Disclaimer: The fatal disease Urpelscranailbrokeoffious belongs to my dear friend Rachel. :) The oh-so-....lovely *coughcough* song Let's Get It On belongs to Marvin Gaye. Disturbing tune, there.

Author's Note: This is one freaky chapter quite reminiscent of those appearing in my previous HP chapter epic, Meet The Parents. It just...spiraled out of control. But hey, what can I say? 'Tis impossible to fight with my apparently nonexistent muse, you know.

Chapter Four: Seduction and Deadly Maladies

There was many a thing that Harry didn't understand about the opposite sex.

Why did they spend so much time on their hair? Makeup? Clothes? What was it with their unnatural obsession with 'feelings'? How was it that they could shed one measly tear and make a guy feel like he's the scum of the earth?? (Not to mention, how could they stomach those awful romance novels?)

But there was one thing about women that was absolutely inconceivable.

And that was how they could possibly be attracted to Draco Malfoy.

Sure, there were ditzes like Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown who were too busy swooning to judge his character, and then there was the ever-simpering Pansy Parkinson, who wasn't really a woman but rather an overgrown pug. But they weren't all.

Oh no.

He had the smart girls attracted to him, too.

Even Hermione, quite possibly one of the most intelligent people to ever have graced the planet, had said he was handsome. (She'd made the confession during a game of 'Who do you think is most attractive at Hogwarts?' in their sixth year, and Ron had turned so red, Harry was surprised to that very day that he hadn't exploded.)

But it hadn't affected Ron.

Nope, not in the long run. He was engaged to Hermione, for crying out loud!

However, it was definitely affecting Harry.

Ginny was going on a date with Malfoy in two days. Two.

Well, one thing was for sure: she wouldn't step out of the house with intentions of seeing the Incredible Bouncing Ferret! The disaster-in-waiting would be stopped, or he wasn't The Boy Who Lived!

And he was, you know.

~ * ~

A plan was beginning to formulate in Harry's mind.

Ah, it was a bit of an inappropriate plan...definitely rated PG-13, at the least. And it was risky - risky indeed. She may move out afterwards.

But, by golly, it was worth it!

He was saving Ginny from a date with the most wicked of men on earth.

Honestly - he discovered the freaking Nobel Prize.

Yes. He was going to do it.

He knew that Ginny had fancied him, way back when, and perhaps he could rekindle the little flame...

Yup, Harry concluded with a sigh. Seducing Ginny is the only possible option.

~ * ~

It wasn't uncommon for Harry to be listening to music when Ginny got home from work. There were quite a few Muggle bands that he liked to listen to on the CD player (which she hadn't even attempted to operate after the VCR incident), but none had ever been like this. Yes, there had been the occasional F-word, but honestly....

"I been really tryyyin', baby...tryin' to hold back this feelin' for so long!"

She was a little scared.

"And if you feel like I feel baby, come on...oh, come on!"

Yup, definitely scared.

"Let's get it on!"

Okay. Officially 110.5% freaked out to the point of no return. An incredibly suggestive song if she'd ever heard one.

And then Harry appeared.

Wearing boxers.

And only boxers.

(Blue plaid boxers, if you must know.)

"Hey Ginny," he said in a ridiculously deep tone, a strained sort of smile that she supposed was meant to be knee-weakening spreading out across his face.

"Um...hi, Harry," she responded awkwardly, making her way toward the dreaded CD player and turning one of the knobs. The ISS (Incredibly Suggestive Song) blasted in volume, growing so loud that she screeched in shock.

"We're all sensitive people with so much to give!"

"You wanna have a good time?"

"Have you been drinking?" Ginny interrogated, panicked. "Have you been overdosing on Fizzing Whizbees??"

"You wanna know?"

"Wouldn't you want to know if your roommate had gone crazy??!!" she snapped dangerously.

"Come a little closer," he insisted with a painfully roguish and Gilderoy Lockhart-esque wink. "And I'll tell you why!"

Insane. Insane. Harry has finally snapped. He's gone nuts. Mad. Bonkers.

Studying him skeptically, Ginny took a few steps forward.

"What is it?"

"Clooooser," Harry instructed.

Good Lord. He was losing it. Losing every drop of sanity he'd ever possessed, before her very eyes!
And unluckily, she had to be the one to witness it.

Yes, she loved Harry. Loved him very much, really. But if this was what he was like proceeding...intimacy, well, she almost felt sorry for Susan.

Still, Ginny stepped forward with the intention to knock some sense into him. A good slap upside the head ought to do it.

"Now, what is it, Harry?" she demanded impatiently.

Harry, however, did not choose to answer using sentences. Oh, no. Instead, he flung his arms around Ginny with a sort of animal intensity.

"Let's get it on!" he howled.

Ginny decided in that very second that this was the worst moment in her entire life.

It worsened even more as the both of them lost balance and fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs and pained curse words.

"GET OFF OF ME!!!" Ginny shrieked, not able to take it anymore. "GET OFF OF ME OR I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS TO NEXT TUESDAY!!"

Harry winced, looking extremely pitiful.

Well, no siree. He was not getting off that easily.

Mwahaha.

"What the hell is wrong with you??" she continued fervently. "Are you possessed or something??"

"Ginny, I-"

"Oooh, I've got an idea!" she snapped, sarcastic. "Why don't you go seduce your brainless ditz of a girlfriend instead of poor little unsuspecting moi?? This could scar me for life, you know!"

"I...I..."

"And you know who's paying for the many years of intense psychological therapy?"

Looking incredibly crestfallen, Harry pointed at himself.

"Damn straight," she barked. "Now, I'm going up to bed."

She stood up and brushed off her pants. "Please refrain from bursting into my bedroom in the wee hours of the morning with some messed up 'Woe is me, I'm so sex-deprived!' song and a pair of blue plaid boxer shorts!"

He was now the shade of a tomato, looking more embarrassed than she'd ever seen him.

Ha. Served him right, trying to put the moves on her for some unknown and probably frightening reason.

If she hadn't been madly in love with him for the last eleven years, she'd sure as hell drop 'im like a hot potato.

~ * ~

All right. So Operation #1: Seduction had failed. With flourish. Actually, it was quite possibly one of the most humiliating moments of Harry's life. Well, that was in the past. If he dwelled on it, he would probably end up doing something cruel and unnatural to himself like chopping off all of his fingers and selling them on the black market, or eating a soufflé made of Crabbe's toenails.

It was time to move on to Operation #2...

The Fake Deadly Malady.

Heh heh.

~ * ~

The next morning, Ginny was still attempting to recover from Harry's frightening seduction antics while she whipped up a gourmet breakfast for herself. (That is, if one was incredibly easy to satisfy and therefore would consider a cinnamon Poptart and a cup of coffee gourmet.)

She had spent a restless night trying to figure out exactly what Harry had been attempting at, and had made the conclusion that it somehow had to lead back to her date with Malfoy. Why, she didn't know. The male mind was a strange and often ridiculous thing.

Ah well. It was (hopefully) all in the past now, and she wouldn't ever have to dwell on it again.

Instead of fixating on the terrifying subject, she decided to focus on the ever-important issue of what she would wear that night on her date with Malfoy. She had to look gorgeous (if such a feat was possible), in order to get Harry jealous. Maybe she'd throw a little bit of that seduction method back at him.

Much more subtly, of course.

In all the one hundred and eight romance novels that she'd read, she'd made the conclusion that men were never subtle.

She supposed she could have also made the conclusion through real life experience, if she'd ever actually had any sort of romance before.

Best not to dwell on that, either. The subject never failed to depress her.

Back to the clothes.

Maybe that little black dress...or the red one that Hermione says looks so wonderful...maybe my silk blouse-

Just then, the most wretched, pathetic croak of a sound that she'd ever heard in her entire life filled her ears.

"Moooorning, Giiinny."

Harry walked into the kitchen, wrapped in a blue flannel bathrobe and looking extremely miserable. His hair was even messier than usual, his face was pale, and his eyes were red and puffy.

"Harry," Ginny responded tentatively, "Are you...feeling all right?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry replied (well, croaked. Again.). "I'm just fine."

"Are you...sure?" Ginny asked, coming closer. "Let me see if you have a fever."

"'kay," Harry said miserably.

Ginny rose her hand to his forehead. A familiar scent surrounded him, but she couldn't place it. It smelled a bit like peppermint, and had a sort of bitterness to it.

As she removed her hand from his head, she inspected her fingers to find that a white sort of dust had fixed upon them.

Ah.

Talcum powder. She knew it well. Her talcum powder, unless she was mistaken.

So he was trying to fool her.

Well, fine. She'd play along.

It might be entertaining.

"Oh, you poor thing!" she cried. "You're burning up!"

"Really?" Harry croaked, looking surprised for an instant.

"Oh, yeah!" she said, nodding her head vigorously. "Your voice is completely gone, your eyes are puffy, and your skin-"

She held out her fingers as evidence, and Harry gulped visibly.

"-Is crumbling into tiny grains," she finished dramatically.

She smirked inwardly as he relaxed.

Ha. She wasn't letting him off the hook yet.

"What do you think it is?" he asked, squinting at her.

Was that blush around his eyes??

It wouldn't surprise her.

"Well, Harry," she said, sounding wistful. "I'm really sorry, but there's only one thing that it could be."

"What's that?"

Ginny paused for a moment to think up the most ludicrous name she could.

Finally, she announced triumphantly, "Urpelscranailbrokeoffious."

Harry studied her, bewildered. "Really??"

Ginny nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so. We're gonna have to get you to a hospital right away. I read something about it in the medical section of Witch Weekly, and you have to get medical assistance within twenty four hours of the symptoms."

"Ginny, are you sure?" Harry asked, looking nervous. His voice had suddenly and miraculously become clear. "I mean, the hospital is expensive...plus, it could be nothing. Just a common cold!"

"Oh, no!" Ginny said, shaking her head. "Harry, I'm just not willing to take that risk. I couldn't let your skin crumble into pieces as your internal organs rot!"

He looked vaguely disgusted.

Hehehe.

"We're going to have to get you to the hospital right away," Ginny insisted. "So you can get the cure."

"The cure?" Harry repeated weakly.

"The cure!" Ginny confirmed. "The only known cure for Urpelscranailbrokeoffious in the world."

"Which is...?"

"A huge shot right up your left nostril, of course!" Ginny said, sure to keep up her concern. "The needle is huge! I'd say six, eight inches! It's going to be painful, Harry. But I care about you too much to just let you waste away-"

"Ginny, I'm fine!" Harry yelped.

"No," Ginny said, shaking her head vigorously. "That's just denial. You're afraid. I know that. It's one of the eight steps to dealing with the fact that you're dying. But don't worry, Harry. One in every six hundred and twelve Urpelscranailbrokeoffious patients are saved without many side effects, besides the loss of their nostril."

"Loss...of their nostril?" repeated Harry, aghast.

"Oh, yes," Ginny said, wide-eyed as she nodded. "Something in the shot causes it to close up."

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Oh, but Harry, don't worry!" Ginny cried, throwing her arms around him. "Your true family and friends will always care about you, even if you are deformed. Even if you do suffer from Urpelscranailbrokeoffious! Even if you never recover!" In a deadly whisper, she muttered in his ear, "Even if you take their makeup and pretend to be deathly ill so that they won't go on a date that evening."

Harry paused, then responded with nervous laughter, "Uh...you knew?"

"Harry, I'm not that stupid," Ginny responded dryly. "I know my own makeup when I see it."

"Um...oh," Harry said sheepishly. "But...yeah...okay. I'm just going to go get ready for work now."

"You do that," Ginny repeated carelessly.

He had made his way out of the kitchen and halfway down the hall when he came back and leaned against the door frame once more.

"What?" Ginny asked.

"Ginny," he said, looking quite sickened, "How did you know so much about Urpelscranailbrokeoffious?"

"Dunno," she said with a shrug. "I made it up."

He laughed at her, an expression of amused incredulousness on his face. "That's sure a talent to value."

"Oh, I know, isn't it?" she responded, grinning.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said casually. "It would be a great thing for you to scare Ron and Hermione with at dinner tonight. You know, if you want to come."

Ginny molded her expression into one of obligated disappointment. "You know, I'd love that, but I can't."

"Why?" Harry asked, looking as though he dreaded her answer.

"Because," she replied innocently, "I've got my date with Draco. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry muttered, suddenly looking very bitter. "I'd forgotten about that."

And with that, he stormed down the hall. The sound of a door slamming filled her ears seconds later.

Hmmm.

This was working out even better than she had originally planned.