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There's a Pure-Blood Custom For That	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 41050 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
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Demands of Fever
            “Damn,” Ron said, and then leaned over and vomited into a bucket that stood next to his bed. It hadn’t a minute before, but Harry had got handy with conjuring lots of things that his friends needed.
            “I know,” Harry said, and cast another charm to tell him how high Ron’s fever had got. Still higher than he liked. Ron had caught a Disease Charm full in the face when he was hunting down one of the nastier kidnappers of his career, and that, combined with working long hours and not eating much during the case, had knocked him into a full-blown fever and shaking and chills. “But it’ll be all right.” He stroked Ron’s forehead with one hand and cast another cooling spell on his skin. It had to be timed precisely, too, so that it didn’t cool him down too much. The fever had to work.
            “I feel as though I could cook an egg on my hair,” Ron moaned, and closed his eyes.
            “I know,” said Harry softly. “I know.” He moved the bucket over again, considered the clock, and spelled ice directly into Ron’s stomach. Ron shivered and complained. “Sorry,” Harry said, in what he knew was a completely unconvincing way.
            “Bloody bastard,” Ron said, without meaning it. He curled up and dragged some of the blankets with him, nearly falling off the bed.
            Harry adjusted him without thinking about it and glanced at the bedroom door. Hermione had her hands full with Rosie, who didn’t understand why she couldn’t visit her daddy and kept banging on the door. But although the disease was magical, Hermione was worried about their daughter catching it, and Harry didn’t blame her. Bad enough to have Ron aching and shivering and vomiting when he knew what was going on; you couldn’t explain something like that to Rose when she was this young.
            Luckily, the powerful glowing spell along the edges of the door was undisturbed. Rosie couldn’t get through it, even with accidental magic. There were advantages to being one of the most powerful wizards in the world, Harry thought.
            Or, well, something that felt like one of the most powerful wizards in the world. He didn’t actually know if he was or not, and he didn’t care. He wanted to be strong enough to take care of his friends, and that was all that actually mattered.
            He Summoned another bucket and cast a few Stomach-Soothing Charms as Ron started vomiting again.
*
            Knocking on the door—his door, not Ron’s door, and slowly the memory surfaced of returning home in the small hours of the morning, after Ron’s fever had broken—pulled Harry from a sleep that had felt more like death. He sat up and scratched his forehead, trying to understand why someone would be knocking. Not Hermione. She would have firecalled if something had gone wrong with Ron. And so would George. And so would Molly.
            The knock came again, and the sharp call of, “Potter! You invite us to your home and then you keep us locked out?”
            Harry groaned and thought about flopping back down on the pillows and pretending he wasn’t home. He had totally forgotten that Malfoy and Scorpius were supposed to come by today. He wanted to sleep. His body still ached from being driven to its limits, from staying up all night and casting lots of charms.
            But he had made the promise, so he cast a series of quick Cleaning Charms on himself, made sure that he had any empty food cartons from Muggle takeaway out of sight, and made his way to the door, calling, “Coming!”
            When he opened the door, Malfoy opened his mouth to rant at him, and then shut it abruptly and stared at Harry.
            “You invited us and kept us waiting,” said Malfoy. He shifted a little just as Harry opened his mouth to question what “us” he meant, and Harry saw that he was holding Scorpius’s hand, as usual. Scorpius had Golden in one hand, but he closed his mouth and stared at Harry. “That is rude. But when I see the state of your face, I think I might know why.” His gaze traveled beyond Harry, as if he wanted to see whether Harry’s home was dirty.
            Harry stepped back and shrugged at him. “I was up all night tending to Ron. He caught a Disease Curse in the face. Nasty thing. Do you want to go to the kitchen first, or the drawing room?” He managed to smile at Scorpius. “You can let your bird fly anywhere you want to. I proofed everything against pranks a long time ago.”
            “Golden isn’t a prank,” Scorpius muttered, but he smiled back, and stroked the little bird on his shoulder. It took off and flew around the room, and Scorpius released his father’s hand and ran after it.
            That left Malfoy standing there and studying him. Harry rolled his eyes. “I cast all sorts of charms on myself to make sure that I wouldn’t carry the sickness out of Ron’s room,” he said. “Hermione has a daughter, and she’s as protective of her as you could be of Scorpius.”
            “I don’t think so,” said Malfoy, but more in the tones of a pleasant observation than as if he wanted to make a point, so Harry let it go. He was still studying Harry. “You may not be sick, but you look exhausted.”
            “Is there a pure-blood custom that says the host has to look perfectly well-rested before he invites you in?” Harry didn’t manage to take the snap out of his voice this time, although he’d tried. “Or that you can’t accept food from anyone who doesn’t match your level of grooming?” He snapped his fingers at Malfoy’s slick, smooth hair. “Because I’m never going to look like you do, unless I manage to become an Animagus and a peacock is my form.”
            Malfoy’s nostrils flared. Then he said, “I was trying to be considerate. I doubt whether you’re up to the challenges of hosting us today.”
            That made Harry turn away and walk into the house in silence, because fuck Malfoy, who did he think he was? Scorpius was spinning in the middle of Harry’s room, still chasing Golden, and laughing. He looked up at Harry and smiled. “Mr. Potter! This is fun!”
            “Good,” said Harry. “Would you like some lunch?”
            “Yes, please!” Scorpius called Golden back with a little wave of his hand, impressing Harry; you could command the birds that way, but it took most owners a long time to realize it. Then he trotted after Harry into the kitchen. “What are we having?” He scrambled up onto the one stool Harry had at the table, the one that Rosie always liked to sit on, too, and looked around as though the windows and plain wooden walls were unusual.
            Harry knew Malfoy had come in and was lingering in the doorway, but he planned to ignore him for the moment. “That depends on what you want,” he said. “I could make you a sandwich, or a salad, or eggs, or bacon—”
            “I’ve never had bacon,” said Scorpius. “I want it!”
            At that, Harry couldn’t help but turn and stare at Malfoy. He already knew that Scorpius had been deprived of things like people ruffling his hair, but honestly. To take bacon away from a child?
            Malfoy’s cheeks were slightly flushed, as though he was the one who’d been sick. “I didn’t think it was healthy for a child his age,” he murmured, and came to sit down on one of the regular chairs, across the table from Scorpius. Harry’s table stood in a little nook of the kitchen. Malfoy looked up and down, as though counting the panes in the windows that wrapped around the nook.
            “I’m six!” Scorpius bounced on the stool. “I can have bacon!”
            “While you’re my guest, sure,” said Harry, but kept his eyes on Malfoy as he started Summoning plates and food. If Malfoy really had some good reason for wanting to keep it away from Scorpius, then Harry would just pretend he didn’t have any.
            But Malfoy maintained that intense interest in the features of Harry’s home. Harry shook his head as he took out the pan. To think that he should have lived to recognize signs of embarrassment in Draco Malfoy’s face.
            Scorpius ended up slipping off the stool and coming up to him, staring at the little flame that Harry conjured and the charms he cast and asking endless questions. Well, he would have had meals cooked by house-elves at home, and wouldn’t have seen this before, Harry supposed. Somehow, he couldn’t picture Malfoy cooking. He answered the questions as patiently as he could, and Scorpius seemed to know the moment when he had to go sit down and stop asking Harry questions if he wanted perfect bacon. He went to show Golden the world outside the windows, and make the little bird bow and scrape by touching the button in its back in a certain way.
            “I hope you don’t feel that we’re intruding.”
            Harry’s shoulders curled a little despite himself. Of course Malfoy would turn his attention away from the windows the minute Scorpius approached them. On the one hand, that was kind of flattering, reassuring Harry that Malfoy didn’t think anything in his house would hurt Scorpius. On the other hand, it was also immensely annoying. “I invited you,” he said, and turned the bacon over with a precise movement of his wrist so that it wouldn’t crisp too much. “If I forgot the date, then it’s not your fault.”
            There was a slight disturbance in the air next to him, and Harry started a little. He knew Scorpius was still over by the windows, chattering to his bird about what it might see if it flew over the gardens, so it had to be Malfoy. He just hadn’t expected Malfoy to come so close to him.
            “I wonder,” said Malfoy, and cast something. Harry concentrated on the bacon. It was going to be crispy all down the edges but still have some taste, just the way he liked it.
            “You are exhausted,” said Malfoy, his voice sharper than before. Harry didn’t raise his eyes to the ceiling only because he didn’t want to take them away from the bacon. Visiting an exhausted person probably didn’t set a good example for Scorpius or something. “Magically and physically. You should be on bed rest.”
            That was a new one. Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy as he finally settled the bacon, done to perfection, on the three plates that he’d already laid out. If Malfoy didn’t want his, Harry was sure Scorpius would eat it. “No one’s ever told me that before.”
            “Perhaps the charms that would tell them how sick you are aren’t common knowledge.” Malfoy was gripping his wand so hard that Harry briefly regretted not having the Elder Wand any more to heal it if it broke. “You look and feel as though you’re going to collapse. And you’re putting yourself out for us.”
            “Because you pointed out that the pure-blood customs apply to this situation.” Harry grinned. He didn’t feel light-headed, and he knew what magical exhaustion felt like, both from the inside and the outside, when George had driven himself through agonies of creation to produce a new prank and then collapsed. He did feel kind of smug that he was getting to use pure-blood customs against Malfoy as well as going along with them, for once. “I wanted to invite you to lunch. It was my choice. I did it. Now that you’re here, I have to honor it, don’t I?”
            Malfoy stood there, tense and unhappy, and looked towards Scorpius. Harry looked, too, but Scorpius wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was flying Golden around by holding it in his hand, now, and spinning in place so fast that he’d be dizzy by the time he was done.
            “Scorpius wanted to visit you so much,” Malfoy whispered. “He talked about it all week. And I know that he’s looking forward to eating bacon so much. I don’t want to take him away now.” He looked at Harry with eyes that seemed honestly haunted.
            Harry held back his laughter with an effort. “Really, it’s okay, Malfoy,” he said, and got out some scones and butter, too. He would just conjure water for them to drink. He didn’t have any pumpkin juice, or milk, or anything like that. “I’ll rest after you leave. I did get some sleep before you stumbled in here. It’s all right.”
            Malfoy drew himself up like an offended snake. “We did not stumble in.”
            “Came in, then.” The last thing Harry wanted at the moment was to argue about terminology. “Come on.”
*
            Scorpius ate so much bacon that his cheeks bulged out like a squirrel’s, and he kept praising Harry as the best cook on the planet. Harry told him that he shouldn’t let the Malfoy house-elves hear that, which made Scorpius absurdly nervous, which made Malfoy tell him that it was okay and Prissy wouldn’t mind. Harry had to control his laughter again at the house-elf’s name. At least it had an r in it.
            When they were done with the meal, Scorpius flew Golden around the drawing room and Harry did the dishes. Malfoy stood nearby, not helping him—Harry reckoned that you weren’t supposed to do that if you were a pure-blood guest—but all but hovering. He seemed to think Harry would collapse at any moment.
            “Is there a custom that says you need to worry about your host’s health?” Harry asked, finally turning around to face him.
            “I worry about yours,” Malfoy said shortly. “I did not—Potter, I wouldn’t have come if I’d known that you were sick.”
            “I’m not,” said Harry, thinking now he knew what this was about. “I know how to check for that. I wouldn’t want to get Rose—Ron and Hermione’s daughter—sick, and Scorpius won’t catch it from me. Or you.” Maybe Malfoy was worried about himself, too.
            Malfoy glanced away from him and out the windows at the back garden, frowning. Then he said, “And what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
            “Go back to bed and sleep my arse off,” said Harry, and had to chuckle at the way that Malfoy automatically checked the distance between them and Scorpius. “You don’t want him to hear anything other than what you say to him?”
            “Certain words, he doesn’t need to know yet,” said Malfoy, and made a complex gesture with his wand. Again the air around them dimmed with some sort of privacy ward that would keep Scorpius from hearing what they said. Harry sighed. It was really none of his business, but it seemed likely to him that Malfoy would grow up with a distrustful son if he kept this up. And maybe he should say something for Scorpius’s sake.
            He’d just opened his mouth when Malfoy leaned in and spoke quietly, as though he expected the privacy ward to fail any second, too. “And so. Do you believe me now when I say that I wanted to make peace, and have since we first saw each other again in Diagon Alley?”
            Harry raised his eyebrows. Malfoy went on looking at him, calm and complacent. Or seemingly so. The way that his hands tightened on each other gave the lie to that appearance.
            “All right,” said Harry slowly. “Say that I do believe you. But I don’t think you need to do more than you’ve already done. I promise to go to bed, okay? And it’s good that you came and woke me up, or I would have slept straight through lunch, and I always have a headache when I don’t eat on time.”
            “That’s something that happens regularly, then,” said Malfoy, in the kind of tone Harry had heard Healers at St. Mungo’s use. “If you know what your response is likely to be ahead of time.”
            “I’m not neglecting myself,” said Harry. It was best to treat Malfoy like a reporter, he decided, someone who wanted to pounce on tiny “clues” and build up stories about Harry from there. “I promise that I’m not. My friends don’t take advantage of me. They need a lot of help, and sometimes I am tired or hungry after I help them. But I choose to do that. I could have told Ron to go to St. Mungo’s when he got sick. He would have gone. But I wanted to help him. And I didn’t get sick, and it’s recoverable. So don’t worry that much about me.”
            Malfoy was silent for long enough that Harry thought he had offended him. He was a little sorry for that. He wanted Malfoy to leave and stop sounding as though he blamed Harry’s friends for something, but he didn’t want to lose the chance to say hello to Scorpius sometimes.
            “Very well,” said Malfoy. “But there’s a pure-blood custom to make up for the worry that you’ve caused me, worry that I would not have expected to feel, as you are not part of the family.”
            Harry held back his groan. Of course there was another bloody custom. “What?”
            “Allow me to bring you a gift,” said Malfoy. “Within a week or so. I will need that long to decide on something I think you’d like.”
            “What, I don’t get to pick my own gift?” Harry asked, joking a little. He still thought Malfoy was making up half of these things, but the notion of a present did touch him. Probably growing up with the Dursleys, he thought. Gifts meant a lot to him.
            “No more than you got to pick your own reward.” Malfoy nodded regally to him and swept out of the room to collect Scorpius.
            Harry sighed and finished the washing-up. Seriously, Malfoy was being so ridiculous. Harry didn’t need obligations and old-fashioned rules to give his friends what they wanted.
            But he did have to keep his head bowed for an extra minute before he could go and tell them good-bye, to get control of his smile.
*
delia cerrano: Draco might not know himself at this point what he wants.
Astoria is Scorpius’s mother, but she and Draco are divorced.
Jester: You’re welcome! Harry does think that George is more angry at Draco than Scorpius.
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There's a Pure-Blood Custom For That