Work Text:
The fact they were both stuck in Muggle London for the foreseeable future was regrettable. It was supposed to be a simple mission. Meet the contact, pick up the package, and get back to a Safe House to go over the contents of said package.
It should have been done and dusted within two hours. So when Ron collapsed before they received the package, Draco panicked. It was how they found themselves tucked away in a no-name, bottom-of-the-barrel hostel in the middle of downtown London.
Thoughts of spells gone awry and poisoning crossed Draco’s mind faster than he could process them. They’d been engaged in a few scrimmages lately; the youngest male Weasley could have been hit by anything.
This was the last thing they needed on what was supposed to be a simple package pickup.
It wasn’t until Draco had Ron halfway out of his clothing and was about to tuck him in to bed that he realized how high a fever Ron was running. Placing his palm on Ron’s forehead, Draco frowned at the heat emanating from him. Whatever afflicted him had caused his body temperature to skyrocket. Gathering a flannel and bowl of cool water, Draco charmed them both to cool Ron’s forehead as he started rummaging through their standard-issued carry bags. Blessing the genius of Hermione Granger, he pulled a fever reducer from his bag, a standard antidote. He carefully massaged Ron’s throat as he poured the potions down the back of Ron’s gullet before he settled into the chair next to the bed.
A glance at his watch showed Draco still had three hours before they were supposed to meet the asset to pick up the package. Pulling an OWL-level workbook from his bag, Draco set in for the longest three hours of his life.
Draco found he didn’t want to leave to pick up the package; yet they had come all this way specifically for it. Hours spent going over the best routes, disguises, and contingency plans. Hours that Draco found he couldn’t let go to waste. Checking Ron’s fever, which hadn’t broken yet, Draco sighed as he tucked Ron back into the bed before he headed for the door.
If Draco looked back when he crossed the threshold, no one needed to know.
Picking up the package was uneventful. It went so smoothly that Draco felt comfortable enough that he stopped at the local Tesco’s for muggle medicine and supplies to hold them over until they could return to the Safe House.
Entering their rented room, Draco began methodically emptying his shopping bag and lining things up just so on the counter as he pulled them from the plastic bag. Turning to Ron, Draco sighed as he took in the sweat-soaked sheets and his red hair plastered to his face. Knowing that Hermione would, and probably could kill him if anything happened to the red-headed weasel, Draco quickly changed the sheets before he changed Ron into a new pair of sleep shorts and washed his hands thoroughly.
The last thing Draco needed was to come down with whatever Ron had. Both of them out of commission would just be the icing on the cake. Throwing the sheets and Ron’s clothes into a pile in the corner of the room, Draco carefully pulled the package from his pocket before dropping it into the moleskin pouch they had brought specifically for this.
He went through the motions of making himself a cup of tea before he settled in to watch over Ron.
Now all he could do was watch and wait.
It took two days for the fever to break—all the while, Draco watched over Ron as he fretted in his fever-induced sleep. While the fever wasn’t forcing the sleep, Draco had a better idea of what was affecting Ron the longer he stayed in what was essentially a magically induced coma.
By the time Ron came around on the third day, Draco knew his assumption had been correct. The pointed ears and thinner figure drove the point home harder than anything Draco could say. The groan from the lone bed pulled Draco from the book he was reading as Ron slowly sat up.
“What happened?” Draco sighed, marking his place in the book before setting it off to the side.
“You went through a creature inheritance.” Ron’s eyes flew open wide, even as he racked his brain trying to come up with something, anything, that ran through the Weasley line. “Dark elf from the looks of it.” Draco watched as Ron ran his fingers through his hair that was now down to his waist before he grabbed at one of his ears. Slowly, reality began to set in for Ron, who looked less and less like he was going to panic at any given moment.
“This isn’t good.” It was said so quietly that Draco had to strain his ears to understand what had been said. When it was finally processed, he nodded.
“No, it’s not. Last time the Dark Lord….” Draco let his sentence trail off. Ron was a pureblood whose family had fought in the first war. He was well-versed in the history, just like Draco was. Draco could tell by the look on his face that he knew Dark Lord hunted certain species. Either for sport or ingredients depending on his mood.
“Did you at least get the package?” The fact his first concern was for the package told Draco that Ron would be alright.
Once they figured out how to hide the fact he was a Dark Elf from nearly everyone they knew or attended school with, that was.
“Yeah, picked it up while you were passed out. If you’re feeling up to it, we need to get back to the safe house.” Ron looked around the room, sighing before he nodded and slowly pushed himself up to a standing position. “We can figure out what this means once we’re back behind the safety of the enchantments and warding.”
Draco spared Ron a look of pity as they began packing up the supplies that were left. That Ron didn’t see it was a testament to how wrapped up in his own head the boy was.
This changed everything. Draco just wasn’t sure how it changed things; he just knew it did.