Hidden Pain (Drarry) [BEING REWRITTEN]

Chapter 27: The Sickness

Harry carefully turned Draco over to see him better after the boy went limp and quiet. "Don'tbedead, don'tbedead, don'tbedead, don'tbedead, pleasepleasepleaseplease don't be dead," his mind cried desperately. Once he got a good look at Draco's face he could see that he was breathing, he just looked... Sick. That was the only way to describe his appearance. Sick. Ill. Unhealthy. And so Harry panicked. Again. But who can blame him. "What do I do? Do I take him to the hospital wing? Can I even take him there? Probably not... I'm too weak. Damn it. Why did I have to be so weak. Damn it Harry. So what can I do? Can I even do anything? Think, Harry, think." His mind raced with questions and scenarios, freezing him where he was for a good five minutes. He eventually came to the decision that he would try his best to carry Draco. Where to, he didn't know. He didn't know if he wanted try going to the hospital wing, which was his best bet, or try carrying him back to the ROR and try taking care of him there. He felt stupid for being caught between the two options. The obvious one was to take him to the hospital wing and have Madam Pomfrey take care of him. But he didn't want to go there. Because then he'd have to reveal himself to Madam Pomfrey to explain what was happening. And he felt selfish and terrible for even thinking about risking Draco's health just because he was being stupid and stubborn about keeping out of sight of the Hogwarts staff. But small poisonous thoughts etched themselves into his mind. "Surely the ROR can help me. It can help me take care of him. I can find things to help him and we won't have to go the hospital wing." He couldn't believe that his mind was throwing these thoughts at him and he felt a small pang of guilt at the fact that he was really considering it now. "He'll understand," his mind told him as he picked Draco up as best as he could. As he threw the cloak over the two to the best of his abilities. As he stumbled and staggered his way back to the room of requirement. His mind told him over and over again, "He'll understand."

He made it to the room eventually and, gratefully, placed Draco on the bed provided. Harry sat down on the floor next to Draco's bed and watched him. At this point Draco was sweating and panting quietly. "Fever," Harry thought instantly. He swallowed past the lump that formed in his throat. Draco had a fever from extreme and/or sudden stress. Stress because of what he'd read in the newspaper without a doubt. Draco had read the paper and the news caught him off guard, not only that but the news concerned his safety as well as others, so the body's natural response was to just shut down completely. Harry only knew it so well. He couldn't count the times he'd fallen sick because of the conditions of his life. The countless times he forced himself up to go see Madam Pomfrey when, by some luck, he became sick in Hogwarts. And the other countless times he forced himself up to face the grueling tasks of the day in his house life. And, as pathetic as it was, even with the many times he'd face illness because of stress, Harry didn't know how to treat it. At all. It would seem like time blurred for him, because of his mind repressing the horrible memories the best it could. He never took care of himself. Very rarely he was taken care of at all. When he was sick at Hogwarts he would go to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey would give him something, and that was it. He'd take whatever she gave him and he would be better in a few hours after some rest. But when he was sick back at Privet Drive he'd let it run it's course while overexerting himself, making his condition worse. He'd never let it run its course in a healthy way. As he was looking back, a small nagging thought in Harry's mind sprouted. "You can prove yourself by taking care of him," it said. And then it bloomed. "If you take care of him, he'll realize that when he comes to. And he'll see that maybe you're not as useless and weak and idiotic as you seem. And if you take care of him, then maybe you'll prove to yourself that you're not as pathetic, useless, idiotic, and weak as you seem. Surely you can do this right. It's a simple task." Harry sat there, wide eyed at the thoughts passing through his mind. "Prove myself," he murmured.

Draco felt hot. No. Wait. Now it's cold. But he's sweating...? It's cold and he's sweating? What...? That's... Odd... Everything hurts. He feels weak. Can he lift his arm? No. No. Bad idea. It hurts. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as white hot pain flashed through his arm, leaving a throbbing ache behind. He felt small. When was the last time he got sick like this? Why was he sick? What happened? He can't remember what happened. He just... Remembers... A paper? A paper. What was on it? Something... Something bad... He can't remember. He doesn't know if he wants to. His head hurts. It hurts. It all hurts so bad. Make it stop. Please. He needs... He wants...

"Mom..." Draco rasped, voice quiet and shaking. Even if the sound was just barely a whisper, Harry heard it. And heard it clearly. He got up from his spot on the floor where he was reading up on fevers and went over to Draco. He looked at his face, his eyebrows were furrowed as if he was thinking about something, his face was beaded with sweat and tinted red, he was shivering slightly and panting quietly. Harry looked around and spotted a small bucket with a towel on the edge. He went over and saw that the bucket had water in it. He soaked the towel and then squeezed out the excess water before folding it. He went back over to Draco and placed the cold towel on his forehead.

Draco felt something cold get placed on his forehead, bringing some relief with it as it was placed since whatever he had caught seemed focused on burning him alive. A name was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't quite know what it was. The gears of his brain were malfunctioning, putting themselves on hold for the time being. Right now the only thing he could focus on/think about was how he felt and how terrible it was. Then he heard someone talking to him, someone familiar. "Draco? Can you hear me?" the voice said gently. "Harry..." Draco responded automatically, voice low and weak. He tried to force his eyes open, if his body wouldn't move then the least he could was open his eyes. He opened his eyes to a figure standing over him, a sudden panic washing over him when he thought he saw his father. As soon as the panic came it left when the person standing over him came into view. The messy dark hair, the round glasses, the slightly hidden scar on his forehead peaking out from his hair, everything about Harry was familiar and safe. His face was relieved when he noticed Draco looking at him. "Where...?" Draco managed to say. Harry stayed silent for a moment before speaking, looking as if he was thinking of something. "In the Room of Requirement, I'm sorry I didn't bring you to the Hospital Wing," Harry said quietly, fidgeting with his fingers slightly. Draco could see that he was uneasy and nervous. If he had been well enough and not feeling like his body was made out of the heaviest thing ever then Draco would've put his hand over Harry's but since he couldn't do that he settled for using words as comfort. "It's... okay... don't mind... if you... take care... of me..." Draco was able to say. Harry gave him a small smile and ran a hand through Draco's hair gently. "Don't force yourself to do anything, you need rest," he said softly. Draco gave a small nod in response seeing as it took less energy and let his eyes fall closed. Draco slipped back asleep and Harry continued with the task of taking care of him, hoping that when Draco woke up the next day he would be better.

A/N: Had to change some chapter numbers because for some reason I had two chapter 12's