Chapter Twenty-Four of 'There's a Pure-Blood Custom For That'- A Slender Key
Chapter Twenty-Three.
Title: There’s a Pure-Blood Custom For That (24/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Rating: R
Warnings: Partial AU after DH (Draco has Scorpius but is not married to Astoria, Harry is not married to Ginny), some angst, off-screen violence
Pairings: Harry/Draco, past Draco/Astoria, Ron/Hermione
Summary: The day that Harry stops Draco Malfoy and his son from being bothered in the middle of Diagon Alley starts a strange series of interactions between him and Malfoy. Who knew there was a pure-blood custom for every situation?
Author’s Notes: A series of loosely chronological, short “chapters” based on silly pure-blood customs, and a developing relationship between Harry and Draco. This is more humor and fluff than anything else, despite the angst warning.
Chapter One.
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A Slender Key
“So that’s the plan for right now,” Harry told the fireplace, or more precisely, Hermione’s head in the flames. “I’ll stay behind the wards at Malfoy Manor, but of course I’ll come over to visit you lot pretty often, and I’ll venture out if the Aurors need me to fight the Risen Cobras.”
“Or act as bait for them, right?”
Harry actually relaxed. It had been a long, long time since he had heard that particular bossy tone in Hermione’s voice, the one that indicated she was worried about something he hadn’t done yet. “Well, yes. I think Draco might come with me if I do that, though. Just to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
“Of course that’s the only reason,” Hermione said, and went on with a sort of withering note in her voice when Harry opened his mouth. “How long are you going to maintain this pretense that you’re living with him and trading jewelry with him but not dating him?”
“We never intended to maintain a pretense that we weren’t dating,” said Harry, and bounced one knee, picking at the chain around his neck that held the key Draco had presented him with. It hadn’t taken long for that to become a habit
“But you act like he’s just a friend you’re staying with,” said Hermione. Harry grimaced a little; he hadn’t missed the way she would accuse him of something. “You’re dating him, right?”
Harry shrugged. “Dating, courting, it’s hard to tell exactly what this means.” He toyed with the chain again.
“What’s that?” Hermione craned her neck. She had firecalled him and was kneeling down, and she couldn’t see much from the angle she was sitting at. “Did he give you another gift that you’re going to pretend is neutral?”
Harry rolled his eyes and took the key out. He supposed that the only way to get information about it without looking in more books of pure-blood customs was to ask Hermione, anyway. “This. He said it was a sort of key to the Manor and an invitation for sanctuary, but it isn’t magical. It just is.”
“Harry,” said Hermione, but this time she didn’t sound as if she was blaming him. She was staring at the key instead, and her eyes were wide and her hand was a fist she’d raised to her mouth. “Do you know what that means?”
“Sanctuary, like I just told you. “And then there were the times that Harry wasn’t above baiting his best friends.
Hermione ignored his words utterly, looking at the key like someone in a dream. “Those keys can be made of different materials,” she whispered. “Jewels signal that the person giving it to you is ready for any sort of friendship. The number of jewels on the key and the depth of their color signal what kind of friendship it is.”
“Well, this key is just silver,” said Harry, in case she might have missed it. He was a little relieved that Draco hadn’t given him one with jewels on it. Harry thought they were doing just fine in their relationship as it was.
“And then there’s the chain the key is on,” Hermione continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “Is that chain made of silver or gold? It’s hard to tell through the fireplace.” One of her hands made a little snatching motion, and Harry had to grin again. He was certain she wanted to be in the same room so she could grab the key and examine it for herself.
“It’s hard to tell,” Harry said. “I think gold, but the links are small and fine.” He looked at Hermione, waiting for her to tell him about the size of the links. She only bit her lip, though, studied the key one more time, and then continued.
“Gold is the least valuable material, but silver in the key indicates someone who’s valued…I don’t know, Harry. I really expected to see some kind of jewels. That would fit with the way that Malfoy is pursuing you.” From the little grimace she gave, she didn’t think much of that, but she was resigned. “I don’t know what else to tell you. That key doesn’t have a familiar shape or any jewels on it at all.”
Harry considered, then decided one more detail couldn’t do much harm. “He gave it to me in a box made of cedar wood, with a lid that flipped back.”
Hermione gasped, raising her eyes to his. “You’re sure it was cedar?”
“Positive. I could smell it.”
“Wow, Harry,” said Hermione, and this was in a small voice he had never heard before. Harry decided she was probably impressed. “Then there’s no doubt that he values you, and that makes the silver material of the key make sense. And even the golden chain and the lack of jewels,” she added, smiling suddenly. “He values you so much that he doesn’t need to show it through a special chain or jewels. Those would just be superfluous.”
“That’s fabulous, Hermione.” Harry leaned forwards a little. “Will you tell me what the fuck the cedar box means?”
Hermione gave him a mock-scolding glance, but didn’t say anything about his language, probably because she knew he would combust if he had to wait any longer. “Cedar means that the person you give it to perfumes your life.”
Harry slumped back against his chair. Once again, it was a way of speaking about his experience in pure-blood metaphors that didn’t correspond to anything he understood. “Great. What does that mean?”
“That you make his life sweeter,” said Hermione, and her smile was tender this time. It was the happiest Harry had seen her look about Draco since he had told his friends that they were court-dating, or whatever they should call it. “That he values you more than gold or silver. Cedar was traditionally precious in a way that doesn’t have much to do with what it cost. That you’re the most valuable to him.”
“I can’t be,” said Harry. “He has a son.”
“And I have a daughter, but that doesn’t mean I value you or Ron any less.” Hermione stretched out an insistent hand, once again seemed to realize she was on the other side of flames, and pulled it back with a sigh. “There’s different kinds of love and different kinds of bonds. You ought to know that.”
Harry turned away from the fire for a second, and thought. Then he turned back. It would take him hours to find the answer in books, so he might as well ask Hermione. “And what kind of response is appropriate to the key?”
“It depends on what he’s inviting you inside,” Hermione said promptly. “Ordinarily, you would accept the key with thanks and maybe a key to your own house. But the cedar box changes things. Do you think he’s really only inviting you to stay in his home as long as you like? Is that all?”
Harry thought about it, and sighed. “No.” It was the key to Draco’s heart, he was sure. He didn’t want to say it aloud because it sounded so-sappy, but that was the truth.
Hermione nodded. She probably knew what he meant, but she wasn’t going to make him say it. “Then you need to give him a box that’s made of cedar, or some other sweet-smelling wood. And come up with something that’s not a key, but symbolizes something important to you.”
Harry hesitated. “It can’t be a key?” That would be so convenient, and useful, too, since he did want to go back to his house after this scare was over, and then Draco could have a key to the front door.
“No,” said Hermione firmly. “This shows that you’ve put some original thought into the gift. At the same time, the symbol needs to be something connected to you.”
And then Harry thought of it, and he grinned. It was kind of silly, but, well, lots of the pure-blood customs struck him that way. “Got it. Thanks, Hermione.”
“What are you going to do for him in return?” Hermione promptly demanded, craning her neck. Perhaps she thought the idea was written on Harry’s face.
There were times it might as well have been, Harry acknowledged, but this time he only winked at Hermione and shook his head. “You’ll hear about it. Or maybe even see it.” If doubt seized him, he would want to show the gift to his friends before he gave it to Draco.
“Well, technically, I’m not supposed to,” Hermione admitted, and dropped her gaze, her cheeks flushing a little as Harry stared at her.
“Then why did you ask?”
“Hearing it described isn’t the same as seeing it,” Hermione said, and waved an irritated hand at him when Harry opened his mouth. “You know very well what I mean, Harry James Potter. I only wanted to hear because it’s interesting and it’s not a life like I live.”
“You little rule-breaker, Hermione.”
“Harry!”
She sounded so utterly scandalized that Harry burst out laughing, and that destroyed the illusion of seriousness he wanted to maintain. He and Hermione spent the rest of the firecall debating whether she should have asked to see the gift he was going to give Draco at all, with Hermione adamantly defending herself and Harry insisting she should have told him everything right away and then shut the Floo connection down to keep herself away from temptation.
It was the most fun conversation he’d had with Hermione in a long time.
*
“What is this?”
Harry smiled down at his plate. He wasn’t looking at Draco, pretending to be entirely immersed in repairing Golden’s wing. Scorpius had played too hard with the toy bird, and its wings had fallen off. Since they couldn’t go to George’s shop and wouldn’t be able to again for a while, Harry was doing the best he could with minor fixing spells.
“There,” he said, as he sat back and studied Golden for a second. Then he nodded and handed the bird to Scorpius. “See how he flies.”
Scorpius tossed the bird in the air, and whooped as it began to fly around the room. “Look, Daddy!” he shouted, and rushed after it, his hands up to catch it in case Golden fell again. Harry watched him indulgently. He thought a kid who showed that much compassion to a toy at this age would probably grow up to be a pretty good person.
“I’m looking, Scorpius,” said Draco, but his voice was deep and rough, and the next second, Harry heard the sound of the little cedar box he had put by Draco’s plate shifting. He stopped pretending to pay attention only to Scorpius and Golden, and turned around to observe.
Draco was cradling the box next to his cheek, head bowed as if he was listening for sounds from inside it. He flushed when he saw Harry watching him, and put the box back down near his plate with a little clink.
“You can open it whenever you want,” Harry told him steadily. “I’m particularly confident about what’s inside it.” And he winked at Draco, who looked both scandalized and delighted.
“I know that,” said Draco. “But I want to wait until we don’t have an audience.” He tilted his head at Scorpius. “Are you going to bring Golden back to the table, or are you going to just run around and shriek while we’re trying to have dinner?”
Harry wouldn’t have used the word “shriek,” but it seemed to work the way he suspected Draco meant it to. Scorpius leaped into the air, scooped up Golden as it swooped, and trotted back to the table, muttering, “I didn’t mean to shriek, Daddy.”
“Forgiven,” said Draco, with a quick little smile, and he began to entertain Scorpius. Harry joined in. It was easy. Scorpius was the sort of child who was most pleased by attention from adults, and he told them about the latest game he and Teddy had come up with, his determination to go over and visit Teddy tomorrow, and the toys he thought he could build with magic throughout the meal.
Draco kept looking at the box and then at Harry with hot eyes whenever Scorpius concentrated on his food. Harry was starting to hope that Draco wouldn’t be pained when he found out that the box didn’t have a sex toy in it. That was sort of what he seemed to be hoping for.
Scorpius finally said, “Daddy, why can’t I go to the wizarding primary school like Teddy does?’
Draco blinked, and Harry thought he fully focused his attention for the first time since he’d started talking with Scorpius. “Because you’re too young. You can start going next year, when you’re six.”
“Oh.” Scorpius paused to inhale a bit of the pudding a house-elf had put in front of him. “But Teddy says some five-year-olds are there.”
Draco sat back with a complex expression on his face. He seemed to be hesitating between a lie and the truth, but Harry caught his eye and nodded firmly. He was a big fan of telling children the truth the minute you thought they could handle it.
Or even before. He certainly wished Dumbledore had told him certain things about the prophecy and Voldemort before he had done so.
“There are some people who will dislike you because of your last name,” Draco began carefully. “You remember that I had that discussion with you a few times?”
“I remember,” said Scorpius. “But they won’t be at the primary school.”
Draco shot Harry a faint helpless look. Harry didn’t think it had anything to do with not being able to answer Scorpius’s questions, but rather not being sure how much was appropriate to tell a child. Harry took over as smoothly as he could. “It’s sort of like the people who are hunting me now, Scorpius. The ones who make me have to stay behind the wards?”
“Yeah,” said Scorpius, and pouted at him. He had been upset that Harry couldn’t join him and Teddy on a walk they wanted to take the other day.
“Those people aren’t the ones I fought in the war,” said Harry. “They’re like those people, but not the same. And the kids in the primary school are connected to people who dislike you for your last name, but not the same.”
There was a long pause while Scorpius thought that over. Then he said, “But I can go next year?”
“Yes,” Draco said, his voice rich and relaxed in the way that it normally was when he put so much good humor into it. “You can go next year.”
“Good,” said Scorpius, and went back to eating his dinner. Draco ate as well, controlling his impatience, although Harry saw him eyeing the cedar wood box more than once.
Harry grinned, and ate his own meal with, he thought, no sign of any unbecoming emotion whatsoever.
*
“Never have I been so anxious for my son to go to sleep.”
Harry leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the table as a test while Draco reached for the cedar wood box. Sure enough, Draco was too involved in the box and seeing what was in it to even snap at Harry to put his feet down, although most of the time he would have done that immediately.
He thought Draco almost stopped breathing when he opened the box and beheld the slender chain inside. Harry had deliberately had one made in silver (and luckily, that hadn’t been a difficult thing to explain by owl-order, although the next part had been). Draco lifted the chain out, and let the pendant on it spin into the light.
It was made of black wood, and Draco stared at it. Harry nodded to him when he reached out to touch the lightning bolt shape.
“Thank you, Harry,” said Draco, although he sounded a bit mystified. “I hadn’t realized that you still thought so much about your scar…”
His voice trailed off, because he had touched the center of the pendant and discovered that it was made of two hinged pieces of wood, each one a half of the jagged bolt shape. He shot a keen glance at Harry, who nodded again. Really, he thought, Draco was worse than Scorpius, who at least never needed encouragement to rip into a present.
Draco folded the hinged pieces back as delicately as butterfly wings. He obviously hadn’t noticed that the chain could flex in a way that would make both the doors open on their own, Harry thought. Oh, well. He had time to notice that, and Harry, time to tell him.
Beneath the pendant was a small mirror. Harry hadn’t been sure what to tell the shop that he’d ordered the pendant from about materials, and in the end had gone with simple glass and a frame made of the same black wood as the pendant itself. If there was something wrong with that, he thought Draco would put it down to Harry’s general ignorance of pure-blood customs.
It didn’t take Draco long to grasp what Harry valued, staring down at his own face framed by the wings of the folded-back lightning bolt. He blinked back what looked like tears and glanced across the table at Harry.
“I don’t necessarily know all the customs,” Harry said very softly, and reached out to take his hand. Draco let him take it without moving the hand that held the pendant aloft. “But I can tell you that I love you, very much. And I hope this is acceptable.”
Draco shook his head, but not in a way that worried Harry. He swallowed and said, “I want to ask you for something. And it’s something there’s no gift or traditional words for. I just want to ask you.”
“Sounds serious,” Harry said teasingly, but subsided when Draco glanced at him imploringly.
“I want, I need,” said Draco, and then stopped, although to Harry that had sounded like a sentence that didn’t need an interruption. Then he put down the pendant and said, “I want you to be with me tonight. Please.”
Harry swallowed. “I take it you don’t mean for sleeping.”
“Not sleeping as in lying beside each other with arms wrapped around each other’s bodies and only sleeping,” said Draco. “No.”
Harry hesitated once more. He hadn’t been with a man. His last relationship was five years ago. He still wondered what the public was going to say, and George, when they found out about this for certain.
But he had crossed a major threshold when he’d ordered that particular pendant and box, and he knew it.
“Yes,” he said, and came around the table to draw Draco to his feet and catch Draco’s lips under his own.
Chapter Twenty-Five.
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