Getting a response from Harry didn’t do a lot to calm Draco about the situation, realising that he was in a bad shape and likely needed care.
“You’re burning up,” he stated, not seeing the point in wasting time with asking how he was feeling, because Draco simply knew him too well to even consider that. It would be apparent to anyone that Harry was worse for wear and Draco so wanted to do something to make him feel better.
“Is there anything you want? I can get Kreacher to make breakfast,” he offered, having moved his hand from Harry’s forehead and wanting to reach out to touch him again, but feeling unsure how Harry would like it, so he refrained.
“So you have any potions for flu lying around? If not, then I’m sure I can make one for you.”

_________________

Though Harry was able to recognize that he was uncomfortably wrong, the concern in Draco’s voice felt out of place. Living alone, Harry had often enough woken up in similar states, and he knew that, in time, he would be able to drag himself out of bed for a potion.
He barely opened his eyes, looking at Draco through heavy lids, turning slightly on one shoulder, unfolding his arm from beneath himself.
“Yeah,” he repeated, but not before he realized he would have to clarify what he was saying. “In the cupboard in the closet.”
With his free hand, he rubbed at this eyes, making him see specks of light and making his head turn. “I have some for fevers.”

Now knowing where to look, Draco got out of the bed, figuring that it would be better to get a potion in Harry and then start thinking about breakfast.
“I’ll get it, you just stay,” he stated, figuring that he would get Kreacher started if he ran into him on the way to the closet.
It wasn’t difficult to locate the place that Harry had talked about, but felt dissuaded when he only found general fever medication and nothing more specific than that. How Harry was feeling this morning combined with how he had been the evening before, Draco felt fairly certain that it was a case of the flu, and he knew something much better for that.
“Kreacher?”

_________________

Despite the dull discomfort of a fever headache, Harry smiled into the pillow as the mattress shifted. Left alone, Harry was struck with a sense of ridicule, seeing in Draco’s worry a genuine care for his well-being Harry hadn’t even experienced in childhood.
He turned onto his back, draping his forearm across his eyes to shield him from the midday sun. Turning had his head spinning, dizzy in his own body.
His smile, however, persisted.
“Don’t worry too much,” he called out into the empty room, only somewhat certain that Draco would be able to hear him. “Work runs me to the ground every now and then.”

While Draco definitely wasn’t one to talk about a healthy work life balance, it still worried him greatly to hear that Harry often got in a state like this from work. He made a mental note of keeping a check on that, even if he figured that it would be another dead end and thus didn’t feel the need to say anything.
Instead, he asked Kreacher to procure him different ingredients for a flue potion, knowing that it was something that was easy for him to brew and would work a lot better for the symptoms that he was experiencing than the generic fever potions that was avaiablable.

_________________

When no answer came, Harry quickly fell back into a lull. The gentle but steady pressure of his forearm against his eyes distracted from his feverish headache, and Harry was quick to drift back to the brink of unconsciousness, utterly exhausted.

When Draco returned to the bedroom he almost felt bad about having to wake Harry up, knowing that he could probably use the sleep. However, he also knew that it would likely do him good to get the potion and likely also some food.
With that in mind, Draco gingerly placed the vial on the bedside table as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to Harry. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping that that would be enough to stir him awake, even if he looked pretty far gone.
“I’ve told Kreacher to make breakfast and come up with some juice for you,” he stated, knowing that Harry would likely want something to wash the taste of the potion away when he has drunk it.
“Drink this for me?”

_________________

Harry had the sensation of having only just closed his eyes; it felt incomprehensible that Draco already presented a freshly made potion. Bringing a smile to Harry’s lips, hazy and impressed, he slugged upright, barely inching his shoulders up the headboard.
“Did you make this?” he asked, voice once again rough with sleep, eyes flickering between the vial and Draco. It wasn’t a sign of distrust, Harry gently accepting the open vial without waiting for an answer. Above all, he seemed humoured, maintaining eye contact as he drank the potion, its rim hiding the grin that pulled at his lips.

Even though he was clearly very sick, Harry still managed to grin in a way that made Draco’s heart jump in his chest, knowing that he would keep doing exceptional things if it meant that Harry kept smiling at him like that.
“Yeah, I did,” he said with an almost shy smile, feeling pretty good about the entire thing, especially knowing that the potion he had concocted was far better than what Harry had lying around.
“Thought it would do better than a generic fever potion.”

_________________

Harry hummed, the potion still thick in his throat and his smile still easy on his lips. For months, Harry had actively experienced Draco as a Healer, but this felt different; this was the first time Harry actually felt sick.
Blindly placing the vial onto the bedside table, Harry capitalized on the momentum of the motion to reach for Draco, catching him by the elbow.
“You didn’t have to,” he muttered, something about his voice making it sound like a praise rather than a real complaint. He tugged Draco closer, shamelessly.

There was something so deeply intimate and vulnerable about the way that Harry pulled him closer, making Draco’s knees weak and his heart jump. It showed only in a warm smile, happy to know that he had managed to do something that was good for Harry.
“I wanted to,” he said, still smiling softly as he moved properly onto the bed to lie together with Harry again, not wanting to linger on just how desperately he sought out Harry’s presence constantly, knowing that nothing good lay down that road for him.
“I’m good at potions,” he added with a warm smile, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Harry’s forehead Ashe wrapped an arm around his waist.

_________________

Letting his hand trail up Draco’s arm as he moved closer, Harry’s hand settled at Draco’s shoulder. Despite his fever, he felt giddy at how little prompting Draco had needed to settle back down with him. It was too much - or perhaps it was so easy, finding that Draco so easily offered anything Harry could ever ask for.
Sick and strangely reassured by that comment, Harry gently but greedily tightened his grip around Draco, his hand falling off his shoulder to properly wrap an arm around his neck, inviting him close enough for Harry to press a kiss to Draco’s lips.

It was all far too easy and Draco already knew that, finding himself getting comfortable in Harry’s embrace and eagerly returning the kiss, even if he should probably fear the risk of getting sick. However that was the furthest thing from his mind, knowing that he would be hard pressed to find a situation where he wouldn’t want to kiss Harry.
His hand at Harry’s waist tightened its grip slightly, thrilled to find bare skin for once, and found himself pulling Harry closer.

_________________

_____________

In the end, Harry had been unwell for the entirety of the weekend. It hadn’t been until Monday morning that the fever had passed and, as many other times before it, Harry felt well enough to work, so that’s where he went. He hadn’t been particularly productive, though.
Whether it was the regularly administered potions, the fever itself or Draco’s frankly surprisingly gentle attention, Harry had felt like putty for the past few days. They had slept together twice, and how tender Draco’s affection had been still sent shivers down Harry’s spine whenever he found himself lingering too long on that memory.
The only other alternative distraction, unfortunately, paled in comparison.
Buchannan had come by Harry’s office some time after lunch, bringing with him a report forewarning that the stabilizing wards the Ministry Cursebreakers had cast around the house at Towthorpe would soon have to be either replaced or dismantled. It remained half read on his desk, the lingering discomfort of yesterday mixing with the sourness of an unsolved case, only able to get through a few paragraphs at a time.
Subsequently, it proved a pleasant change of pace when the plaque mounted on the mantle of his fireplace shifted, the letters shining a golden Home moments before the flames turned green.

While Draco had ended up spending most of the weekend at Grimmauld place, he had left during the day Sunday and had managed to get some work in. He had been comparing all the signatures he had gotten from Harry and had been working through most of Sunday and the entire morning Monday as well.
The second he realised that something was terribly wrong, he immediately went to see Harry.
He had started by returning to Grimmauld place, having not paid any attention to the time of day, but when he realised what time it was, and when Kreacher told him that Harry wasn’t there, Draco immediately went to the ministry instead.
As he walked through the fireplace, he was comforted to see Harry sitting at his desk, relieved to know that he wasn’t disturbing anything important.
“Hi, sorry to barge in like this,” he started, clearly already frantic.

_________________

Harry had already abandoned both his quill and the file before Draco actually walked through the fire.
“No, you’re alright,” he reassured, leaning back in his chair with a great sense of relief, being offered a stellar opportunity to put his work aside.
His eyes skimmed over Draco, inevitably, such a perpetual interest in him, not in the slightest diluted by the weeks they had spent together.
When his attention returned upwards, finally meeting Draco line of sight, a smile was at his lips. “Did Kreacher send you over?”

Draco still felt more than a little frazzled by the entire thing, feeling a little frustrated that Harry seemed to be so calm, but he had to remind himself that Harry had no way of knowing what Draco had just learnt.
“Yeah, in his way,” he stated, trying to properly gather himself such that he would know what to actually tell Harry. He had no idea if Harry would understand the implication of what he was about to tell him, but he hoped that he would be able to get it through.
He took a seat in the chair across from Harry, pushing a rogue strand of hair away from his face as he looked at Harry, almost as if he tried to properly take him in.
“Lost track of time and didn’t realise that you weren’t home,” he explained, having not thought too much of what it would look like with him appearing from Grimmauld rather than the manor.

_________________

It was only when Draco took a seat that Harry realized he had expected him to circle the desk, if only for a greeting. It had him sheepishly leaning forward towards the table, an attempt to dispel that expectation and the implications it carried.
“I feel much better today,” he offered unprompted, thinking that Draco’s restless behaviour might stem from a suppressed disapproval upon not finding Harry at home and resting.

With what Draco had just found out, he had almost entirely forgotten about Harry’s bout of illness during the weekend, but now that he mentioned feeling better, Draco was once again reminded. It made him smile softly, glad to hear that Harry was doing better, even if he feared that he was about to ruin that with what he had to tell him.
“I’m glad,” he stated, genuine smile on his face, making him realise just how much he cared about Harry feeling good.
“I’ve got a change to study the signatures,” he stated, seeing no reason to beat around the bush as to the reason why he had just stopped by Harry’s office. “It doesn’t look good.”

_________________

Draco’s addition made Harry’s expression waver, finding it difficult to read the tonal shift, when a gentle smile had been on Draco’s lips only moments ago. Having gotten over his cold, Harry didn’t feel any different; comparatively, he felt better.
It brought a furrow between his brows, a brief flash of confusion ebbing over onto his expression.
“It is bad?” Harry asked, needing the clarification more than he cared about how juvenile the question sounded. To him, there was a space between not good and outright bad. Draco would probably agree that it was probably in that exact space where they had existed for the past half a year.