𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐆𝐎

Part 5

Part Five

He's called to Station One just a bit after lunch, and Draco is waiting there for him, tapping his foot impatiently and talking to his Wrackspurt in a low, swift voice. Harry just looks at him for a moment, and for the first time probably ever, can sympathize with Zacharias Smith. What would it be like, he wonders, to work with this man for years, to become his close friend, to be involved in his life, and not be able to have him? Harry's a big ball of nerves from just over six weeks of it.

Draco leads him away, though not into the Derwent Ward—he takes him over to the lifts and waves his wand carelessly, crossing his arms over his chest when the doors don't chime open immediately.

"Aren't we—" Harry starts, but stops when the blond gives him a look. He looks more tired and worried than before, and Harry doesn't need to ask about how it's going in the Lab.

"We're going to see Luna," is all Draco gives him, as the doors open and they step on.

Harry wisely chooses not to ask as they ride up two floors and get out on the fourth.

Spell Damage is considerably darker and gloomier than Bugs. Harry hasn't been on this floor in years, and as he passes through wards at Draco's side, he's glad for it. The floor is much more crowded than Bugs, with about twice the amount of Healers and Mediwizards walking around in lime green robes, speaking urgently to each other and to their Wrackspurts. Nobody looks up when Harry and Draco pass them, except for one Healer, who gives Draco a death glare as he goes by. Harry notes the silver badge on his robes that identifies him as a Healer-in-Charge. Draco rolls his eyes and ignores him.

"Er, why does that guy look like he wants to maim you?" Harry asks as Draco guides him through one ward and into another. He looks over his shoulder to see the Healer still glaring, his silvery beard twitching slightly as his jaw works angrily.

"Oh, him. That's my old boss. He can't stand me, of course."

Yes, that makes sense—Harry wouldn't be able to stand Malfoy working for him for any length of time, either. "You used to work in Spell Damage?"

"Yes, as a junior Healer. Nobody wanted me to—technically I should've been in the Lab, I'm a better pathologist than anything—but I was first in my class and the top Trainee of the year, so they couldn't really refuse me." He eyes Harry up. "I'm sure Ginny told you that most Healers want to work in Spell Damage, right? Well, I did too. I was still a bit of an idiot back then. Thought working here would give me some kind of glory or something." He snorts. "I learned that lesson fast."

"Which ward did you work in?"

"It's not here anymore, but at the time it was the ward for end stage magical atrophy patients." His lip curls in disgust. "Basically, the place they left the Squibs to die. I was little more than a hospice nurse. You can imagine how I felt about that. But that's how I started researching the subject, and eventually discovered the correlation between memory and magic. It was a long time after that before I got anybody to listen to me about it." He suddenly grins, bright and big and wonderful, and Harry's heart stutters a bit as it turns on him. "But obviously, I did, eventually. So I won—that's why Healer Spleen hates me."

Draco opens his arms out wide as Harry registers that they're now in the Janus Thickey Ward, and he's standing in front of an office that has a placard that reads Healer Luna Lovegood, Senior Mind Healer, Spell Damage. "And here's my inspiration."

He knocks on the door, and when Luna calls out a dreamy, "Come on in," he opens it and leads Harry inside.

Luna's office is, predictably, the brightest spot on the floor. A giant mobile hangs from the ceiling, hanging crystal cutouts of various celestial shapes floating around in midair and catching sunlight, splashing multi-colored light around the room. The walls are painted a pale lavender that looks more appropriate for a young girl's bedroom, and the curtains in the big windows are a bright yellow that seems to match her hair. Two squishy, purple velvet armchairs sit in front of a sprawling desk that's overrun with parchment. Luna sits behind the desk in a purple wing-backed chair, idly doodling on a scrap of parchment as her Wrackspurt does laps around her head.