Harry hadn’t objected when Draco brought him to Malfoy Manor, though granted, he barely registered the moment that decision had been made, all but collapsing in bed where Draco had placed him.<br/>The bone-deep feeling of exhaustion and discomfort wasn’t particularly foreign to Harry, having had to insist to Draco that such spells of sickness weren’t all that uncommon. Harry wasn’t unaware of the trauma left behind by the war and the physical ways it still manifested. Over the course of his life, Harry had on other occasions laid ill after a grueling case at work.<br/>For how familiar that discomfort had felt, Harry was for the first time in years spared a sense of bitter loneliness, Draco never leaving his side until Harry finally, in the early hours of the morning, fell into a dreamless sleep.<br/>Stirring awake, Harry did so with a sense of disorientation, unable to place himself in neither time nor place. For many how many nights Harry had spent at the manor, sleeping in Draco’s room was still too new to be registered in the first conscious moments of his day.<br/>Clumsily pushing himself up onto his elbows, the room spun around him, unable to shake the feeling of being /late/. He covered his eyes with his hand, trying to dispell a sudden feeling of nausea.