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Of all the things that changed for Draco Malfoy going into his Eighth Year, there was one thing that stubbornly stayed the same, no matter how much he wished it away.
He no longer parted crowds in the hallway; instead, he was often pushed around. He no longer drew eyes in awe, more likely to earn looks of disgust or (more often now, thankfully) complete indifference. He no longer saw his godfather every day for Potions class, in his place a rotund man with a walrus mustache. He didn't get weekly letters from both of his parents; as much as he knew his father would love to write him, he was still serving a 5-year term in Azkaban, and his mother's owls from France were often delayed. He no longer slept in a dorm with his friends, the people he'd grown up with; Blaise had an internship in Italy, Greg decided not to finish school, Theo completing his studies from his home in Northern Ireland, Pansy deciding to "study abroad" for the year at Mahoutokoro, and Vince... no, instead, he was rooming with Harry. Harry Potter. That wasn't too bad at least: they'd formed a tentative friendship at the beginning of the year, both more than ready to put the past behind them (and eager for company, considering neither Granger nor Weasley had returned to the school either). Neither of them gave a sideways look when they were woken by the other's nightmares, or needed to ground each other from a panic attack. Harry's Potions grade was even improving, and Draco was certain the other man was at least part of the reason he'd gained Hogwarts' inattention.
So many changes, so many things turned topsy turvy from how they were, and still his body insisted on failing him.
Draco was always a sickly child, catching ear infections and flus like no one's business. He was born prematurely, though it didn't seem to have any lasting effects on him until he learned to walk. It was then obvious that his legs weren't turned quite right; an easy enough thing to hide, considering the robes wizards favored wearing, and essentially "fixed" so long as he wore his orthotics. This was, of course, kept a secret from the rest of the family; his parents may love him unconditionally, but the others not so much, and they definitely wouldn't've liked the fact that they dipped into muggle remedies when simple spells and potions didn't fix the problem. Even his roommates didn't know for the first two years they were at Hogwarts. However, at the turn of their Third Year, more and more things kept popping up. The soreness in his legs was no longer abated by his treatments, only muted them some, and he faced pain fits that had him crumpling to the ground. His winter colds, which never fully faded, lasted longer and came more frequently, filling his throat with mucus. He began to have dizzy fits, then fainting, until he spent days unable to even walk to the bathroom by himself, forced to ask for help or crawl. By the time the year ended, he'd been in the Hospital Wing all of 4 times for his ailments (5 including the Buckbeak incident), but they seemed to level off come summer. The Healers had no answers, beginning to insist it was all psychosomatic or that he was attention seeking "befit of a Malfoy," until it was up to Narcissa's charmwork, Severus' potions, and Lucius' own experience with chronic pain (which he'd been chained with since his own Hogwarts years) so that Draco could still face the public without any indication that he'd changed.
Of course, the stress of his Sixth Year only made everything worse, causing seizures to pop up to the point that Severus had to begin brewing anticonvulsants, and by the end of the war all of the fighting, strain, and use of the Cruciatus Curse left him to where he was now. So far, he'd generally been able to hide it from even Harry. Refused to answer questions about the potions he took in the mornings and evenings (less effective than what he used to have, but without his godfather he was stuck with general Potions Masters, and with the Ministry controlling the Malfoy fortune they couldn't quite afford the top-of-the-line brews), brushed off the occasional limp as the effects of an old break (technically that was true, he just never mentioned how it compounded with his previous plights). He spent much time in his room with the curtains around his bed drawn shut, and never once had Harry ever attempted to open them, always waiting for Draco to reveal himself when called, which meant the worst of his spasms and seizures were hidden from sight. Even the spaciness, the brain fog, the lack of coordination, none of it Harry asked about, likely blaming it on his potions, or trauma, or whatever.
Madam Pomfrey and Professor, no, Headmistress McGonagall inquired after his health still, being privy to his medical records, and Slughorn had offered to brew him his potions (though he looked pained to say it, likely forced by McGonagall, and Draco didn't trust the man enough to let him in charge of his medication. The feeling was mutual), but other than that, no one at Hogwarts was aware of his, as his aunt called it when she learned, "weak constitution."
Truly, he knew it was foolish to believe it would stay that way. He'd never have been able to hide it for long from the boys he lived with (or even Pansy, with how often she snuck into their dorm), even without the Hospital Wing visits, and while Gryffindor chivalry had kept Harry in the dark this long, it was only a matter of time before it came slipping out.
It happened on a Tuesday in January, one of the worst months for him with the dry air irritating his lungs, cold freezing his joints, and start of term making him miss his father more than ever now that he hadn't been able to see him over Yule (they hadn't celebrated it, during the war, but still they were together, and even at 17 they had allowed Draco to crawl into their bed with them on the darkest night of a darker year). He'd hardly had dinner the night before, waking up to hunger pains so bad he nearly threw up, only able to partially satisfy them with the chocolate he'd slipped into his nightstand. Even though he'd fallen back asleep soon after (stomach still rolling, despite being empty), when his alarm went off he had no energy to pull himself out of bed as usual, deciding instead to bite the bullet and skip Charms for the day (if he needed to catch up that badly, his mother was an excellent tutor anyways). He managed to be awake (technically), dressed, and fed in time for Herbology, but the walk outside in the wind had his eyes tearing up, throat drying painfully, and body shivering, in turn worsening the pain he felt the hip he'd dislocated two days previous (currently held in place only by a weak bracing charm his mother had managed to come up with. Magic was not meant to hold joints, especially not those as finicky as the hips, but Blacks were nothing if not resourceful with what they had). The pounding behind his eyes, present for nearly three weeks now, worsened through the class, and his brain felt so stuffed full of cotton he nearly beheaded the foxgloved beardtongue he was pruning.
By the time the hour ended, he was practically dragging his leg behind him, thanking Merlin that the Eighth Year dorms were on the ground floor and he wouldn't have to take the blasted stairs. By the time he made it to the room he shared with Harry, who was currently finishing his own class (Double Defense, if Draco remembered correctly; they'd compared schedules at the beginning of the year, so they knew where to find each other if they needed), his vision was being taken over with light spots and his ears were ringing, but all his mind could focus on was how uncomfortable his school clothes felt. He managed to get himself out of his trousers and unbutton his vest with little incident, but as he slipped out of his shirt and into his pyjama top the world began to tilt severely. He could now process that he was well on his way to fainting, ringing becoming deafening and hip smarting at how he balanced his weight on it, and he was barely able to finish putting his arms through the sleeves of his unbuttoned nightshirt and start attempting to lower himself closer to the ground before the world gave out beneath him and he lost consciousness midair.
~*~
Harry made his way to the dorms as normal once his class ended, glad to be done for the day and hoping to curl up with a book and his... Draco. With Draco.
He greeted the few Eighth years sitting in the Common Room (mostly Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who had managed to mostly stay out of the way during the actual fighting, though Parvati had also come back to accompany her sister, and Lavender was now healed enough to manage classes part-time. Draco was the only Slytherin who'd come back and actually stayed in the dorm) with a half-hearted wave, glad to be in the presence of the classmates who'd long gotten over their hero worship of him (especially when the Patils bemoaned what dreadful company he and Ron had made at the Yule Ball over a bottle of firewhiskey) but still eager to shut himself away. Their room was quiet as he approached it, which was odd, as Draco was supposed to be back by now and preferred to have music playing as they unwound from classes.
Upon opening the door, his heart stopped before speeding up tenfold at the partially dressed man who'd just collapsed onto the floor. He ran over, relieved to find that he was already beginning to stir and that his pulse was stable.
~*~
Consciousness slowly came back to Draco, followed by his brain sluggishly processing that he was on the floor, then that he fainted, then that the ringing in his ears was beginning to fade just enough that he could hear a voice. Muffled and murky, but he'd been through this procedure enough before that he could muster up his usual automatic response. "'m f'n."
"Dray?" The voice was getting louder now, or rather, the ringing was getting quieter. His thoughts began to speed up, just a little, and though the world still felt as if it were spinning ass over teakettle he managed to take stock. Of whether he'd hit his head, injured himself, where he was- bollocks, that voice was Harry.
Harry, who'd never seen him faint before. Harry, who he'd managed to hide his health issues from this long (miraculously). Harry, who was trying to get his attention and unfortunately did not know how to handle this situation.
"Fine. 'm fine, Har..Harry."
"Fine?! Draco, you just-"
"'splain later. Can't... no think. Water?"
He could hear Harry's hesitation, but he knew he wasn't going to get up himself any time soon and at least some water might help the tingling in his extremities. He let out a little groan (not a whine, thank you very much), managing to crack bleary eyes open just enough to see the dark figure jump before him.
"Right! Yeah, I can do that, just-" He ran away, confusing the blond until he heard the faucet running in the bathroom and realized he probably forgot he was a wizard (which, after late nights sharing stories of their childhoods, Draco couldn't blame him). The ringing was nearly gone now, and his thoughts felt like they were moving through molasses instead of solid gelatin, which was really all he could ask for right now.
He managed to spin himself in place so that his feet were toward the wall and, thanks to his proximity to his wardrobe when he fell, he laid his legs against it in an upside down position. Harry returned as he tried to blink some of the fuzziness out of his eyesight (unsuccessfully, but at least the spots were gone), glancing confusedly between the overturned man, his legs propped against the wardrobe so it almost looked like he was sitting if he weren't the wrong way round, and the water that he realized would be much more difficult to drink whilst horizontal. "Er, how do you..."
"Mm, just... hold it, so I don't drop it." Draco's legs fell into a crisscross position as he propped himself onto his elbows in a way that frankly should've been impossible, in Harry's opinion. Once he felt stable enough he reached a shaking hand out for the cup, and the younger could understand what he meant by "hold it" once he felt how weak the other's grip was. After carefully taking a few sips, spilling some down his chest (not that he seemed to notice), he fell back to the floor, wincing as he rolled out his shoulder and straightened his legs against the wall. Harry set down the cup, unsure what to do besides sit there as his roommate closed his eyes, but he figured some questions were in order.
"So you're... ok?"
"I will be," Draco mumbled.
"And that was... normal? For you?"
A small snort, one that only Draco could make sound dainty and one that he'd given up on trying to hide from the other months ago. "Quite. I'll be fine, Harry, I'm not dying. Just... tired."
"Is that why you fainted then? Because you're tired?" He was only met with a shrug, the blond lowering his legs as he felt the blood begin to pool away from them and turned onto his side, curled into a ball in the small space before the wall.
"I'll explain later, just... help me get to bed. I'm tired."
"You sure you won't faint again?"
Another shrug. "I might, but the floor is killing my back and I'm cold."
"That's probably because your shirt is unbuttoned."
"Mm." Still, Draco cracked his eyes open to see Harry with a hand out for him to take, another prepared to brace him as he stood up. "3, 2, 1-"
The dizziness returned harshly as he stood, but Harry got him up and wrapped in his strong arms (that Draco had definitely not been fantasizing over for months now), waiting until he slid a shaky foot forward to lead him to the four-poster only a couple of feet away. He would've collapsed straight into it had Harry not been holding him, but instead his head was laid gently onto the silk pillowcase, legs lifted shortly thereafter to allow him to be fully on the mattress. At this point, Draco was far too tired to keep his eyes open, unconsciousness pulling him back under, but he vaguely registered hands buttoning his shirt, duvet tucked around his shivering body, and lips pressed lightly to his head.
~*~
When he awoke again, he still felt like he'd been hit by the Hogwarts Express, but he had enough energy to slowly prop himself against his headboard. He didn't get very far before warm hands reached out to help him, but the time it took to regain his faculties before sitting allowed him time to remember the earlier events. Once he was settled and the hands (and presumably, the body they were attached to) moved away, the light they were blocking shined directly into his eyes and caused him to scrunch up his face. He heard a soft chuckle before he heard the sound of the curtains being drawn, peeking his eyes open once the offending light had been subdued.
"I went to Madam Pomfrey earlier, she sent me back with these." Draco didn't need to look at his nightstand to know it now held some crackers, a biscuit or two, and an electrolyte potion, just the thought of which had his nose wrinkling. "Are you feeling better?"
The blond took stock. The dizziness was certainly gone, along with the shivering as the duvet kept him insulated, and an edge had been taken off of the fatigue, though his joints still hurt and the earlier assault from the sun had done no favors to his migraine. "Relatively. Hand me a biscuit?"
While he nibbled his way through his food, he began to lay out the details of his health, much in a similar way as to how he told his Slytherin roommates way back when. Harry took a moment to digest the information as Draco took a hearty gulp of the electrolyte potion, chasing it with some water that had mercifully also been offered. "So, are you in pain now?"
Draco raised a manicured eyebrow at this bumbling Gryffindor idiot sitting at the edge of his bed. "I'm always in pain, Harry. Have been since I can remember, will be 'til the day I day."
"Right, stupid question."
"At least you're aware." Harry rolled his eyes but pressed a kiss to Draco's cheek fondly. They'd been doing that, exchanging lingering touches and longing looks, but neither had quite worked up the courage to ask the dreaded "what are we," so they settled for just not questioning it.
"Is there anything I can do to help? You mentioned that winter is hard and your joints hurt, do you use heat or anything for that?"
Draco considered a moment before responding. "You've already seen my 'colds,' that's one way I tend to present. I think I can feel one coming on, now that I think about it, my nose is a bit stuffy. There's nothing you can do about that. As for my joints, the worst right now is my hip since it keeps slipping out of place, but it's fine enough for now. Normal heat or ice will hardly touch it like this, and I'm waiting on a shipment of my salves."
Harry thought carefully for a second, before reaching around Draco to grab one of his extra pillows that wasn't holding him up. He moved aside the duvet and lifted his right leg carefully before propping the cushion under it, setting it back and tucking the blankets back around the blond. "That better?"
Draco blinked, dumbfounded. "Yeah, actually. How did you..."
"Dislocated my shoulder once over the summer, found that balling up a blanket to support it helped the pain until I could pop it back in. Hoped the same logic would apply to you, I do know basic anatomy on where your joints are supposed to sit."
"Oh. Thanks."
Harry smiled boyishly. "No problem. C'mon, I'll read to you, so long as it's my Potions essay and you agree to correct the mistakes."
A warm feeling filled Draco's chest as he tilted his head to lay on the other's broad shoulder. "Deal, though I cannot guarantee I'll stay awake the whole time."
"That's fine, Dray, just relax."
~*~
When he woke up again, it was well into the evening, alone in his bed (laying down, Harry must've moved him) with his hip still propped by one of the decorative pillows his mother always insisted he needed. His sinuses were well and truly stuffed now, and he reached for one of the boxes of tissues he stashed beneath his bed to put on his mattress (he preferred handkerchiefs on a normal basis, but when he was particularly congested and runny they just got disgusting). His neck was stiff now too, though a quick tempus showed enough time had elapsed for him to take another dose of his pain potion. Stars overtook his vision as he stood from the bed, but after a moment of leaning against the frame with his head down, he was able to get over to his desk drawer in which he kept all of his medications.
Harry came in just as he broke the seal on the first one, plates of dinner in each of his hands (one holding a roast, a hearty serving of potatoes, and a treacle tart whilst the other had steamed broccoli, a bowl of chicken soup, and a chocolate crème cake; Draco didn't know Harry remembered his favorites). He set their food down whilst Draco downed his first potion, then a second which he took with a small handful of pills Harry swore he'd never seen before. When faced with a questioning glance, the blond replied "wizarding medicine is lacking behind Muggle in terms of chronic conditions, it appears, so my Healers have me on a balance of both." The fact that he hid his pills, and his reasons for doing so, went unsaid; but as dense as Harry was he also understood the need for secrecy and want for privacy, so he just sat on the floor and started in on his plate.
"You feeling any better?" The younger man asked through a mouthful of potatoes, which his roommate visibly grimaced at.
"I'm not at risk of fainting. Well, not more risk than usual."
Harry's brow furrowed. "That's not what I asked."
Draco stopped in shock, before grabbing his own plate and opting for the floor next to the other, sitting on a pillow and against the wall. "Nice words and a nap aren't going to fix me, Harry, or they would've a long time ago."
"I know that," his eyes rolled. "I'm not asking you to 'be better,' I'm wondering how you're feeling. Talking won't fix it, but neither will bottling it up, and I doubt anyone else here knows except the Professors."
Draco was surprised. Sure, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo always gave him room to vent about his health, but even them it took a little while to get used to the idea that talking wouldn't make it any worse, and that he really had tried everything to fix himself, in the case of Theo. And they'd been on friendly terms with him for far longer than Harry had.
Then again, Harry was a Gryffindor. Slytherins tended to try and problem solve, even when it seemed impossible, but Harry wasn't like that. He accepted the facts as they were, seemed more than willing to learn (Draco noticed a book on the other's desk titled The Disabled Wizard's Viewpoint, as well as a partially finished letter that he'd assume was to be sent to Granger looking for more books on the subject, as surely Muggles would have more than even Hogwarts' extensive library) without stepping on his toes. He'd already spent much of the year pushing the blond into eating and taking care of himself, pulling him out of a few self-loathing spirals, that as much as this was a new vulnerability for Draco, for Harry it's just another aspect of the man he knew for so long, yet so little of.
Harry was a Gryffindor through and through, and Draco was quite the model Slytherin himself, which led to him testing the limits of understanding. "My hip hurts like a bitch." A laugh was startled out of the brunet at the coarse language. "The potions are only just taking the edge off, I'm exhausted and want another nap despite just waking up, and frankly I'm quite nauseous, though the food is helping. I can't breathe out of my right nostril, I'm expecting to need to blow my nose about ten times before morning, and it feels like there's some sort of goblin hammering behind my browbone." Still, the other just sat there, nodding along with understanding in his eyes, and something in Draco chipped away. "This is one of the worst flares I've had in my life, I keep missing classes and I'm worried that I'll end up with an emergency trip to the Hospital Wing before the month is up. The war has done irreparable damage to my body and I'm only getting worse, not to mention the difficulty of being treated because of my surname and my decisions, and I'd give anything for a bit of a break, but I'm too well aware that that's impossible." Tears welled up in his eyes, just a few that he blinked back easily enough, but it was enough for Harry to set his food down anyway and pull him into a side hug.
"Better?" He asked jokingly, after a moment of sniffling.
"Mentally? Yes. Physically, my hip does not like how I'm sitting sideways like this." Harry chuckled, letting the blond move and watching him try to stretch out the joint, a loud pop ringing through the room. The brunette then grabs the other's wrists, pulling him again into a standing position and ushering him into his own bed. "Harry? If you're trying to drop hints, I regret to inform you that it'd be quite an issue considering the shape of my leg-"
"Oh shut up Dray," a blush colored his brown skin. "You said you were tired, c'mon. I didn't even get to the properties of the scuttleflies when they're added over high heat."
"Riveting, I'm sure," he snarked, tired eyes already half-lidded as he was embraced in the sent of broom polish and curry (thanks to a cookbook the other was using to connect back to his father's side, of which Draco greatly enjoyed the effects of, even if they were sometimes too spicy), plush quilt always surprising him with its softness, even after being huddled into it dozens of times. The bed dipped as the other moved into his normal place, ignoring the blond until he was settled against the headboard before placing a pillow in his lap.
"C'mon, it's comfier over here." Draco scooted himself over, head plopping on the pillow shortly preceding a hand combing through his hair, blanket tucked over and around him after another cushion was, once again, placed beneath his thigh.
He still hurt. His joints felt raw and sore from being pulled in and out of place, he was rather unattractively sniffing every few minutes until he threw in the towel and began to breathe through his mouth. He interrupted Harry's reading with coughs and sneezes. But nonetheless, a steady hand stroked through his hair, baritone voice drifting throughout the room, and when he woke up for a new dose of pain potion in the middle of the night, he was ushered right back in to curl against the other's chest.