. Luna Lovegood meant every word she spoke.

Draco knew liars. He was related to some truly talented deceivers, and through them he'd met masters of the craft. He himself was no slouch when it came to deception. She wasn't lying. How could she not be lying? The last time he'd seen her was on the battlefield, and the time before that… the time before that, she was imprisoned beneath his home, being tortured and starved by his family. It shouldn't be lovely to see him. It should fill her with revulsion to be in the same room as him. And yet… she wasn't lying.

He shook his head and turned the shower off. He was going to be late.


Draco stumped his way into St. Mungo's as his shift began. Head Healer Rosewood was stood at the main desk, waiting for him. The old man, almost ninety years old, was glaring at him from beneath bushy grey eyebrows. His chin was cleanshaven, but the man had the bushiest eyebrows Draco had seen on a human being. The ends curled down until they were level with his nostrils.

'You're late, Healer Malfoy.' He said.

Draco stared down at his boss, standing easily a head taller than the old man. 'By a minute or two, if my watch is right.' He replied icily. 'And this conversation is making me later still.'

Rosewood's mouth thinned. 'Don't think you'll be getting paid for this time, Malfoy. I'll see to it that you're not.'

'You'll pay me for my time,' Draco snarled lowly, 'or I'll go to the board about the Mallow case. You remember that one, don't you? The little girl you put in a coma?'

'That's blackmail.' Rosewood said. 'I won't be manipulated by the likes of you.'

'Then say goodbye to that cushy office. Probably your pension too, especially if the family realises they can still sue you.'

Draco limped off towards his room. He called out to Glenda on reception, 'Give me five minutes and said my first patient through.'

'You got it, sugar.'

Rosewood remained where he was, pale as a spectre.


Draco collapsed into his chair and let his stick fall against the desk. He breathed in deep and let it out of his nose in a slow exhale. He'd had confrontations with Rosewood before, but nothing like that. The man had had it out for him since day one, which made it baffling to Draco why he was hired in the first place. He'd wondered if the Ministry had stepped in after he'd completed his sentence and probation period; maybe they figured serving the community would help rehabilitate him further.

The thought made him snort. Yeah, as if they cared about rehabilitating him. He was surprised when he didn't get a cell next to his father's.

His first patient knocked at the door, and the day began.


Draco was in the canteen of St Mungo's when he saw her. At first, he thought she might be a hallucination; a consequence of the quantity of potions he'd consumed over the last decade that had finally caught up to him. She seemed to float through between the tables, lit from above, like a halo surrounding her white-blonde hair.

Then he saw someone accidentally bump into her and proceed to apologise. He found it unlikely his addled brain would construct anything as mundane as an apology.

She looked up and he knew that he'd been spotted. She smiled widely at him and began floating in his direction. He considered leaving before she could reach him. Two things stood in the way of that plan; firstly, what was left of his pride wouldn't allow him to run away. Second… his gaze fell on the cane leaning against the table. It had been a long time since he'd run anywhere.

'Hello, Draco.'

He looked up and met her stare. Her eyes, he noted, were a pale silver-blue. Beautiful, really.

He nodded and said, 'Miss Lovegood. How's the head?'

'Better, thank you. The potion you gave me is helping.'

'It's just a painkiller. Nothing special, you could buy it from any decent apothecary.'

'Still. Thank you.'

He waved it away and looked down at his food. She said, 'Can I join you?'

He sighed. The manners his mother instilled in him as a child dictated that he allows her to do so. He nodded and gestured to the chair opposite.

She sat and continued to smile dreamily at him.

He asked, 'Is there a reason you're at St Mungo's, Miss Lovegood? So soon after your last visit, I mean.'

'Yes, I'm visiting my father. He's got mumblemumps.'

'Huh, he's on bedrest then?'

'Yes.'

She fell silent, just staring vaguely over his shoulder with a dreamy smile.

He came out and asked, 'Is there something you wanted, Miss Lovegood?'

'I'd like it if you called me Luna.'

He stiffened. 'I don't think that would be appropriate.'

She tilted her head to the side and examined him. Her expression went from dreamy haze to needle-like focus in an instant. 'Do I make you uncomfortable, Draco?'

'I'd prefer Healer Malfoy.'

She nodded. 'I'd prefer Luna.'

He exhaled through his nose. He grabbed his walking stick and pushed himself to his feet. 'I should be going. I have duties to attend to.'

'You never did tell me what happened to your leg.'

He stopped. 'It's none of your concern.'

'But I am. Concerned, that is. You look like you're in pain. Are you in pain, Draco?'

'Constantly. Good day, Miss Lovegood.'

He left as quickly as his leg would allow.