“Ow ow ow ow ow,” Draco groaned through gritted teeth, clutching his head. What the hell happened? he wondered. He sat up and squinted briefly at the room around him, taking in the pale green walls and the row of beds with neatly tucked blankets that awaited the next occupant. On his left, there was a striped cloth curtain screening from view the occupant of the neighboring bed. The décor obviously meant he was at St. Mungo’s, the wizard hospital. He tried to piece together the events precipitating his arrival, but it made his head throb, so he stopped. Clearly, whatever it was, it was Granger’s fault. Wincing as his head gave another painful throb, he levered himself out of bed. He found his clothes in the cupboard of the bedside table, and began to pull them on under his hospital robes. Now that he was dressed properly, he felt more confident, but the effort had tired him out. Draco sat back down on the bed to regroup and consider his next move, all the while swearing like a dragon smuggler.
* * *
“Shush, Crookshanks!” muttered Hermione groggily, annoyed by a growling noise nearby. She had a splitting headache, and wanted to go back to sleep. As she lay in bed, she slowly realized that, while Crookshanks might growl on occasion, or even cat-talk to himself, it was doubtful that she had ever heard him mention “fornicating chizpurfles” before. She was just starting to take in her surroundings when she heard a serene voice addressing her from the doorway.
“Ah, you’re finally awake. I understand that there was quite an explosion,” said a blond Healer, whose wand was tucked behind her ear. She looked at Hermione expectantly.
“Luna? Luna Lovegood? What are you doing here?” asked Hermione. She finally pulled herself together enough to realize that she was in a hospital, rather than a really large bedroom. “Are you a Healer now?” she added lamely. It was quite obviously so, since Luna wore the uniform of a St. Mungo’s Healer, with its crest of a crossed bone and wand. Gingerly rubbing her aching temple, Hermione was beginning to think that all these sudden school chum reunions were bad for her health. The growling noises continued on the other side of the curtain; perhaps her neighbor was a werewolf.
“Yes,” replied Luna dreamily. “I decided to specialize in Spell Damage, after Hogwarts. Very interesting things people manage to do to themselves with magic.” She sat down on the foot of Hermione’s bed and consulted a clipboard she had brought in. “In your case, for instance, there are some nasty side effects to a Legilimency-Legilimency duel. You’ve obviously found out about the explosion, unconsciousness, and the headache.”
Hermione nodded, then, when her head throbbed again, wished she hadn’t.
“Usually, a bond of some kind is created between the duelists, as well,” Luna added.
Bonded? To Malfoy?!? thought Hermione. She deliberately schooled her expression into one that conveyed something more like curiousity, rather than rising panic. “What kind of bond?” she asked Luna in a would-be casual tone.
“That’s the interesting bit,” Luna continued enthusiastically. “There’s a great deal of variation, depending on the strength of the spells involved. I have personally seen a case where the wizards involved consistently chose the same clothing; it was quite funny because they were neighbors and they were always bumping into each other, dressed like twins,” she giggled. “Another bond made the one of the wizards involved aware of the books the other had read. He joined a book club, without ever having to read any books himself.”
Hermione tentatively checked her mind for bits of Malfoy. Finding no obvious signs of incursion, she asked, “Do the effects show up right away? I mean, I would know what sort of bond it is, right?”
“Not necessarily. It takes some time for the bond to fully develop, at least until the headache goes away,” she added thoughtfully. “Usually, it’s just odd bits of information being traded back and forth between the two minds. Theoretically, though,” she added, “the bond could involve the souls. But it would be very unusual. Should be interesting, in any case. ”
Draco had been listening on the other side of the curtain with a sense of foreboding. He had long ago set a policy for himself of avoiding attachments of any kind. He had even sold the now-tamed Malfoy Manor to a tour company after Hogwarts, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the reflected infamy. He much preferred the anonymity of the flat he had gotten for himself in London. He felt that, if he was going to be stared at, he’d at least like to have earned it. And now, this spell backfiring had tied him to Granger. This whole business of soul bonds can go hang, and leave me well out of it, he thought mutinously.
Reaching a decision, he rose from the bed and dramatically ripped the curtain aside. The effect was spoiled a bit by the slight wobble caused by standing up so quickly, but he plunged on, nevertheless.
Hermione was startled but Luna was not at all perturbed by Draco’s sudden entry. She turned and cheerfully greeted him. “Oh, good, you’re awake!” she said. “I was just telling Hermione--”
“I heard what you told Granger,” snarled Draco, cutting her off. “I am not hanging around here waiting to find out what kind of spell-induced weirdness Granger has set me up for.” With a contemptuous glance at Hermione, he strode from the room as with as much haughtiness as he could muster.
Luna raised her eyebrows, but didn’t stop him. Hermione just stared at the doorway through which Draco had just left.
Suddenly, as if in reply to Draco’s outburst, Hermione turned pale, lunged toward the basin on her bedside table, and vomited spectacularly into it. She continued to retch for several moments, while Luna made sympathetic noises and occasionally waved her wand at the basin, vanishing its contents.
Finally, Hermione seemed to feel better. She absently pushed back a few wisps of hair that were tickling her forehead, and gratefully accepted the glass of water that Luna had poured and offered to her. Her recovery, she noted with irritation, coincided with Draco’s return, supported by a thin, bearded wizard with a disgruntled air about him. Draco was even more pale than usual, and allowed himself to be steered back to his bed, where he sat down with a shaken, dumbfounded look.
“Met ‘im in the Atrium, I did, Healer,” the man explained loudly to Luna. “’E comes over all pale, like, so I asks ‘im what’s wrong. Opens ‘is mouth but don’t get a word out afore ‘e pukes all over th’ place. Canna have tha’ at th’ Min’stry,” shaking his head, “so I decides to floo ‘im back ‘ere.” He glanced back at Draco. “I guess you’re no’ done wi’ ‘im.”
Luna thanked the gruff wizard effusively for so kindly returning her patient. The wizard blushed beneath his beard, muttering, “T’weren’t nuthin’,” and left, looking pleased with himself.
“A very deep bond, then,” said Luna softly, as if speaking to herself, “if it demands the close proximity of the wizards involved.” Addressing her patients in a louder voice, she said, “Will you move in together, then?”
Taken off-guard by the seriousness of Luna’s question, and the absurdity of her predicament, Hermione began to laugh. Draco looked at her in astonishment.
“What’s so funny?” said Draco crossly. His head still ached abominably, and the vomiting fit had not improved his outlook.
She asked him in a mock-sultry voice, “Your place or mine?” Her voice cracked at the end, and dissolved into a fit of giggles.