"Oh. My. Gods. What are you doing to me?" Draco's whine hasn't stopped since morning and Harry is trying to be patient.
"I'm getting the poison out of your system."
"It feels like you're burning me alive." At present, Draco's clothing is infused with sweat. He's thrown all the sheets off the bed entirely and is lying spread-eagle, trying to cool down.
"Drink some water."
"I don't want any water."
"Please drink some water."
This back and forth has repeated itself several times and Harry has the next bit memorized.
"If you want the water drunk that badly, drink it yourself!"
"I am not the one sweating profusely, Draco."
"Oh god. Is there no air in here? Do a cooling charm, Potter. I'm dying."
"You're not dying, Draco."
He shakes out of the memory. The cool rag in his hand reminds him that Draco truly is desperate here. Moving over to the table, he dips it into cool water, wringing it between his hands before hovering over Draco.
"Hold still."
"Like I can move."
"Just hold still, okay?" Harry uses the rag to wipe the sweat off, cooling Draco down a little. "Any better?"
"No." The pout is a bit silly, so Harry tries to ignore it.
They sit in silence until lunch arrives. Tovo's been instructed to bring tea and toast for breakfast and lunch; Draco might be up for soup by dinner. Draco takes one look at the toast and rolls his eyes. He grabs the plate and starts shoving it in his mouth.
"I wouldn't do that—" Harry's up and next to the bed, but it's too late. "Okay then."
Twenty minutes later, Draco's curled in a ball clutching his stomach. "Why did you let me do that?" He's groaning and trying to sway, in hopes of moving things through his stomach.
"I tried to tell you. You haven't eaten real food for a while." Harry's lopsided smile is weak.
Late in the evening when Draco's tossed himself across the bed and requested his sheets again, Harry tries to leave for the bathroom.
"Who's out there?"
"Draco?" Harry says softly. "Go back to sleep."
"Father?"
He steps closer to the bed, one hand on Draco's arm. "Draco. It's me, Harry. Go back to sleep. You need rest." The back of Harry's hand slides across Draco's forehead to check for a fever. He's warm, but not overly so.
"Father, I thought I'd lost you."
Harry reels back. He clutches his hand as if it's burned, rubbing the back in soothing circles.
"I knew you'd come back. I didn't think you'd abandon us." Draco smiles. It's the smile of a child—a young child who's not yet been ruined by the world. "Have you seen mother?" Draco looks around. "Where is she? Mother! Mother! Mother, where are you?"
Harry steps forward again and places a hand on Draco's. "It's all right, Draco. She's fine. Go back to sleep." The words are difficult, but he manages.
"Okay." Draco is asleep before he finishes.
Harry just makes it to the bathroom before his chest heaves in great, silent sobs.
An hour later, Draco cries out at the pain in his stomach and Harry is pulled from sleep where he drifted on the chaise. Harry waits to see if it will subside, but when it doesn't, he makes his way over and sits on the edge of the bed. He tries the cold rag, but Draco shoves it away. He offers water, but Draco spits it out.
"I'm not sure what I can do for you right now, Draco. It's just going to hurt for a while."
There is no response. All he gets is a hand tightly gripping his own. So, he sits; there on the edge of the bed, Harry sits with his legs dangling and left calf tucked beneath, falling asleep, but he doesn't dare move. Draco holds his hand until he slips back to sleep. It's only then, in the early hours of morning, that Harry thinks to slide off the sheets and stumble back to the chaise, where he curls up into a ball to wait.
"Shit."
The buzzing in Harry's ears turns vulgar as the word registers. He sits up and runs a hand through his hair.
"What are you still doing here? Get out, Potter!" Draco's dramatic arm flails toward the door.
"I'm not leaving," Harry says, voice still rough from sleep.
"You are going to leave."
"No." Harry stands. "What's your problem this morning?"
"Did you happen to dump a gallon of water on me last night during your antics?"
Harry looks concerned. "No."
Draco pulls the covers tightly around his chin. "Then fuck off, Potter." He sinks lower. "Please?"
Harry stares.
"Fine! I've bloody pissed myself, all right! Is that what you wanted to hear?" He throws the blanket aside. "Now get Malve!"
"The house elves have been instructed to ignore you until tomorrow."
"What?" Draco's voice breaks. His wide, blinking eyes resemble those of an owl and Harry is suddenly struck with how much he misses Hedwig.
Harry clears his throat. "Ah, yes. So you'd better get out of bed so I can change the sheets."
Looking completely mortified, Draco scoots out and hurries toward the bathroom. He doesn't pass up muttering a quick, "You've got to be fucking kidding me" as he scurries by.
It doesn't take long for Harry to strip the bed and maneuver clean sheets onto the mattress. By the time he's tugging the duvet back over top, Draco emerges. He's dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a loose shirt, but Harry tries to avoid watching for too long.
"Well?"
Looking up, he sees Draco stiffen. "Well what?" Harry asks.
"Well, aren't you going to say anything?"
Harry straightens, thinking for a moment before speaking. "I'm not sure what you think I have to say to you Draco. How about breakfast?"
Leaving Draco staring open-mouthed, Harry walks out the door and down the stairs to find Malve. She's darning a sweater when he finds her, a bit surprised when he ducks through the door.
"Good morning, Malve."
Jumping to her feet, she pats down her dress and nods to him. "Mr. Harry Potter. What can we be doing for you?"
"How about breakfast?"
"Yes! We would love to make sir breakfast."
He smiles, informing her that, "It'll be for Draco and me." A thought occurs to him and he tilts his head. "I didn't ask him where he wanted to eat."
"Malve will ask. You go and get cleaned up, Mr. Harry Potter. Tovo will come find you when all's ready."
She pushes him out the door with urgent hands and demanding calls to other elves. As he walks out into the hall, he can hear her making all sorts of fuss. Harry laughs before heading back to his room for a shower.
Tovo's familiar face greets him once he's had a chance to get dressed. She tugs on his wrist and indicates he should follow.
"Mr. Harry Potter, sir hasn't seen this part of the grounds. Tovo knows this for a fact! Tovo thinks Mr. Harry Potter, sir will love it."
"I'm sure I will."
She leads him out one of the patio doors he knows well, but continues farther past the bricks. To his surprise, she turns a sharp corner around a set of hedges and he's greeted with rows of flowers in every configuration. Some are blooming and those, he stops to admire. Others are still shrouded in green cocoons, which he thumbs as he walks past.
Once, Tovo reaches out and slaps his hand away. "Mr. Harry Potter, sir does NOT touch the Venemous Tentacula!"
He holds both hands up to show her he has the message and they continue walking. As the rows break left and right, there is a small grass circle which houses a bench and table. The slick blond hair of Draco is easy enough to pick out, but it's the sight of waffles surrounded by various toppings that has him breaking into a brisk jog.
"Oh, Tovo. This looks delightful!"
"Yes, Potter. It's nice to see you too."
"Shut it." Harry makes a face for a moment before turning back to Tovo. "Can you please tell Malve that I appreciate all the effort that went into this?"
Tovo nods, then seeing Harry sit down to eat, disapparates.
They fill and empty their plates twice, eating in silence. Once Harry's belly is full and he can sit back to rub it in pure joy, he looks to Draco.
"Why did you choose here, of all places, to eat?"
Draco's fork grinds against his plate through the syrup. "It reminds me of my mother."
"Oh," is all Harry thinks to say at the moment.
"This was her favorite place. She planted every flower in here." Draco looks around, then continues, "She wouldn't let a single house elf touch a bulb or use a watering spell. She did it all herself." He stabs the last bite of his waffle, chewing sullenly.
"It's lovely."
Draco nods.
"I want to ask you something. It's… something you mentioned earlier."
He wipes his mouth, replacing the napkin on his lap. "Very well."
"Tell me about Blaise."
"You do like to hit a man hard early in the morning, don't you?" Draco chews the air for a moment before taking a drink and setting his glass down gently. "What is it, exactly, that you want to know?"
"Anything? Who was he to you? Were you—together?"
"Blaise is complicated. He was… he was the closest I'd ever come to calling someone more than a lover."
Harry isn't sure how to respond.
"Is that what you wanted? Anything else you want to know about him? Did you want to know that he gave the best rim jobs or that he preferred to top? Did you want to know that he sang the most beautiful Italian arias in the morning? What about his job? Did you know that Unspeakables are required to lie to their partners about the cases they work on? Not just omit details, but outright lie?" Here, his voice escalates and his hands are shaking. "How about him telling me he loved me when he was engaged to a woman—someone we both knew. Someone he was happily fucking at the same time."
Draco's body shrinks back against the bench and Harry shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't mean—"
"I'm sure you didn't."
Just beyond their little cove, Harry spots something large and white shimmying toward them. He perks up, straining to see.
"Draco?" He's ignored. "Draco, what is that?" Harry points. Draco turns around and snorts softly, some of the tension leaving them.
"Peacock. There are dozens of them." One side of his mouth lifts in a sad approximation of a smile. "Mother used to say she wanted a pet. Father purchased a breeding pair of albino peacocks for her. It became sort of a joke—she said they reminded her of him." He drops his fork to the table. "Honestly, they remind me more of her."
Harry's turned to look at the approaching bird and doesn't catch the first few tears as Draco wipes them away. When Harry turns back to see why he'd gone silent, Harry closes his eyes and leans forward, placing a hand over Draco's.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Draco yanks his hand back, dropping it to his lap. "Unless you can bring my mother back, then no—there's nothing."
Silence returns as the peacock reaches the table, attempting to search Harry's hair for some unknown insect. He swats it away, no longer in the mood for company.