dogstxr

Draco Malfoy

He has a cold. A cold. You'd think he was on his deathbed with the way he's draped himself across the four post bed in his room at home, he has one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes and the other dangling near his side.

"I'm withering” his voice croaks. "Tell the elves to prepare the gardens for my memorial” You hand him a cup of tea with a spoonful of honey mixed in. He takes one sip, makes a face, and sets it down like you've poisoned him. "Too hot, the steams stuffing my nose. My senses are failing me” you could hear the congestion and struggle to say words.

You sit on the edge of the bed and run your fingers through his hair. He melts into it immediately, letting out a pitiful little sigh. “I'm not going to your memorial” you say teasingly. "I'd have to wear black, and you know I look better in green” He peeks one eye open and manages to say

"...You'd look exquisite in black, actually. That's the problem. Everyone would see you and think you're available” You laugh and press a kiss to his damp forehead. He grumbles about germs but his hand finds yours and holds on like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to this mortal plane.

Harry Potter

Harry is insufferable when he's sick. Not because he's mean, because he's stubbornly, infuriatingly cheerful about it, as if he can power through a fever by sheer force of optimism. “I'm fine” he says, voice hoarse, nose streaming, eyes glassy and not quite being able to enunciate the ends of his words "It's just a bit of a tickle”

You put a hand on his forehead. "Harry, you're on fire” you stare down at him with a look you hope comes off as unimpressed and stern.

“I’ve been on fire before, literally. Remember the dragon?" You shove him back onto the sofa and throw a blanket over him. He protests for exactly four seconds before his eyes start drooping.

You bring him soup later on after his nap and he tries to feed himself, spills it on his shirt, and looks at you with the most pathetic, betrayed expression. “Im a disaster” he mumbles into your shoulder as you clean him up. “You're my disaster” you say, and he smiles so wide and soft that you almost forgive him for being a terrible patient. Almost.

Theodore Nott

Theo doesn't complain. That's how you know he's really sick. He's usually so dry and sarcastic, but now he's just… quiet and pale. Sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. You sit beside him. "Theo”

“Mmm”

"Are you going to let me take care of you, or are you going to sit there and space out until you pass out?" The corner of his mouth twitches. "Brooding is efficient, uses less energy”

You take his face in your hands. His skin is clammy. He leans into your palms like he's been waiting for permission to be weak.

"I hate being looked after” he says quietly.

“I know you do” you say softly and quietly next to him “Vulnerability, I know”

He closes his eyes.

"...Stay?" You tuck him into bed, and he lets you. He doesn't say thank you, but he curls into your side like a cat and presses his cold, slightly runny nose to your neck, and that's his way of saying it.

Mattheo Riddle

Mattheo is a menace when he's healthy. When he's sick, he's a dramatic menace. You walk into the bedroom to find him sprawled starfish style across the entire bed, a cold cloth on his forehead, moaning like he's in a Shakespearean tragedy.

"Leave me” he whispers. "I'm not long for this world. Tell the lads I died doing what I loved being insufferable”

You bite back a laugh. "You have a mild fever, Mattheo”

"A mild fever? Woman, I have seen the veil. I have walked the edge of the abyss”

You sit on the edge of the bed. He immediately grabs your wrist and pulls you down, wrapping himself around you like a koala. His skin is too warm, his hair is a mess, and he's still talking. "If I die, you're not allowed to date anyone else. I'll haunt you. I'll flicker the lights during-"

You kiss him quiet. He hums against your lips, satisfied that he’s getting your attention.

"...Okay, maybe I'll live"

Blaise Zabini

Blaise is elegant, composed and always put together. So when he gets sick, he refuses to admit it.

You find him in the kitchen, making espresso, wearing a silk robe, looking like he just stepped out of a magazine but he's been given away by his violent shivering.

"Blaise. You have a fever”

"I have a slight temperature elevation. It's fine” You take the espresso cup out of his hand and he watches it go with genuine grief.

"That was my last clean cup”

"You're not having caffeine, you need rest” He sighs, long and put upon, like you've asked him to renounce caffeine for life. "Fine” You lead him to bed. He arranges the pillows with exacting precision, then allows you to tuck him in. Within ten minutes, he's asleep, one hand still loosely holding your wrist.

When he wakes up, the first thing he says is, "I want a cold press and a new book and for you to sit right there so l can look at you while I recover” You hand him his book from the nightstand and he kisses your knuckles.

Pansy Parkinson

Pansy is a queen and she will be treated like one, especially when ill. She's propped up against a mountain of pillows, wearing your softest jumper, a scowl on her face, and a tissue box in her lap. "This is humiliating” she announces. "I look and feel awful. Don't look at me” she says over dramatically, shielding your eyes with her hands. “You look beautiful, as you do everyday” you say, which is true-flushed cheeks, messy hair, pouty lips.

"Flattery won't save you. I know l'm a disaster. I can feel my sinuses expanding in real time”

You bring her tea and toast and while she appreciates you she still can’t let it show too much "The crust is slightly too brown” You take the crust off. She nods, satisfied, and takes a tiny bite. Then she pats the bed beside her. "Come here. I need someone to hold my hand and tell me I'm pretty while I suffer” You climb in. She immediately leans her whole weight against you, sniffling dramatically.

"If I die” she says, "bury me in something designer”

"Noted”

"And visit my grave weekly”

"Every Tuesday” you roll your eyes affectionately while threading your fingers through her hair.