"Merlin and Morgana, this hurts."
Draco is lying in bed, his hand on his side, and his legs crossed tightly. He's been like this since the morning, clenching his teeth every few minutes and shutting his eyes. Harry is looking through the closet, looking under sheets and tossing aside pillows, trying his best to find where Draco kept the heavy blankets (because, for the life of him, he cannot understand his husband's system for storing anything).
"Where do we keep the winter blankets?" Harry asks, positively frustrated, looking at the closet that is significantly less tidy than when he first opened the door.
"Winter blankets? It's October. Are you insane?" Harry hears from the other room, but he just smiles and shakes his head.
"Darling, just tell me where they are."
Draco groans (rather loudly, rather dramatically) and carefully adjusts his position on the bed so that he's lying on his back, the blanket tangled around his calves.
"Second closet from the left, last shelf. For the millionth time, I organize by fabric and season, Harry. It's not that difficult to understand, I swe-ea-ar, ah." Draco squeezes his eyes shut on the last word, the shooting pain in his left side flaring up again.
"Did you put on your blanket like I told you?" Harry asks, closing the closet he was looking in (the first closet from the left) and opening the one beside it.
"What use is that going to do? I'm in pain, Harry."
"Just trust me, will you?" he throws over his shoulder, again shaking his head with an amused smile. He crouches down on his bare feet to get to the last shelf, rummaging through the blankets until he finds the one he's looking for - it's gray and it's fuzzy and Draco always loves to use it when he catches a cold in the wintertime (which happens, like clockwork, every January at least twice).
Harry runs a hand through his curly hair before attempting to drag it out as carefully as possible, seeing that it was in the middle of the pile.
"I have the blanket on and all that changed is now I'm not only in pain, but I'm also sweating. Merlin, Potter, you're a terrible nurse."
Harry rolls his eyes as he airs out the blanket. "That's quite fitting, the way I see it, because you're a terrible patient." And then he adds, under his breath, "You're worse than Ameh Maryam."
"What did you say about your Aunt Maryam? I heard that, Potter!"
"I said you're both very lovely and not at all annoying."
Harry walks into the bedroom with the blanket partially unfolded and walks over to Draco writhing on the bed. When Draco sees the heavy, fluffy blanket in his hands, he almost wants to throw the book on his bedside table at him.
"I already have on one blanket, and now you bring in that monstrosity? Are you trying to smother me to death? Because I guarantee you, the pain in my side will do that much quicker and much easier, and you won't get a year in Azkaban."
"You're adorable," Harry smiles as he wraps the blanket around Draco's torso. "Up, come on, let me tuck it around your sides."
"I'm not adorable, I'm in pain," Draco grumbles but does as he's told. Then, Harry takes his own pillow from his side of the bed and puts it on Draco's stomach.
"Is there a reason you're piling an entire linen closet on me, Harry?"
"I'm trying to make you feel better, my love." He runs a hand through Draco's hair, stroking it back, making Draco's mouth turn up in a smile. He sits down beside him on the edge of the bed, Draco moving over a little to give him room. Draco's eyes close as Harry keeps stroking his hair.
"In Farsi, we say chaidi. That's what happening to you. Now, I have no idea what the English translation would be, but basically, your kidney is, uh..." he tries to find the right word, "cold, in a sense. It happens when it's exposed to too much cold air. The blanket probably fell off you last night and your shirt was up a little. The castle can be drafty."
"Well, I did notice I didn't have the blanket on in the morning," he mumbles, a grimace quickly following. "Is that also why I keep having to get up and use the restroom?"
"Unfortunately."
Draco mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like the words stupid fucking body, and Harry has to fight not to laugh at him.
Draco adjusts under the blanket, turning a little to the side to face Harry more. "How do I fix it, then, Doctor Potter?"
At that, Harry does let out a soft laugh, "Well, essentially, we have to warm it up. Warm blankets on the area, pillows, anything that could be warm, since we don't have a heating pad. And I think a Warming Charm might help, as well, actually."
With that, Harry stretches over Draco to get to the wand on his bedside table, earning him an oof of complaint, which he promptly ignores. With a wave of his wand, he applies the charm to the area. Draco sighs at the warmth.
"And that tea you say Iranians say fixes everything? With the thing in it, I always forget the name. Nabat?" Draco points over to the kitchen, emphasizing his point (presumably). Harry smiles, brushing his thumb over Draco's cheek, finding the (incredibly wrong) way Draco tries to pronounce Farsi words incredibly endearing.
"Not this time, I'm afraid. Chaai nabaat isn't going to help you, here, love."
"Fuck."
Harry looks down at Draco, and he feels warmth spread over his body - and he's not even the one wearing the blanket - because Draco pouts, a genuine pout, and Harry is reminded for the millionth time why he fell in love in the first place.
"Do you want me to make it for you anyway? I know you like how sweet it is."
"It tastes different than regular sugar..." Draco shrugs as Harry gets up.
"That's the, uh, the zafferoon, love."
"Saffron, Harry. Saffron," Draco calls out, making Harry laugh.
"Same thing," Harry calls back from the kitchen. The kettle is already on, and the tea leaves are already seeped, so Harry first goes to the cabinets to take out the nabaat. There are only three left - he'll have to pop over to the Mediterranean store soon to get more. He should buy an extra box for Ron and Hermione, he thinks (since he's finally convinced them that it does, in fact, work miracles).
He grabs Draco's cup from another cabinet and takes it over to the counter, pouring in a bit of the concentrated tea first, and then adding water (making sure it's not too dark) until the cup is filled to the top. The nabaat goes in next, and he swirls the wooden stick the pieces of crystallized sugar are stuck to as they dissolve in the hot tea.
Draco is sitting up when he comes back into the bedroom, the blankets still bundled around his torso, and the pillow still on top of his stomach.
"Better?" Harry asks, offering him the cup of tea before sitting down on the bed beside him, leaning his back against the headboard.
Draco's eyes light up as he sees the cup, and he continues stirring the stick in the tea once the cup is in his hands. "A little. I still feel shooting pain sometimes, but it's lessening."
"I told you. I'm magic," Harry says with a grin.
Draco scoffs, "You're a wizard, Harry. We're all magic. That was a cheesy joke if I've ever heard one."
"You still love me though." They both smile, and Harry starts to stroke his hair again. "Now drink up, your tea is going to get cold."
Draco takes a sip of tea and looks at Harry, a glint in his gray eyes. "I can't imagine why."