A VERY, very, very late belated birthday gift to my darling friend Juliet aka Juliet'sEmoPhase, who is not only a total swetheart but writes the most awesome, sweetest drarry stories I have ever read. If you hadn't read her stories, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND you check them out.
Juliet, you incredibly-awesome, incredibly-patient darling, I am soooo sorry it took forever to get this one. I meant to get it done earlier but time just slipped away. Hope you like it.
Flu Bug Remedies
Draco Malfoy was not a patient man-or child, according to people reaching over his small, under three feet height, but that was beside the point.
He was not patient at all. In fact he was sure, his godfather would have no problem labeling him as the most impatient, six-year old brat he ever known. He couldn't help it though. He was simply the way he was. He hated waiting, hated when things were denied to him. Like cookies because it was close to dinner time and Mother didn't want him to ruin his appetite. Like getting a new toy-broom since the one Father recently brought him was still in good shape. Or, worst, keeping kept away from the person he loved and wanted more sweets or toys, his best friend who for the past week has been out of Draco's reach.
When Aunt Lily flooed in last Sunday for tea, without Uncle James by her side, he didn't think much of it since Uncle was an Auror who was mostly called away on a lot of missions. He rushed over to greet her with a hug, gaining a peck on the forehead in return, and then looked behind her for a small boy with messy, pitch-black hair, round-framed glasses that were usually crooked, and bright green eyes that were much like his mum's but in Draco's opinion were more beautiful.
The only thing behind Aunt Lily was the fireplace.
A frown pinched his face as his eyes scanned around the around and still didn't see his best friend. Pulling back from the hug, he asked his aunt, "Where's Harry?"
His aunt smiled at him softly. "In bed with the flu, I'm afraid. There's been a nasty bug going around his school and he caught it."
"Oh, the poor dear." Mother frowned. "How is he?"
"Resting mostly. His fever is really high, though. He was so hot, I could easily fry eggs over his forehead. James is with him now, trying to keep his temperature down."
Trying, Father often said, was just another word for barely succeeding. The fried-egg bit worried him. Draco's chest hurt at the thought of his best friend, confined to his bed, sick and miserable, having to swallow down too many spoonfuls of nasty medicine. "I wanna see him."
"You will when he's better." Father said.
"But-" He was cut off by a sharp look that stated there were no "buts" in this argument.
"You have not had your shot yet and it will not do anyone good if you caught the bug too. Then we'll have two sick boys on our hands. When Harry is well enough to have vistors, then you may see him."
"But-"
The look sharpened. "Until then, you may write him letters. Perhaps even cards to help him feel him better."
Frustration brewed inside Draco like a potion bubbling inside a cauldron. Letters and cards were not the same thing. It wasn't as good as having your best friend by your side. He knew it, Harry knew it. Even an idiot knew that. However Draco didn't dare blurt out the thought. Father wouldn't take too kindly to being called an idiot even if he didn't mean it, and the look in his eyes stated that the case was closed, so any arguments or protests Draco made would only be a waste of breath and energy.
So he swallowed down his annoyance, ran up to his room, and started working on the best get-well card anyone has ever seen with funny pictures and lots of sprinkle.
A day went by and, other than a short letter from Aunt Lily saying Harry loved the card, nothing.
The next day, he sent another card and hours later received a respond from Uncle James thanking him on Harry's behalf.
The fact that Harry was too sick to say thank you himself worried Draco
Another day came and went with another card, then the next day, and the next. In between creating more cards, he tried passing the time by playing with his toys, exploring more of his playroom and the gardens, reading his favorite books. But those things were much more fun when he had his boy by his side. It was hard to play a game of make-believe without someone else adding more details to the adventure. Hard playing tag in the gardens with no one catching you.
"When will Harry get better?" he asked Mother as she was tucking him into bed.
"Soon, Dragon." She smiled. "Lily owled me this afternoon. His fever went down a bit, thank Merlin, but he still doesn't feel well."
Stupid flu, Draco scowled. If it was an idiot like Harry's stupid cousin, he'd punch it. Or grab hold of a wand and hex it six different ways. "Why can't I see him?"
"Because he's too sick, darling. He barely left his bed at all this week. You two wouldn't have much to do."
"Nah-ah." Draco protested.
The smile on her face said she didn't believe a word of it. "I know you want to see him, Dragon, but you need to be patient. The flu will pass over soon enough."
Not soon enough to him. He felt like Christmas will faster compare to Harry getting better.
After a quick story and a kiss to his head, Mother wished him sweet dreams and left him alone. Draco watched her as she left, frowning. He lay down flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, watching the constellation of stars twinkle and dance over his head. The sight before excited him, making him feel like he was one with the stars, but tonight it was no more exciting than watching paint dry. He rolled over to his right side, then to the left, flopping back on his back again, annoyed.
He wondered if this was how Harry felt.
Draco hated that his parents and his uncle and aunt refused to let him see his boy until the stupid flu went away. He hated being kept apart from his best friend. He hated even more that he's been told the same thing by all the adults: be patient, it will pass, he'll be better soon.
He didn't want to be patient. He didn't want to wait. He wanted to see Harry now.
So why don't you, a voice whispered in his head.
Because…because…the more he thought of it, the more the arugments he thought of, like Father being upset, getting in trouble, crumbled like sand castles. He was a Slytherin, or at least he was a son of former Slytherins bound to follow in their footsteps. Being sneaky was practically a Malfoy trait like their light-blond hair.
Quickly, he pushed aside the blankets, grabbed his robe, put on his slippers, and slipped out of the door, moving as fast and quietly as he could down the stairs, hoping Mother and Father were in their own wing. He found a stash of floo powder resting by the fireplace as if he were waiting for him.
He scooped up a handful and tossed it inside, whispering, "Potter Cottage."
The specks of dusts flew from his hand and exploded into flames. Taking one more glance to make sure no one was around, Draco slipped inside.
The cottage was just as quiet as the manor, just as dark, which meant the family called it a night. He could hear the soft snores of his uncle that slipped through the cracks of the first door in the upstairs hallway.
Draco tried to keep his steps as quiet as possible as he crept down the hall, into the last door by the left. Into a room that was almost pitch-black dark; the only source of light coming from the golden-snitch nightlight clipped onto the wall. He used that as his guide through the maze of scattered toys. One false step, his aunt or uncle would hear it, and then it would all be over before it even began.
He let out a quiet sigh of relief when he managed to move across the room, over to the bed, without attracting attraction or making a sound. He leaned over and looked down.
His best friend has always been small, but this time he looked even smaller, swallowed up in the layers of blankets wrapped around his body. His black hair was messier than usual, practically a bird's nest, sticking out in every direction. His face was completely empty of color, almost as white as a sheet, except for his nose that was as red as Rudolph's nose.
Poor Harry. Draco stroked his head, amazed by how hot his skin was.
Harry's eyes shut tighter for a moment before they opened, revealing the beautiful emerald-green shade that became Draco's favorite color, especially for eyes.
"Dr..Draco?" A wet cough rattled his chest. "W-what are you doing here?"
Draco smiled gently at his best friend. "What does it look like, git? I'm keeping you company."
"Prat." Harry wheezed before another cough interrupted him. "You can't be here. I'm sick. You'll get sick to."
"I already had my shot." It wasn't a total lie. Mother had taken him to St. Mungo's for his vaccination. Last year. But Harry didn't need to know that tiny, little detail. "Besides," Draco crawled onto the bed and brought the small boy against his chest, holding him tight. "It's gonna be take a lot more than silly flu bugs to keep me away from my boy."
A smile lifted the corners of Harry's lips. "You're so silly."
"I thought we already settled this, Potter. I may be silly, bur you are first. Even more so."
"Prat." He still had enough strength in him to pass him a cheeky smile, a familiar sight that melted Draco's heart.
"Git."
Harry giggled. Draco kissed his forehead. The two snuggled close together, shared one last time, and drifted off into dreamland together.