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The Muggle doctor asks him all sorts of questions.
Some are understandable: Can he dress himself? Brush his teeth? Take a shower? Shave? Yes, with help. Yes, with help. Yes, with help. No.
Some require a longer answer or demonstration: Does he eat on his own? Yes and no. You have to guide his hands through the first couple of bites to make sure he understands what he's supposed to do, and then you have to stay with him and watch to make sure he eats enough. Does he comprehend language? Is he verbal? He appears to react to certain words, and sometimes he even speaks, but his strings of words never make any sense.
Some are amusing: Does he wear diapers? No need. – He doesn’t understand why the doctor seems skeptical. He takes him for a long walk after their evening meal, helps him shower afterwards, and then sits him on the toilet half an hour later. His digestion works like clockwork, day after day. Does he need to be wiped? Yes, but there isn't much to wipe now that he has him on the proper diet. Necessity has made him an expert dietician. He can't remember the last time there was a disgusting or embarrassing moment.
The next question confuses him until she explains that some of the male patients have to be bathed by male nurses because of their physical reactions. He feels his face heat up and responds that no, he's never noticed any sexual reflexes.
The doctor completes her examination and finishes her notes.
"Well, he’s in excellent physical condition, Mr. Potter. Don't worry, we'll take good care of him while you're on holiday." She gives him a warm professional smile. "Let's take him to his room, shall we?"
The room is light and pleasant and contains only a minimum of furniture.
Harry approves and turns to leave, although he finds it difficult. They've never been apart in five years. But it is only for a week and the private clinic was highly recommended.
He doesn't dare kiss him good-bye in front of the doctor.
They call him in St Ives two days later.
He is back at the clinic within hours.
"We've done everything we could, but we can't get him to eat." The doctor sounds apologetic and truly worried. He appreciates her concern and the fact that she has called him rather than resort to a procedure called force-feeding, although he has signed the necessary paperwork, just in case.
The room is still light and pleasant.
Harry pulls up a chair and sits down next to the unmoving figure. He picks up the hand on the table to wrap its slender fingers around a spoon.
"It's all right, Draco," he tells him quietly. "I'm here."
The spoon begins to move.