Prompt for the wonderful IrishChick93 :]

Thank you for this prompt, hon'! I enjoyed writing it.

You know, sometimes I think I'm a horrible writer, so I'm really sorry if I completely failed with this :/ *Cookie hug*

Harry groaned. Maybe waking up today wasn't a good idea…

His head ached, his stomach was in knots, and he couldn't breathe out of his nose. Harry sat up, and although it was gingerly, the incessant pounding in his head grew stronger and more debilitating.

Long story short, he had no idea how he showered and got to work, but one way or another he ended up in his padded leather chair in front of his desk.

Piles of parchment and manila folders boarded him, and Harry (despite his pounding head, intense nausea spells, and sinus congestion) vowed to push on, although sniffling.

He, himself, was not sure if this was wise.

He dipped his quill in the inkwell before striking it artfully across the parchment, filling out the details of their next case, what they know, what they don't kn-kn-kn—

"ACHOO~!"

"Potter!" Draco exclaimed, barging into the office he shared with Harry. The raven groaned, rubbing his sinuses.

"..Malfoy?" Red and green eyes gazed sleepily up at the blonde, he sniffled.

Draco shook his head. "No, this won't do. You're sick as the dog you act like, Scarhead. Go home."

Harry shook his head, and sneezed again with a moan. "Hafta be here, you know that."

"Well, it's not vital. We'll survive the day, surely. Now, go home." Hard grey eyes looked down at him, tone and face all business (and slight concern.)

Harry shrugged, "If you want me to go, you'll have to drag me, Malfoy."

And that was just what he did.

Draco left a note on Shacklebolt's door explaining how Harry was being an idiotic prat by not staying home when he was sick before tugging Harry by the ear back to 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Why do you even care, Malfoy?" He groaned and sniffled when Draco pushed him on to the couch.

"Because in order for us to do our jobs our best, we must be in top physical and mental condition-"

"-Well, duh, but—" Harry cut in, but his voice was soon stomped out.

"And furthermore, I flat-out refuse to work with you whilst you are sniffling and whinging and falling asleep with your nose in the inkwell." Draco finished while tucking a blanket around Harry and shoving his cuppa under his nose.

Harry took it and drank deep from it after receiving a nasty look for looking at it with suspicion. He settled back into the couch with almost problem after that. He felt like poop that had been thrown in a blender, therefore, he was in no place to argue with someone who only wanted him better.

Even if Malfoy was being a complete arse about it.

"Git…why are you taking care of me anyhow?" Harry smiled, almost lazily, at Draco.

Draco smiled softly back, sitting next to the sick Auror on the sofa. "I suppose, even though we've had our rows, you aren't horrible company…and you know I'm not good at making friends. Not to mention how many people would be after me if I let you suffer death by cold and flu…"

Draco turned his face when his cheeks dusted pink.

Wait, was Malfoy…blushing?

Harry shook his head slightly with a smile….Bad Idea. He groaned and closed his eye, regretting his decision with every fiber of his being after each loud, painful bang against the inside of his skull. Draco offered his hand, so Harry let his head be pat by the blonde. It wasn't like it felt bad, after all…

Soon, raven curls ended up on a sharp, but oddly comfortable shoulder. Green eyes were hidden behind heavy lids as Harry was pet and cooed into a doze that was difficult to fight.

Wait…cooed? Bollocks, Harry didn't care anymore.

He didn't.

He liked the blonde. He always had, but it took the bloody flu to realize it.

The cool touches and kisses to Harry's steamy head.

The hot sips of tea that soothed the monster in his stomach.

The tissue that was placed at his nose for him to blow into.

The fact that Draco didn't just drop him off and go back to the office; he stayed. He stayed to be sure Harry was going to be okay.

Harry awoke later that day when the sun was lowering and everything was a light goldy-orange curled up in a ball on the couch; not to mention the smell of delicious hot broth and vegetables in the air.

Otherwise known as food.

Real food.

And when Draco popped his head out to give him a smile and a 'Supper's almost ready,' he got a fluttery feeling in his stomach.

It told him that he wanted this sight, the sight of Draco standing in his kitchen, to be the first of many.