A Fever You Can't Sweat Out
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
6,484
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
6,484
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. Nor any of the lyrics/music used here. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Camisado
**The I.V. and your hospital bed
This was no accident
This was a therapeutic chain of events**
--
If Ginevra Weasley believed in God, she’d have knelt and prayed every night that she was not doing something truly wrong. She saw something worth going after, and (after much coercion) she was getting it. Granted, she had spent more time in a hospital in the last month than she would ever have hoped to fit into her entire lifetime. St. Mungo’s had even set aside a special room just for Harry Potter for when whatever was wrong with got too much for them to handle alone at their home.
Yes, it was their home now.
The conversation had gone something like:
“Gin, where are you things?”
“I’m sorry, Harry… my things?”
“Yeah. Your clothes, shoes… girl-things”
“Girl things?”
“You know. Make up… erm… tampons… that sort of thing. I don’t see any of it anywhere.”
She felt the floor drop out from underneath her at those words. It had been a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it was incredible tricky not to say something that would throw his body into detox from the potion. Anything that made even a part of his brain question his current situation was enough ammunition for his fractured psyche. On the other, the pure fact that he was even asking was a magnificent step in the right direction. He seemed utterly puzzled that her things weren’t in plain view. He was somehow under the impression that they belonged there.
After a slight falter, she managed to come up with something believable.
“You know I hide them from you, love. I figure it’s not something you want to see, yeah?”
He seemed to accept this at face value.
It had been one of the better days.
She had promptly taken all of her things from The Burrow and placed them inconspicuously around his flat. As if they had been there the entire time, and he was maybe just now noticing them.
The following day had been even better. Previously she had been spending intermittent nights at his home, sleeping on the couch mostly. It had been slow progress, but once she’d “moved in” the change was likened to night and day. The potions went down with less and less fanfare, he touched her more intimately, he was more lucid as he looked at and talked to her. Her heart fluttered with hope that the tumult was ending, and soon.
The final test in her path came one day when she was in the kitchen. Lunch was heartier now that he was no longer throwing up everything he’d ever eaten. It therefore took more time to prepare and left more time for them to be apart, unless he helped. This generally was no longer a problem, for the fuzziness was less of a hindrance to his activities. He’d spoken openly with her about it, describing it as a sort of loneliness. Of course he just chalked it up to being away from her. He’d cooed over her, and made it out as romantic. She just felt ill.
That one day, alone in his study, he’d been going through drawers. He’d nothing else to do and figured it’d be best to clean up a bit; help out around the house. He’d found an old stash of letters that Ginny’d never discovered. He never did get a chance to read them, for the smell of the writer’s scent coupled with paper most obviously nicked from a Hogwarts supply closet, sent him reeling backwards, knocking over a chair and shattering a small vase.
If he were to have described his experience, it would have been something like tunnel-vision except much more stark, and focusing on things he most definitely did not have in front of him. A jumble of memories and sensations assaulted him from every angle until he’d dropped to his knees from the sheer weight of them all.
Ginny had come running at the sound of whatever hit the floor and smashed, only for his sharp green glare to pin her in the doorframe.
“What are you doing here?”
“Harry?”
“Where’s Draco?!”
She gaped at him, jaw dropped in horror and confusion.
“I- I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about love…”
“Love? What? Ginny, where’s Ron? Why are you here?”
Tears threatened to spill at the idea that after everything she’d gone through to get what she’d wanted, it would all fall apart and so spectacularly.
“Why am I here? I live here… With you. Together.”
He shook his head, fighting off the potion that menaced the edges of his vision as her concrete reassurances affirmed its intentions.
“No… you live at The Burrow… with your… family… And Draco…”
She took a deep breath and repeated the words Lucius (as he had taken to being called after so many back-and-forths between them) had given her to use if the younger Malfoy had ever come up in conversation.
“Draco is far away. You’re safe now. He can’t ever hurt you again.”
“… what?”
She repeated the phrase, hoping it would do its job as keyword and just shove him off the scent of the truth.
He only shook his head at her in confusion.
“What are you talking about? Far away? He’s at The Manor… we were just… We…”
His vision clouded, as if he were being taken there by his memories; his verdant eyes misted over as if they knew what they’d lost.
It was then, as she was casting about in a panic, that she noticed the bundled stack of letters. She instantly guessed what they were and with a flick of her wand banished them.
As if a spell had broken (for indeed it quite had) Harry’s eyes cleared, and they looked to meet her brown ones. A faint air of confusion still lingered around his brow, and she repeated her mantra; as much for herself as for him.
“Draco is far away. You’re safe now. He can’t ever hurt you again.”
At the final word, he crumpled in on himself; head buried in his hands as he suddenly broke into sobs. She dropped to her knees to take him in her arms, allowing her long ginger hair to soak up his tears. She allowed a few for herself, but only because he couldn’t see her face.
**
The fireplace roared to life in the corner of the dark room. Lucius Malfoy sat at his desk, not really working so much as waiting. He knew the moment would come and he was not disappointed.
“Lucius…”
Green flames concealed the ginger head he’d grown so accustomed to seeing pop up in his office.
“Miss Weasley my dear, do come through.”
She seemed desensitized to his charming remarks. She’d simply come to accept them as a part of the elder Malfoy and put up with them, eventually just accepting them.
Once on the other side of the floo, dusting off her robes and concealing a cough, she turned excited eyes to lock with his steel ones.
“It’s happened! I’m sure of it this time!”
“Ah, and what has our Mister Potter done to convince you now?”
She explained the situation in the study, right down to the letters she’d vanished.
“He just stopped crying, and looked up. He didn’t even remember breaking down. He asked how we’d got on our knees in the middle of the floor!”
He appraised her, gauging her delusion. Maybe it really had finally worked.
“And what happened when you both rose from your positions on the floor.”
The hint of the sneer he held at the idea of lazing about on the carpet (or worse, hard wood) went unnoticed.
“He kissed me.”
He started at this bit of information.
“He what?”
She practically jumped on the spot, vibrated with pure excitement and triumph.
“He KISSED me!
“Please, Miss Weasley, I am not one of your insipid little female friends, I don’t do squealing.”
She pursed her lips, scowling at the no-longer-imposing man.
“I have quite the right to be this excited, thank you very much. I have worked VERY hard for this, and now I’ve got my reward. I’m only here to ask what I do next.”
She missed the light in his eyes at the mention of ‘next’. Unbeknownst to her he had formulated that ‘next’ to be a little different than their original plan.
“Well, first, you can stop giving him the potion. It won’t do any further work.”
“Oh, thank Merlin. I was getting tired of potions.”
He only smirked as he held out a new bottle. A bulb-shaped stopped beaker that held a bright red candy-like liquid. She visibly deflated as she saw it. He almost missed the colorful language twisting her tongue at the sight of the unwelcome object.
“Well, what’s this one do? And how am I supposed to slip this into his tea? It’ll be hard to hide that smell.”
His smirk grew into an almost nasty smile.
“You want marriage, right?”
She hastily nodded, long since forgetting her earlier trepidation in sight of her victory.
“Well, I believe this will speed things along for you, then. But it’s not for him.”
“I’m sorry?”
She eyed him wearily, suddenly not trusting the obscene twinkle in the old man’s eyes.
“Mister Potter does not seem the type to rush into something as permanent as marriage… without a good reason.”
--
**Can\'t take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back**
This was no accident
This was a therapeutic chain of events**
--
If Ginevra Weasley believed in God, she’d have knelt and prayed every night that she was not doing something truly wrong. She saw something worth going after, and (after much coercion) she was getting it. Granted, she had spent more time in a hospital in the last month than she would ever have hoped to fit into her entire lifetime. St. Mungo’s had even set aside a special room just for Harry Potter for when whatever was wrong with got too much for them to handle alone at their home.
Yes, it was their home now.
The conversation had gone something like:
“Gin, where are you things?”
“I’m sorry, Harry… my things?”
“Yeah. Your clothes, shoes… girl-things”
“Girl things?”
“You know. Make up… erm… tampons… that sort of thing. I don’t see any of it anywhere.”
She felt the floor drop out from underneath her at those words. It had been a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it was incredible tricky not to say something that would throw his body into detox from the potion. Anything that made even a part of his brain question his current situation was enough ammunition for his fractured psyche. On the other, the pure fact that he was even asking was a magnificent step in the right direction. He seemed utterly puzzled that her things weren’t in plain view. He was somehow under the impression that they belonged there.
After a slight falter, she managed to come up with something believable.
“You know I hide them from you, love. I figure it’s not something you want to see, yeah?”
He seemed to accept this at face value.
It had been one of the better days.
She had promptly taken all of her things from The Burrow and placed them inconspicuously around his flat. As if they had been there the entire time, and he was maybe just now noticing them.
The following day had been even better. Previously she had been spending intermittent nights at his home, sleeping on the couch mostly. It had been slow progress, but once she’d “moved in” the change was likened to night and day. The potions went down with less and less fanfare, he touched her more intimately, he was more lucid as he looked at and talked to her. Her heart fluttered with hope that the tumult was ending, and soon.
The final test in her path came one day when she was in the kitchen. Lunch was heartier now that he was no longer throwing up everything he’d ever eaten. It therefore took more time to prepare and left more time for them to be apart, unless he helped. This generally was no longer a problem, for the fuzziness was less of a hindrance to his activities. He’d spoken openly with her about it, describing it as a sort of loneliness. Of course he just chalked it up to being away from her. He’d cooed over her, and made it out as romantic. She just felt ill.
That one day, alone in his study, he’d been going through drawers. He’d nothing else to do and figured it’d be best to clean up a bit; help out around the house. He’d found an old stash of letters that Ginny’d never discovered. He never did get a chance to read them, for the smell of the writer’s scent coupled with paper most obviously nicked from a Hogwarts supply closet, sent him reeling backwards, knocking over a chair and shattering a small vase.
If he were to have described his experience, it would have been something like tunnel-vision except much more stark, and focusing on things he most definitely did not have in front of him. A jumble of memories and sensations assaulted him from every angle until he’d dropped to his knees from the sheer weight of them all.
Ginny had come running at the sound of whatever hit the floor and smashed, only for his sharp green glare to pin her in the doorframe.
“What are you doing here?”
“Harry?”
“Where’s Draco?!”
She gaped at him, jaw dropped in horror and confusion.
“I- I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about love…”
“Love? What? Ginny, where’s Ron? Why are you here?”
Tears threatened to spill at the idea that after everything she’d gone through to get what she’d wanted, it would all fall apart and so spectacularly.
“Why am I here? I live here… With you. Together.”
He shook his head, fighting off the potion that menaced the edges of his vision as her concrete reassurances affirmed its intentions.
“No… you live at The Burrow… with your… family… And Draco…”
She took a deep breath and repeated the words Lucius (as he had taken to being called after so many back-and-forths between them) had given her to use if the younger Malfoy had ever come up in conversation.
“Draco is far away. You’re safe now. He can’t ever hurt you again.”
“… what?”
She repeated the phrase, hoping it would do its job as keyword and just shove him off the scent of the truth.
He only shook his head at her in confusion.
“What are you talking about? Far away? He’s at The Manor… we were just… We…”
His vision clouded, as if he were being taken there by his memories; his verdant eyes misted over as if they knew what they’d lost.
It was then, as she was casting about in a panic, that she noticed the bundled stack of letters. She instantly guessed what they were and with a flick of her wand banished them.
As if a spell had broken (for indeed it quite had) Harry’s eyes cleared, and they looked to meet her brown ones. A faint air of confusion still lingered around his brow, and she repeated her mantra; as much for herself as for him.
“Draco is far away. You’re safe now. He can’t ever hurt you again.”
At the final word, he crumpled in on himself; head buried in his hands as he suddenly broke into sobs. She dropped to her knees to take him in her arms, allowing her long ginger hair to soak up his tears. She allowed a few for herself, but only because he couldn’t see her face.
**
The fireplace roared to life in the corner of the dark room. Lucius Malfoy sat at his desk, not really working so much as waiting. He knew the moment would come and he was not disappointed.
“Lucius…”
Green flames concealed the ginger head he’d grown so accustomed to seeing pop up in his office.
“Miss Weasley my dear, do come through.”
She seemed desensitized to his charming remarks. She’d simply come to accept them as a part of the elder Malfoy and put up with them, eventually just accepting them.
Once on the other side of the floo, dusting off her robes and concealing a cough, she turned excited eyes to lock with his steel ones.
“It’s happened! I’m sure of it this time!”
“Ah, and what has our Mister Potter done to convince you now?”
She explained the situation in the study, right down to the letters she’d vanished.
“He just stopped crying, and looked up. He didn’t even remember breaking down. He asked how we’d got on our knees in the middle of the floor!”
He appraised her, gauging her delusion. Maybe it really had finally worked.
“And what happened when you both rose from your positions on the floor.”
The hint of the sneer he held at the idea of lazing about on the carpet (or worse, hard wood) went unnoticed.
“He kissed me.”
He started at this bit of information.
“He what?”
She practically jumped on the spot, vibrated with pure excitement and triumph.
“He KISSED me!
“Please, Miss Weasley, I am not one of your insipid little female friends, I don’t do squealing.”
She pursed her lips, scowling at the no-longer-imposing man.
“I have quite the right to be this excited, thank you very much. I have worked VERY hard for this, and now I’ve got my reward. I’m only here to ask what I do next.”
She missed the light in his eyes at the mention of ‘next’. Unbeknownst to her he had formulated that ‘next’ to be a little different than their original plan.
“Well, first, you can stop giving him the potion. It won’t do any further work.”
“Oh, thank Merlin. I was getting tired of potions.”
He only smirked as he held out a new bottle. A bulb-shaped stopped beaker that held a bright red candy-like liquid. She visibly deflated as she saw it. He almost missed the colorful language twisting her tongue at the sight of the unwelcome object.
“Well, what’s this one do? And how am I supposed to slip this into his tea? It’ll be hard to hide that smell.”
His smirk grew into an almost nasty smile.
“You want marriage, right?”
She hastily nodded, long since forgetting her earlier trepidation in sight of her victory.
“Well, I believe this will speed things along for you, then. But it’s not for him.”
“I’m sorry?”
She eyed him wearily, suddenly not trusting the obscene twinkle in the old man’s eyes.
“Mister Potter does not seem the type to rush into something as permanent as marriage… without a good reason.”
--
**Can\'t take the kid from the fight
take the fight from the kid
Just sit back, just sit back**