Unofficial Portkey Archive

Revenge by mynewgenesis



It was three hours later that he began to notice it. It was slight, at first, merely a barely-there tingle, not entirely pleasant. It lasted for a moment, ebbed, and then receded, leaving Harry unbothered and allowing him to continue about his business. He had forgotten all about it when the feeling came back, more intense, but again, not enough of a bother to actually worry, or pay it any attention. It fluttered with his pulse, a mild burning flare, and then it too went away. It was the third time which finally brought Harry to the suspicion that something might be wrong.

His nether regions were on fire.

Not literally, perhaps, but quite intensely, and for all intents and purposes, on fire. Burning. Submerged in fiery hot water. Lava. There was a raging inferno in his trousers, and it wasn't because Daphne Greengrass had rounded the corner with her little hip-jiggling sashay, which so brightened his day. No, his - parts - were being tormented by some as of yet unidentified acid.

He was sitting at the table in the Great Hall at lunch, at the time, and something must have showed on his face, because Hermione and Ron were nudging each other and staring in his direction. Harry swallowed feverishly and pretended not to notice, an intention short lived when Ron spoke up and asked him directly, "What's the matter with you? Are you ill?" Hermione cocked her head to the side and seconded Ron, her eyes all at once concerned and intrigued when Harry was unable to speak properly. His hand moved slowly, pulled towards his thigh with a sort of gravitational drag. He tucked his hand under his robe, and carefully prodded himself, attempting to maneuver himself into a less painful position, and after a moment of intense concentration, the burning stopped, and he could once again concentrate on something above the level of his waistband, like the concerned faces on Ron and Hermione. Guiltily, he rose his hand again to the table and he cleared his throat.

"Sorry, headache," he said. This appeared to be the wrong thing to say. Hermione instantly snapped her head up and began pelting him with questions.

"Headache? What sort of headache? Is it your scar? Visions? Burning? Fever? Are-"

"No, Hermione, just a headache." He busied himself scooping heavy spoonfuls of mashed potatoes on his plate.

"If you're sure," she said, sounding like she didn't believe him. But as his lower end started to tingle again, he found that he didn't much care.


He pulled a comfortable chair over to the empty place beside her bed and made himself at home, sprawling his legs out so they hung over the padded arms, and set himself to waiting for her to wake up. He had breakfast for her waiting on a tray under a heavy silver lid, and he had cast a stasis charm and a cooling charm on it so that it would be cold and ready for her to eat as soon as she woke. He had overheard Madame Pomfrey say she would need heavy fluids and easy to digest, light foods when she woke, as she would be suffering from heavy dehydration and not much hunger. So he had asked the elves to blend together some fruit and milk together into some substance he had heard called a smoothie, by one of the healthier nuts wandering around in Slytherin. He had tried it, and it had tasted a rather lot like ice cream and was, quite frankly, delicious. He might need to get himself another one one day.

He had also brought her a pitcher of ice cold water and an apple, and a bar of dark belgium-made chocolate.

Twenty minutes or so later, after he had quite intensely mapped out her face with his eyes, examining every freckle, plane and shadow on her face, her eyelids fluttered open and she stared glassily out at nothing in particular before focusing and honing in her gaze at him. He felt the most delightful quiver in his gut when she smiled at him, upon realizing who he was.

"Draco," she said croakily, and she cleared her throat. "I didn't expect you to be here this early... What time is it?"

"Breakfast time," he said cheerfully, and he levitated her tray over her lap as she readjusted her position. He cranked the post on her bed to raise it into a half-sitting position, and got up to fluff her pillows behind her head as she lifted the lid to the tray.

"What is this?" she asked, curiously.

"A smoothie," he answered, as he trailed his fingers gently along her spine while she sat forward so that he could reach the pillows under her back. She shivered, and Draco felt oddly gratified in having elicited some sort of physical response. He restrained himself from making a suave comment about it, wisely deciding that Ginny was not the sort of girl who would appreciate it.

"I've never tried one." She sipped a mouthful through a straw and she grinned widely. "It's delicious! Wow, why haven't I ever had one of these before?!" She looked at him. "Wherever did you get it?"

"I called in a favor with Dobby. He owed me for sending him along his stamp collection from the Manor when he moved to Hogwarts."

"Have you tried it?"

"Yeah, he made me one too. Better than pumpkin juice..." He shuddered.

She at in silence for a while, and Draco noticed that in her sleep she had kicked the covers off her feet, and he saw her swollen, black and blue ankle again. His stomach tightened and he felt another surge of hatred towards Potter. She noticed him looking.

"I fell," she said.

"I know." He looked at her seriously, and felt through the covers for her other ankle. Her eyes widened as he started to massage it softly, but the glowing blush on her cheeks emboldened him to continue.

"Do you remember much about last night?"

She shrugged her small shoulders and grinned. "I know I whooped Harry's arse," she said.

"Harry wasn't running with you," Draco pointed out.

"I know," she said, "Lazy git. But now he knows not to challenge me to a foot race!"

"Do you remember passing out?"

"Not when, but yeah, I suppose. I fell asleep on the Castle steps. Do you know who found me?" she asked.

"Your brother did. He punched Potter in the face."

"Good." Ginny said. Draco didn't think a punch in the nose was nearly enough to punish Potter, but now that he had taken matters into his own hands, Draco was feeling much better about the whole affair and was willing to give Weasley his due for taking someinitiative, at least. He moved his hands to Ginny's little toes and began smooshing them in his fingers and rubbing some warmth back into them. She sighed, probably despite herself. Draco kept his smirk to himself. "I would have kept running, you know," she said quietly after a moment of silence, almost sad. Like she was ashamed of herself - of her pride. "But he stopped the practice. I don't think I would have stopped."

"I know." He put her foot down for the moment and scooted closer to her after covering the limb back up with the blanket and tucking the edges under. He ignored her soft whimper of complaint at his neglecting her feet and gathered up her hands. He began to play with her fingers whilst studiously ignoring her eyes. "Ginny, I know I don't know you very well... But, the past few days I've been getting to know you better, and not just the snogging..." --her fingers clenched against his-- "But I think I know you well enough now to tell you that - that I'm proud of you." He kept not looking at her face and studied her lean, graceful hands. "Some people, your family I'll bet, have probably told you that your stubbornness isn't a good trait, or that you're too pig-headed and obstinate, but I just wanted to tell you something -" He cleared his throat and her fingers spasmed against his again. "Your stubbornness, and your drive and your pride are some of your best qualities. They're what I like best about you. Ginny, I've been raised to believe I'm the best because of things I never did, and for reasons that don't make any sense. I've got tons of pride for the both of us, but it's not the same as you. Your pride is out of a strong will to prove yourself, to show yourself that you can be something bigger than what your brothers have done, or what you've been told. You're going to make something of yourself. Your stubbornness is out of a passion to stick to your beliefs, and its probably what got you through the war." He looked at her then, and realized her chin was clenched and she was trying not to wobble. "Ginny, you're amazing. You're strong. I've only known you a week and I can already tell you're one of the strongest people I know. You're confident, and honest and determined and refreshing... And I like you Ginny. I know you're going to be something great. Granger is brilliant, and Potter is famous... But they aren't like you. They don't have the same inner strength as you. Granger will probably discover tons of important scientific knowledge and make a name for herself... Potter will probably do an incredibly successful Nude Calendar called The-Man-Who-Lives-For-Ladies-And-Tequila. But you - you're something special. I can tell. Ginny, don't you ever change. And don't you dare be ashamed of yourself."

There was a flurry of bed covers and suddenly, his face was being squished between two clammy hands while his own hands were left empty, and his lips were covered with Ginny's warm, banana flavored mouth. He raised his left hand to cup her cheek while he joined her in the fevered kissing, and while he nibbled on her lip, he realized that, instead of being embarrassed at having spilled his thoughts about her like he had (he'd told her he liked her, which he had never, ever told any girl, ever...) he was happy. He was happy that he'd made her happy. With that thought, he abandoned all thought altogether and started exploring her mouth.

He felt her heart beating in the pulse of her neck, and he pressed his fingers to the hollow of her throat so that he could feel her vibrant liveliness beat a tempo against his fingertips. He buried his other hand in her hair and tried not to pull any of it out as he tangled it and reveled in the silky texture of it. Her teeth were clacking against his, but he didn't much mind, and the force of her lips mashing against his felt wonderful. Something about the sweet smell of her, the dewy texture of her skin, the throbbing pulse of her heart... It was like coming home.

"I see the patient has awakened," said an old voice in an amused, semi-delighted tone. The two of them sprang apart and looked around guiltily until the both of them found, unerringly, the tall, thin form of a twinkly-eyed Professor Dumbledore.

"Professor! We didn't see you -"

"No doubt," he said, but he didn't sound angry.

"I'm very sorry, Professor, it won't happen again..." Draco said, lying through his teeth. It was going to happen again, alright, just not in Dumbledore's presence.

"I don't expect you to quit your amorous adventures on my account, my dear boy," he said, chuckling to himself. "No, I have taught young people for far, far too many years to be quite so naive. I merely wished to inquire as to the state of Miss Weasley's recovery." He turned to Ginny, who was a vibrant shade of red. "I trust you are feeling better?" Draco swore that behind Dumbledore's twitching white beard, there was a grin.

"Much better, sir, thank you."

"I am much relieved to hear it." His eyes crinkled as the old man smiled. "But if I am not much mistaken, which I rarely am, Mr. Malfoy, classes are starting in five minutes. So if you please, I will allow you to say your goodbyes but I expect you to be on time and prepared for your first class... Potions, I believe?"

"Yes, sir, I will." Regretfully, but seeing no alternative other than suddenly coming down with a very violent case of the flu, he squeezed Ginny's hand and leaned in for a quick peck on her cheek, Dumbledore be damned. "See you later, Ginny."

"Bye," she said, too embarassed to say any more.

Draco hoisted his book bag onto his shoulder and exited the room, cursing Dumbledore all the way.


Harry was anxious, there was no doubt about it. His nether regions had been growing progressively worse all day, and he was close to chopping them off with frustration. He had tried to urinate after dinner, but the pain had been so intense he'd had to forgo the idea. He had briefly entertained the idea of telling Ron, but Ron would be no use at all, and that idea also had been shut down.

No, he was going to have to go to Madame Pomfrey.

As embarrassing as the thought was, Madame Pomfrey, he was fairly sure, had seen him in his entirety before, considering the numerous times he had been knocked out cold for days in her care. He just hoped that she could wave her wand with a diagnostic spell and then there would be no need for further embarassment.

"What seems to be the problem, Potter?" she asked him, after he had finally worked up the courage to go down to the hospital wing. Ginny was nowhere to be seen, for which he was grateful, and he supposed that she had been discharged earlier.

"Could I speak to you, in private, please?" he asked, his tone desperate. Her eyes widened and she urged him into her office.

"Whats this all about then," she asked, sitting behind her desk. Harry sat nervously in a chair.

"I've been having some pain..." he began, his cheeks flaming. Out with it! he told himself angrily.

"Down there," he finished lamely.

"I see," she said, her eyebrows raised to epic proportions. "On the bed, then, if you please."

Harry gulped. He sat on the black doctors bed which was covered with tissue paper. He laid down and folded his arms over his stomach, staring very awkwardly at the ceiling while she pelted him with questions and busied herself with her wand, waving it like one of those censors one had be checked with in airports.

"What sort of pain?"


"When did it start?"

"This morning."

"Is it constant or does it come and go?"

"It comes and goes."

"Has it gotten progressively more intense or always the same."

"More intense."

"And are you having problems urinating?"


She muttered a spell and muttered to herself, before telling him he could sit up again.

"Sit in the chair, Potter."

He sat.

"So tell me, Potter, how long you've been sexually active," she said in a disapproving tone.

"WHAT?!" he spat, choked, and had a mild heart attack all in the same instant. "Whatdoyoumean, sexually active!"

"How many sexual partners have you had?"


She huffed. "Don't lie to me, Potter. I need to know."

"None! None!"

"I know you aren't being truthful, Potter. I don't need to know their names, yet. Just tell me how many!"

"None! I swear!"

"Potter, you have a venereal disease, so I know you're lying. I need to know if there's possibility of spread, so I can administer the proper antidotes!"

"Whats a venereal disease?" Harry whimpered.

"A sexually transmitted infection. So obviously, you've had sex. Don't be ashamed, Potter. You came to me with a problem, and now I'm fixing it!"

A sexually transmitted infection...

Oh, God.

"Draco," he growled furiously, cottoning on.

"Malfoy was your partner? Oh dear..."

And so it was that Harry, for the second time that week, threw up his dinner.

Madame Pomfrey was less than pleased.




A/N: As you can see, Dear Readers, Draco is quite vindictive. :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter, please review! And I told you there would be snogging, didn't I!?