Draco Malfoy had made a resolution. He decided that he would tell his girlfriend of two years that he loved her. He was going to make the commitment; say the three words that would make him seem like a romantic fool along with the rest of the male wizarding population of his age group. However, Draco determined that he would go out in style. If he were doomed to be a fool, at least the rest of the world would hold no doubt as to who he was a fool for. Ginny Weasley would be the envy of every single woman; Draco would make sure of that.

He had laid his plans carefully. They had the entire day together, they would start with a sumptuous breakfast along the river-front, continue on to a tour of Longbottom’s famous gardens, have a picnic lunch next to the blossoming trees that smelled like paradise. Dinner would be served on top of one of Draco’s hotels, exposed to the moonlight, and it would be followed by a great deal of dancing. At dessert, he would expose his heart in an elegant sonnet that he had had written for the occasion, which Ginny would find in her decadent chocolate mousse.

The day of days dawned to the delightful sound of birds chirping and the Malfoy heir sacrificing last night’s dinner to the porcelain god. Feeling miserable, Draco Flooed Ginny to break to her the news that he had accidentally made “business arrangements” that he could not abandon, and that their day together would be postponed indefinitely.

Ginny, bless her shrewd nonexistent heart, saw right through his ruse to the underlying reason. With the ominous words “Be right there” disguised in a cheery tone, Draco slumped to his bed and rolled in the covers determined to hide forever if the need arose.

Something was prodding his shoulder, he twisted to swat away the offender, and found a cheerful Ginny Weasley, a long instrument in her hands and several weirdly shaped bottles behind her.

“Good morning! Since you decided to lie to me about the real reason you called off the date, I’m going to satisfy my Da’s curiosity about Muggle medicines.” Ginny’s cheery voice had a steely edge. “Now this is a rectal thermometer, I am still debating on whether I should put this particular Muggle device to its appropriate use.”

It took a little while for Draco to translate Ginny’s meaning through the fog that clouded his mind. When he realized what Ginny was intimating, he groaned. “God, you are evil. Can you forgive me just this once and leave me alone?”

Ginny smiled prettily. “Never, Draco, there has to be someone who reminds you that you are not perfect. However, since you asked so nicely, I won’t use this thermometer, I’ll use the other instead.”

Draco opened his mouth to sarcastically thank her, when he felt her pop a long object into his mouth. He made as if to spit it out when he caught the look that Ginny shot his way.

“Now, now, Draco, if you spit that out, I may have to resort to taking your temperature in a more…invasive manner.” The suggestive wriggle of her eyebrow was unmistakable and Draco wondered if he had truly meant to tell this evil spawn that he loved her.

He lay back and rolled the cold metal tip around in his mouth, until Ginny had instructed him to keep it under his tongue, he maneuvered it back and forth, trying to find a more comfortable position, then an alarm went off and Ginny pulled the “therm-mo-meter” out of his mouth with a pop.

“Hmm, 99.1. So you only have a light fever. Have you had any other symptoms?”

“Besides throwing up and a constant headache since you arrived?”

Ginny considered these statements and then check a massive book that reminded Draco of Hermione Granger-Weasley. He groaned again as another private fantasy was burned to dust. Ginny turned her brown eyes him and then smiled as she pulled out bottle that had a poisonous green liquid in it. He tried to pronounce the name; it was something along the lines of “Ni-quill.” He watched as Ginny poured a measure out and prepared another clear liquid to go with it.

“Here, drink this first and then you can drink this to wash out the taste.”

Draco looked at Ginny pleadingly, but at her insistence he downed the tiny cup of green poison. He coughed and hacked as the fluid burned its way down his throat. He grabbed the clear liquid to drown out the vile taste, but he found himself nearly crying.

“Ginny, what was the clear stuff?”

“Diluted white grape juice, it’s supposed to be good for you. You can’t have anything too strong with a stomach flu.”

“Ginny, can I die now? The green ‘ni-quill’ was bad enough, but the clear drink just enhanced it.”

Ginny looked down at Draco, and then said words of great mercy.

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll se you tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Draco smiled. He was feeling drowsy, and he couldn’t help but feel happy that she had come to care for him, despite the lie that he had told. He was slipping out of consciousness when Ginny leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

“I love you, dragon; even when you are being difficult.”

“I love you, too.”

Ginny stopped, Draco didn’t seemed to have realized he had slipped up and said he loved her. He was sleeping peacefully now, the Muggle medicine having taken effect. She smiled at him, tucking away the information to use against him at any time. She had a resolution to always be prepared; she was the girlfriend of the quintessential Slytherin.

Draco didn’t remember saying anything that night, and when he felt better the next day, he carried out the elaborate plans he had conceived. Ginny smirked when she read the sonnet and teased him about it for ages. When they finally got married, she told him about his slip-up the night he was sick and how she had thought that caring for him illustrated their relationship much more that the silly plans he had made and the ridiculous sonnet. He thought about it too and agreed that the evil nurse was more of the woman he had fallen in love with then beautiful, bland woman he had taken out the day he thought he had revealed his emotions.

There was an evil gleam in Ginny’s eye as she whispered into Draco’s ear about the future possibilities of a rectal thermometer. He gaped and then laughed; finding that though he could be a fool, romance was in the eyes of the beholder.