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Draco Malfoy had been raised to detest weakness.
From a young age, as young as he can remember, his father had instilled in him that weakness was unacceptable. Malfoy’s were not allowed to be weak- they were a proud and pure bloodline, respected by the community, with a powerful influence over magical politics. Being a Malfoy meant living up to a certain standard. It meant showing no signs of weakness, it meant never backing down from a challenge, it meant working diligently no matter what. Draco grew up being taught that he needed to absolutely excel at everything he did, and half the time that still wasn’t good enough for his father. From athletics to his studies and social pursuits, Draco always felt pressure to succeed. He had to be good. He had to make his father proud- though he rarely succeeded.
Malfoys didn’t cry. They didn’t get tired. They didn’t get sick. They didn’t lose fights. They didn’t need to accept help from anybody. Draco’s father had been a firm believer in the “I’ll give you something to cry about” philosophy, and after taking several beatings growing up the blonde had learned how to not cry. How to just clench his jaw and deal with it if he was feeling sick, or if he was injured. To a certain point, it felt like everything he did was to please his father. Which was a joke in itself, since Lucius Malfoy was a stern and cold man who was seldom pleased with anything anyone did.
Despite it all, Draco idolized his father. He wanted to be the perfect son, to make his father proud, to uphold his very prestigious family name. If he could just score high enough in his classes and tests, or win more Quidditch games, or make good enough connections throughout the wizarding world, maybe he would finally have his father’s respect. Draco longed for a day when Lucius would look at him with pride in his eyes, rather than giving him that same (disgusted? resentful?) blank stare all the time.
It’s Draco’s pitiable need to impress his father that causes him to brush it off when he starts feeling more and more sick and fatigued. For a couple weeks he ignored the dizzy spells that come and go, ignored the nausea that churned in his stomach. Some days his body just seemed to ache all over, and all he wanted was to lay curled up in bed and sleep. That, however, was unacceptable. There were exams to study for, there was a Quidditch match to win. Draco didn’t have time to slow down. There would be hell to pay with his father if he went home with anything less than impeccable scores, and if he kept losing games of Quidditch his father was going to force him to quit the team. “You’re embarrassing yourself,” he had told Draco. “Why play at all if you’re not any good?”
And he was right. What was the point? Draco had to get better. He had to be the best. He’s a Malfoy. He’s supposed to be the best.
One day, during quidditch practice, a spell of dizziness forced Draco to land his broom. As soon as he stepped off he immediately sat down, holding his head in his hands as he swallowed thickly, overwhelmed with the feeling that he was going to vomit. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it did little to alleviate the spinning sensation. There’s a loud ringing in his ear. It takes him a few moments to realize someone was leaning over him, saying something. He can’t make out the words, but he recognizes it as Blaise’s voice. In fact, Draco’s abrupt landing had stopped the practice in its tracks. The slytherin team stood around or hovered around on their brooms, all eyes intently focused on Draco. Blaise Zabini and Marcus Flint are both hovering over Draco’s hunched frame, and as the ringing in his ear slowly fades, Draco can vaguely make out Flint and Blaise discussing sending someone to get Madam Pomfrey. Draco roused at this and groaned, finally pulling his hands away from his face. He still feels dizzy and sick, but it’s no longer overwhelming.
“No. No nurse. I’m fine.” Neither Blaise nor Flint look convinced. “I just got a headache.”
“You look pale as a ghost, mate,” Flint says in a dubious tone. “You oughta head to the hospital wing.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Draco snaps. “I just got a headache. Let’s get back to practice.”
“Merlin, Draco, you could have fallen right off your broom. You’re done with practice for the day, head inside.” Draco gave Flint an incredulous look, silently cursing whoever made this pratt the captain of the Quidditch team.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I said you’re done, Draco. Get out of here so the rest of us can get back to it, yeah? Blaise, see Malfoy back to the dorms, alright? Then come back to finish practice.” Much to Draco’s chagrin, he found himself being helped off the ground by Blaise. The walk back to the dorms is quiet- Draco is silently stewing, but is still feeling a hair too dizzy to complain. The pair had just gotten to the Slytherin common room when Blaise asked;
“Are you sure you don’t want to get checked out?”
Draco scoffed at that. “I’m sure, Blaise. I’m fine. I’ll lay down for a bit. Why don’t you just get back to practice? I hardly need a babysitter.” His voice lacked its usual Malfoy sting- it all fell very flat on Blaise’s ears. He studied Draco for a good moment or two.
“If you get worse you’ll go to the hospital wing, right?”
“I’m going to be fine. I just need a nap.”
“Right. Well. I’ll wake you for supper?”
“Yeah, sure,” Draco waved his hand dismissively. He could feel another wave of nausea coming on and wanted Blaise gone before it really hit. Blaise gave him another meaningful look and then left, heading back to rejoin his team. Draco made it to his dorm just in time to empty the contents of his stomach into his wastebasket. He violently heaved, everything he ate for lunch coming up half digested and chunky. Involuntary tears streamed down his face as he wretched into the bin for what felt like forever. When his stomach finally settled enough that the vomiting stopped he sniffled, quickly vanishing the vomit so he wouldn’t have to smell it anymore. He wiped at his face, which was now red and slightly swollen, and managed to climb into his bed and curl up on his side.
Sometime, while waiting to see if he’s going to be sick again, Draco drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
---
Draco spent the next several days doing his best to ignore the symptoms. He’s not sick, he tells himself often. And if he is a little sick, so what? Being sick was not an excuse to slack off. His father would never accept that. Besides, Malfoy’s were not complainers. He would feel absolutely silly to go to the infirmary over what’s probably nothing more than a little flu or bug, and if they happened to send an owl home about it he’s sure his father would not be impressed.
He ignored the fact that he was losing weight, and that his hair was shedding more frequently. He hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, but he supposed that was common when you have a little flu or a bug. It didn’t mean anything. Neither did the spells of dizziness and lightheadedness that made him feel like he needed to sit down, headaches where everything just kept getting whiter and fuzzier. If anyone commented on that fact that he didn’t look well, or that he looked pained or pale, he was quick to dismiss them with the excuse of having a headache, or being tired, or having a cold. Whatever was wrong with him, he didn’t think it could be that serious. He had bigger fish to fry. Even when he noticed blood in his urine he ignored it. He didn’t have time to slow down. He’s supposed to be able to handle anything. That is, after all, what Malfoy’s do.
---
It all happened very suddenly- or maybe, in retrospect, not so suddenly at all. Harry sat next to Ron and Hermoine in their potions class- it was one of several days in which a couple groups gave presentations of the potions they were working on, and today just to happened to be the day Draco, Pansy, and Blaise presented.
“Merlin, Malfoy looks like he’s been locked in someone’s basement for ten years,” Ron mused, a bit too cheerfully.
“He doesn’t look well,” Hermoine agreed after a moment. “Though I doubt anyone could stand him enough to lock him in their basement.” The trio had a laugh at this.
“His father never has to worry about him being kidnapped, because I’m sure the kidnappers would bring him right back.” Harry quipped, followed by more canned giggles. Their banter is cut short by Slughorn clearing his throat.
“Alright, settle down. We’ve had plenty of time to chat. Today, we have three more groups who are going to present for us. As long as we stay on track, we should get through the rest of these presentations tomorrow. And then we’ll be crash-coursing for the exam, which as you’ll remember, is in two weeks. Just before break.” There is a collective groan from the class, all except Malfoy, who stood staring blankly ahead with glossy eyes. “Now, let’s jump right into it. Ms. Parkinson, why doesn’t your group start us off?”
Blaise, Pansy, and Draco all get up, Draco taking a bit longer to stand than he probably should have. If anyone noticed, they kept it to themselves. The three file to the front of the room where a lab station is already set up for them. Draco and Blaise stand in front of the table and let Pansy give the introduction- she always loved being the center of attention, which Draco felt fine with since he was in no state to stand in front of the class and speak. It felt like his body was being dragged down into hell. Every pore and hair on his body ached, and as soon as he stood up his head had started swimming.
He missed most of what Pansy said to introduce them- only vaguely making out her mention that they’re mixing a calming draught. She’s going over the ingredients when Draco goes down. Draco saw white and that’s the last thing he remembered. His body went limp and he fell, the back of his head smacking hard against the lab table and then again against the floor, where he started to seize.
Pansy and Blaise are the first to react, even before Slughorn. They’re both quickly by his side, trying to turn his head to the side in case he gets sick. Slughorn snapped out of his stupor and came to kneel by Draco, feeling the boy’s forehead. Students get out of their seats and inch closer to get a better look, Potter and company included. Nobody said anything, other than Pansy and Blaise gently yelling Draco’s name. Draco’s body stopped seizing as suddenly as it had started, and after a few moments his eyes fluttered open, only to immediately light up with panic when he realized his position. Waking up with one hell of a headache and an entire class of people staring at you like you’re an alien is not The Vibe.
“Everyone, please, give Mr. Malfoy some space,” Slughorn made a shooing gesture at the class, encouraging them to return to their seats. Only a few actually do.
“What happened?” Draco asked groggily, forcing himself into a sitting position and then tightly closing his eyes while he fought off another wave of nausea. His head hurt and it felt like it was impossible to breath. With Draco off the floor, Harry could see a little pool of blood staining the stone where Draco’s head had been.
“You had quite the fall there, Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn reached down and placed a hand on Draco’s forehead. “Hey, you’re burning up! Mr. Zabini, Mr. Potter, why don’t you both escort Mr. Malfoy to Madam Pomfrey, right now. Don’t make any stops along the way. And make sure you explain to her exactly what happened.”
Blaise and Harry both looked surprised that Slughorn was sending Harry along, but Slughorn was a funny sort of guy known to shake things up a little. Besides, he trusted Harry above most others in the class.
Draco is barely aware of what’s going on when he’s hoisted onto his feet with the help of Blaise and Potter. As they stepped into the wall his wits began to come back to him a bit, and he pushed at Harry weakly, shifting his weight so that Blaise was supporting him.
“Oh, bugger off, Draco, I’m trying to help you,” Harry carped. “Just let me get you to the infirmary so I can get back to class.”
“I don’t want to go to the infirmary. Take me to the dorm.” Draco wasn’t really speaking to Harry; he was speaking to Blaise. Blaise scowled at this.
“Like hell, Draco. You should have gone to the infirmary weeks ago. You’re sick. You look like bloody hell. We have a quidditch match next week- how are you supposed to play if you’re like this?”
“I just need some sleep,” Draco protested. “I’m tired.”
“Being tired doesn’t make people faint and smack their heads. You almost fell right off your broom at practice the other day. Is that what you want? You want to snap your neck or crack your skull and die right there on the quidditch field?” Blaise sounded genuinely angry, and Draco said nothing, silently pouting.
It sounds like he’s been sick for a while, Harry thinks to himself. And as much as he didn’t like the git, he certainly didn’t wish anything seriously bad onto Malfoy. Malfoy was insufferable, sure, but this year he hadn’t been too much of a bother to Harry or his friends. Of course, there was always going to be the occasional jabs here and there, and Malfoy had started a rumor that Harry had fiddlesquids, the wizard equivalent to lice, but he had also had moments where he wasn’t so bad at all. Mostly Malfoy had kept to himself these days and hadn’t bothered anyone. Which made sense, Harry supposed, if he had been sick. So Draco hadn’t been so bad, really- besides, he was cute. Wait, cute? Where did that come from?
He was ripped from his thoughts by Malfoy saying to Blaise, “I’m not going to break my neck or crack my skull.”
“Says the guy who is literally bleeding from his head right now,” Blaise snorted.
“I- no.” Draco floundered. If he wasn’t so lightheaded and weak he would have pushed away from Blaise and Potter and made a run for it.
“You just passed out and had a seizure on the bloody floor, Draco! Will you grow up?” Draco fell silent at the aggravation in his friend’s voice, feeling rather aggravated himself with the whole situation. At this point he just wanted to see the damn nurse so she can tell him he’s got the flu and give him some medicine and send him to bed for a few days. Hopefully she won’t owl his parents. Merlin knows how far behind in his studies this is going to put him. You don’t get exceptional grades from lazing about in bed all day.
The rest of the walk to the infirmary is quiet and awkward. When Madam Pomfrey caught a look at Draco she is up and out of her chair in an instant.
“Oh dear, what’s going on here?” She questioned while she rushed over and helped the boys get Draco into the closest bed. Draco immediately curled up into a pained ball and buried his face in his knees. Blaise and Harry explained everything, and Pomfrey began fussing and fretting around Draco, taking his temperature, listening to his heart and lungs, taking his blood pressure. She tutted. “Your blood pressure is high,” she examined the wound on the back of his head, “And you got your head pretty good. I need to close that wound up.” She turned to Blaise and Harry. “He needs to stay here, for now. You two go along back to class. Do tell Professor Slughorn that he’s in good hands.”
Clearly dismissed, Harry and Blaise headed back to class in mostly uncomfortable silence. “I hope he’s okay,” Harry had told him awkwardly, clearing his throat, to which Blaise replied with a dim,
“Yeah. Me too.”
-----
Harry was bombarded with about a million questions when he finally took his seat back in the potions classroom. To his unconscious relief, Slughorn had vanished the blood from the floor. “What was that about? You think the bugger’s got the plague?” Ron asked him. Harry shrugged.
“There’s something wrong with him, alright. I don’t know about the plague.”
“What did Pomfrey say?” Hermoine inquired, sounding a bit anxious. The blood had rattled her too.
“His blood pressure was high. She told us he had to stay there, and then sent us back to class.”
“Hmm…” Hermoine pondered this silently, while Ron asked,
“You think he’s faking it?”
Harry couldn’t see how anyone could be faking that. “Blaise said this has been going on for a while.”
The two asked Harry a few more questions before Slughorn got everyone’s attention again. “Alright, let’s carry on to the next group for now. Mr. Longbottom, let’s have your group come up and present?” Harry spent the rest of the class trying to focus, but found his mind kept wandering to Draco. The guy might be a total pratt, but Harry really hoped he was okay.
----
When Draco woke up and didn’t know where he was, he almost had a panic attack. There was a dusky purple light coming in from the large windows, meaning night was just beginning to creep in. Nothing around him looked familiar, and in the dim light his eyes took a while to adjust. When he finally realized he was in the infirmary he relaxed a little, only to tense up again. Why was he still in the damn infirmary? He had exams to study for.
He sat up a little, with some effort. Pomfrey noticed the movement and stood up from her desk. In a flash she’s by his side, handing him a glass of water which Draco begrudgingly took and sips from. “I’m glad you’re awake,” She told him. “I gave you something to help you sleep, and to cut your fever.”
“Mhmm,” Draco’s voice was groggy. “Can I have some flu-potion so I can go back to my room?”
Pomfrey laughed thinly and shook her head. She then used a summoning charm to apparate her clipboard and quill. “Tell me Mr. Malfoy, how long have you not been feeling well? Your friend Mr. Zambini said it’s been some time.”
Draco stared out one of the windows with a petulant look, not really wanting to tell her anything but knowing full well he wouldn’t be going anywhere unless he did. At least if he could get a diagnosis everyone would leave him alone so he could get back to his work, and to training for the quidditch match.
“A while,” he finally bit out.
“And how long is a while?”
“I don’t know.” Draco looked down at his hands. “A couple months.” He didn’t look at her, but he could hear the sound of her writing something down.
“And can you tell me about some of your symptoms?”
Draco took a moment to think. “I ache a lot, I guess. Fever sometimes. Chills. I get dizzy, or lightheaded. I feel sick a lot, and sometimes I throw up. I feel tired a lot, like, all the time. I’m positive it’s the flu.”
“Mmmhmm.” There was a pause while Pomphry continued to write. “Any chest pain?”
“I don’t know. Maybe sometimes.”
“Mhmm. Any blood in your urine?”
Draco doesn’t say anything.
“Mr. Malfoy?”
“Fine, yeah. A little.”
“Hmm.” Pomfrey scribbled down one more thing, then lowered the clipboard. “Your blood pressure was high when your friends brought you in. Let’s check it again.” She set about taking Draco’s blood pressure, while he inwardly scoffed at the fact that she had referred to Harry Potter as his friend.
The nurse hummed as she released the blood pressure cuff. “It’s not as high as when you came in, but it’s still a bit high. Do you understand what the term ‘hypertensive’ means?” Draco nodded at this. “I’m going to take a blood sample and send it over to St. Mungo's,” Pomfrey told him, and Draco’s blood suddenly ran very cold.
Needles were not The Vibe.
His mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls as Pomfrey disappeared for a moment and came back with a needle and a couple viles. Very not cool. He tried to stay calm and emotionless, but inside he was filled with dread and fear and horror. If his father knew he was this afraid of needles he would absolutely kill him. He sucked in a deep breath and told himself to quit being such a child. It was one needle- one terrifying, pointy, steely, stabby needle.
Pomfrey found a vein and pretty soon punctured the skin. Draco sucked in a deep breath of air, eyes screwed shut. His mouth tasted like rust and his head suddenly felt very light and fuzzy. He thought for a moment that maybe it was almost over, and then- blackness.
When Draco came to again the first thing he heard was the voice of Harry Potter. “Is it alright if I come in?”
“Cutting it a bit close to curfew, Mr. Potter.” Pomfrey’s voice.
“I know, I’m sorry. I brought Draco one of the exam study sheets that was handed out in class today.”
From his spot on the bed Draco groaned, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. “How’s a bloke supposed to get any sleep when you’re being so loud, Potter?”
Harry smiled a little at this. “You should feel lucky I even bothered to bring you the sheet at all. Merlin knows you’re gonna need it.”
“Oh, in your dreams Potter. I’d do better than you on that exam if I didn’t study at all.”
“Well that might be the case if you stay stuck in here. When do you get to leave?”
“Ask her,” Malfoy said dimly, motioning towards Pomfrey. “She keeps knocking me out.” The nurse had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.
“Mr. Malfoy’s staying with me until we know exactly what’s wrong with him. His blood is being looked at.”
“Blood test, hmm? Is it serious?” Harry asked.
“We’ll know more when we get the results of the blood test.”
“What does that mean?” Draco piped in. “What will we know?”
“When the blood test comes back-”
“Yeah, yeah. But you didn’t say you thought it was serious.”
“It might not be.”
“But it might be. Is that what you’re saying?” Well, at least Draco was still in good enough spirits to be a stubborn little shit.
“We’ll know more when the blood test comes back, Mr. Malfoy.”
“To bloody Hell with the blood test-”
“Right, well,” Harry awkwardly cleared his throat. “I should probably head back to the dorms. I’ll leave this sheet here for you, Malfoy, uh. Good luck. Feel better.” Harry left the paper on Pomfrey’s desk and quickly took his leave.
Harry spent the walk back to the Gryffindor dorm worrying. Whatever happened to be up, it didn’t sound good. He tried to brush it off when he got back, and played a game of chess with Ron in the common room, but that night he had trouble sleeping. He tossed and turned every which way in his bed, unable to get his mind off of Draco.
---
When you get bad news about your health, your mind starts running a little slow. It’s like your brain shuts down, and everything suddenly feels very unreal, like maybe it’s not actually happening, or maybe it’s not actually you it’s happening to.
Draco knew he was in deep shit when Pomfrey refused to go over the results of the blood work until both of Draco’s parents had arrived. By that point he had been in the infirmary for three days. When his parents arrived his mother had rushed to his side and wrapped him in a hug. His father hung back, face stern and lacking emotion. Draco’s mother sat next to him on the bed with her arms wrapped around him while Madam Pomfrey went over the news.
“So, as you already know from my owl, we’ve sent samples of Draco’s blood and urine over to St. Mungo’s over the past couple of days, for testing. This morning we got the results back, and it’s what I feared it might be. Draco’s kidneys are not functioning within the normal percentile- actually, they’re in a considerably low range. Draco’s in the third stage of chronic kidney failure, with a kidney function of only 30%.”
“Oh Merlin,” Narcissa let out a small sob. “My sweet baby.” Draco and his father’s faces both remained blank. Draco wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scream or cry or both, but the last thing he wanted to do was upset his father by getting emotional. “What would cause that?”
“We’re going to have to do more testing to be sure, but the aurors at St. Mungo’s believe it was caused by an untreated strep infection. Draco, is there a time you can remember that you were sick and you didn’t get any treatment?
Draco wanted to blurt out that he’s never gotten treatment when he’s sick, not since he was a little kid, but he bit his tongue and glanced quickly and apprehensively at his father. “I don’t know,” he finally conceded. “Maybe.”
“Stupid boy,” his father finally bit out. It’s the first thing he’d said since he’d gotten there, and it made Draco want to shrink until he disappeared.
“It’s not his fault,” Draco’s mother snapped. “Don’t you dare blame him.”
“The hell I won’t blame him. He refused to take care of himself. Because he wanted the attention.”
Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat, looking visibly upset. “Mr. Malfoy, I can assure you that this condition is rare, and that your son certainly didn’t set this up or plan it. And how we got to this point is really neither here nor there, regardless. Draco will have to be taken to St. Mungos for more testing to confirm the cause of the complications. He has a lot of challenges ahead of him.” Lucius went silent at this, while Narcissa sniffled and asked,
“What are the treatment options for this sort of thing? What do we do?”
“The aurors at the hospital will know more than I do, but treatment typically consists of sessions of high dose potions, administered through an IV. St. Mungos will be able to tell you more about how often Draco will have to do this, and what side effects to expect. If the condition continues to worsen, it’s sometimes necessary to replace one of the organs.”
Draco blanched at that and, for the first time since they sat down spoke on his own accord: “You mean surgery?”
Pomfrey nodded.
“But he’s going to live, right? He’s not going to die?” his mother asked.
“With treatment, Draco likely has a good chance of surviving.”
Narcissa asked a few more questions, and eventually Madam Pomfrey stepped out and gave the family a bit of privacy. The next hour or so consisted of Narsicca and Lucius quietly arguing, Lucius berating Draco with questions like “And how do you plan on graduating with honors now that you’ve gone and made yourself sick?”, and Draco staring blankly at the wall. When his parents finally left Draco buried his face in his pillow and cried for the first time in years.
----
Draco was fidgety. Anxious. It was to be expected. In a few hours he’d be heading to St. Mungos to have more tests run- tests that seemed painful and scary, to say the least. There was a knot of tension sitting heavily in his stomach as he sat in his bed in the infirmary. Blaise was with him, lounging in a chair he had pulled up close to Draco’s bed.
“I bet it won’t be so bad,” Blaise was trying to assure. “You’re hyping it up in your head.”
“You’re probably right. But still…” Draco chewed nervously on his lip. “What if it’s worse than they thought?”
“And what if it’s not?” Blaise retorted, raising an eyebrow.
Draco drew in a shaky breath and admitted something he would only admit to his best friend; “I’m scared.”
“I know. Hell, I’m scared for you. But you’re in good hands. You’re gonna be fine.”
Draco tried to digest that. “I hope so.”
----
Draco spends two nights in the hospital and it feels like far, far too long. After more blood tests, scans, needles, and a miserable procedure called a renal biopsy, Draco is ready to just lay down and die. His mother is with him- his father is not. He supposed it was better that way, since he was feeling particularly sick and emotional.
On the third day, an auror came to talk to him and his mother. “The biopsy confirmed that the deterioration of the kidneys is caused by Glomerulonephritis.” Draco blinked- those words meant nothing to him.
“There are all these little tiny filters on your kidneys called glomeruli. And that’s what keeps your kidney functioning and doing its job. With this condition, all those little glomeruli are inflamed. It’s caused some pretty serious damage to your kidneys. We’re thinking an untreated strep infection is the cause of the condition. It’s rare, but it happens.”
“And what happens now?” His mother asked.
“We’re going to let Dravo leave the hospital tonight and return to school, but Mr. Malfoy, you have to take it easy. Your course load needs to be cut in half, and you shouldn’t attend class when you don’t feel well.” Draco’s mouth fell open a bit at this.
“You can’t be serious,” he sputtered. “Cut my course load in half? As in, take half of the classes I take now?” When the auror nodded Draco continued incredulously: “And how in the bloody hell am I supposed to graduate on time if I’m taking half my required courses?”
“I understand your frustration, but consider that you also won’t graduate on time if you’re not healthy. You’re going to have to go to your infirmary for potioning- do you know what that is? High dose healing potions are administered through an IV. Each session takes about four hours to complete- I want you to go twice a week, Tuesday and Saturday, to start. We might end up doing more, or less, depending on your response to the treatment.” Draco’s face scrunched up- the thought of spending four hours a day twice a week with a needle digging into his skin made him want to cry.
“As far as the treatments go, there are a lot of side effects you might feel. You’re probably going to feel very tired during and after the treatment. Bruising of the injection site is common. Nausea, vomiting, dizziness, are all common side effects. Many patience’s experience nosebleeds. Side effects that tend to be rare but are much more serious are chest pains, heart palpitations, fainting, seizures, blood clots-”
“Merlin,” Draco interrupted, flabbergasted. He’s aware that his mother is crying but he’s in too much shock to look at anything other than the floor. The auror gave them both a reassuring smile, but neither really noticed.
“I know it sounds scary, but it’s really not so bad. After a few sessions you’ll be much more used to it. Of course, if you experience any of those more serious side effects, or experience incontinence, or bloody urine, you need to come back here right away.”
“My poor baby,” Narsicca whispered, wrapping Draco in a tight hug and rocking him.
“If there are no complications, in about two months we’ll have you back in to evaluate where you’re at with your levels. If there’s significant improvement, we may start to wean you off the treatment. If things are the same or worse, we may up the treatment. If the condition continues to get worse, we start to explore the option of transplant.”
Draco’s in a state of shock for the rest of the time he’s in the hospital. His mother has a million more questions, which the auror patiently answers, and within a matter of hours his discharge papers are being handed to him and he’s rocking and rolling back to Hogwarts, completely drained.
---
The trip home from the hospital had left him exhausted. Hell, the past few days in the hospital had left him exhausted. His mother insisted that he stay the night in the infirmary, and Draco hadn’t the strength to argue.
Narsicca lingered for a bit to make sure Draco was settled and then headed back to the manor with a kiss to the temple and the promise to be back Tuesday for his first treatment. Madam Pomfrey had given him a more private bed this time, so when the emptiness caused by his mom’s departure combined with the reality of his situation finally set in, Draco felt comfortable enough to bury his face into his pillow and cry. He tried to swallow the shame and disgust he felt towards himself, tried to reason with himself that it was okay to cry, that it was justified in this situation. Still, he knows if his father were here right now he would be absolutely outraged at Draco’s behavior. He’d probably smack Draco upside the head and tell him to grow up and act like a damn Malfoy. He’d call Draco pathetic, and he would be right. This thought only made Draco cry harder. He was pathetic. His body was pathetic. He was weak and sick and pathetic and he’d be better off dead-
“Er, Draco?”
Draco nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice. He quickly sat up in bed, scrubbing furiously at his face, eyes narrowing and zoning in on one Harry Potter.
“What the hell do you want, Potter? Come to gloat?” His voice was shrill and raw with tears. Even as he desperately tried to force himself to stop crying, sobs still came tumbling out. It was like some great dam had been broken, and now there were floodwaters that couldn’t be contained.
“I- Merlin, no! I just wanted to see how you are- I heard you’ve been in St. Mungos!” Harry puts his hands up as if to say “I come in peace”.
“How do you think I am?” Draco spits, hiccuping out more sobs. “Obviously I’m great, I’ve never been better. So why don’t you piss off?!”
Harry stands there for a minute and doesn’t say anything. He just watched Draco, who glared back at him as defiantly as one can while they’re crying. After a minute he gathered the nerve to ask: “What did the auror say?”
“He said I’m living my best life,” Draco sarcastically attested. “He said he wishes he was as healthy as me.”
“Why are you being like this?” Harry softly questioned. “I just wanted to know that you were okay.”
Draco floundered at this, struggling for words, anxiety rising. “I- You- Because! Because I’ve spent the last three days getting poked with needles, and having parts of my body taken out with needles, and having needles stuck in my body to give me fluid, and- and because I’m sick, and the only way to treat it is more needles, and-” And just like that Draco can’t breath- all he can do is cry, and his breathing is broken, heavy and erratic. He doesn’t realize Harry’s crossed the room until Harry’s sitting on the bed next to him and rubbing his back.
“Hey, it’s okay. Breath mate.” Harry used the most comforting tone that he could, rubbing small circles on Draco’s back. Draco was trembling like a chihuahua. Harry had dealt with many panic attacks in his day, so he was aware of what was going on. He spoke soft, comforting words to Draco, rubbing his back as he did so. Eventually Draco’s breathing regulated, and the sobs turned to sniffles, and finally Draco pulled away and half laid in his bed, staring blankly ahead with bleary eyes. Harry let them soak in a minute for silence before he asked: “Do you feel a bit better now?
Draco let out a dry laugh at this. “I mean. No, not really. Maybe a little.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’m sick.”
“So I’ve gathered. What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m in stage three renal failure.” Draco chanced a glance at Harry’s face now, to gauge the boy’s reaction. He shouldn’t want Potter to care- but he did. The fact that Potter actually looked crestfallen gave Draco some strange butterflies in his stomach.
“Merlin,” Potter breathed. “How are they to treat that?”
“Potioning. Basically, IV potion therapy. Four hours a day, twice a week, here in the infirmary.”
“Merlin,” Potter said again. “And they think that will work?”
“That’s the hope.”
“Merlin,” he was starting to sound like a broken record. “Well, I’ll come spend some time with you while you get that done. I mean, if you want. I just… I’d imagine it would get pretty boring, huh?”
Draco just stared at him for a moment. Had his former enemy really just offered to come sit with him while he gets potion mainlined into his body? Nothing about this felt natural at all- and yet, Draco very strongly wanted Potter to come visit him. He bit his lip. “That would be fine.”
“Great,” Harry gave him a silly grin. “Oh, before I forget, I’ve got your final assignment for Flitwick’s class.” The smile that had been starting to play on Draco’s lips quickly fell off at that.
“Oh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I… I have to drop half my course load. Doctor’s orders. So…. Charms is nixed. At least for now.”
“Oh,” Harry said, and when the realization of what that actually implied set in, he said again, “Oh, oh jeeze. That really sucks. Are you going to have to do an extra year?”
Draco shrugs. “Probably. Unless I get better by the time we come back from break. Which is… not likely.”
He laughs, but his voice sounds deflated and defeated.Harry can’t help but feel his heart melt a little. For what it was worth, after everything the two had been through he didn’t think Draco deserved this. Not even a little.
He stayed with Draco until Pomfrey came by to kick him out; he barely made it back to the dorms without breaking curfew. Despite all that was on his mind, Draco’s thoughts kept turning back to Harry. He tossed and turned in his sleep, waking up constantly, bathed in moonlight and feeling very alone in the quiet infirmary. He couldn’t wait to get back to his dorm. Maybe then things would feel a little more normal.