His skin was too hot. Too tight.

Draco brushed his hair back, blinking his eyes, trying to get them to focus. His heart raced, and shivers racked through his muscles, leaving him breathless. He stumbled to his feet and headed to the hospital wing.

-

-

"Well, Mr Malfoy, you are warm, perhaps you've caught a fever," Madam Pomfrey said, walking over to her potions stores.

Vials clinked as she pulled open the doors and took out two potions, bringing them back and pressing them into Draco's hand. "Pepper-up. Take one now and the other with you for later. Come back if you need more or it gets worse."

Draco quickly drank the potion, offering a quiet thanks. The thrumming heat ebbed, slightly. Draco left the hospital wing and went back to his room, curled up on his bed and tried to sleep.

-

-

Draco woke in darkness with a grimace, kicking off the blankets tangled around his legs. Too hot. Heat crawled across his skin in prickling, unbearable waves, his muscles twitched with every stilted breath. The fine silk of his pyjamas clung to his skin, tacky with sweat.

He cast a feeble lumos, leaning off the side of his bed to grab his robes where he had dropped them, scrabbling in the folds until his fingers closed around cold glass. He took the other pepper-up potion and dropped back onto his pillow with a shudder.

Draco closed his eyes, dropping into a hazy half-sleep.

He dreamt of his skin tightening until he couldn't breathe and it ripped from his bones while he screamed.

-

-

Draco opened his eyes and squeezed them shut with a groan against the light sneaking through his curtains. He tried to stretch and froze with a hiss of pain as every muscle seemed to painfully protest at the movement, it even hurt to breathe. He shifted uncomfortably as his skin prickled and itched like a half-healed sunburn.

Draco eased himself out of bed, nearly falling on the discarded clothes still strewn across the floor. He gingerly made his way to his private bathroom and splashed water on his face after with a shudder. Draco drank a glass of water, and another, pressing the back of his hand over his mouth as he stumbled back to bed. He grabbed a blanket and clutched it to his chest in a crumpled ball.

He slept again.

-

-

Draco blinked blearily, only half aware he was awake or what had woke him. There was a knock on his door that turned into the door opening. Draco frantically felt around his sheets for his wand, finding it stuffed halfway under his pillow, and wrenched it out as he forced himself up onto his elbow.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy!" Slughorn said with forced joviality as he stepped inside, "There you are! You'd missed a day of classes, and Minerva pointed out it was quite out of character for you."

Draco dropped his wand and shoulders back onto his pillow.

"Sick, then? That would explain it," Slughorn said.

Draco nodded. He swallowed, his throat so dry it hurt.

Slughorn rocked back on his heels, straightening his robe like someone who had to be on their way, "Will you be needing help? Or perhaps just some more rest? Rest is the best medicine as they say."

Draco didn't have the energy to even glare at the old man. He needed to go back to the infirmary, he knew that, but asking Slughorn for help was- he still had some pride.

"Rest," Draco said faintly.

"Excellent! Well, get well soon, lad." Slughorn took a quick step out the door, nearly pulling it closed before bursting back in. He sidled over to the side of Draco's bed, conjured a glass and filled it with an aguamenti. "I'll have the house elves check up on you this evening," he said, a touch of anxiety in his words, and then finally made his exit, slamming the door behind himself in his haste.

Draco pushed himself but up on his elbow and carefully sipped the water. It tasted stale. Draco's mouth curled in disgust. He squeezed his eyes shut and drank it anyway.

No one came to check up on him.

-

-

Draco pulled himself up with the corner of his bedpost and leaned there for a moment to catch his breath. His robes felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, but he pulled them tight around himself to hide the pyjamas underneath, holding his wand in his other hand even though he wouldn't be able to cast even the simplest spell with it.

His vision swam, and a shivery little prickle slipped down his spine with every wobbly step. He hadn't even made it halfway when he had let go of his robes to put a steadying hand against the wall. His breathing was embarrassingly loud in his own ears, his heart thrumming in his ears to match. The cold walls were a balm against his palm, and he paused to lean against it, resting his forehead against the stones and trying to ignore the growing itch between his shoulder blades.

Fingers dug into his shoulder, wrenching him around and nearly pulling him off his feet. Draco grabbed at the person's arm in a blind panic, his wand clattering across the floor. His back met the wall with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs.

"Look who we have here."

Draco followed the arm up to the owner of the voice, a familiar voice. It was a fifth-year boy, big for his age, his little sister had died in a deatheater raid during the war. He wasn't alone, he had a greasy little friend crowding in at his side.

The hand squeezed his shoulder, bruising the already aching muscles.

Whatever breath was left in Draco was gone in a gasp of pain that rattled in his chest and came out as a whimper.

"Aww, the little deatheater's sick. Why don't you have your daddy call a healer for you?" Greasy mocked, "Oh, that's right, you can't because he abandoned you."

The hand on his shoulder pulled him off the wall and slammed him back against the wall. Fifth-year wasn't in the mood for mocking, he never was. "Another one was bitten," Fifth-year said darkly, "because of that feral fucking dog you let live in your house."

Draco slid, his legs giving out, his hands clutching Fifth-year's arm shaking uncontrollably.

"Greyback should've eaten you," Greasy said, "you'd be more use as dog shite."

Fifth-year grabbed Draco's other arm, wrenching it up above his head.

Draco panted through the pain, his vision dimming at the edges.

"Monster," Fifth-year hissed. He shifted his grip to Draco's wrist and twisted it.

Pain shot through Draco's wrist and elbow and he cried out hoarsely.

"Monster," Fifth-year hissed again.

"Hey! Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"

The hands let go. Draco slid down the wall, pulling his arms tight against his chest and running his fingers gingerly over bruised aching skin.

"-foy? Malfoy? Are you alright?"

Draco looked up. Potter still hadn't cut his hair. He had pulled it back in a bun, but it was still a magnificent mess with long curling strands loose at the nape of his neck and floating around his face. As Draco watched, Potter absently brushed some of them back behind his ear with one hand.

"That's a stupid question," Potter said, looking Draco over. He paused to grab Draco's wand from the floor and stuff it into his pocket, "Can you stand? On your own, I mean."

Draco wanted to say he could, to push Potter away, to sneer at him like he always had, but he was too tired. Yes, that was what he told himself. It wasn't how Potter had changed after the war, grown taller and broader and more beautiful; how he had seemed lighter now as if he had rid himself of a terrible weight he had been carrying his whole life, which Draco supposed he had.

Draco felt a blanket of magic wash over him, its intent strangely gentle, and his whole body lightened.

Potter carefully grabbed Draco's arm. When Draco let out a hiss of pain Potter hesitated and let go, looking at Draco's wrist, "Other side then?"

Potter moved to his other side and pulled Draco's arm over his shoulder, standing slowly and putting his other arm around Draco's waist, "I'd have just floated you there, but you'd probably have killed me once you got better."

Draco found himself smiling faintly as they slowly made their way to the hospital wing. Everything hurt, but his mind could only focus on the points connecting them together.

Potter really was an unbearably good person.

"Oh! Oh, Mr Potter, what kind of trouble have you gotten into this time?" Pomfrey said as soon as they came through the door.

Draco's legs hit the side of a narrow infirmary bed, and he collapsed onto it, grabbing handfuls of the thick, itchy blankets to hide how badly his hands were shaking.

"It's not me," Potter said, "Malfoy was- a couple ravenclaws attacked him, but I think he might be really ill."

"Oh dear," Pomfrey cut him off. "Why did you let it get his bad, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco pulled his head up as he felt Pomfrey's magic on him, analytical and sharp as she healed him. He couldn't remember if he had ever felt magic so... intimately before, like a touch on the skin, a taste on the tip of his tongue.

Draco was quickly ushered into bed, blankets pulled up to his chin, potions held to his mouth that he drank without question.

He heard a faint click and glanced over at the bedside table were Potter had placed Draco's wand. Draco let his eyes close, a feeling of comfortable exhaustion cradling him and drawing him into sleep.

-

-

Harry took a step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a frown as he studied Malfoy. He looked... Harry shivered faintly, it reminded him of sixth year, Malfoy was so thin and pale. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and his hair was lank and unkempt.

That was different, at least. No matter how ill Malfoy looked in sixth year, he always took careful care of his appearance. Except... in the bathroom.

Harry took another step back, nearly falling onto the bed behind him.

Pomfrey put her hand on Malfoy's forehead and shook her head.

Malfoy frowned in his sleep at the touch, turning away.

Pomfrey let him pull away and tsked under her breath. Her eyebrows twitched as she glanced up from her patient and saw Harry was still there, "Mr Potter, I can assure you Mr Malfoy is in good hands. His injuries were easily mended. His fever just needs a little extra attention. He'll be back on his feet in no time."

Harry nodded.

He didn't like Malfoy looking so weak. It made him feel... uneasy.

"I need to track down those- the students that hurt him," Harry said out loud to make himself to move.

"That's very good of you," Pomfrey said.

"It's the right thing to do," Harry mumbled, he took a deep breath and turned away, trying to shake the unplaceable anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong with Malfoy.

-

-

It took another day before Draco had the strength to go back to class. He had so much work to catch up on, and there was no leniency left for him anywhere in this world. He worked and studied and rarely left the library. He ignored the days when he felt weak and hot, and the strange, terrifying nightmares came for him, when he could sleep at all. He ignored it because it always passed and wasn't as bad as it had been before. Until three weeks later it was.

Draco felt the heat building in his head all through transfiguration. Though he tried to ignore it, by the time class ended, his vision was swimming, and he was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to stand.

The rest of the students packed up their bags, leaving the room in a ragged line. Draco's eyes stayed fixed on Potter's back, and the curls of his hair pulled into a ponytail.

Potter froze, frowned, and turned, like Draco's gaze had been a tap on his shoulder.

"Harry?" Granger called.

"You coming, mate?" Weasley paused by her side a few steps away from Potter.

Potter looked at his friends and then back at Draco with a confused expression on his face. "Go on ahead, I have something to do."

Granger and Weasley hesitated, and Potter waved them off with a vague reassurance. He waited until they were gone before walking through the rows of desks back to Draco. "What is it, Malfoy?"

Draco hadn't taken his eyes off him for a second. It must have been the fever making him bold, or foolish.

"Malfoy?"

Draco blinked, "I feel... faint," he said.

Potter frowned and reached out, his hand cupping Draco's cheek. His fingers were cool against Draco's heated skin.

Draco's eyes widened, "Potter?"

Potter twitched, jerking his hand back like he had been bitten and then stared at it in shock. "I-" he swallowed hard, clenching his fist until his knuckles went white, "I don't know why I did that...?" Potter looked at Draco, his eyes narrow and searching. "There's something different about you."

A flare of pain went through Draco's head, and he flinched in on himself, pressing a hand against his temple. When he opened his eyes, black spots flickered in his vision, growing and growing until he was swallowed by darkness.

-

-

The pillow under Draco's cheek smelled damp and musty. For a moment he was back in his rooms in Slytherin before remembering that he had a private room now because the house elves had complained about cleaning up all the bubotuber pus, flobberworm mucus and whatever else had been put in his sheets or robes by whoever hated him at the moment.

Draco grabbed hold of the simple wooden headboard to push himself up and look around, the room was small, with no windows or furniture other than the bed he was laying in. He didn't have his wand.

He wondered briefly if he had been kidnapped and would be kept as a prisoner or simply held long enough to be killed. He would be surprised if he weren't tortured first. Some of the letters he had received after the war had been very graphic. But he was wearing the awful infirmary pyjamas, and this place smelled like the dungeons, a smell he knew better than any other after so many years of calling this place a home of sorts, so he was almost probably safe.

After deciding that checking the door wasn't worth the energy of getting out of bed, Draco slumped back down onto the musty pillow, hooking the blanket waded up at the end with his foot and pulling it over himself to ward off the growing chill. He closed his eyes and waited for someone to come for him.

-

-

"How are you feeling, Mr Malfoy?" Pomfrey asked.

Draco stretched, wincing as his back twinged in protest. He felt Pomfrey cast a diagnostic spell and frowned faintly at the rough impatience in her magic. He felt like a cat being brushed the wrong way, and he bristled just the same.

"Follow me back to the infirmary," Pomfrey said, walking back to the door and holding it open.

Draco pulled the blanket around his shoulders, taking his time putting on a pair of flimsy slippers and joining her, "Why was I in that room?"

Pomfrey quietly cleared her throat, "...Mr Malfoy have you ever had the saliva or blood of a lycanthrope introduced into an open wound?"

Pomfrey had started walking down the hall, but Draco was frozen to the spot, "Are you asking if I was bitten by a werewolf?"

Pomfrey kept walking, her expression unmoved, "Last night was the full moon, and your previous episode also transpired during the phase of the full moon."

Draco followed a few steps behind, "I didn't transform."

"Not all infections result in transformation or even a full transformation. The house elves reported that after your last illness, they found your bed hangings rent as if by a knife-" Pomfrey looked back at him, "-or claws."

"I wasn't bitten," Draco said as levelly as he could manage. He was hated enough as it was without adding werewolf discrimination into the mix.

"It was just a precaution, Mr Malfoy. All suspected werewolf victims are isolated during the first three full moons after any potential exposure. To be safe," Pomfrey said.

They emerged from the dungeons into the main corridor.

Pomfrey who had been silent for much of the slow walk suddenly said, "Mr Potter reported your assailants to the Headmistress. He presented his own memories as evidence against them."

Draco nearly stopped walking again.

"It was very kind of him," Pomfrey said pointedly, "He didn't have to do that."

Draco nodded absently. He was just surprised that he wasn't upset. He knew how he ought to have felt, annoyed and angry at Potter trying to save him. Instead, he felt... pleased.

Pomfrey led the way back to the hospital wing, and Draco followed her a bed where a tray of potions was already waiting for him.

"Nutrition, revitalising, and strengthening potions," Pomfrey pointed to each vial in turn, "The last is a sleeping draught. If you're sufficiently recovered in the morning, you can resume classes."

Draco picked up the first vial and swallowed its contents with a grimace.

Pomfrey filled a glass with water and gave it to him. "I might as well inform you now that you have to check in here with me before the next full moon, where you'll be placed under watch again," She crossed her arms over her chest, "If you show the same symptoms you have to go to the hospital and be examined by a ministry approved healer."

"Just as a precaution?" Draco said sarcastically.

Pomfrey's tone darkened, "We have several students who have to take wolfsbane now and are under the same restrictions. There are certain risks we cannot take."

Draco grimaced at the overripe fruit flavour of the nutrient potion, taking a drink of water to try and wash the taste from his mouth.

Pomfrey gestured to the remaining potions, "I'm certain you can manage to take the rest on your own, I have other students to see to." She walked to the end of the room and a group of beds cordoned off by screens. The students recovering from their transformations the night before.

Draco grabbed the next potion and swallowed it quickly, jerking the blankets up over his legs. If he just slept, then morning would come, and he could delve into his books again, and give his whirling mind something to focus on.

-

-

"Malfoy?"

Draco's fingers slipped off the cork of the sleeping draught.

"I brought this," Potter held up Draco's wand as he walked over. He gave Draco an apologetic look, though it was reluctant at best. "It was on your desk when you passed out. I forget to give it back after I put it in my pocket."

Draco held out his hand.

Potter turned the wand, offering it grip first- a sign of implicit trust traditionally. He pressed the wand into Draco's hand, his fingers sliding over Draco's palm and lingering.

Draco felt that same strange focus where they touched, a static jolt climbing his arm.

Potter let go of the wand, slowly pulling his hand away and taking a step back. He looked Draco over with a frown.

Draco absently traced over the minute scratches and nicks in the wood with his fingertips. It felt like the end of his trial all over again, when he and his mother had walked free, and Potter had been there waiting with his wand, returning it without hesitation.

Potter conjured a chair, sliding it back until it butted against the adjacent bed, and sat.

Draco placed his wand on the bedside table, "Well? I'm meant to be sleeping now," he said, holding up the vial of sleeping draught pointedly.

"Yeah, just-" Potter ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it loose from its tie, "I was wondering if any other students have been bullying you."

"Of course."

Potter looked surprised.

Draco shrugged one shoulder, "Of all the people on the wrong side of the war, there's only one that isn't in Azkaban or left the country."

"You're not the only one there's-" Potter's brow furrowed, "Zabini-"

"Italy."

"-Parkinson, then."

"She and Theo transferred to Beauxbatons. Greg to Durumstang," Draco said.

Potter frowned, "Your mother was cleared of all charges."

Draco's jaw clenched, "She left with father when he was exiled. That only leaves me."

"It's not right," Potter muttered.

"Fascinating," Draco drawled, "I'm sure your obsessive sense of justice will fix it then."

Potter narrowed his eyes, "Shut up, Malfoy."

Draco pointedly closed his mouth and raised an eyebrow.

"That's not what I- You're such an arsehole," Potter sighed. He sat forward, "Would you tell me who they are?"

"I don't know," Draco said.

"What? How do you not-?"

"When someone hits me with a tripping jinx just as I'm going down the stairs, you'll have to excuse me if I don't ask their name," Draco said

Potter looked away with a grimace.

"Anything else?" Draco asked.

"Would you show McGonagall your memories?" Potter asked.

Draco shifted down the bed, pulling the blankets higher, "What will happen then?"

"What?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "I'm not about to give you anything unless I'm certain it's not going to result in retribution."

"The same as the two that attacked you yesterday, two weeks detention minimum, and weekly mind healing sessions for the rest of the school year..." Potter hesitated, "and they'll be expelled if they're caught doing it again."

Draco narrowed his eyes, "Was the last one real? Because I seem to remember you doing a lot worse and never getting more than a slap on the wrist. In fact, the last student to be expelled was Hagrid, our beloved groundskeeper, and that was only because Myrtle died. Would I have to die first?"

Potter glared at him. "No one's going to die. And leave off Hagrid."

"The mind healing is a nice touch though," Draco added.

"It was my idea," Potter said.

"Merlin's beard, Potter," Draco said in disbelief, "You know you can stop trying to save everyone, right? I'm fairly certain you've done enough to get a free pass for the rest of your life."

"Are you going to help out or not?" Potter asked impatiently.

Draco tapped his chin, letting Potter wait as he pretended to consider the idea, "Hmm... How about- no."

"Malfoy."

Draco fluffed his pillow and laid down, he hoped it looked dismissive and not like he was starting to feel weak just from sitting up. "How about this. I'll let you exact your righteous justice on anyone that does anything after today."

Potter sighed and tried to put his hand through his hair again, "I suppose. It's more than I expected."

"Oh?" Draco narrowed his eyes, "And what did you expect?"

"For you to take your wand, hex my bollocks off and call me a moron."

"That can be arranged. Shall I?" Draco said, reaching for his wand.

"No. Thanks so kindly for the offer," Potter said flatly, standing and dispelling the chair.

Draco dropped his hand back onto the blankets with a tsk.

Potter started to leave then turned back, his expression curdled with reluctance, "There's someone I think you should talk to..." he hesitated, "If I asked her to come, would you meet with her?"

"Who? And why?" Draco asked.

"Probably best if I don't say who, in case she says no. I have a hunch she might know why you keep getting sick," Potter said, "So, will you?"

For the life of him, Draco couldn't think of a reason to refuse. If it did give him some answers, perhaps things might improve. He was tired of being so tired. "Fine."

Potter pursed his lips, "You have to be nice to her. I'm not going to ask her if you're going to be a prat."

Draco nearly laughed, and it must have shown on his face because Potter scowled at him. "Don't worry, Potter. I'm only a prat to you."

-

-

a/n: I will hopefully be updating every other week on wednesdays. 

Thank you so much for reading!♡