A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

~The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is Press Coverage~



** And I believe this may call for a proper introduction, and well

Don't you see, I'm the narrator and this is just the prologue**





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The letter was clutched in her hand, as if the words would seep through her clenched fist and she would understand their meaning better. She stood, back straight, all of her attentions on the man sitting before her behind the great mahogany desk.





“Please, sit. We’ve much to discuss tonight.”





“I will do no such thing. Just say what you’ve got to say so I can leave.”





She was there by sheer force of will alone. Her Gryffindor bravery took her so far, but she was by no means blind to the danger involved in her situation. She just happened to have that certain combination of pluck and nerve that told her she could have a simple chat with Lucius Malfoy





This meeting was, after all, on his summons. After all these years, after all they’d each gone through, surely this couldn’t be as menial as ‘just a trap’.





Of course, this didn’t change the fact that she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her brothers where she was going.





Which brought her right back to where she stood, facing the icy devil who almost-sneered thoughtfully at her.





“Well if you won’t sit, then I suppose it is impolite for myself to do so.”





And with that he stood gracefully, gathering his robes about himself and walking around the desk, and settled on the edge. He lifted a snifter and inhaled the scent of the liquor before taking a sip, cradling the glass.





“I’d offer you, but I’m sure you’re as eager as I am to continue on and get to the point.”





“Yes, I’d like that very much,” was of course said through gritted teeth.





“You’ve harboured quite the school-girl crush on our Mr. Potter, haven’t you Ms. Weasley?”





This took her quite by surprise, given that it seemed to come out of nowhere. The shock was enough to hold off her answer, and let Lucius continue on as if he had never paused.





“In fact, I believe you’ve even tried to cultivate a romance with the ‘young saviour’,” said with a sneer.





“I- I don’t see how that’s any of your business…” One word: flummoxed.





“And by my account you failed, and quite miserably if I do say so myself.”





“Why, you-“





“Of course it turns out that Mr. Potter’s tastes lie… elsewhere,” pinched, as if half disgusted at the thought.





“How do you-“





“To harken back, Ms. Weasley, it is my business. It’s my business because that boy (here he spit out the word, like it was the worst tasting morsel he’d ever deigned to try) that boy is treading dangerously close to ruining my family, and I wish to put an end to it.”





The two stared hard at each other; speculative, searching, hoping.





Finally, Ginny managed to find her voice. It was quiet, tentative, but still hers.





“What do you mean?”



Lucius quietly set down the brandy, walked to the office door which had been closed, and opened it, leaning against the frame. He beckoned the red-head to the portal, and pointed to a door nearly directly across the hallway.





“What are you-“





He put a finger to his lips, and then behind his ear, indicating she should listen closely.





They waited, and nothing happened. Her eyes clouded over with doubt, but then they heard a thump. The thump was followed by inauspicious giggling, which sounded extremely strange echoing off the Malfoy walls. She chanced a glance at the man standing next to her and his face was stormy: disgust, frustration, petulance. He clearly didn’t want whatever was going on behind that door to continue. She still didn’t understand what this had to do with Harry, however. Or for that matter, herself…





The giggling tapered off into a breathy moan. Make that twin moans.





She shot him a raised eye-brow; he answered with eyes closing in grim defeat. She still couldn’t guess what it all meant.





It was the next few seconds that shot cold shock through her veins.





It was faint, muffled from the door and probably a few silencing charms on their end, but she quite clearly heard it.





A whimpered, “Harry, faster!” followed by a sound that could only be described as a cross between a grunt and a gasp.





It was then that she recognized the sounds for what they truly were.





Those of two people in the act of making love, for these were not the harsh angry sounds of two people who did not care for each other.





She turned once more to the man next to her, her shock quite clearly written on her features, and he simply nodded.





“They… is that… are they really…”





It seemed she couldn’t complete a full thought. He understood exactly how she felt.





“Are they in love?”





It was feeble, almost afraid.





“Impertinent girl,” he spat, “As if two men could honestly hold each other’s true affections.”





“I take it you don’t approve of your son’s affiliations.”





“That boy is not my son, Ms. Weasley. No son of mine could ever turn out so… twisted. If his mother were still alive I’d kill her myself.”





Ginny was not stupid, and she was a pureblood. She knew the laws. She knew he was serious.





“What does this have to with me? Why did you want me to know about it?”





All she wanted to do was go home, eat a pint of ice-cream, and officially write off the one great potential love of her life.





“I wanted you to know, because I want you to take him away from here.”





“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that? I believe I’m lacking a particular piece of anatomy,” scorn, distaste; not at their act, but at that she’d never have him because of it.





“Don’t be crude, child. I’ve come up with a plan, which if you play your part properly is utterly fool-proof. You’re going to take him away from here, and convince him that he loves YOU, not Draco.”





“Again: how?”





“With this,” and he produced from his pocket a vial of some bright green substance.





“He injests it, he finds himself compelled to spend the rest of his life with you... Play up your role, and you’ll even get a wedding out of all of this.”





“But… I don’t want-“





“Of course you do, my dear. I can see it in your eyes. You want him so badly you can taste it. You wish it were you behind that door instead of the abomination who calls himself my son.”





Listening to his words, chorused by the sounds still coming from the room and tears lit at the corners of her eyes. He was right. She had always wanted Harry Potter, and still did. She still held out hope that he would settle down and marry her one day; they would have lots of kids and grow old together. But this evening shattered all of those dreams. Lucius Malfoy, of all people on this earth, was offering her a way of retaining them.





Before she was able to formulate any sort of response, the door across the hall swung open slowly. Neither of the bodies that emerged from the room noticed the other two watching them.





Harry leaned in toward Draco, sealing his affection with a searing kiss. His body closed over Draco’s lithe frame, pushed against the jamb of the door. Pale hands were brought to rest on the back of Harry’s neck and he sighed, leaning his forehead against his lover’s as the kiss broke.





“I love you Harry,” Draco whispered softly.





Ginny could not tear her eyes away from the rumpled, adoring visage of Harry Potter. She longed to be on the receiving end of that look. His swollen lips and verdant eyes spoke volumes to her heart, and she knew he truly loved the blonde.





And she was jealous.





She never hated Draco Malfoy more, than in that moment.





“I’ll see you soon, love…”





Another chaste kiss and Harry lifted the cloak hidden in his hands, covering his head, and disappeared from view. Draco watched after the invisible figure, imagining the steps that took him from the manor.





Lucius leaned in close to the red-head and whispered urgently in her ear.





“Run after him. Confund him and apparate him home. Give him this.”





He pressed the vial into her robe pocket, but she stood where she was, frozen by all the things she had seen and heard.





“Now, girl!” he hissed.





Ginny Weasley flung herself into action, running down the hall, wand drawn.





Draco swung his gaze from his imagined picture of Harry, just in time to see a red head of hair take off in his lover’s direction. His eyes locked on those of his father, and he was so stunned to actually see him looking back at him that he forgot to school his features. He just stared dumbly back at the man across from him, eyes wide with surprise.





Lucius pulled his wand, and stepped leisurely across the hallway towards the younger Malfoy.





“Son,” he began congenially, “I’ve got a little matter I’d like to discuss with you…”







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**Oh, we're still so young, desperate for attention

I aim to be, your eyes, trophy boys, trophy wives**