Title: Draco Could Be Quite Frustrating, Really
Beta: lksnarry1
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Length: 900 words
Rating: R
Warnings: There is one use of the F-word. And one of damn. That's all, folks.
Summary: Harry didn't understand for the life of him how Draco's brain worked.
Disclaimer: I make no claim to Harry Potter or the accompanying ideas and characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and others. This is written for entertainment only.
Author's Note: This has no plot, no smut, and really no angst. It is quite possibly even more fluffy than cotton candy. Thanks as always to lksnarry1 for the beta.

Draco's tongue looked really good poking out from in between his teeth. It seemed to have taken up residence there, while Draco was groaning and fussing theatrically.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Draco? You've been ranting off and on for a week now." Harry was ready to scream, and it didn't help his temper that Draco didn't notice his frustration.

"Do you know how long the Draught of Living Death has to simmer before you take it off the heat?" Harry shrugged.

"Not a clue. Do you know why you have been so distracted and out of sorts for ages?"

"Not now, Harry. I have to finish this paper for Snape, then I have to read a couple of chapters for Flitwick." Harry growled. Then he grabbed Draco's neck, hauling him away from his stupid books.

"You haven't looked at me for more than twenty seconds all week. You haven't spoken to me for more than five minutes all week. Every time we do talk, you act like you would rather be fucked by a polar bear than be spending time with me. What the hell is going on?"

Draco pushed away from Harry's grip. "Nothing. You are over-reacting. Now, I really need to finish this homework." Draco turned his attention back to his books and parchment.

"There's another point in my favor, Draco. You haven't been able to focus on a single assignment for more than a couple of minutes. Don't think I haven't noticed the constant switching of tasks. I have, you know." Harry scowled.

"It's nothing you would care about, Harry." Harry smirked. Draco might not be telling what his problem was, but he was getting closer. Harry could break his silence with a little concentrated effort.

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't ask. Please, Draco." The word please had always made Draco talk to Harry before. He had told Harry once that he hated for his lover to sound that desperate.

Draco flung down his quill and glared at Harry. "Father is sick, okay? Now, let me work. I would like to write him a letter tonight, and I can't until I get some of these damned assignments done." Harry's expression turned into a frown.

Harry grabbed Draco's waist, twisting him around to look at Harry in the face. "Draco, you should have just told me. If something is stressing you out this much, I want to know. Now, what is wrong with your father?"

"I don't know. No one can figure it out. It doesn't look like it's too terribly dangerous, but he's tired all the time and he can't seem to keep any food down." Draco looked miserable, and Harry found himself forgiving Draco for the past week instantly. It was hard to be angry at someone who looked that heartbroken.

"Alright. I'm guessing he's seen Healers, then?" Harry knew perfectly well that, while the Malfoys were unpopular to the new, post-war regime, their money still worked, and they still had a Healer on retainer. Draco had taken Harry to see him when Harry had snapped his arm playing Quidditch when Madame Pomfrey was gone for the weekend.

"Everyone we could hire." Draco looked at the buttons on Harry's shirt, and Harry tilted Draco's face up. The idiot never wanted to look at him when he thought he was being weak, even when he wasn't weak at all.

"Draco, why the hell did you think I wouldn't care? I've been worried sick the last few days, thinking all kinds of awful things." Draco nodded morosely.

"I know, but you've made no secret of hating my father. I try to keep you two apart, and this means I am going to go see him, and I didn't want you to come and be upset. Or not come and be upset that I went. Or come and upset Father."

Harry kissed Draco on the forehead.

"I don't know about any visiting or anything. But I won't make your life any harder. Not if I can help it. Now, let's get your work done so we can see what the Healers have to say and you can write to your father." Harry smiled lightly at his worried boyfriend. His worried, stupid, insecure boyfriend, but his boyfriend none-the-less.

Life with Draco was complicated, and Harry had to do things he would never consider otherwise, like looking for the answers to Snape's newest assignment and underlining them in the textbook so Draco could write to father sooner, but it was worth it. Harry didn't understand for the life of him how Draco's brain worked, though. Why would he think that Harry's dislike for Lucius in any way meant Harry was going to let Draco worry himself half to death without trying to help?

Harry wouldn't, ever. He adored Draco, and it only made sense that he was willing to help Draco with anything. Especially when it was as important to Draco as the well-being of his family. If that meant doing extra homework and playing nice with Lucius Malfoy, then that was what Harry would do. It was all Harry icould/i do, really. It wasn't like Harry planned on giving up Draco.

Harry smiled faintly as he thought and underlined the magical opposite of Monkshood in the potions text.