It was everywhere at Grimmauld Place. Draco could smell it in the air as he walked through the door, he could feel it in the brittle snap left by too many cleansing charms. The curtains and carpets were laced with it, the walls were covered in a slick film.
Sickness. Disease.
Harry had developed a rare and unusual illness after the war. The medics at St Mungo's said that it was caused by frequent and irregular influxes of uncontrolled magic. They explained that the body was like a conductor, that magic flowed through us, and we acted as a valve. When we called the magic, the valve opened - when we didn't, it stayed sealed shut. Only in times of heightened emotion (call it fight or flight, if you will) was the valve ever supposed to open of its own accord.
Harry's valve was broken. The open connection was allowing magic to seep through unbidden, and slowly but surely his natural affinity to magic was eating away at his very being.
Draco made his way up the staircase and across the hall. He visited Harry every week on the same day at the same time, and today was no different. When he reached the door to the master bedroom he paused. Taking a deep breath he carefully composed his features and countenance before casting a quick cleansing charm over his whole self; in his fragile state, nobody was willing to risk exposing Harry to outside germs. The act of cleansing oneself had become almost religious in its gravity for those who continued to visit Harry as he dwindled on.
Having collected himself, Draco pushed open the door and breezed into the room, announcing his arrival as brightly as he could.
"Good morning, Harry," he said airily. "It's that time of the week again." Harry smiled, and Draco didn't notice the way his thin colourless lips strained to fulfil the simple action. He ignored the grey pallor of his flaking skin, and the sunken gauntness of his once youthful face. He turned from the frail limbs that were too light even to make a significant impression on the puffed up bed coverings, and made no effort to meet the now clouded and useless eyes that were once such vibrant emerald gems.
He did all this and more, because he knew that no matter how little this mere shade of the once great Harry Potter seemed to resemble its predecessor, it was Harry.
His Harry.
He strode casually across the room and pulled open the curtains in such a way that the bright light of the sun fell in a radiant beam across the bed, but not over Harry's delicate skin.
"It's a glorious day outside," he commented. Harry said nothing, but he didn't have to; Draco knew how much he'd enjoyed a warm summers day - how much he missed it.
Draco continued on in such a way for some time, as was his usual Wednesday routine. He talked of old times and new, of Quiddich, Hogwarts, politics and the Weasleys (because he knew it pleased Harry to hear of them, despite his displeasure in conveying). All the while he kept his sprits high, and his voice light. Minutes turned to hours, and eventually it came time to leave.
The door swung inwards for a second time that day and Ginny strode into the room. Draco observed that she must have come straight from the Ministry, as she was still clad in a formal grey pencil skirt and matching suit top. Immediately she moved to the window and cinched closed the curtains, sealing out the ray of light. She seemed to furrow her brow in disapproval as she turned a blaming eye on Draco, but Draco had already turned his attentions back to Harry.
Taking his cue, Draco stood and leaned over the bed so that Harry might feel his weight on the mattress beside him. Gently he lowered himself down and pressed a fragile kiss to Harry's forehead. Harry smiled, and Draco smiled back as a bitter sweet sadness gripped his heart.
"See you next week," he said, and turned to leave. He could still hear Ginny fussing over him as he made his way out the door.
The following Wednesday the funeral was held. Draco didn't attend.
Written for: 'The Game of Life' Challenge. Prompt: illness.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
CC cover image (entitled 'Bed Sheets [Explored 2013-04-27]') courtesy of Manuel Delgado Tenorio on Flickr.
A/N: Poor Harry! No stone to bring him back this time. Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought :) GG x