Author's note: This oneshot is dedicated to babyvfan, because it's her birthday today! Happy birthday, sweetheart! :) It has been quite a while since I last dove into the HP fandom again, so hopefully I haven't become too rusty ^^; I started this fic several years ago, so you know, perfect time management as usual *coughs*

Warnings: Narcissa's pov for the most part; Harry's pov; canon divergent after the war; references to child neglect; fluff; established slash

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.

Dedicated to: babyvfan

I hope you'll like it!


Tell Me Your Secret

The Weasley matriarch did a double take when she stepped out of the Floo, murmuring a spell which would get rid of the couple of stubborn soot particles clinging to the hem of her robes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley," she greeted her calmly.

The other woman blinked, staring at her bemused. Her ginger red hair was frizzy and escaping her hairband and some flour dusted the back of her hands.

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," she returned the greeting in a neutral tone, before her eyes flicked up towards the ceiling. "You heard Harry's sick?"

"Yes, my son told me during breakfast. He spent the night brewing a potion and asked me to give it to Harry as he was called away for an urgent meeting," Narcissa replied, keeping her senses open for any movement upstairs. There were no footsteps so wherever Harry was, at least he wasn't moving around.

Mrs. Weasley snorted, a look of exasperation crossing her face as she shook her head. "Good luck with that. I've just been upstairs with some potions of my own and he utterly refuses to take them." She clucked her tongue. "He's as bad as Ginny was when it comes to taking his medicine – and Ginny outgrew that phase when she was nine."

Narcissa smiled thinly and moved around the shorter woman, aiming for the staircase she could see from here. "Well, I can at least try. Perhaps he can be persuaded when he knows Draco personally brew them for him."

"I brewed these myself and he doesn't want to take them; I doubt it'll be any different with your son," Mrs. Weasley remarked and walked to the fireplace. "But by all means, give it a try. I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on him; maybe he's more willing to take medicine then."

The flames turned a bright green once more as she threw the Floo powder into them, calling out her destination whilst she stepped into the hearth. Narcissa watched her leave with a blank face, before she lightly shook her head and ascended the staircase soundlessly, glancing with some interest at the photos adorning the walls. She was gratified to find that most of them contained her son together with Harry in several different settings.

Their relationship had known a rather tumultuous start with Draco being too forceful about the things he wanted and Harry too uncertain about what the rest of the world would think of them being together. Fortunately the Potter heir had quickly realised that he shouldn't care what other people thought of him as long as he was happy and Draco had tempered himself somewhat – after she had had a long and thought provoking conversation with him.

She loved her son dearly, but sometimes he needed a push in the right direction; an unfortunate trait he had inherited from Lucius. They should count themselves blessed that she was there to steer them right, because left on their own they were capable of landing themselves in quite the mess.

A loud bout of coughing alerted her to Harry's whereabouts and she knocked softly on the only door which was left ajar. "Harry? Do you mind if I come in?"

There was a long pause before the dark haired man croaked out, "If you don't mind me not being at my best now, Mrs. Malfoy."

She pursed her lips for a couple of seconds before she smoothed out her face again. She had given him permission to call her by her first name a while ago, but it seemed he still wasn't completely comfortable with that. She let it go for now; there was no point in arguing about the proper form of address with someone who was ill.

"Nobody would expect you to be at your best now, Harry," she said mildly and entered the room, taking stock of how it looked.

The curtains were pulled open as far to the other side as was possible; the sunlight pouring inside without restriction. A blue bucket had been put down next to the bed but the lack of smell either meant it had been cleaned recently or Harry had at least been spared of vomiting. The light green sheets were rumpled and the blanket pushed to the back. One pillow had ended up on the floor and the other one laid limply on the bed.

A small bin next to the bucket was already filled midway with crumpled paper handkerchiefs; the box with fresh ones stacked on top of a closed box on the nightstand. A pair of fine, silver rimmed glasses laid folded next to a full water bottle; a plate with some toast and jam discarded to the side.

Harry was bluntly put a right mess. His already messy hair had some strands flat against his head while others stood out in several directions like he had been zapped by the Zinder spell. His eyes were underlined with heavy bags, which stood out starkly against his sickly pale pallor; the colour of his eyes darker and rather flat as if all the life had been drained from them. While his skin was as white as a sheet almost, his nose was a bright cherry red and he pressed a handkerchief against it when he sniffled.

He was shivering despite being underneath the blankets; at the sight of her he struggled to sit up, freezing when she audibly tutted her disapproval.

"No, Harry, no need to sit up on my account," she said and he sagged back down, looking absolutely miserable. "The hex got you pretty good, I see."

"The Mediwizard said it's hitting me worse because apparently my immune system was already compromised from 'too much stress'," he replied, managing to sound mocking even through his scratchy voice.

"Stress does tend to worsen illness," she murmured and he looked away bashfully; his cheeks flushing slightly. She wasn't interested in giving him a lecture, though. She thought her son had already given him one yesterday, judging by how annoyed he had looked when he had arrived at the manor to brew the potions.

Instead she approached the bed and checked his temperature, taking notice of the way he leant into her touch briefly before he stilled again. "How are you feeling now exactly?"

"Mostly a headache that won't go away," he muttered, wincing when the beam of sunlight briefly intensified before a cloud obscured it slightly.

Well, no wonder with curtains wide open, she thought and with a delicate flick of her wand the curtains closed again, leaving them in complete darkness until she conjured a sphere which pulsed with a gentle, soft yellow light. It was one she had used when Draco had been a young child and too apprehensive of the dark to fall asleep. She thought the soft glow would make it easier on Harry and judging from the way the harsh lines on his face softened, she had assumed correctly.

"Thanks, I told Mrs. Weasley she didn't need to open the curtains, but she wanted to do me a favour," he sighed.

She nodded and studied him critically. "Do you feel good enough to take a shower? The water will help you cool down a bit; we don't want you catching a fever on top of all this."

"I should manage that," he muttered and slowly sat up. He waited for a moment before swinging his legs out of the bed, pushing a blanket further away.

"Did you eat something today?" she inquired, though the presence of the toast was an answer on its own.

"No, not in the mood for it," he mumbled and stood up. He wobbled slightly and she stepped forwards, offering her hand so that he could find support.

He flushed a bit more, shaking his head. "I'm fine."

"I'd rather not explain to my son that you ended up injured because you lost your balance," she said dryly. "You can use me as your support until you reach the bathroom."

"I'm surprised he isn't here to fuss," Harry muttered, but after a moment of hesitation he nonetheless carefully rested his hand on hers, putting a bit more pressure behind his touch when he slowly started moving forwards.

"Only because he had a pressing matter to attend to that he could not ignore," Narcissa answered. "Otherwise he would have been here."

"Perhaps better that he isn't, with all the fussing he would do," he said, a hint of humour in his voice.

"He cares about you," she said simply and he uttered a soft sigh as they started making their way out of the bedroom.

"I know; I'm not that seriously ill, though," he refuted calmly. "It's just a stupid hex, that's all. It'll be over in a couple of days at best."

A 'stupid' hex that actually could have serious consequences if left unchecked. Narcissa kept her face purposefully serene, but inwardly she was frowning. Nobody liked a person who whined about the slightest sniffle, of course, but dismissing their illness like Harry was doing wasn't preferable either. She was reminded of what Draco had confided to her, a couple of months after he had started dating Harry. Everyone knew that Harry had been raised by his Muggle family; that hadn't remained a secret for long. Bar the bare minimum, however, that basically boiled down to Harry having been raised by them and having spent the summers with them, he hadn't told Draco anything else.

As a matter of fact, whenever someone would bring up his Muggle family Harry had a tendency to deflect the conversation and redirect it in such a masterful way that people would forget they had asked him about his Muggle family to begin with. Narcissa had never had any dealings with Muggles and had never comprehended some wizards' and witches' obsession with them, so to an extend she understood why Harry wouldn't want to talk about those Muggles – except those Muggles were his family and had raised him for a good part of his life. Not wanting to discuss them with total strangers was normal, understandable. Not wanting to talk about them to his own partner, though? That was odd to say the least.

Draco had used both his own contacts and those of Lucius to do some digging into Harry's past and the few details he had uncovered were … troubling to say the least. There had been the initial address Hogwarts had used to send the acceptance letter to: 'Cupboard under the Stairs'. They had meant a literal cupboard, not simply an odd street name. Why would Harry's address have been specifically a cupboard and not simply the street name? The amount of letters sent had been staggering as well, indicating that for some reason Harry hadn't received a ton of them even though the address had barely changed.

Draco had ended up using the street name to investigate the house itself. The Muggle family had moved out a long time ago and a new family had moved in, but Draco had used spells that would send through decades' old impressions to his mind, similar to the way a Pensieve with memories worked. The impressions hadn't been clear, though not for a lack of trying on the spells' part. Old magical wards had kept most of the impressions muted, but Draco had managed to glean enough information from the impressions he had received to realise that Dumbledore's Golden Boy could have easily ended up in the same position as the Dark Lord.

It had been a very sobering realisation, made worse by the fact that they couldn't talk with Harry about it. He never discussed his Muggle family – who would, knowing even just a quarter of what they had done? – and Draco could hardly admit to having gone behind his back to visit the old house. All they could do was show Harry that he mattered, that he was loved, no matter what those Muggles might have told him or how they had treated him.

Witnessing how easily Harry dismissed his illnesses, no matter how severe they were, Narcissa was forced to wonder whether this was a byproduct of how Harry had been raised. Had the Muggles make him believe that his illnesses didn't matter? Had they forced him to push past each injury, each illness to the point that Harry had internalised their 'teachings' and now dismissed it every time he fell ill?

How could anyone allow a child to grow up, thinking they were not deserving of any care or 'fussing' when they were ill?

Narcissa was still thinking about this when they arrived in the bathroom. Harry was walking a bit steadier now which put her enough at ease that she left him alone to take his shower, returning to the bedroom instead. She opened the window for some fresh air; a soft breeze stirring the curtain slightly. Next, the sheets and blankets were exchanged for a fresh set; recovering would go smoother if Harry didn't feel like he was surrounded by the smell of illness. She returned the pillows to the bed and Vanished the used handkerchiefs, using a Freshening Charm on the bin for good measure.

She spared the plate with the pitiful toast one last look before she Vanished that as well. She clapped her hands together once and within three seconds one of the Malfoy house elves popped up, bowing until her pointy nose nearly brushed against the floor.

"Was cans Milly do for Mistress?" Milly squeaked gently.

"Can you prepare some tea to soothe a cough and clear the airways, Milly?" Narcissa requested. "It's for my son's partner. He is ill at the moment and could use something to help him recover. And make something light for him to eat."

"Of course, Mistress!" Milly chirped, bowing once again. "Milly's be preparing the tea and food for Master Draco's partner!" She popped out, returning to the kitchen in Malfoy Manor to prepare the tea in question.

Harry seemed insistent on not having house elves of his own, though Narcissa couldn't tell how much of that resistance was influenced by his friend Granger and her battle against the house elves' servitude and how much of it was simply a result of him not having grown up with these beings. At the very least he hadn't protested when Draco had suggested keying in an exception for the Malfoy house elves into the wards.

"Oh, Mrs. Malfoy, you shouldn't have bothered."

Harry's startled voice had her turning around, clicking her tongue gently when she noticed he had pulled on his old pyjamas again after his shower. She flicked her wand at him and he blinked when the spell she used transformed his pyjamas into a new set. Upon doing so, she noticed his hair was still rather wet.

"Come sit down, Harry," she said and beckoned him closer.

He looked somewhat bemused, but sank down on the bed; his shoulders hunching up in surprise when she conjured a towel and carefully, but firmly started drying his hair.

"Really, Mrs. Malfoy, you don't have to - " he started to protest, but quietened down when she shushed him.

"It's fine, Harry; it isn't a bother," she reassured him and the next couple of minutes were spent in comfortable silence as she dried his hair manually.

She could have used a spell for that as well, but the spells she knew tended to pull at the scalp slightly; with his headache that didn't seem like a good idea. It wasn't as if drying his hair manually was such a bother anyways; for all that it was unmanageable, as Draco had often bemoaned, it dried relatively quickly and not long after she coaxed him to lie down.

At that moment Milly appeared back in the room, pulling a shocked noise from Harry.

"Milly apologies for scaring Master!" she squeaked guiltily and bowed several times while still keeping the tray perfectly straight in the air.

"It's fine; just didn't expect you," Harry said; his voice still having a rough edge.

Well, the tea would help with that.

Narcissa accepted the tray and put it down on the nightstand. "That will be all, Milly."

"Of course, Mistress!" With a snap of her knobby fingers Milly was gone again.

"This tea will help soothe your cough," Narcissa explained, handing over the steaming cup. "I had Milly prepare something light and easy to stomach for you as well; it'll be under the cover until you're ready to eat."

As Harry started carefully sipping from the tea, Narcissa pulled the potion from her pocket and enlarged it. She hid a smile when Harry started grimacing at the sight of the dark green bottle.

"Draco prepared a potion for you that should help flush out the illness a lot quicker," she said. "It will make you sleepy however; that is just to make it easier on your body to get rid of the virus."

"He really shouldn't have," Harry grumbled, eyeing the potion suspiciously. "It won't taste nice, will it?"

"I cannot speak for the taste," she said amused. "It is something Draco came up with on his own."

He frowned, but the sharpness in his eyes receded slightly at the mention of Draco having invented this potion himself.

"Guess I'll take it then," he gave in with a sigh of defeat. "I know he'll bug me otherwise about it."

"He cares about you," she said mildly and this time the blush spreading out across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose had nothing to do with his illness. "I know you don't like taking potions, but I assume you like being sick even less."

He sighed again, but accepted the potion, uncorked the vial and drank it all at once, surprising even Narcissa. Harry was almost notorious for not wanting to take potions. Either he took this potion because he trusted Draco's skills or he simply felt so bad that he preferred the potion over trying to tough it out.

It appeared Draco hadn't been kidding when he had mentioned that the potion would cause sleepiness. Harry had a moment to grimace at the taste, pull a face and place the empty vial on the tray before he started to blink. He covered a yawn just in time behind his hand and sank deeper into the bed.

"Did he make it sleep inducing on purpose?" he asked and sounded too sleepy already to sound affronted or angry.

The corners of Narcissa's mouth twitched. "I don't know. If he has, perhaps he did so to make it easier on you?" she suggested.

He grumbled, but it was clear that he was losing his battle against the sleep. His hand rose up to take off his glasses, but his arm dropped down limply on the bed instead as his eyes shuttered close.

Yes, Draco probably had made it sleep inducing on purpose. Most likely he had thought this would make it easier for Harry to deal with taking a potion.

Shaking her head lightly, Narcissa bent down to carefully take off Harry's glasses, so that they wouldn't become damaged if he ended up moving in his sleep. Right as she plucked off the glasses and folded them to put them on the nightstand, Harry stirred lightly.

"Mum?" he mumbled, but it was clear he wasn't really conscious anymore.

Him calling out for his mother tugged at Narcissa's heart, though, and before she could reconsider she bent down lower than before and brushed a sweet kiss against Harry's forehead.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered, adjusting his sheets so that it covered his shoulders.

He sighed quietly, a faint smile playing across his lips as he sank deeply within sleep's embrace.

She closed the window, adjusted the curtains and walked silently downstairs. Nothing left for her to do here except letting the potion do its job.


"You took the potion, I'm impressed."

Harry glanced up from the book he had been reading and levelled an unimpressed look at the smirking blond man. "You sent your mum, how was that playing fair?" he complained and closed the book.

"You could have refused," Draco suggested; his smirk widening when Harry's unimpressed look grew.

There was no way Harry would have refused Narcissa and they both knew it. Bastard had probably sent her on purpose, precisely because he knew Harry would be less likely to refuse a potion she offered. It wasn't as if he was scared of her; there was just something about her that made it easier to give in.

"Ah, ah, I'm still sick," Harry reminded Draco when the other man bent down to kiss him on his mouth.

"Your system should have flushed out most of the virus by now," Draco stated confidently and sat down next to him. "You can't infect me."

"Don't start complaining if you get sick," Harry warned him, but allowed the kiss to happen, letting Draco tangle their fingers together.

When their mouths separated, Draco laid down next to him, pulling Harry against him. "You made mother quite happy by accepting her care," he murmured; not even a hint of teasing in his voice.

Harry ducked his head and felt his cheeks warm. "Don't know what made her happy about taking care of a sick person, but whatever, I suppose," he mumbled.

"I guess it was the fact that you let her take care of you," Draco mused and ran his fingers through Harry's hair.

Harry shook his head but said nothing. If it had made Narcissa happy to take care of him for a bit, fine, he supposed. He didn't understand why, but well, he had never claimed to understand the Malfoy or the Black family, really.

"So, does this mean you'll act less like a baby next time you need to take potions?" Draco asked lightly.

Harry snorted and smacked his thigh, listening to Draco snicker. "Don't push it, Malfoy."

He still hated potions with all his might, but he supposed that sometimes, very occasionally, they weren't so bad after all.

The End


AN2: babyvfan, I know you're a fan of mama Narcissa, so I threw a bit of that in this one :)

I hope to see you all back in my future stories! Please stay safe and take care of yourselves!

Cuddles

Melissa

P.S. For more information about my upcoming and posted stories, please visit my profile.