"Do I want to know what Donovan said?" Harry blinked at his wife, hoping that she'll leave the letter and return to their bed.

Ginny sat down at the edge of the bed, sighing loudly as if Healer Donovan had told her something excruciating. Her expression was cross, a clear sign that the man had succeeded in annoying her.

"Dear Mrs Potter," she adopted the nasal voice of their ruddy, pain-in-the-arse Healer, "I hope you and your husband are doing well. Your test results have returned and I am quite sorry to tell you that my assumptions were correct. You both have an allergy which is the cause for continuous itching and nausea. I have sent you a few potions. They must be taken thrice every day, one dose after every meal. I suggest you both remain in quarantine for at least three days before booking an appointment with me. Chances are you both will recover within a few days, but the check-up is for precaution. I wish you a fast recovery. Healer Donovan."

She threw away the letter.

"Tosser," she grumbled. Harry sat up and wrapped his hands around her body.

"Ugh. You're making it itch even more." Ginny snuggled close to him while scratching her arms.

"You know, these rashes don't really alter your appearance." Noticing her looking unimpressed, he added quickly, "I mean, they look like freckles. Angry freckles."

"Well, you look like you got hugged by poison ivy and now, are pissing me off."

Harry sighed. He hadn't expected to return from his newest mission covered in questionable substances. But he had done it and ignored the mandated protocol of getting yourself examined after you return from any mission. He had been eager to get back to his wife, which turned into the source of his regret because the substances hadn't spared her either. The next morning, he had nearly died of fright when he saw Ginny's puffy face and watery eyes, her hands swelling at an alarming rate.

"You know," he scratched his arm, "we can do a few things now that we're stuck here."

Ginny frowned. "What things?" She pinched her palm and only let it go when it turned red. Harry wondered whether she was playing coy on purpose.

"Things like..." he trailed off. Slowly he dragged his hand up her nightdress, applying the amount of pressure that usually drives her wild.

"Hmm, Harry..." She sighed and Harry smiled. His technique had never failed him in their romantic life.

"Harry. Right there," she tilted her body towards him. He moved his hand even higher.

"Here?" He caressed the patch above her navel.

"Yeah. Now, scratch it. Just like this." Ginny grabbed his hand and scratched him lightly. Bewildered, he let go.

She opened her eyes. "What?" Ginny asked, frowning.

"If I wasn't clear before, I'm sorry. My intention was to seduce you, you see."

She rolled her eyes.

"Harry, as much as I love our intimate moments, I'd love you more if you help me fight this bloody infection when it's making me itch like a barmy person!"

"Here," he gestured to the pillows. "Lay down there. I do remember our vows, you see."

Ginny crawled and reclined.

"In sickness and in health? We skipped that part, remember?"

"It was written in small print at the back of our marriage contract, love. Where does it itch the most?" He lifted her shirt over her head.

Ginny wailed "Everywhere!"

He grinned and threw the shirt at one corner.

"I'm getting the chance to get my hands all over you, Mrs Potter. It's going to be quite a pleasurable ride."

"Yes, yes, Mr Potter," she laughed. "But make sure that you don't get too invested."

"No promises," Harry joked and got down to business.

For a while, there was a heavy silence interrupted with sighs and the sound of scratching when Ginny spoke up.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you, but the next time you return with some ghastly thing on you, you better drag your arse to St Mungo's or you'd be sleeping at Ron's."

"Got it, dear. Love you too."