Harry awoke to the sounds of retching. Draco must have caught the flu or something. Maybe he should see Madam Pomfrey? He stood, stretching and was about to grab more potions from storage and fetch the witch when Draco called out to him.
"Harry!" Draco's tone was the same as always, but his voice was strained, and he'd used Harry's first name.
Something was wrong. He vaulted over the sofa, rounded the corner, and nearly slipped in the puddle of dark vomit splattered across the floor and streaked with Draco's footprints. He took the last three steps to the bathroom and stopped in the doorway, shocked by the state of things.
Draco was on his knees, trembling, in front of the toilet. Bloody vomit covered the white porcelain, dripping onto the tile below. Draco was looking up at him from the floor, lost and frightened. This was worse than the fiendfyre.
Harry was there beside him, scooping him up from the floor before he even realized he was moving. Draco flinched at the first touch, but as soon as he was firmly in the other man's arms, Harry felt him wrap arms tightly around his neck, clinging to him. His head fell to Harry's shoulder and he buried his face in the side of the other professor's neck.
Harry didn't take that as a good sign. He had been intending to take Draco to the infirmary in Hogwarts, but the way he was acting made him panicked. He pulled Draco closer and apparated them both to St. Mungo's.
They stood in the middle of a busy waiting area, mediwitches and wizards in gaudy lime robes bustling back and forth. Harry scanned the room, looking for someone who appeared to be in charge. A young witch with strawberry blonde curls was the first to notice them and rushed over, calling out to a group of others, who immediately summoned a gurney.
Harry couldn't really make out what was being said. Draco had raised his head from where it rested and Harry could feel his breathing quickening, coming out in short bursts. Draco's heart hammered in his chest and he let out a small sound. His arms seemed to convulse around Harry then and he let out a hiccuping sob as one of the witches tried to pull his grip free.
Harry had to fight the urge to sweep them both away from the swarm of staff when Draco buried his face in the crook of his neck and sobbed outright, clinging like Harry was the only thing keeping him from drowning. He felt small in Harry's arms, too thin to be healthy. How had he not noticed? They weren't friends or anything, but they still worked together. He should have noticed.
If you had asked him just two days ago how he felt about Draco Malfoy, Harry would have said that he tolerated him because he was an exceptional Potions Professor, but that he would never be able to forgive him for the past. He had done too much and contributed to too much loss. No, he wasn't truly awful like his father, and in the end, he had never been a true death eater, in spite of the mark he'd taken. But it was still too much. Harry couldn't just move on and be friends with someone like him.
But now, Harry would forgive anything to stop the man currently being pried from his arms from looking at him with the huge, terrified grey eyes of a child. Still smeared with blood and completely coming apart, he looked so much like he did all those years ago, being hauled off by Aurors after the battle. Or after Sectumsempra.
"Harry please!" Draco flailed and reached for him again, crying out.
He didn't know exactly what the blond was begging for, but he stepped up, pushing through the people trying to hold Draco down. One hand came to Draco's, lacing their fingers. The other smoothed back blood-streaked blond hair gently encouraging him to relax back against the gurney they had brought out after getting one look at the two of them.
"Shh, I'm not leaving. I'm here. You're okay, now lie back and let them help you." Harry said, voice shaking.
He'd seen Draco like this only once before. The day Voldemort had been killed, the man had pulled Draco into an obscenely close hug, whispering in his ear. Draco had broken free of the Dark Lord's arms and run right to Harry. Some of the DA had thrown hexes, and he was screaming in agony at Harry's feet, but he clung to him, begging refuge.
Harry had been unable to deny him then, too. His enemy there at his feet, completely broken, at his mercy. The boy he had been obsessing over, fighting against for seven years. It had given him a rush, one he knew he should be worried about. He could have turned Draco away and watched the other side destroy him then and there. He'd enjoy it even. It was what he deserved, Harry thought.
But then he thought of being in the same position, Draco saying he wasn't sure this was Harry Potter, helping his rival and everything he was supposed to be against. He couldn't kill Dumbledore. He didn't know the necklace would do what it did to Katie Bell. He'd fed Luna and Mr. Ollivander even at the risk of being killed. What would it make him if he gave in to those desires? If he let the power corrupt him?
Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a sick gurgle. Draco was being checked by a kind-looking witch in uncomfortably green robes when he suddenly choked, bloody vomit spilling from nose and mouth. Harry pulled him upright while the witch hastily cast a series of charms and spells that stopped the vomiting and had Draco clean and sedated in a matter of minutes.
Harry blushed but sat as close as he could when the witch told him he'd have to let go so they could run some diagnostics. They used spells and conventional muggle blood tests to thoroughly search for the cause of Draco's sudden illness. Harry just sat, watching the man sleep and wondering again about when he had gotten so thin.
When they'd put him in a thin hospital gown during the tests, Harry noticed deep blue bruises along Draco's spine and shoulders. Had those been there the night before? Taking his hand again, Harry noticed more bruising around his wrist from when he had pulled Draco's hand back from his mouth the day before. He couldn't have been gripping him that tightly. Right?
It wasn't long before a proper Healer showed up to run a couple of tests and ask Harry a lot of questions. He tried to get out of it at first, they weren't even friends. He knew almost nothing of Draco's personal life. But the other wizard insisted that it was urgent, he couldn't wait for someone else without even asking Harry. Draco was very, very unwell.
He'd asked usual questions, but Harry had trouble with more than a name, age, and other simple questions like if he'd eaten anything strange or taken any potions recently. Harry told him about the vomiting and the fever and the cough. He told him that the night before it had taken several potions to stop his fever and how he had looked unwell all that week.
He was about to insist they call Pansy or someone when the wizard asked if Draco had had his magic taken or stifled for any reason. Harry almost said no until he realized that they must have done something to him in Azkaban. That's why it took Sirius so long to escape after all. He didn't have his magic all that time.
That seemed to satisfy the man and he left quite hastily. Harry hung around a while longer, but eventually, he decided it was best to let someone at Hogwarts know what was going on. He considered an owl, reluctant to leave Draco after he'd promised to stay with him. But the man likely wouldn't remember. And he would much prefer one of his friends to Harry.
That decided, Harry scrawled a messy note for the man, just in case and left it on the little rolling table at the end of the bed. He stepped out into the hall and apparated through the wards once again. He arrived outside the headmaster's office and took the stairs up two at a time.
Harry burst in, breathing hard, and he had to bend, hands on knees for a moment while he caught his breath. McGonagall jumped up and spelled a chair up behind him. "Sit down. Good heavens, Mr. Potter! What's happened?" A glass of pumpkin juice levitated to his left, and Harry downed it before explaining what had gone on. McGonagall agreed to contact others Draco might be close to, but Harry was to accompany him until someone arrived. Luna was his emergency contact, so that was likely who he'd be expecting.
Harry turned to leave with a quickly muttered "Thanks." and bolted down the stairs. He stopped off at his quarters to grab a book, pen and quill, blanket, and pajamas for the other professor. He'd also stopped in at Draco's to grab a few of his clothes, a couple of books that were by the bedside, and make sure they were properly locked and warded.
When he finally made his way back to Draco's room, Harry stepped in to find it empty and there was a moment of panic before he learned that the other man had been moved to another ward. The Muggle Illnesses and Afflictions Ward. Harry was confused and concerned if he were being honest. He didn't think pureblood wizards were susceptible to muggle illnesses. Their magic generally kept them protected, and fewer of them ran in pureblood families. Though Draco had spent some time without the use of his magic, Harry thought that it would have fought off anything.
He hurried through the corridors and burst in, startling an obviously irritable and confused Draco as he was shouting at one of the Healers. "I told the last one, there's not an ounce of muggle blood in my line. I CAN'T have a Muggle's disease! You lot MUST have made a mistake and I want a more competent Healer! I- What are you doing here? I thought you'd left. Just as well, Potter, I don't need you here." Draco turned on him, looking quite a lot better than he had that morning.
"Fine with me." Harry said, turning on his heel and leaving. He didn't go far, though, choosing to lean against the wall just beside Draco's room. He had to wait for Luna, after all. Besides, he wanted to know what the Healer had said to make him so irate.
"Mister Malfoy, I assure you that the results are accurate. You have Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia, as well as an infection of the bacteria Helicobacter Pylori, which was responsible for your gastric bleed. We've got you on a strong antimicrobial drip that should clear up the bacteria in a few days, but I'm afraid there's not much in the way of magical cures when it comes to muggle forms of cancer. You will need a different type of treatment than we usually provide." The healer finished, and it took Harry a minute to fully absorb what he'd said.
Draco had Leukemia. Muggle cancer. There was no magical cure. He'd have to go through what ordinary muggles did. And he had some sort of infection that caused all of that blood. Harry began to pace, no longer listening to Draco and the healer as they spoke. Draco had cancer? How had no one noticed? How was there no magical treatment? Did Draco even understand?
Before Harry knew what he was doing he'd walked down the corridor and into a random office with floo access and was stepping out of Hermione and Ron's sitting room fireplace coughing up soot the next second. He was surprised to find Hermione in a chair by the window, muggle and wizarding medical books floating around her as she flipped through them. His stomach lurched and their eyes met. She took one look at Harry and a random bowl shot down the corridor and into his hands just in time for Harry to vomit spectacularly.
When he was done, she'd spelled away the mess and pressed a cold glass of water into his shaky hands. Vaguely, he was aware of the kettle being put on to boil as he slumped into a wingback chair facing the corridor leading to the kitchen his friend had disappeared into. She returned a few seconds later and took a seat on the couch to his left.
"Now, care to tell me what that was about, Harry?" Her hand rested warmly over his where it sat atop his knee. He looked up at her and flushed, suddenly feeling self-conscious over his reaction. Why should he be reacting like this? He didn't even like the git! So why had the news given him such a shock.
"Draco has muggle cancer. Some type of Leukemia or something. And an infection with some bacteria, heliocopter something, that made him vomit blood. There was so much of it, 'Mione." To his horror, his eyes stung with tears and his voice had sort of gone out in a rasp.
"Harry, what type of Leukemia? And you're SURE the healer said Leukemia?" her voice was steady, calm, but she was looking at Harry with a weirdly soft expression. He nodded.
"Luna owned me a few minutes ago, a nearly incomprehensible letter asking me what I knew about muggle cancers, but- that CAN'T be right? His magic would never allow something like that to begin growing as far as I can tell. Unless-" Books began to flutter open again and Harry watched her mutter to herself for a while before they all stacked themselves neatly on the coffee table in front of them. She scrawled a quick reply to Luna and then she was pulling Harry up from his chair and they were apparating back to St Mungo's.