Chapter Two
Draco Malfoy could not seem to shake the virus. He knew he was running a fever, because every bone in his body ached and he had chills. He refused to acknowledge that he was ill, though; he was just a little off-kilter, that was all. He could tough it out. Besides, he was sure he was over the worst of it. The god-awful stitch in his side had subsided into a dull throbbing, and he was positive that meant he was on the mend. If it was the same bug that had infected most of the staff back in the Ministry, then it was one of those twenty-four-hour things, and he should be feeling as good as new by tomorrow morning. Except, the throbbing in his side had been going on for a couple of days now.
He decided to blame Harry for that ache. He had really nailed him when they had played Quidditch at the annual Ministry Commemoration Day game. Yeah, the pulled muscle was Harry's fault, but Draco figured that if he continued to ignore it, the pain would eventually go away.
Damn, he was feeling like an old man these days, and he was not even thirty-three yet.
He did not think he was contagious, and he had too much to do to go to bed and sweat the fever out of his body. He had port-keyed from Yorkshire Moores to Holborn to speak at a Ministry law symposium on organized crime and to receive recognition he did not believe he deserved for simply doing his job.
He slipped his wand into his pocket. The thing was a nuisance, but he was required to wear it constantly for the time being or at least until the death threats he had been receiving while trying the mob case died down. He put on the jacket to his tuxedo, went into the bathroom of his hotel room, and leaned close to the framed vanity mirror to adjust his tie. He caught a glimpse of himself. He looked half-dead. His face was covered with sweat.
Tonight was the first of three black-tie affairs. Dinner was going to be prepared by five of the top chefs in Wizarding London, but the gourmet food was going to be wasted on him. The thought of swallowing anything, even water, made his stomach lurch. He had not eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.
He certainly was not up to pointless chitchat tonight. He tucked the room key into his pocket and reached for the doorknob as the fireplace glimmered and a face appeared.
It was Harry calling to check in.
"What's going on?"
"I'm walking out the door," Draco answered. "Where are you calling from? Yorkshire Moores or Chelsea?"
"Chelsea," Harry answered. "I helped Laurant close down the lake house, and then we Apparated back home together."
"Is she staying with you until the wedding?"
"Are you kidding me? Dean would send me straight to hell."
Draco laughed. "I guess having a priest for a future brother-in-law does put a crimp in your sex life."
"A couple of months and I'm gonna be a married man. Hard to believe, isn't it?"
"It's hard to believe any woman would have you."
"Laurant's nearsighted. I told her I was good-looking and she believed me. She's staying with her family until the wedding. What are you doing tonight?"
"I've got a fund-raiser I have to go to," he answered. "So what do want?"
"I just thought I'd call in and say hello."
"No, you didn't. You want something. What is it? Come on, Potter. I'm gonna be late."
"Draco, you've got to learn to slow down. You can't keep running for the rest of your life. I know what you're doing. You think that if you bury yourself in work, you won't think about Vicky. It's been four years since she died in the War, but you-"
Draco cut him off. "I like my life, and I'm not in the mood to talk about Victoria."
"You're a workaholic."
"Did you call to lecture me?"
"No, I called to see how you were doing."
"Uh-huh."
"You're in a beautiful city with beautiful women, incredible food-"
"So what do you want?"
Harry gave up. "Dean and I want to take your sailboat out tomorrow."
"Father Thomas is there?"
"Yeah. He Apparated back with Laurant and me," he explained.
"Let me get this straight. You and Dean want to take my sailboat out, and neither of you knows how to sail?"
"What's your point?"
"What about my fishing boat? Why don't you take the Avenger out instead? She's sturdier."
"We don't want to fish. We want to sail."
Draco sighed. "Try not to sink her, okay? And don't let Laurant go with you guys. I like her. I don't want her to drown. I've got to hang up now."
"Wait. There's something else."
"What?"
"Laurant's been bugging me to call you."
"Is she there? Let me talk to her," he said. He sat down on the side of the bed and realized he was feeling better. Harry's fiancée had that effect on everyone. She made them all feel good.
"She isn't here. She went out with Lavender, and you know Lavender. God only knows what time they'll get home. Anyway, I promised Laurant I'd track you down and ask…"
"What?"
"She wanted me to ask you, but I figure I didn't need to," he said. "It's understood."
Draco held his patience. "What's understood?"
"You're gonna be my best man in the wedding."
"What about Ron?"
"He's in the wedding, of course, but I'm expecting you to be best man. I figured you already knew that, but Laurant thought I should ask you anyway, cause of the rift and all."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, what?"
Draco smiled. "Yeah, okay."
His friend was a man of few words. "Okay, good. Have you given your speech yet?"
"No, that's not until tomorrow night."
"When do you get your trophy?"
"It's a plaque, and I get it right before I give my speech."
"So, if you blow it and put all those armed officers to sleep, they can't take the trophy back can they?"
"I'm leaving."
"Hey, Draco? For once, stop thinking about work. See the sights. Get laid. You know, have a good time. Hey, I know… why don't you give Blaise a call? He's on an assignment there for a few months. He could drive over, and the two of you could have some fun."
If anyone knew how to have fun, it was Blaise Zabini. The Auror had become close friends with both Draco and Harry after working on several assignments for the Phoenix during the War. Blaise was a good Wizard, but he had a wicked sense of fun, and Draco was not sure he could survive a night out with Blaise just now.
"Okay, maybe," he answered.
Draco closed the connection, stood, and quickly doubled over from the pain that radiated through his right side. It had started in his belly, but it had moved down, and, damn, but it stung. The muscle he pulled felt like it was on fire.
A stupid Quidditch injury was not going to keep him down. Muttering to himself, he grabbed his reading glasses, and left the room. By the time he had Apparated to the lobby, the pain had receded and he was feeling almost human again. That, of course, only reinforced his own personal golden rule. Ignore the pain and it will go away. Besides, a Malfoy could tough out anything.