Author's Note: Hello again! I've been writing lots. Amazing what you can get accomplished in an island paradise. I've got the next chapter ready to go too, and ¾ of the one after that done, so the next few updates should be pretty quickly, pending a good internet connection. I've been on honeymoon for the last week and a bit in the Galapagos, and just arrived in Peru. The world is very, very awesome. I've posted pics on Facebook, but my Facebook is set to private. I can add some photos to my long neglected blog though if anyone wants to see some major cuteness.

Chapter 17: Sickness

The skin beneath his eyes felt puffy. His nose was raw. His throat burned. He did the only logical thing.

"I think I might be dying," Draco said into his phone, having punched in Hermione's number and not even giving her a moment to answer.

"Dying?"

"You don't sound concerned."

"You don't sound like you're dying. I'll be over in a few minutes." Hermione hung up her phone and looked at George. "Apparently Draco is dying and has invited me to come watch."

"Can I come? Ron wouldn't have wanted me to miss that."

Hermione snickered. "I'm pretty sure it's a false alarm. I wouldn't want you to come all that way and get your hopes up. Beside, the Forever Sucks is so close to being finished." She pocketed her phone.

"Are those real common among Muggles?"

"They're getting more popular. It's just a mobile version of the telephone. You did pay that much attention in Muggle Studies, didn't you?"

"Absolutely not. How does it work?" he asked cheerfully, happy to delay her from Malfoy's side. And just a little genuinely curious.

"Everyone is assigned a number when you get a telephone—mobile or not. If you know someone's number, you can call them. Kind of like sticking your head in someone's Fireplace for a Floo call."

"No, this is better. You can take it with you."

"I'm surprised the wizarding world doesn't have a popular equivalent. Harry had a set of mirrors that once belonged to Sirius and his dad, but I've never seen anything like them in any of the shops. And I think the mirrors could only contact one another."

George shook his head, shaggy hair flying a bit. "There isn't anything like that on the market. They must have made it themselves. But if we could make a magical equivalent to one of those phones…"

"It's brilliant."

"Definitely brilliant," he agreed.

"I'll go make sure Draco isn't actually dying, and I'll be back. We have work to do." With a glimmer of a smile, she Disapparated and reappeared in her flat. A quick look around showed her all ways well, and she crossed the hall to Draco's flat and knocked on the door.

She heard a muffled response and pushed the door open, giving it a discreet tap with her wand.

Draco was sprawled over the couch with the duvet from his bed half-covering him. He looked at her accusingly with slightly glassy eyes. "You took your time getting here."

She looked him over. "Well, you're not dying." She approached the couch anyway and put there back of her hand to his forehead. "You do have a slight fever," she admitted. His eyes were glassy and the skin around them was puffy. A little moisture dripped from his nose. It was probably the worst she'd ever seen him look.

"I need a Pepper-Up Potion."

"Absolutely not."

"I'm dying."

"You're not. You're sick in a perfectly normal way."

"So Muggles just…endure this?"

She crossed her arms. "If I had to guess, you have a head cold, though it's possibly the flu, if you're stomach starts acting up. In either case, it's probably viral and there's no cure. I can get you some Muggle medications that will deal with the symptoms, but I'm not bringing you any potions that would risk violating the terms of your sentence and possibly send both of us to Azkaban." She glanced down at her robes and sighed. "I don't have anything across the hall at the moment, but give me a few minutes to put some Muggle clothes on and I'll go to Sainsbury's." She would not give him the Pepper-Up Potion in her pantry. Part of this whole punishment was to make him see what life as a Muggle was like. Maybe he would even come to a better appreciation for Muggle-borns and his own magic. That in mind, she didn't delay too much in getting changed and finding all the necessary items and bringing them back from the store. She put the bag on the couch next to Draco when she came back in. She hadn't bothered to knock.

"I've practically brought you a pharmacy. Cough drops for your throat. Antihistamine for your running nose. A giant box of tissues. Paracetamol for your fever," she announced. "Read the labels on the sides of the bottles and don't take too many."

"What about soup?"

"Pardon?"

"When I was ill at the Manor, the house-elves made soup."

"I am not a house-elf."

He continued staring at her with a wounded expression.

"The best thing you can do right now is take your medicine and sleep," she said, making her voice slightly gentler. "Call the restaurant and tell them you won't be in tonight. I've got to go back to work, but maybe I'll bring some by on my way home." Hermione left Draco's pitiful gaze and went back to the shop, where she started drawing up a list of notes for George on how mobile phones worked and what sort of capabilities they had, so that he could start looking for magical equivalents.

"That's the third time you've stared off into space," George told her. "Come on, Malfoy actually is dying isn't he?"

"No, he's just being an absolute baby about a head cold." She sighed. "He only thinks he's dying because he's so used to having magic available to solve his problems for him. And I suppose also because he's had other people around to solve problems for him most of his life. I can't help but think if someone would have suggested taking his magic away years ago, a lot of bother might have been avoided. I know it's a rare punishment, but I think it's a lot more rehabilitative than sending someone to Azkaban. The Wizengamot ought to consider it more."

George shrugged. "There are some people who probably could be helped this way. And there are some people who would kick you if they couldn't curse you."

Hermione shivered, recalling in detail the knife Bellatrix had used to cut letters into her arm. Some people didn't need magic to be cruel.

Lee had noticed the silence that developed in the back of the shop and poked his head in with a too-cheerful smile. "Aren't you kids supposed to be working on our next great moneymaker? That new dragon-skin jacket I want isn't going to buy itself, you know."

George through a quill at him, dart style, and the end managed to stick into the sleeve of his robe. "You do need a dragon-skin jacket—this would have bounced right off."

"Tell that to my boss. I'm severely underpaid and need a raise," Lee told him, cajolingly. He shot a wink at Hermione and ducked back out into the main part of the store.

"I don't think we'll get anything else done this afternoon. The Forever Sucks are ready to launch as soon as we get enough of them produced in adequate numbers and get them packaged. Should be ready to start selling them in less than a week."

"And I'll wrack my brain on how to make the calling mirrors work." She pecked George on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione Apparated back to her neighborhood and emerged in a little used lane, heading out to get a couple of containers of takeout soup. Soup in hand, she made her way back to Draco's flat to bring the big baby some soup.

The next couple of days were rather miserable for Draco. His head felt heavy, he was exhausted but couldn't sleep, between the coughing and the sneezing and general difficulties breathing. And Hermione would only bring him nourishment about a quarter of the time that he asked, so he made sure to ask often to increase his chances. At one point, she looked rather exasperated and brought him half a dozen cans of soup and explained just how easy it was for him to open them up and heat them himself.

"It's not the same as the soup you brought from the restaurant," he pointed out.

"Of course it's not. That was fresh and homemade and this is in a can. But you don't have a house-elf, or your mother, to cook for you, so you'll have to make do with what you can do on your own. You may be fortunate in having a friend who will sometimes bring you something when you look absolutely wretched, but I'm not your maid, and I'm not catering to your every whim," she told him sternly. Besides, it did seem he was starting to recover. "When you're feeling well enough, I suggest taking all of your bedding to the laundromat. If you keep sleeping on it while it's still full of germs, you'll relapse."

Draco groaned at the thought of making the trip. He hadn't actually left his flat for several days, except for a couple of trips across the hall with his blanket around him to ask Hermione for something to eat. She had shooed him back over to his own flat, telling him he wasn't welcome in hers until he'd stopped sneezing and coughing. He'd spent quite a bit of time watching telly, for lack of anything better to do, until Hermione brought him a jigsaw puzzle when he complained one day.

"It's one of the ways Muggles entertain themselves at family gatherings and when they're home sick," she explained, handing him a box with a picture of a house and garden on it.

"1000 pieces?" he said, shaking the box.

"Yes. You won't finish that in a hurry." There was a certain amount of satisfaction in her voice as she said it. However, there was even more satisfaction on Draco's face when he managed to convince her to stay for a bit and help him start it. They had most of the edge pieces and a section of one of the windows by the time got up and dusted her robes off to leave.

True to George's estimate, by the beginning of the second week of November, the Forever Sucks were for sale at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. A couple of non-sales demo packs had also been sent out to Ginny at Hogwarts. Hermione was expecting that any day, McGonagall would be sending a letter of complaint to Molly, and Molly would send George a Howler at the shop.

But the days passed, and no Howler came. Orders did pour in from Hogwarts though, and a number of people did come into the shop in person to buy them. Apparently someone in the office of Magical Law Enforcement had gotten ahold of some and thought it was a rip—so the whole office was interested in them now, as if they were all school children. Hermione shuddered. During the development process, she and George had both tested the candy on themselves. The taste was abysmal, and only continued to get worse. They sold like…well, like candy.

She and George were both hard at work making more Forever Sucks, as well as restocking several other items that had had a surge in popularity again as people came in looking for the new treat.

Hermione did find herself writing to Molly one day, asking how she was, telling her a little of how she was herself. She posted the letter before she could change her mind about sending it.

Draco had made it through his first experience of illness as a Muggle and decided he was determined not to have to experience at that again. On inquiring as to what he needed to do to minimize that possibility, he learned about how Muggles believed disease spread, was instructed to eat lots of vegetables and little pills called vitamins, and make sure he had plenty of water, exercise, and sleep.

He hadn't finished the puzzle during his illness, and contemplated putting it away to get it off his table, but it seemed a shame to ruin all that effort without finishing it, so he left it there. One day, it bothered him that it was sitting there three quarters finished, and he invited Hermione over for the evening to finish it over some take out.

Finally, it was done.

"Well, that was a lot of effort. Now what?"

"Now? We take it apart and put it back in the box until the next time you get sick," Hermione explained, looking around for the box.

"After all that work?" He paused a beat. "And next time? I'm taking vitamins now. I'm not going to get sick."

The bushy haired brunette snorted. "Vitamins do help your immune system, but they won't flat out prevent you from getting sick. It very well could happen again." She studied the puzzle for a moment. "There is an alternative for the puzzle if you'd like your table back without taking it apart."

"What's that?"

"I've never done it myself, but I've seen other people who have. We can get a special type of glue to sort of paint over the pieces so it dries as a whole, and then frame it. You don't have anything on the walls. It could liven things up a bit."

"You offered once to help me paint the walls."

"You've never taken me up on it."

"Does the offer still stand?"

"If you're interested. It's a lot of work."

"How about Wednesday?"

"We'll start with the living room and see if you want to do anything else," she agreed.

"And the puzzle?"

Hermione chuckled. "Tuesday we'll go out for painting supplies and puzzle glue. Just don't let Xavier knock it over in the meantime."

The hardware store was a bit of an adventure. Draco could hardly fathom how many different things were needed just to change the color of his walls.

"What's that? Why do I need to buy that?" he asked, watching Hermione put rolls of something blue in the basket.

"It's tape, so you can get clean lines and not make a mess on the floor."

"Have you done this before?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. It seemed like too much. There were brushes and rolly things. Tape. A big sheet of plastic. Trays. They hadn't even picked a color for the walls yet.

"No," she admitted. "But I have read about it. And I do remember when my parents had the kitchen repainted when I was seven." She paused. "I couldn't control my magic then, and I was so upset about my book being taken away—my mother told me I couldn't have it at the dinner table and put it on top of the fridge. The next thing I knew, it had floated off the fridge. I was so surprised that it landed in the tomato sauce that was on the stove. They never managed to get the wall clean, and ended up having to paint it instead." She looked at him and lowered her voice a little more, not that she'd been speaking particularly loudly. "At the time I remember my parents arguing a little and my father telling my mother that she must not have put the book up securely and it must have somehow slid off. I suppose it must be easier in a wizarding household. When odd things happen around the children, at least the parents know why it's happening."

"It can still cause it's share of problems."

"What sort of accidental magic did you do?"

"Oh, it wasn't exactly an accident. I didn't think I could actually do it, but I knew what I wanted to happen and it just…happened."

"What was it?" she looked at him and was surprised to find him looking just a little sheepish.

"I told my father I wanted to go out flying again and he wouldn't let me. He tried to tell me that it was against the law to let children under the age of 11 fly three days in a row. He was lying. I was so mad…I must have conjured fire to his robes, because one minute he was sitting in his favorite chair, and then next he was blazing."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "That's strong magic."

"It was a strong emotion. I wasn't used to being told no for anything."

Hermione leaned against the shelf of paint cans. "What did he do?"

"He screamed and yelled for a minute before coming to his senses and putting the fire out with a spell. And he called my mother in to celebrate that my magic was already so strong. She had the house-elves bring me ice cream, and then he took me out for another flying lesson after all."

"So you bullied your way into getting what you wanted after all."

He shrugged. "Bullying didn't usually work with my father. He was someone used to getting his own way by whatever means necessary. But I suppose that day it did." They were both quiet for a moment, and then Draco lifted the basket to poke around in it. "Is there anything else we need? All of this rubbish must be going to cost a fortune compared to what the Ministry is giving me to live on."

"You've got your income from the restaurant as well, so don't make yourself out to be a total pauper or a martyr. You're on probation and could be in Azkaban right now. I imagine when your year is up, the rest of your family funds will be released to you. In the meantime, make do. Most of this stuff you'll be able to reuse if you decide to paint any of the other rooms. All we need to do now is pick a color and you'll be all set."

After some debate, Draco agreed to a sort of sage green. He had been considering a dark Slytherin green, but Hermione talked him out of it. Owing to Draco's insistence that the bags were already plenty heavy, they skipped the craft store. Puzzle glue would just have to wait.

They lugged their purchases back to Draco's flat and Hermione started directing him on the things he would need to do for them to start painting tomorrow. "The furniture is going to have to come away from the walls. And you'll want to wear something that you don't mind getting paint on, because it may not come out."

"Anything else? Shall I remove the ceiling so it doesn't get splattered on?" he asked sarcastically.

She smiled sweetly. "Do you want my help or not? You asked for it, and I intend to help you do it right."

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to make breakfast before we get started tomorrow?"

"I could do that," she agreed. "8:30 okay?"

"Yes, I'll just wander over when I start to smell bacon and eggs."

She shook her head, chuckling, and said goodbye. She had dinner to cook, and a few things she wanted to look through in one of her old spell books to work on the mirrors. As she shut Draco's door and stepped out into the hallway, she took a sharp breath.

Standing outside her door, in a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt, his hair in its usual disarray, was Harry Potter.