Hurt/Comfort Fiction and Fanfiction

Sore

2008-08-17T03:04:16Z

Title: Sore

Pairing: Nick Lidstrom/Chris Osgood

Fandom: Detroit Redwings RPS

Disclaimer: Owning people is still bad, mmmmkay

Summary: Ficalet to follow up my migraine fic; Spending the night on the floor was a nice thought, but not the best idea

Rating - PG...unless your mind wanders

Title: Sore

Pairing: Nick Lidstrom/Chris Osgood

Fandom: Detroit Redwings RPS

Disclaimer: Owning people is still bad, mmmmkay

Summary: takes place after Migraine drabble; Spending the night on the floor was a nice thought, but not the best idea

Nick woke up, relieved to find that his headache was gone, and he could move without agony again. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, surprised when they connected with something soft and squishy instead of the cold hard floor.

“Ooof.” Came a grunt from the floor, and a pair of blue eyes opened. “Nick, why’d you step on me?”

“Sorry, Ozzie.” Nick apologized. “Wait a minute, why are you on the floor?”

Chris reached for Nick’s hands and slowly pulled himself to a sitting position, wincing as he noticed how stiff and sore his back was. He gave Nick a concerned look. “Do you not remember last night?”

“I remember I had a migraine.” Nick told him. “That doesn’t explain why you’re on the floor.”

“Because I didn’t want to make you puke by being restless in bed since you said you might get sick if you moved.”

“You could have slept on the couch.”

Chris gingerly rubbed his back. “I didn’t want to leave you alone in case you got worse.”

“What’s wrong with your back?” Chris momentarily saw the concern flash across Nick’s eyes.

“Just sore. I had Piet take a look at it; he says there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just sore muscles and age starting to catch up to me.”

“And I doubt sleeping on the floor helped it any.” Nick helped Chris stand up and the younger goalie sat on the bed next to him.

“What if you needed me? I wasn’t sure if you could have made it downstairs.”

Nick shook his head, standing up. “Lie down. On your stomach.” He clarified as Ozzie started to lay on his back. “Let me pee, and then I’ll come back and give you a backrub before breakfast.” He called over his shoulder.

Chris nodded, waiting for Nick to come back from the bathroom. When his lover returned with the bottle of hand lotion, he sat on the bed next to him and began working his way through Ozzie’s tense lower back muscles. He slowly worked his way up Ozzie’s spine, kneading the muscles with his fingers and heels of his hands, working on circular motions with his thumbs. 20 minutes later, he had reached the goalie’s shoulders, and began working his way back down with his palms, checking for any tight areas he may have missed. However, judging by the relaxed expression on Chris’s face, he was fairly confident that the younger man felt much better.

He bent down beside him for a moment, planting gentle kisses on Ozzie’s forehead, jawline and lips. “I’m going to go make you a wonderful breakfast for taking care of me last night. Be downstairs before it gets cold.” He whispered gently.

Ozzie nodded, giving indication that he’d heard as grabbed a T shirt and headed downstairs.

As much as he wanted to stay in bed, he knew it was rare that Nick went all out making breakfast, and he didn’t want to irk his lover by staying in bed and letting it get cold. Besides, judging from the smells that were beginning to make their way up the stairs, Nick was making sure that Chris would have his favorites for breakfast.

He slipped into his flip-flips and made his way down to the kitchen. Nick was just dishing up a plate of pancakes and bacon for him, setting in front of a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice.

“Cranberry Orange muffins in a few minutes.” He said, setting a similar, smaller plate for himself in next to Chris’s.

“You’re too good to me.” Chris said, pouring syrup on his pancakes.

“You took care of me.”

“I didn’t do much. Changed your ice pack a few times. Helped you sit up once to take some more painkillers.”

“And I stepped on you.”

“Barely. More surprised me than anything. And the backrub more than makes up for that. Are you feeling better? I mean, you’re up to cooking, apparently, but…”

“Just tired. I know you’d wanted to go shopping today, but-“

“If you’re not up for it, you’re not up for it. We can do it tomorrow. Today, we’ll rest.” Ozzie swallowed his bite of pancakes, and began covering Nick in syrupy kisses, groaning as the oven timer signaled the muffins were done, preventing him from going any further at the breakfast table.

Fever

2008-08-13T18:09:42Z

Title: Fever
Fandom: Richard Roxburgh (AKA Rox/Roxy)
Rating: G
Pairing: Roxy/Daliah (OC)
Spoilers: N/A
Disclaimer: No owning here, just massive fangirlling obsession!
Summary: Rox is adorably delirious, or deliriously adorable, from a fever. Daliah keeps him company. Plot? Who needs plot?
Notes: Hello *waves shyly* Welcome to my world of Roxy obsession. Hope you enjoy

He was rambling on about something, stretched out on his back with his head nestled comfortably in her lap, but she wasn’t really paying attention. Running her fingers absently through his hair, eyes focused on the television rather than him and occasionally giving some murmur of assent to reassure him that she was listening even though she wasn’t. She doubted she would have been able to follow whatever he was yammering about anyway. She wasn’t entirely sure he was following it for that matter... But whatever it was he was clearly adamant about it and beginning to get slightly worked up.

Daliah sighed and shifted her attention at last from the television to her boyfriend who was beginning to gesticulate rather emphatically to illustrate whatever incoherent point he thought he was making.

“Rox.” She said gently, laying a hand on his chest and rubbing it with her thumb. But he wasn’t paying attention.

“Rox, Rox, sssshhhh, calm down.”

He looked up as though only just now realizing she was there and blinked at her, looking rather lost and confused. Like he really didn’t have any idea what he was doing.

“What was I saying?” He asked, as though he’d simply gotten distracted and lost track. He really did look lost, slate blue eyes unfocused as he gazed up at her. Like a lost puppy...

“Doesn’t matter.” She murmured gently. “It wasn’t important.”

“Oh...” He looked around the room as though searching for something, seeming more lost and confused than ever.

Daliah pulled his head gently back to face her and planted a tender kiss on his warm, dry lips.

A wide boyish grin spread across his handsome features. Childishly gleeful and innocent. Then he frowned, expression shifting to one of confused puzzlement

“What was that for?” He asked with innocent, childlike curiosity.

She couldn’t help but laugh at how adorably out of it he was. Cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glazed over with fever. And just a hint of sweat on his forehead. Sometimes he really amazed her with his ability to hold things off with the sheer force off his will power alone. Amazed, but not necessarily in a good way because it meant that when he finally did let himself fall, he tended to fall hard. She supposed it was probably because whatever ailment happened to be threatening him at the time wasn’t actually put in stasis but simply not outwardly visible while it built inside of him so that when it did become visible it had already progressed and instead of gradually worsening it simply all hit him at once without time for his body to adjust.

Whether this one was a cold or a mild case of flu she wasn’t sure, but whatever it was it had hit him during the wrap party. And it had hit him hard. It was always odd, watching a progression that would normally take a couple of days at least, occur instead in a couple of hours. From the beginnings of a cough and runny nose on the drive to the director’s house, to a full blown fever by the time desert was being served.

Someday, Daliah mused, he was going to have to slow down and stop working with such ceaseless tenacity that his body invariably gave out on him in one way or another whenever he finished a project. But if she told him that now he probably wouldn’t remember it in the morning. It wasn’t a high enough fever that she was really worried, but, probably because he had already been so exhausted to begin with, it was just enough to make him slightly delirious and incoherent. He wasn’t in any danger, but he wasn’t quite all there at the moment either.

“Whaaat?” He inquired again, a rare whine noticeable in his voice this time.

He really was akin to a child right now she thought, his poor fevered brain not quite capable of putting two and two together. She hugged him, resting her cool forehead against his hot one, chocolate brown eyes mere inches away from puzzled blue ones.

“It was because you’re adorably delirious. Or deliriously adorable. And because I love you.”

He grinned again, that perfectly innocent childlike grin. A smile unhindered by adult temperance that had fallen away with his cognitive functioning. For the moment he was a child who had yet to see what the world was really like. An adult’s smile told you that they knew joy was a bright spot in an often dark world. This was a child’s smile, blind to the cruelty that could take away such joy in an instant. Naive, that was the word for it. He was beautifully naive at the moment, but she would be glad nonetheless when the beauty of his having experienced life returned. It was the depth of his ability to feel, both the good and the bad that had touched her, and that was missing in this childlike state. He was adorable like this, yes, but being adorable didn’t make up for not being able to have an intelligent conversation and make you think. Besides, he was adorable when he wasn’t feverish too, just in a more mature fashion.

“And now, I think it’s time you took some medicine and went to sleep, kiddo.”

A moment of slight clarity in his addled brain as he shook his head, wrapping his arms around her.

“No, m’ok. Want to stay here with you.” Not quite as intelligently stated as it would have been had he been more cognizant perhaps, but the sentiment was the same and there was definitely a hint of his usual self in there. Buried under incoherence though it might currently be. A good sign nonetheless.

“How about you stay with me in bed instead?” She asked, fingers gently stroking his hair again.

He seemed to consider this proposal for a moment and the look in his eyes as he did so told her he was definitely on his way back to being his usual, dare she say horn dog, self.

“Don’t even think about, Mr.” Daliah informed him, prodding him gently but teasingly into a sitting position on the couch. “It’s tylenol and sleep for you until that fever of yours breaks. Now come on.”

He allowed her to lead him, half supporting him upstairs to bed and obediently swallowed the two cold pills she handed him before dragging her into bed next to him. She was slightly surprised at how much strength he had despite being sick.

“Can I at least change into pajamas first maybe?” She laughed.

“No.” He said quite simply, holding her firmly in the bed as he snuggled against her.

Daliah sighed. Childlike or not he was still stubborn as hell. But despite his statement to the contrary he did allow her to gently extract herself from his embrace long enough to switch from jeans and peasant blouse to one of his t-shirts.

“Daliah?” He murmured as she crawled back into bed next to him, nuzzling drowsily against her.

“Mmm?” She murmured back, wrapping her arms around him and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“I love you.”

She smiled.

“I love you too, now sleep.”

Snuggles

2008-08-10T19:52:57Z

Since allergies made me feel all craptacular last night, I bring you allergic!Ozzie

Title: Snuggles
Fandom: Detroit Red Wings; RPS
Pairing Nick Lidstrom/Chris Osgood
Disclaimer: Owning people is bad, mmmmkay
Summary: Nick takes a bit of care of a miserable Oz.

He found Chris sitting in the living room, watching TV. Nick bent down to kiss him gently on the cheek, setting the bags on the coffee table.

“Did you get my message?” Chris asked, sniffling.

Nick nodded, noticing the rounded congested notes to his lover’s voice. “All 5 of them.”

He sat down next to Chris and picked up one of the shopping bags. “Tissues, eye drops and some Benadryl sinus tablets.” He reached over for the paper bag. “Strawberry milkshake.” He slid his arm around the goalie. “And me. How are you feeling?”

Ozzie pulled open the box of tissues and blew his nose. “Miserable. Stuffy. Sneezy. Head hurts. My eyes itch.” He reached up and scratched at his nose. “I’m just itchy.” He whined, pressing the crumpled tissues to his face and releasing two soft muffled sneezes into them.

“Bless you.” Nick said gently, opening the box of pills and fumbling with the foil packets, finally freeing two of the green capsules and handing them over.

Chris picked up the shake and swallowed the pills, setting it down to scrub at his eyes. Nick was already picking at the safety plastic on the eye drops.

“Tip your head back.” He ordered, standing up and leaning over Chris as Chris held his eyes open for Nick to put the drops in.

Chris kept his eyes closed for a few seconds before opening them again and wiping them dry with another tissue. “Thanks, Nicky. How was the cookout?”

“Would have been more fun with you.” Nick responded, snuggling against him.

Chris shook his head. “Not for me. I’m miserable enough right now.” He pressed his wrist to his nose to block another sneeze.

“I know. My poor allergic Ozzie.” Nick handed him the tissues again and waited for him to blow his nose before cuddling back against him, planting a gentle kiss on his jaw.

“Might not want to snuggle too close.” Ozzie warned him. “I don’t want to risk snotting on you, especially if I fall asleep.” He scrubbed at his eyes and nose again.

“Stop that.” Nick reminded him. “You’re just going to make it worse if you keep rubbing your eyes.” He pulled a tissue of his own from the box. “And I want to be next to you. You fall asleep and your nose starts running, I’ll just stuff this up there.” He indicated the tissue.

Chris managed a smile. “That’ll work. He gently rested his head on Nick’s shoulder, yawning. “I promise I’ll try not to sneeze on you.” He took a tissue in one hand and entwined the other one with Nick’s as both men turned their focus back to the TV and Ozzie let the fatigue and the drugs take over, leading him into sleep.

Migraine Drabble

2008-08-02T16:24:52Z

Title: Migraine Drabble (If anyone knows of a better title, feel free to suggest one as I suck at those)
Fandom: Detroit Red Wings, Real Person Fic
Pairing: Nick Lidstrom/Chris Osgood
Disclaimer: Owning people is bad, mmmkay
Summary: Migraine!Nick, worried!Oz

Chris was surprised to come to a quiet, dark house. It was later than he’d planned, but it wasn’t that late, only about 8:00. And Nick knew he wouldn’t be back until after dinner, so he knew his lover wasn’t pissed about that.

Nick’s car was in the driveway, and there was no note, so he doubted the older defenseman had gone anywhere. Nick never left without calling Chris’s cell phone or leaving a note on the kitchen counter since he knew Chris had a slight tendency to worry when he didn’t know where Nick was.

Wondering if his lover had decided to watch a movie in bed, all though it was slightly out of character for Nick to do so…usually Chris had to convince him to watch TV anywhere other than the couch. He headed up the stairs to find the bedroom dark. Panic started to set in before he noticed a lump in the sheets.

“Nicky?” He called, reaching out and turning on the light.

A soft groan was all that answered him, and worried, he crossed over to the bed. “Nick?” He worked hard at keeping the concern out of his voice as he sat down on the bed. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Migraine.” Nick grunted, not moving, eyes squinched shut. “Turn the light off.” He ordered. Chris obliged, moving quickly off the bed, too quickly he realized too late as he heard Nick groaning in agony again.

He switched the lights back off and returned to the bed, sliding down onto the floor next to Nick and reaching for his hand.

“I didn’t know you got migraines.” He said softly.

“Not that often.” Nick said slowly. “Been a few years.”

“How bad?”

“Dizzy. Nauseous. Scared I’ll get sick if I move. Light and sound hurt. Head hurts…worse than getting checked into the boards.”

“Take anything?”

“Yeah.” Nick grunted. “Some of the painkillers for when my knee gets really bad. Otherwise, just trying sleep and ice.”

Chris picked up the ice pack that had slipped off Nick’s forehead. “I think it’s time for another one.” He picked himself up off the floor and slipped out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a fresh ice pack, gently placing it on Nick’s forehead, taking a pillow from the bed before returning to his vigil on the floor. Chris was a restless sleeper and didn’t want his movements to disturb Nick.

He found Nick’s hand again and gently kissed it. “Love you, Nicky. I’ll be right here if you need me.” He whispered.

HP FIC: Inside-out, Outside-in (G)

2008-06-11T05:10:44Z

Title: Inside-out, Outside-in
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Lee/George
Spoilers: I reveal much from every HP book. Read them all first or suffer the consequences.
Disclaimer: JKR’s characters… my own post-series AU… I make no money and mean no harm. I’m truly just playing around in JKR’s playground for fun.
Summary: Harry is overworked but for a good reason.
Notes: Set a long while before my fic, ‘Lots Can Happen in Five Minutes’. A big thank you to RC for setting me straight about what CPS is referred to over the pond.

His head was splitting open. He hadn’t felt this sort of shooting pain since the days when Voldemort had been particularly vengeful. And though Voldemort was definitely dead and gone— and had been for more than two years— the destruction he had brought about still remained. Harry set his quill down and put both elbows on the kitchen table. He hung his head in his hands, feeling his head throbbing against his fingers. Things seemed a bit better when he closed his eyes, but he couldn’t do his work with his eyes closed. And he couldn’t go to bed until the work was done.

“Harry, are you really still here?”

Harry thought it was pretty stupid question. Ginny could clearly see he was sitting at the table. He didn’t bother lifting his head. It was better just to keep his eyes closed and take advantage of this. If Ginny were here, he wouldn’t be able to work anyway; she’d talk too much for him to concentrate.

“Teddy’s asleep.”

“Thanks.” After he and Ginny got settled in their house, Harry had insisted on taking charge of his Godson at least a few times a month. Teddy’s grandmother welcomed a few nights off, and Harry and Ginny enjoyed having him. Tonight, however, Harry had let his wife put the boy to bed. He’d check in on Teddy in an hour or two.

“You’re working too hard.”

Harry lifted his head and sighed. “I know, Ginny, I know. But it can’t be helped.” He stared down at his piles of papers and reshuffled them. The change in light and his moving around made his head hurt worse for a moment, and he winced.

Ginny’s eyes were on fire, like her hair. She dragged another of the kitchen table chairs over and plopped down right beside. “Harry Potter, you stop working and come to bed this instant. I’ll not have you working yourself into the ground. You’re not invulnerable.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “ Please don’t nag. My head’s killing me.”

“I’d imagine so. You’ve barely slept these past two days. Rebuilding the Ministry is important, sure, but it’s not worth this.”

“It is,” he whispered, resisting the urge to close his eyes and keep them closed. But his head pounded harder and it made his stomach feel a bit off. “Mrs. Kaminski retired this week. She was getting up there, and I knew she wouldn’t be there forever, but…”

Ginny pulled her hand off the papers and picked up Harry’s hand instead. “Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

Harry nodded and took a deep breath to steady himself. Rebuilding the Ministry practically from scratch had been hard work. Though they’d asked Harry to do it, Harry felt much more comfortable with Kingsley as Minister of Magic. This left him free to do the organizing and micromanage everything until it got going the right way. He had hand-picked Mrs. Kaminski personally and she had been the only one he’d trusted with his most special, most cherished new division of the Ministry. Now that she was gone-- and he couldn’t blame her, because she had come out of retirement for him in the first place and had been up-front about not staying more than a year—Harry felt it necessary to take this on in addition to his other work.

He looked at her imploringly. “I know you’re angry with me, but do you think you could do that… that thing you did last time?”

Ginny smiled. “Of course, Sweetheart.” She got up and stood behind him. She pressed her fingers to his temples and rubbed in a circle. She ran her fingertips across his forehead, applying just the right amount of pressure. “How’s that?”

“Knew there was a reason I married you. Merlin, Ginny. You should be a healer.”

“Hmm. The five year contract the Harpies had me sign says differently.”

“Yeah, well- oh. Ohhhhh right there, Gin. Just like that.”

Ginny giggled and continued to massage his scalp. Her hands were almost completely covered in the untidy black hair, which was even untidier at the end of a long day. She dug her fingers in, rubbing, and soon his head was bobbing and rolling to her movements.

Harry sighed. “Don’t supposed you could keep this up for the rest of the night? I’ve got a few hours of paperwork left ahead of me.”

Laughing, Ginny leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Harry Potter, but I’m not crazy. You’ve got ten more minutes, then I’m off to bed with or without you.”

“Without,” Harry muttered. “M’sorry. But I’ve really got to see to these files. No one else will.”

“I understand.”

He thought about getting up to give her a hug, but just couldn’t make his body move from its seat.

“Call if you need anything.” She rubbed at his temples again. “But don’t call too loudly or you’ll wake Teddy and two bedtime stories is where I draw my line. Unless… you’ve got one for me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

After Ginny went to bed, Harry stared down at his papers. Without his wife’s touch, his headache came back in full force, but he felt more relaxed now and more determined to get his work done. Everyone deserved this; everyone deserved what he had.

He read through the top piece of paper, which seemed to take forever. He flipped to the next, and reading that seemed to take hours. When he got to the end, he got his wand out. He touched it to the paper and the word APPROVED in sparkling red letters. He set it aside and eyed the stack. With a sigh, he pushed the whole thing away and picked up a different stack. This one was a stack of file folders, each one labeled ‘Magical Social Services- Child’.

Rebuilding the Ministry of Magic, department by department, had been a grueling task, but one Harry knew he had to take on as soon as he’d set the repairing of Hogwarts in motion. His first move- even before getting a Minister of Magic- was to establish the Social Services department. His Godson wasn’t the only child to lose parents in the war. There were many children not as lucky as Teddy, who at least still had some family left. There were families that needed support and children who needed families. And Harry knew better than anyone else how important it was that these children get taken care of properly.

The world might have been much different if a young Tom Riddle had been taken in by a supportive, loving, magical family instead of a muggle orphanage. Though Harry couldn’t place all the blame on that, he knew well it hadn’t helped any.

These children, already raised in magical households, needed to be looked after by people who at least understood what that meant. His long-term goal for the agency was to aid in the identifications and transitions of muggle-borns, so it wasn’t such a shock to the children or their families. They would be able to increase understanding and hopefully make the muggle-born thing a non-issue after a generation or two made it to Hogwarts. But for now, the primary focus was finding homes for the children.

And that meant identifying said children, recruiting and inspecting foster families, and making proper matches. There were interviews and background checks aplenty, but time was also a crucial factor. Mrs. Kaminski had had no fewer than a two dozen people working under her, but she had been in charge of overseeing every chart, performing most of the matches, and having the last say in everything. Most of the time she performed the final rounds of interviews and was present during the meet-ups of foster parents and placed children.

It was a lot of work for Harry to suddenly find in his lap. Having had very little experience taking care of children, he was eager to find a trustworthy replacement for Mrs. Kaminski, but that decision and appointment couldn’t be made overnight. And in the meantime, there were children who needed homes. His first obligation— even above sleep— was to them.

Harry shuffled through the pile of children’s files and pulled out one file. The picture clipped to the top was of a young boy of twelve, with dark eyes and blonde hair. He was a cute kid and as good as any to start with. “All right now, Erik Hastings,” Harry said to the photo. “Let’s find you a good home, shall we?”

Harry read through the boy’s history. His mother had died in childbirth and his father had been an Unmentionable at the Ministry who’d died on the job during the takeover. The boy had been living in a muggle orphanage in Kent for the last few years. Harry flipped through the rest of the file. The boy’s grade school marks were acceptable, and he got pretty good marks at Hogwarts as well. But there were pages and pages of reprimands and detentions documented on his transcript. For the most part the offenses weren’t serious- mostly trouble-making just for the fun of it. Harry got a strangely eerie feeling of familiarity while reading. However, there were a few cases of his running away from the orphanage. He got to the end, which was a letter written by Erik himself. Harry fought off the tears. Apparently, the boy had a twin brother out there somewhere. He refused to be placed anywhere without his brother, and who could blame him?

Harry dove into the stack, thumbing through the files until he found one with a photo that could have been of the same boy. Instead of just smiling at the camera, this one’s head was cocked and he was smiling a bit slyly. Why hadn’t these two been placed together initially? Harry flipped past the first page, which was almost identical to Erik’s, and found his answer on the top of the second page of the boy’s history. Justin Hastings had gone to a juvenile detention facility in Shellingsford just after their father’s funeral because he’d set a car on fire. It hadn’t been his fault, according to the caseworker who’d been looking into their case this week. Justin had been emotionally distraught and had done it inadvertently with magic. But the muggle police and judge hadn’t seen it that way. “All the more reason you should be fostered with a family that understands about magic,” Harry said, wondering how any child his age could be expected to cope with the loss of his father by being taken away from his twin brother, the only family he had left. No wonder Erik kept running away and heading in the direction of Shellingsford.

The recommendations of the caseworkers who’d gone to see each boy was for a home where there would be rules, routines, and enough room for two growing young boys to have fun. They’d need parents who were understanding and patient, but unafraid to lay down the law if the boys got too out of line.

Immediately, Harry knew what to do. He ran to the living room, since the kitchen’s fireplace was for cooking and not connected to the Floo Network. He tossed in a handful of powder and hoped someone was at home. “Hello?” he called, once he’d stuck his head into the flames. “Anybody around?” He called out a little louder than he probably should have for that time of night. He didn’t really want to wake anyone up, but he was desperate to speak about this.

Thankfully, George Weasley appeared there a second later, not wearing pajamas but regular robes. “Hullo, Harry. Where’s the fire?”

“Ha ha.” Harry felt the flames licking his ears. Seeing everything through a flooey haze made his headache worse. But he had to get through this. “Listen, George, are you and Lee still interested in being foster parents?”

~ * ~

It was late when Harry finally made his way up the staircase—which seemed twice as long as normal for some reason. He pulled himself up with the banister, exhausted by the time he reached the top. With his hand pressed to his forehead, he made his way down the hallway. He was beginning to feel sick to his stomach for all the pounding and the ache in his temples.

Harry still checked in on Teddy, and he even found himself leaning against the doorjamb. He watched Teddy sleep— the most ordinary, boring thing, watching someone sleep— and he loved it. There was nothing so soothing was watching that scene. The little chest rising and falling under the snitch-print sheets. The amber eyes were shut peacefully and the mouth was open. The brown hair with its purple streaks fell over part of his face. He wanted to go brush it out, but feared his touch would be too heavy.

He pulled himself back and closed the door softly. Then he stumbled down the hallway, barged into his bedroom, and collapsed into bed. He felt like whimpering, like moaning, but he bit his tongue. He couldn’t wake Ginny.

“Harry, are you still hurting?”

Nodding, Harry hugged his pillow to his chest and curled up. His whole head throbbed painfully, taking over his whole body. The pain was so fierce he didn’t even notice Ginny’s body against his or her hands on his forehead until after she’d begun rubbing.

He gave it a moment or two and then sighed deeply. “Ginny, you angel. You should be asleep.”

“Mmm,” she agreed. “How about we both stop saying what the other should do and just try to relax? You lie here and not work, and I’ll rub your head and not nag.”

“You don’t nag,” Harry protested.

“I do. I’m like my mother. I worry about you. Can’t help it.”

“There are worse things.” Harry smiled. Then he rolled over, snuggled into her, laid his head on her breast, and closed his eyes. “You’re amazing, Ginny Potter. You’re a beautiful woman, a loving wife, a star chaser, and a pretty soon you’re going to be an auntie again.”

Ginny’s fingers froze in mid-circle against Harry’s temples. “Excuse me?”

Harry smiled and opened his bright green eyes. “That is, if two boys named Erik and Justin want George and Lee to be their foster parents.”

Ginny bounced in place and squealed out loud. She grabbed Harry and hugged him, squeezing so tightly he might have been sick if not for the feeling of elation spreading through him. He thought of his mother-in-law back during the war, about her strengths and about her fear of what would happen to her children if she and Arthur were to die. He thought about that time he’d seen Remus comforting her, not telling her that she wouldn’t die but that her children would have a home if she did. And he thought about his Godson, happily stretched out in his little bed, sleeping soundly.

The Magical Social Services program was so close to Harry’s heart, and every child that was placed was special to him. But there was something especially special when those children might just become part of his family.

Completely ignoring the pain shooting through his head, he lifted an arm, wrapped it around Ginny, and used what was left of his strength to hug her back.

:-)

Unfinished HP Fic, Part 1

2008-03-31T03:38:38Z

Dunno why, but I felt the need to share this tonight. It's untitled currently and unfinished.

Title: Currently Untitled- Part 1
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Disclaimer: The puppies are not mine. I make no money and come in peace.
Summary: In which Sirius and Remus go to a club and Remus has a stomach ache.
Feedback: Would appreciate it. I started this story on February 18, 2005. I know what's going to happen and I have a few sentences more written, so I'm hoping posting part 1 will push me into finishing it up. And this seemed a good place to post it.

“Come on,” said Sirius, looking at Remus’ reflection in the mirror in front of him. Then he continued to rub the gel through his hair. “I’m even wearing the collar you gave me. And you know once you get there you’ll have fun.”

Remus shrugged. His hand nervously patted the bed beside him. “Sirius…” he started softly, slowly. “My stomach’s been a bit wonky all evening. I don’t feel like going out to dance.”

“We won’t stay long. I promise. But practically everyone’s going to be there and it’s going to be a good time. So just come along for me?”

Remus finally sighed and nodded, giving in. “All right. But if I want to go home, please promise me we’ll go. No matter what.”

Grinning, Sirius turned to face Remus across the room. He leaned back against the dresser, sitting and holding onto the edge. “Excellent.”

Unable to resist Sirius when he grinned, Remus got up off the bed and walked over to him. Sirius caught him in a tight hug and with a strong kiss. “Mmm.” Sirius pulled back, still smiling. “You’re hot.”

It was true Remus was feeling a bit warmer than usual, but he had a feeling he knew why. His hand slid down and cupped one of Sirius’ arse cheeks through tight black leather pants. “So are you, Love.”

Sirius grabbed hold of Remus’ hand and eagerly led him out.

* * *

Not long after, Remus found himself perched upon a tall barstool at a tall table. He lifted his head and looked across the club to see his three best friends dancing together. Remus cringed. Not only did he not feel like dancing, but he certainly did not feel like dancing to disco. He looked back down at his drink in hand and shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“What’s your poison?”

Remus looked up to see a dashingly handsome young man leaning over the chair across from Remus at the tiny table. “Oh, ah…” Remus glanced at his drink, ashamed to admit it was only water. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly above the din. “Gin and tonic,” he answered. Then, before the man could buy him a drink, “But I’m taken, Mate.”

The man moved forward a little more, and gave him a wide smile. “I’ll be the judge of that, Sweet Thing. So where’s this guy you’re supposedly with?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know I’m not with a woman?”

The man shrugged. “Because you don’t seem like the kind of guy who’d let his woman alone in a place like this to get hit on by guys like me. Besides, I can just sense these sorts of things.”

His stomach twanged and Remus wrapped an arm around it to help calm it. “Oh, you can, can you? So what else can you sense?”

Flipping his bangs back out of his face with a quick head movement, the man spoke suavely. “Well, I can sense that you’re very intelligent as well as being quite a cutie. I sense you don’t like dancing and you got dragged here. I sense that you need something right now that you’re not getting. And I want to be the one to give that to you.”

Remus took a few sips of water, and the pain in his stomach intensified. He tightened his hold on his stomach. “Looks like you got me in one. But how do you know I want something else?”

“Because if you were getting what you wanted, you wouldn’t be sitting here drinking and flirting with a stranger while your man’s off dancing.” He circled the chair and sat down on it. “Like I said, I can sense these things.”

Remus sighed to himself, but breathing was starting to hurt. He lowered his other arm as discretely as he could and hugged them both around his stomach. He didn’t like the idea of cheating on Sirius, even with small talk. But he also had to admit that what the man was saying was the truth. If he wasn’t meant to be with Sirius, though, why was his stomach hurting so much? He longed to be back home and wished he hadn’t let Sirius drag him to the club.

The man continued on. “I can sense…”

Remus winced and leaned forward, practically folding in half around the sharp pain in his stomach now.

The man stood quickly, alarm plastered on his face. “I can sense you’re in pain. Hey, are you all right?”

Remus started to nod and tried very hard to sit up and wave it off. But the pain would not stop and he could not move. The man walked over in a flash and felt his forehead. “Oh my god. You’re really burning up.” He looked out onto the dance floor. “Who’re you with, Man?”

“Sirius,” Remus whispered, closing his eyes tightly as the world began to spin around him. All he could think about was Sirius’ touch, Sirius’ face. He wanted Sirius badly. He leaned into the table to keep himself from falling off the chair and onto the floor. And he whimpered as the pain grew even worse. He opened his eyes and realized the man was no longer by his side. Remus couldn’t exactly blame him, though he would have liked someone to have helped him to the bathroom before he got sick to his stomach. He pried one arm off his stomach and slowly reached for his water. It was cool and delicious, and he felt hot and miserable.

“Whoa, now. You shouldn’t be drinking alcohol.” The man was back, prying the lovely drink from Remus’ hand.

Remus felt an arm wrap around his middle and Remus leaned into the touch. He smelled something familiar and looked up to see his lover. “Sirius!” he exclaimed. He buried his face in Sirius’ chest with a whimper. “I want to go home now, please.”

Sirius hugged him close and picked up the glass on the table. “What’ve you been drinking?” He took a sip, realizing that it was just water and not spiked with anything.

“We were talking,” the man explained, “And he just keeled over.”

“Sirius… home…” Remus begged, desperately grabbing handfuls of Sirius’ shirt. “You promised.”

“I know, Love.” Sirius said, sweeping Remus up into his arms. “And I’m afraid I’m going to have to break that promise. I’m taking you straight to the hospital.”

Remus lifted his head and looked back at the blond man almost apologetically. But the man shook his head. “Another time, maybe. See, I told you that you needed something.”

Remus nodded and closed his eyes. He did not remember Sirius carrying him out of the club. He did not remember the trip to the hospital. He did not remember much of anything except for sharp, stabbing pains in his stomach and the world spinning out of control. He had grabbed hold of Sirius tightly just before passing out.

* * *

Sirius, on the other hand, was well aware of every terrifying moment.

Never Alone - Chapter Four

2008-03-20T03:45:57Z

Title: Never Alone
Author: </a></b></a>reallyginnyf
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: 12+ for language
Word count: 3081
Disclaimer: These brilliant characters are not mine. I just like to take them out and play with them occasionally. I'll put them back where I found them when I'm finished, I promise.
Summary: When Professor Snape falls ill just before the Christmas holiday, he finds comfort in the most unexpected places. A fluffy cold fic set during Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
Characters: Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall.

Before he was fully awake, Snape was conscious of someone moving about in his room. He could hear quiet, cautious footfalls, the soft sounds of a cabinet opening, jars being moved about and drawers squeaking open and shut. Who was in his room, messing about in his stores? He opened his eyes, blinking against the light pouring through the windows, which soon proved too intense for the pain pulsing in his head. As he lay there, it occurred to him that the light was also much too bright to be coming from the high windows in his dungeon rooms, but if he wasn't there, then where was he exactly?

"I'm sorry I woke you," Snape heard a soft, concerned voice say, further adding to his confusion until he realized the voice belonged to Poppy, then the memories of the previous day began to gradually filter into his consciousness. He was in the dispensary. He had spent a restless night on what had proven to be a hard and unyielding couch after a hellish late night brewing session. He raised himself slowly and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the couch. He always felt a little tired the day after Wolfsbane preparation, that was to be expected, but this was fatigue on a massive scale, exacerbated by a pounding headache. He ran his fingers through his hair which was hanging heavily against his face and rested his head in his hands, feeling the rasp of stubble on his cheeks.

"You look dreadful this morning," Poppy said. "How are you feeling?"

He still felt ill, wretchedly so, but he couldn't bear to have Poppy fluttering about, making sympathetic noises.

"I'm fine," he said shortly, and just the act of speaking a few words provoked a round of harsh coughing.

"Yes, you sound quite healthy," she observed, after he had finally caught his breath. "Isn't there anything I can give you that would help?"

"You know there isn't," he said wearily, slipping his feet back into boots he couldn't remember having removed. "Not unless I'd care to add intractable vomiting to my other delightful symptoms."

He straightened slowly, groaning at the twinges of pain in his back. A quick check on the Wolfsbane and then he was going back to his room to suffer in complete and blessed solitude. As he made his way over to the simmering cauldron, he stumbled slightly from a combination of fatigue and lightheadedness. It didn't escape Poppy's notice but he brushed off her offer of support with a growing sense of irritation.

"Keep an eye on the Wolfsbane today, Poppy," he said, noting that the smoke swirling upward from the surface of the potion had lightened considerably. "It may only take another twelve hours or so before it's completed." Although he knew he was inviting another intrusion, he didn't trust anyone but himself to recognize when it would be ready and added, "Let me know when the smoke turns completely white."

"Of course," Poppy said, as she retrieved his cloak from the floor where it had fallen last night and held it out for him. "You're going back to your room to rest, aren't you?" Her tone made it more of a command than a question.

"That was my intention."

"You're welcome to stay here, if you'd rather," she said, smoothing the folds of his cloak after he had shrugged into it, her forehead creased with concern. Before he could stop himself, Snape impatiently thrust her hands away.

"Stop fussing, Poppy."

"I think it's high time someone fussed over you a bit. You haven't been taking care of yourself."

He could think of no response for this; at least nothing that didn't sound surly and unappreciative of the help she had given him.

"Thank you for your assistance last night," he said finally, finding it difficult to meet her gaze. Sharp words always came more easily to his mind than pleasantries, and outright expressions of gratitude were almost embarrassing.

"It was my pleasure," she said. "Shall I check on you later?"

Snape shook his head. All he wanted was some tea, a long, hot soak in the bath and to be left entirely alone. If he could make it to his quarters without encountering anyone, he would ward the door and not emerge until he was recovered or dead and at this point he wasn't sure which option he favored.

Snape was nearly there. He had made the trip between the Infirmary and his quarters in good time, keeping to the less-traveled side corridors and to his relief, hadn't met anyone along the way, neither students nor staff. He was feeling worse the longer he was on his feet; feverish and shivery, the pressure in his head worsening, but the thought that he was only moments away from a long rest in a cool, dark room kept him moving forward.

"Severus, there you are! I was just looking for you."

His hand flexed convulsively where it rested on the door latch. He had been so close. With a tremendous sigh, he turned to face Professor McGonagall as she walked briskly towards him.

"Good heavens, man!" Minerva exclaimed as she closed the distance between them. "You look as though you've been dragged through a hedge backward. Whatever in the world happened to you?"

"Late night," he said, hoping a brief explanation would suffice. His voice was nearly gone and forming coherent thoughts was becoming more difficult. As he leaned against the heavy door for support, he noted with some trepidation that although her mouth was set in a tight line of disapproval, her eyes were nearly twinkling with merriment.

"Anyone I know?"

"I was brewing last night," he said, trying to unlatch the door with one hand. "Wolfsbane."

"Ah. Well then, I won't keep you. But the Hogsmeade trip is later today, you know."

Snape wasn't sure why everyone felt it necessary to inform him of this at every turn, especially when he wasn't even on the schedule as a chaperone...was he? He felt a knot of dread in his stomach at the prospect of being asked to accompany the students to Hogsmeade in his condition.

"And?" he asked reluctantly, not wanting to know the answer.

"The Weasley twins are on the list, but they have detention with you this morning. How long do you plan to keep them?"

He passed a hand over his eyes, resignation and weariness weighing on him heavily. At Minerva's chuckle, he directed a dark glare at her.

"Don't tell me it slipped your mind. I thought assigning detentions was the highlight of your week."

"I am in no mood for any of your nonsense this morning," Snape warned the twins in a low, dangerous tone. At his words, both Fred and George sat a little straighter in their seats. He had very little voice left, but he didn't have to shout to command attention from his students.

"Mr. Weasley," he said, indicating Fred...or was it George? He had never really learned to tell them apart. "In the student stores you will find a box of bottled armadillo bile. Some of it, unfortunately, has turned and is no longer effective. Your task today is to sort out the fresh from the spoiled."

"Excuse me, sir," one twin asked, in an overly polite manner with an unnecessary emphasis on "sir" that prompted a warning look from Snape. "But how will we tell the difference?"

"It will be quite obvious, I can assure you." As Snape took his place at his work desk, he added, "And if you need to leave the room to vomit, please do so quietly."

The identical apprehensive looks on their faces almost made him smile as he retrieved the student samples from under his desk.

Time seemed to drag on interminably as he sat grading the potions, the monotony relieved only by an occasional muffled oath from Fred and George as the stench of rancid armadillo bile rose up from the bottles. Neither had left the room yet, but both appeared slightly ill, eyes watering from the overpowering odor. There was at least one advantage to a miserable head cold and an inability to smell anything.

As Snape popped the cork on the last student vial, sparks shot up a few inches from the opening and he recoiled, holding the vial at arm's length, narrowly avoiding having his hair singed.

"Wicked," he heard George mutter to his twin. "How do you suppose they got it to do that?"

Fred shrugged. "Surprised it didn't cause a grease fire."

"Think we could nick a bit of it when he's not looking?"

Snape quickly vanished the potion and set the vial aside, sinking his head into his hands. He should extend their detention period for that remark, he really should, but he'd had enough. It had been less than an hour, but any longer and it would cease being a punishment for the twins and become a punishment for him.

He massaged the bridge of his nose wearily, with a growing sense of unease. His head was completely congested and there was a deep, searing pain in his sinuses that was intensifying with each minute. He knew what was coming and had no wish to listen to the quips that were sure to follow. He rose quickly from his desk, heading for the store room, but before he reached the door he had to stop and cup his hands over his face as he doubled over with a forceful sneeze. The harsh, stifled sound echoed in the cavernous space and in the ringing silence that followed, one of the twins snickered.

"Excuse me, Fred," George said in a whisper that carried to where Snape was standing. "But did you hear that?"

"I did, but I'm not sure what it was. A rutting Hippogriff, perhaps?"

"No, I think it was Professor Snape. Is he ill, d'you reckon? He doesn't look well."

"He looks terrible, even for him."

"That is quite enough," he snapped, turning and striding down to where they were working. "You may leave, but if I ever catch you using my classroom as a testing lab again, I will personally see to it that you are both expelled, are we quite clear?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused, managing to inject the proper note of humility into their response although neither appeared in the least bit guilty.

"And a word of advice," he added, stopping them in their hurried progress towards the door. "Before you use an experimental potion on anyone, you must have the proper antidote handy...or did you think I wouldn't notice Miss Moore's unfortunate lack of eyebrows?"

They cut their eyes at each other, surprised grins on their faces.

"She was a good sport, that one," George said appreciatively.

Snape watched the twins saunter out of the room, hoping he had thoroughly infected the both of them.

He lay perfectly still in his bed, drifting in and out of a light doze. He had lost complete track of time. Earlier he had finally had a long soak in water as hot as he could stand, he had managed a small meal, and although he still felt horrible, he had met all of his obligations and wouldn't need to move from his bed for the foreseeable future. There were a few nagging worries that entered his mind, but they were gone as quickly as they appeared. Enveloped in the warmth of the eiderdown, the incessant aching in his bones beginning to ease, Snape felt peaceful. But as sleep began to take him under again, a noise intruded into his drowsy state and a sudden thought made him start up suddenly.

The Wolfsbane. He had completely forgotten about it. If it was ready and hadn't been put in stasis, the potion would be useless with no time to prepare another batch before the full moon.

Snape flung the covers aside and stumbled from his bed, hurriedly pulling a set of robes over his nightshirt. He wrenched the door open and came face to face with Minerva, her hand still poised as if to continue knocking.

"So the rumors are true," she said in greeting, taking in his disheveled appearance. "You are ill. Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"I have no time for this, Minerva," he said, trying to edge his way around her. "I'm on my way to the hospital wing."

"Are you worse?" she asked, her eyes widening. "I can fetch Poppy."

"No, no, of course not," he snapped impatiently. "The Wolfsbane..."

"...is completed and Poppy's put it under a stasis spell until it's needed. She asked me to let you know."

Snape sagged against the door frame in relief, running a shaking hand through his hair.

"May I come in?"

"Surely you can find other ways to occupy your time," he said. "A ball of yarn? Or perhaps a small rodent you could torment?"

"Why should I bother with those when you're much more entertaining?" she said, moving past him into the room. "Now back to bed with you...you look absolutely dreadful."

He started to reply, but the harsh, barking cough that had plagued him all day came over him again like a wave, leaving him breathless and trembling in its wake.

She rested a hand lightly on his back. "Are you feeling any better tonight?"

Snape shrugged away from her touch irritably. "Of course I'm not feeling better! I haven't had one moment's peace since I came down with this wretched cold. What's next? Maybe Filch is coming to sing me a lullaby? Hagrid's going to fluff my pillows and tuck me in?"

"That can be arranged, if you like," she said, drawing up a chair next to his bed.

"Oh, sod off, Minerva," he said, pulling off his robes and clambering back under the covers. "Why are you intent on harassing me tonight?"

"We missed you at supper and everyone was concerned, as hard as it may be for you to believe. Which reminds me," she said, bending to retrieve an object from the floor beside her chair. She held out a small paper bag emblazoned with the Honeyduke's logo. "They're from the Weasley twins."

He looked at the small striped bag doubtfully, refusing to accept it from her.

"They're perfectly fine...I tested them," Minerva said, placing the bag on the edge of the bed within his reach. "Apparently they were feeling rather guilty. Some errant remark about a grease fire, I believe." She turned her head, but not quickly enough to hide the teasing smile on her face.

"Go ahead and laugh, you old grimalkin, you know you want to."

She covered her mouth politely with one hand and tittered merrily. Although he would never admit it to her, he had always rather enjoyed hearing her laugh, even if tonight it was at his expense.

"Oh, I see you have a scarf, too," Minerva exclaimed, as her attention was diverted elsewhere. She rose to her feet and retrieved the package from the table where it was resting. "And you still haven't opened it. May I?"

She returned to her chair next to Snape's bed. "Gloriana's a sweet girl but she must be a bit color blind, " she said, beginning to unwrap the package carefully. "My scarf was a particularly bilious shade of green and yellow."

"I'm sure that looks lovely with your family tartan."

Minerva peeled back the final layer of paper and froze, a horrified expression on her face. "Oh dear, " she said softly.

"What is it?"

"Well, she must think very highly of you, Severus," she said, hastily pulling the wrapping closed. "She used her own favorite colors for yours."

He raised himself up on his elbows, curiosity getting the better of him. "Show me."

"No, I don't think it's advisable in your condition."

He rolled over towards her and reached out one hand, pulling the paper back slowly. As it fell away, he wondered momentarily if the fever was affecting his eyesight because it looked very much like Gloriana had used pink and lavender yarn when crafting his scarf.

"I would sooner walk into the Great Hall starkers than wear anything pink and lavender," he groaned.

"You will tell me if you plan on doing that, won't you? I could sell tickets."

"Had I told you to sod off, Minerva? I can't recall," he said, falling heavily back onto his pillow and throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Not much fight in you tonight, is there?"

"None at all," he admitted.

"You haven't been yourself all term," she said. "And now...well, you're never ill. Not enough to take to your bed at least. I can't remember the last time. Maybe a few years ago, but we were all on edge with Harry's return..."

Her face very seldom betrayed strong feelings, but her brogue tended to thicken at times of emotion. "Och," she said softly. "It's Professor Lupin, isn't it?"

"It may have slipped your mind, but he nearly killed me in our third year," Snape said tiredly. He didn't particularly want to talk about anything at the moment, least of all that.

"It wasn't intentional, Severus," she said. "There's as much malice in Remus as there is in you."

He lowered his arm to give her an incredulous look before turning away.

"You should rest," she said.

"That's what I've been trying to do, if everyone would leave me alone," he said in exasperation.

"Is there anything I can do for you before I go?"

"Yes. You can raise the strongest ward possible around my door and let everyone know I'm suffering from a highly contagious and disfiguring ailment."

"You have to get over this by Christmas," Minerva said, a plaintive note entering her voice. "How can I bear one of those insipid holiday feasts without you?"

"I'm sure you'll manage."

She pulled the blanket up to cover his shoulders and patted him fondly. "I know you must have your reasons for keeping yourself so distant," she said quietly. "But no matter how it may seem to you, you're never alone."

Never Alone - Chapter Three

2008-03-19T02:26:27Z

Title: Never Alone
Author: reallyginnyf
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: 12+ for language
Word count: 2600
Disclaimer: These brilliant characters are not mine. I just like to take them out and play with them occasionally. I'll put them back where I found them when I'm finished, I promise.
Summary: When Professor Snape falls ill just before the Christmas holiday, he finds comfort in the most unexpected places. A fluffy cold fic set during Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
Characters: Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall.

Snape stood in front of the simmering cauldron in his workroom, motionless save for a deep shudder that occasionally coursed through him as he shivered in the dark and cheerless space. He had been working for nearly two hours and had reached the halfway point and the most crucial stage in the brewing process. When the potion lightened in color, which would happen without warning, he would have to immediately remove it from the fire and add agrimony simultaneously. Any delay would ruin the potion's efficacy. His quick reflexes had always served him well when preparing Wolfsbane in the past and he seemed to know instinctively at what point the potion would begin to turn.

He shifted his weight and leaned over to pick up the jar of agrimony, sliding his wand free with his other hand and holding it ready, not taking his eyes from the surface of the burbling potion. It would be soon, very soon, but his concentration was now divided between his task and holding his breath, trying to ignore the maddening prickling in his nose that had unfortunately returned thanks to the damp and cold atmosphere in the room. The potion swam in front of his eyes as his vision blurred from the rapidly mounting urge to sneeze.

Not now, he told himself sternly. Just a few more minutes.

Trying not to take his eyes from the cauldron, he turned his head and pressed his nose into his right shoulder in an attempt to rid himself of the tickle. When he realized he was helpless to stop it, he turned as far away as he could, not wishing to contaminate the potion. The harsh sneeze echoed in the quiet space and he was forced to swipe quickly at his nose with his wrist, as he couldn't risk dropping either his wand or the jar.

Snape tossed his head, trying to flick away the hair that had fallen across his face and turned his attention back to the cauldron. He cursed loudly when he saw the potion, now thickened and turned a sickly shade of grey. He had missed it. Almost two hours of work wasted. He set the jar down forcefully and pulled out the now sodden handkerchief to attend to his nose, cursing under his breath.

"Language, Severus," came a chiding voice. Madam Pomfrey stood framed in the doorway of his workroom, her white robes appearing almost luminous in the dim light.

"Poppy," he said in greeting, quickly stowing the handkerchief in a pocket. "To what do I owe this unusual pleasure?"

"Remus stopped by the infirmary earlier. He seemed to think you might need some assistance with the Wolfsbane preparation tonight."

"He was mistaken. Now if you'll kindly leave me alone, I can continue and you can return to the infirmary where your ministrations are actually required."

"Oh, don't try and intimidate me, " she scoffed. "I've known you since you were a knobby-kneed little first-year." She moved into the room and peered into the cauldron. Her eyebrows shot up as she took in the appearance of the Wolfsbane, now congealed into a pasty lump at the bottom. "Didn't add the agrimony at the proper time, I take it?"

"I was distracted," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Were you?" she said, turning to stare at him intently. "That doesn't sound like you at all." As she studied him, Snape noticed with some dismay that her face began to soften. He knew that particular look quite well and he steeled himself for what was coming.

"Why, Severus," she said quietly. "You're ill...not the cold that's been going around?"

"It's nothing to concern yourself with," he said shortly, clearing the ruined potion from the cauldron with a flick of his wand. From the corner of his eye, he saw Poppy remove her own wand from her pocket and trace a complicated pattern in the air.

"You have a fever," she chided. "You should be in bed, not skulking about in this wretched place."

"I am not skulking," he said. "It's imperative I finish the Wolfsbane tonight. It's ineffective unless it's taken for an entire week prior to his transformation."

Poppy was silent for a moment, and he knew she was figuring the remaining days until the full moon. "That still gives you three days."

He sighed and began measuring out fresh ingredients on the worktable. "Yes, but Wolfsbane is unpredictable. It can take up to seventy-two hours to reach full strength after the final brewing phase."

"And now you'll have to start from the beginning..."

"I was aware of that, thank you, Poppy." He could feel a growing tightness in his chest and turned away as he began to cough. He was bent nearly in half as the spasm racked his thin frame. He had finally given up any hope of throwing this off; he hadn't felt so ill in years and he deeply resented having Poppy be a witness to it. He turned and leaned wearily against the edge of the worktable, eyes closed. He twitched away irritably when he felt Poppy move beside him and press a handkerchief into his hands.

"Here," she said. "Wipe your eyes. And blow your nose."

He glared at her but did as he was told.

"Now," she said. "Brewing Wolfsbane takes complete concentration and quick reflexes, both of which you seem to be lacking tonight. Let me help you."

He hooked a foot around the legs of a nearby stool and drew it towards him. He sank down onto the seat, resting his elbows on his knees with his fingers intertwined. Head bowed, he studied his hands which were shaking with a fine tremor, whether from the chill air or fatigue he couldn't tell, but he was nearing his limit for the day. He had never sought help before, never wanted it, but he wasn't entirely certain he could finish in time if he worked alone tonight.

"You can't stay away from the infirmary for the time it would take to finish the potion," he said quietly, uncertain if he wanted her to convince him otherwise or not.

"Then we'll move to the dispensary. It's much pleasanter there and you can rest a bit while we're working." She bent to retrieve a large box from the floor. "Just tell me what we'll need."

"First things first," she said briskly as they entered the dispensary. "I doubt very much you've had anything to eat today, so I'm going to bring you a bowl of soup." She thumped the overflowing box of potion ingredients down and indicated a low couch against the wall.

"I really don't want..."

She held up a hand to silence his protests. "Sit," she said firmly. "I'll be right back."

The couch was situated to a side of a large worktable directly underneath a shuttered window. There was a cheerful fire crackling in the grate and bright moonlight filtering through the slats of the shutters. It was clean and quiet and warm in the little room. He would sit down, just for a few minutes, and rest until it was time to begin. Surely there was no harm in that. It was a tangible relief to sink his aching body into the plush softness and lean his head against the rounded back of the couch. Completely against his will, his eyes began to drift shut.

He startled awake when he heard Poppy bustle back into the room. She set a small bowl on the table within his reach. He averted his eyes from the steam eddying from the surface; he really didn't want anything. He didn't feel nauseated exactly, but his stomach was already setting up a protest just at the thought of food.

"So," said Poppy briskly, removing a silver knife from a drawer and beginning to hone the blade. "Tell me where to begin."

"I'll do that," he said, struggling to rise from the low couch.

"Nonsense," said Poppy, testing the edge of the blade with her thumb. "This is the most tedious part and I'm more than capable of handling it. You're going to need your strength for the later stages." She gave him a severe look. "Try to eat something...and don't slurp. I have to concentrate."

He ignored her and leaned forward so he could watch her work instead. "The nettle first, Poppy. Check the balance point of the blade; you want a very fine chop on this." He followed her movements critically, prepared to take over if necessary, but she was precise and worked quickly and he gradually relaxed, only advising her of the next ingredient and specific instructions for its preparation. When she was in the midst of soaking the burdock root and they had a few moments to wait, he pulled the soup bowl over and lifted it down. Poppy gave him an approving glance.

"It's vegetable beef," she said. "My own recipe - not that house elf dreck. Go on, take a sniff."

As he raised the bowl, he realized with a sinking feeling that he still couldn't smell a thing. He replaced the bowl roughly and dropped his head into his hands.

"What's the matter?"

"The final stage," he muttered, not looking up."The last ingredient can only be added when the Wolfsbane's scent changes."

"And?"

"And thanks to this untimely cold, I won't be able to detect the change."

"A minor detail," she said, stirring the burdock root slowly. "Describe the scent to me."

"I can't, Poppy...it would be like trying to describe a piece of music to someone who's never heard it."

"Well, we're hours from that point...perhaps you'll be feeling better by then."

He nodded, although as hopeful as she sounded, he was certain he wouldn't be feeling better any time soon.

An hour later, Poppy looked up from the worktable. She rubbed her neck, grimacing. "My eyes are beginning to go crosswise," she complained. "And if I'm to stay awake, I need some tea. We have a while until the base reaches a full boil. Would you care for a cup?"

"No, thank you."

"I'll bring you one anyway," she said, ignoring his sigh of impatience.

In her absence, he approached the table warily to inspect her work. There were neat piles of ingredients and a rack of glass vials, all laid out in the order they would be needed for the potion. He did not notice when she re-entered the room and was startled to hear her quiet voice beside him.

"And does the Potions Master approve?" she asked lightly.

"It's passable."

"Why, Severus," she said, looping her arm through his and leading him back towards the couch. "Stop being so effusive, you'll make me blush."

He accepted the cup from her, which in his hand looked ridiculously dainty, but did not drink. Now he remembered why he had never sought Poppy's assistance before; he hated meaningless chit-chat and there were certainly enough opportunities for it while brewing Wolfbane. But to his surprise and her credit, she seemed content to merely sit with him quietly while she sipped her tea and he warmed his hands around the steaming cup.

Four hours had gone by and Snape had long ago passed from mind-numbing fatigue to a restless, jittery state. He prowled nervously around the edges of the room, stopping occasionally to draw near the cauldron although he was still unable to smell much of anything. If they missed the crucial moment, the potion could lose some of its efficacy. He rounded on Poppy, who was standing nearby.

"Have you noticed anything yet?"

"I'm trying," she said, ladling up a bit of the potion, closing her eyes and taking a deep sniff. "But I don't think it's changed at all." He had finally described the scent to her as 'sharp and pungent yet subtle.'

He growled in frustration and turned away from her, resuming his circuit of the room. They couldn't bodge this up again; there would be no time to start anew. A sudden cry from Poppy caused him to whirl back towards her.

"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed, waving a hand in front of her face, eyes streaming. "That's what you call 'subtle?'" She started to choke and pulled the edge of her robes to cover her mouth and nose.

He leaned over the cauldron, peering anxiously at the surface of the Wolfsbane but it was the proper color and consistency. He sighed in relief. They were almost done.

"Hand me the valerian, Poppy," he said, not taking his eyes from the potion. In the edge of his vision he saw her reach across the table and extend her hand to throw open the shutters. "Don't open a window," he warned. "The room has to stay at a consistent temperature."

He measured out a small handful of the herb and scattered it across the surface of the Wolfsbane. The moment it contacted the potion, a thick cloud of black smoke began to swirl upward from its surface.

"Get ready to cast a shield charm around the cauldron, Poppy...on my mark." He raised his wand and nodded to Poppy who took her place across from him. He closed his eyes to gather his strength. "Now," he said, and as together they raised the shield, Snape felt energy flow from him in a sudden rush. He staggered backwards and fell heavily against the couch, eyes closed and chest heaving with the effort the night's work had cost him. Colors swam in his vision and a high, keening noise filled his head.

After a few moments, when he was no longer on the verge of losing consciousness and had composed himself a bit, he opened his eyes to see Poppy sitting nearby, watching him with concern. He tried to push himself up to a sitting position but she gently held him in place.

"You've gone completely colorless," she told him. "Lie still for a moment." It was much easier to obey than to argue with her. What he wanted more than anything at the moment was to sleep. He could feel it stealing over him as he lay there under Poppy's watchful gaze.

"It's finished?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "It will need to stay shielded until the smoke turns from black to nearly white...which could take anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours."

Poppy patted him on the shoulder and rose stiffly to her feet. She groaned as she straightened slowly. "I believe that's the hardest night's work I've ever done." She covered a huge yawn with her hand and looked down at where Snape was still sprawled in a heap. "And you prepare this every month, by yourself," she said softly, her voice filled with wonderment.

He was nearly asleep and could only manage a soft grunt in reply. He felt a soft blanket settle heavily over him and gentle hands tucking it in carefully. He was only vaguely aware of someone lowering the torchlight in the room and murmuring comforting words and smoothing his hair back from his face before he fell into a deep sleep.

Never Alone - Chapter Two

2008-03-19T02:13:29Z

Title: Never Alone
Author: reallyginnyf
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: 12+ for language
Word count: 2358
Disclaimer: These brilliant characters are not mine. I just like to take them out and play with them occasionally. I'll put them back where I found them when I'm finished, I promise.
Summary: When Professor Snape falls ill just before the Christmas holiday, he finds comfort in the most unexpected places. A fluffy cold fic set during Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
Characters: Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall.

The door to the potions storeroom rode back smoothly on its hinges with just slight pressure against the wood. Snape raised his wand but decided against lighting the torches for this brief visit and instead murmured "Lumos," using the flare of wand light to guide himself to the far corner of the room. He knelt slowly in front of a small cupboard set under a low shelf. As he lifted the latch, he hesitated. The memories here were nearly as thick as the patina of dust covering the door's scrollwork. He reached inside, his fingers going almost intuitively to what he sought: a small, intricately carved wooden box. With one hand he set his wand on the shelf, the light falling softly and illuminating the box now cradled in his lap.

Snape traced the detailed carvings in the wood, his fingers smoothing over the stylized initials "L.E." He had spent hours alone in his room over summer holidays, working on this box using only a simple pocketknife. It had been meant as a gift for Lily; work done with his own hands, the deepest expression of his affection and regard, but he had never had a chance to give it to her.

His thoughts began to drift back to that first miserable year at Hogwarts. It hadn't been what he had expected. Suddenly, having magical abilities was nothing special...he was nothing special. Everyone else at school also could do magic and he had been desperate to find another way to prove himself...to prove himself worthy of her. Although they had both struggled, trying to find their respective places, still feeling unmoored at being separated, he was suffering more than she.

During that first bitterly cold winter he had contracted a flu that had dragged on for weeks, thanks to an inability to take Pepperup. Lily had taken pity on him and had written home to request a special tea blend her mother had always made for her when she was ill as as a child. Over the next week, when they could steal private moments from their days, Snape and Lily would find hidden meeting spots. She was already skilled enough to prepare tea using her wand and she would fix a cup for him and over his protests, insist he drink it . He could still taste the astringent bite of the tea, could still see her sitting across from him, her green eyes brilliant as she watched him, her voice gentle as she fussed over him. The tea had been soothing, but it was more her presence and her absolute acceptance of him that had truly healed him and it was one of his few happy and untainted memories of school.

Snape carefully lifted the lid of the box and withdrew a small muslin bag. He hefted it in his hand, smiling faintly at the delicate pattern of the material, remembering how everything in Mrs. Evan's life had been floral-themed, right down to the names of her daughters. He pulled the neck of the bag open and spilled a small amount of the herbal mixture into his hand. The tea leaves had long since degenerated into dust after sitting unused for nearly twenty years. It would be impossible to identify them by sight and he didn't trust his sense of smell tonight - not with what was quickly becoming a raging head cold.

He stirred the leaves with one finger and brought his hand to his face to take a cautious sniff. Just as he feared, he couldn't discern any scent; at least not enough to identify any of the herbs. As he sighed in frustration he accidentally breathed in some of the fine powder. Inhaling sharply, he closed his hand protectively around the mixture while scrabbling madly with his other hand for the handkerchief he had tucked away earlier. He hadn't wanted to accept it but was now very glad he had as he pressed it to his face, trying to contain the sudden strong sneeze provoked by the dust and his worsening cold. He was dimly aware of footsteps passing in the corridor, and as another sneeze overtook him he tried to make as little sound as possible. It wouldn't do for a passing Slytherin to investigate a noise in the storeroom and find his Head of house crouched on the floor with a handful of dusty tea leaves.

When the paroxysm finally passed and he had wiped his eyes and attended to his nose as best he could with only one hand, Snape turned his attention back to the handful of herbs that had fortunately escaped being scattered. As he uncurled his fingers, he found the heat from his hand had released the aromatics in the herbs and the sneezing fit, though uncomfortable, had cleared his head a bit. He took another tentative sniff and could finally detect the base ingredients of sage, elderflower, peppermint,calendula and even the subtle apple scent of chamomile. After making a mental catalogue of the necessary herbs, he dusted his hand on his leg.

As he replaced the bag in the box, his fingers brushed against a hard but delicate object. Holding it gently between his thumb and finger, he lifted it into the light and felt his chest constrict. A hair comb. Hers. Watching the wand light play over the comb as he turned it in his fingers, he remembered the day he had found it. Lily hadn't noticed when it dropped from her thick red tresses in Potions class where, thanks to the damp environment, she always fought a losing battle with keeping her hair contained. He had waited until after class when he was sure no one was watching and tucked it into an inside pocket of his robes. He had carried it with him every day after that, using it almost as a talisman. When had he secreted it away in this box? He couldn't remember. He had so few tangible reminders of Lily; these were the few things that remained.

Snape shook his head, bringing himself abruptly back to the present. He replaced the comb and roughly shoved the box into the far reaches of the cupboard. He knew he was well and truly ill now; becoming overly sentimental was the first indication. He had come to the storeroom to gather the ingredients for the tea he hoped would ease his symptoms, not to grow maudlin over past events he couldn't alter.

He could feel a creeping malaise making his thoughts muddy and his movements clumsy. He resisted the growing desire to stretch out on the floorboards in this dark, quiet space and slowly unfurled himself from the floor. He had far too much to do tonight to allow himself the luxury of rest.

"Severus?"

Snape was drifting in and out of a fitful doze, dreams and reality interweaving, but he was dimly aware of a voice calling his name - not the harsh epithet used by his father or the jeering permutation heard during his school days - but a soft, kind voice. He slowly regained full consciousness, first becoming aware of rough fabric under his cheek where it rested against the wing of his armchair, then of the chill air in the room. He opened his eyes and listened intently. Perhaps he had dreamed it.

"Severus, are you in?"

There it was again, followed by a soft but persistent knocking. Someone was standing outside the door to his room. Had he raised the wards after he'd entered earlier? He couldn't remember. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He only wanted a short rest in front of the fire before his night's work began, but now the room was dark and cold, the fire burnt down to embers. Snape tried to lift his head, but groaned when the muscles in his neck seized up from his awkward sleeping position. He shivered, drawing his cloak more tightly around himself with one hand and massaging the tightness in his neck with the other.

When the knocking continued, Snape braced himself on the arms of the chair and tried to rise but his head swam with sudden dizziness and he fell backwards again. He tried to call out, but the dryness and scratchiness in his throat had deepened into a searing rawness and raising his voice was too painful. He searched for his wand, finally locating it between the arm of the chair and the cushion, where it had fallen while he slept. He pointed it towards the door and there was a soft click as the lock disengaged.

"Whomever you are, go away," he attempted to say but managed only a hoarse croak. There was the soft rustle of robes as the visitor entered and stood just inside the doorway. The remaining light in the room was too dim for Snape to make out any features and he impatiently set the fire to blazing again. When he realized it was Lupin standing there, a hesitant smile on his face, he wished he had left the room darkened.

"Forgive the intrusion," Remus said. "I thought I'd check on you before I retired."

Lupin's smile quickly changed to a quizzical expression and he walked toward the fireplace, withdrawing his wand from his robes as he approached. Snape tensed, his hand tightening around his own wand, prepared to defend himself if necessary. He watched Lupin intently as he crouched near the hearth. Just as Snape was opening his mouth to ask what in the bloody hell Lupin thought he was doing, he realized he had obviously spotted the remnants of the teacup - the full teacup he had been attempting to Accio earlier when it crashed to the floor. Lupin murmured a cleansing spell and repaired the broken cup. He looked up at Snape and smiled.

"I'll make you another, shall I?"

"There's no need," he protested, his voice still failing him.

But Remus was already moving towards the small kitchen area. Snape sank a little further into his chair, growing increasingly uncomfortable at the idea of having Lupin in his room. It was another sign of how much he had allowed the illness to take hold - had he been at himself, Lupin never would have made it past the wards, let alone be bustling about in his quarters like a housemaid, straightening and making tea. He would have already thrown him out.

Snape heard a spoon hit the floor with a clatter and he turned slightly in his chair to see Remus, head bowed, standing rigid and trembling. He wasn't transforming now, surely? The full moon wasn't for another eleven days.

"Lupin! Whatever is the matter with you?" Snape's sharp tone seemed to bring Remus out of his daze.

"Sorry - nothing's wrong, I just thought..." Lupin bent to retrieve the spoon, seemingly unwilling to finish his thought. He carried the cup of tea over to a nearby table and set it down, the cup rattling in its saucer as he tried and failed to keep his hands steady.

"It was..." Lupin cleared his throat, still unwilling to make eye contact, staring over Snape's head. "The scent of the tea seemed...uh...familiar somehow."

Snape felt a knot of resentment twist in his chest. Of course Lily had shared the tea with her friends, but he guarded his memories of her jealously and had no wish to share them with anyone, least of all Lupin.

Remus stood watching him quietly, arms folded, gentle sorrow on his face until Snape was thoroughly rattled.

"Now what is it?" Snape asked sharply.

"If I remember correctly, you should drink that straightaway while it's still hot."

Snape was still unsettled and, God help him, more than a little frightened in Lupin's presence. Every time he looked at Remus he was instantly transported to that evening at the Shrieking Shack and the horror of seeing a werewolf slavering and snarling just a few feet from him. Snape shuddered and tried to shake off the vision; one that had haunted him almost every night since Lupin's return to Hogwarts.

"Why this nauseating display of concern suddenly? You needn't fear I won't prepare your potion this month - it's not necessary to keep an eye on me."

"It's not that at all," Remus said quietly. "I'm just sorry you have to go to such trouble on my account, especially when you're not well."

"On your account?" Snape laughed bitterly. "Do you think I brew a complicated potion every month for your benefit? I do it at the Headmaster's request, for the protection of everyone else in the castle."

"Believe me, if there were any other way..."

"We could let you run amok in the castle during your transformation, perhaps attacking and infecting innocent children, would that be preferable?"

There was a brief flash of anger on Lupin's face before the impassive expression fell over his features again. "It wasn't my fault."

"The original bite was not, true, but your recklessness when you were old enough to know better was entirely your responsibility."

Lupin flushed. When he spoke, his words were heavy with guilt. "You must believe I had no knowledge of their plan. When James told me what happened, I was furious. It very nearly cost us our friendship."

"And what a pity that would have been," Snape sneered. "To lose the affection of a bully, a sniveling little toady and a vicious murderer. You would have been better off alone, Lupin."

Remus raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I apologize. I didn't come here to argue or to check up on you. You're ill, whether you care to admit it or not, and I'll leave you in peace so you can rest."

"I would like nothing more," Snape said, managing to rise smoothly and stand without wavering despite the persistent wooziness he felt when upright. "Unfortunately, I have a night's brewing ahead of me."

Never Alone - Chapter One

2008-03-19T01:50:00Z

Title: Never Alone
Author: reallyginnyf
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: 12+ for language
Word count: 1743
Disclaimer: These brilliant characters are not mine. I just like to take them out and play with them occasionally. I'll put them back where I found them when I'm finished, I promise.
Summary: When Professor Snape falls ill just before the Christmas holiday, he finds comfort in the most unexpected places. A fluffy cold fic set during Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
Characters: Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall.
Notes: Originally posted to hcfic (and subsequently taken down by me) under the title of "Christmas Comfort." After posting on fanfiction.net and receiving some encouraging reviews, I decided to post it here again. It's four chapters long and still growing!

"I distinctly said simmer - now lower the flame under your cauldron before you poison us all, Lawley."

If there was a class period Professor Snape despised most, it was this one, with the dangerous combination of overconfident first-year Ravenclaws and half-witted first-year Hufflepuffs. It was his last class of the day, the last class before the Christmas holiday, and it could not end soon enough for his liking.

He watched in disbelief as the trembling student poked his wand haphazardly at the flames which instantly flared up higher than before, licking the sides of the cauldron and making the edges of the student's robes smoke. Snape stalked over and moved him roughly out of the way. The student was too busy stomping at the hem of his smoldering robes to pay any attention.

"Five points from Hufflepuff for being flawlessly incompetent," he growled, flicking his wand at the base of the cauldron.

Even though the fire died down instantly, the potion was still boiling rapidly, sending up thick clouds of acrid steam. Snape moved away quickly, trying to avoid breathing in the pungent aroma of the overstewed hyssop. Although it didn't seem to be affecting any of the students nearby, his nose and throat were beginning to burn and he walked to the water basin in the corner of the room. The icy water was bracing as he splashed his face, but he noted with some dismay, as he straightened and reached for a towel hanging nearby, that it had done nothing to ease his discomfort. The persistent stinging sensation was intensifying, making his nose and eyes run, and he buried his face in the towel, barely in enough time to muffle a sudden, powerful sneeze. He winced against a stab of pain in his throat and was overcome by a second, even louder sneeze.

He could almost feel thirty pairs of eyes boring into his back as he tried to regain his composure. This was the worst possible time for a sneezing fit - during the resting stage of the brewing process, when the silence in the classroom was absolute, save for the soft burbling of the potions in the student's cauldrons. He swiped roughly at his nose with the towel, tossed it in the bin and turned reluctantly, hoping no one had noticed and prepared to immediately deduct points from anyone who had.

While most of the students seemed to be studiously ignoring him or staring in horror at the contents of their cauldrons, a flustered-looking Hufflepuff girl was watching him carefully. As they made eye contact, she seemed to recognize her mistake, immediately lowering her gaze and blushing a bright scarlet. He began to walk towards her and although she didn't look up, she flinched a bit with each slow, measured step in her direction.

When Snape reached her desk, he said quietly, "If you had paid as much attention to your work as to me, you wouldn't have ruined your potion." The impact of his words was lessened when he was forced to turn away quickly to sneeze yet again. He whirled back to face her, eyes narrowed. If she made any attempt at all to bless him, he would give her detention, upcoming Christmas holiday or not, but she wisely remained silent.

"Time is up," he said when he finally reached the front of the classroom. He sank heavily into his chair. "Leave your scrolls and a sample of your potion on my desk and then get out of my sight..."

Eager to escape the oppressive dungeons to begin their holiday, excited chatter immediately broke out amongst the students as they bottled their work and cleared their cauldrons. Chairs were squeaking on the floor, vials were clattering against the desks and Snape could feel the answering throb of a headache beginning behind his eyes..

"...quietly," he added in a snarl.

The students approached his desk one by one, and he acknowledged the few tentative holiday wishes with a curt nod, waiting waited impatiently for the room to clear. Gloriana Sullivan, the same Hufflepuff student who had been watching him earlier, was one of the last to ascend the steps to his desk. She handed him her potion vial and watched as he sealed the top and added it to the rack.

"Happy Christmas, Professor," she squeaked.

"Thank you, Miss Sullivan."

She scrabbled in her overstuffed bag, withdrew a bulky, wrapped package and positioned it carefully on his desk.

"I hope you feel better," she said in a whisper, and then turned and rushed from the room without waiting for a reply.

Snape slumped at his desk, head resting in his hands. Bloody hell - this was not happening. The fatigue which he had attributed to normal end-of-term weariness had turned into an overall sense of malaise. The persistent chill he had been feeling had deteriorated into outright shivering. He was sniffling miserably and the dry throat he had awakened with was now scratchy and raw. He had endured careful inquiries about his health all day, but now he had to admit to himself what he had vehemently denied to everyone else: he was coming down with something and the timing couldn't possibly be worse. He closed his eyes, silently cursing whatever fates had allowed him to remain healthy during the term only to be laid low now when he finally had a moment to himself.

"Excuse me, Severus," came a soft voice. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

Snape started upwards and his eyes flew open to see Remus Lupin gazing at him, a strained smile on his pallid face. What was Lupin doing in his classroom? He never ventured as far as the dungeons, preferring to stay as close to his office as possible, especially in the week leading up to the full moon. And it was too early in the month for him to require Wolfsbane - the Wolfsbane that Snape suddenly remembered he hadn't even started preparing. He would have to work on it tonight; he had no other choice. He had put it off for too long and now he would be spending the evening in his workroom, rather than resting, which complicated his plans for throwing off this cold.

"What do you want?" Snape asked irritably, sliding the rack of student potions under his desk with unnecessary force and gathering scrolls into a haphazard pile.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Remus began, seemingly ill at ease as he shifted from foot to foot, "but there's a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow and I'll be going along as chaperone."

Snape raised one eyebrow, uncertain as to why he felt it necessary to pass along this information. "You have my condolences."

"Yes, well, I thought while I'm there, if there's anything you're running low on..."

"My potion stores are more than adequate; regardless, I'm capable of restocking supplies myself if necessary."

Lupin regarded him shrewdly. "I didn't mean to suggest you weren't. But you didn't seem yourself at breakfast this morning and I thought perhaps if you weren't feeling well..."

Damn him anyway. He was quiet and unassuming and too bloody observant for his own good. How had Lupin managed to pick up on any change in his well-being when he did his level best to avoid him at all times? Snape tried to change the subject quickly.

"That is a most unfortunate choice of neckwear, Lupin," he said, drawing his cloak more tightly around himself as a violent shiver coursed through him.

Remus lifted one end of the purple and powder blue scarf that was twined around his neck and smiled ruefully.

"Not the colors I would have chosen, no," he agreed. "But it was a gift from Gloriana and it's quite soft and very warm. I see she made one for you as well." He motioned towards the lumpy parcel that was sitting forgotten on the far edge of Snape's desk. "You really should put it on. It definitely takes the chill off."

"She knitted a scarf - for me?" Snape prodded the package with one long finger, nearly expecting it to explode or melt.

"She made one for all her professors, though unfortunately she didn't take Filius'...ah...stature into consideration when she made his. Turquoise and yellow - and it nearly covers him, poor man."

One corner of Snape's mouth quirked at the mental image of Professor Flitwick muffled from head to toe in a garish scarf. His momentary lapse in concentration cost him his control and he was forced to duck his head quickly to stifle a harsh sneeze in the crook of his arm.

"My goodness," Remus said, concern evident in his voice. "Bless you - not coming down with something, I hope?"

"Of course not," Snape snapped, his voice now a hoarse croak.

"Glad to hear it," he said. "There's a nasty cold making the rounds and it would be a shame to be ill for Christmas." Remus stepped forward and placed a soft, white handkerchief on the edge of Snape's desk. He raised a hand in farewell as he turned and made his way from the classroom.

Snape picked up the cloth between his thumb and forefinger and looked at in distaste. He would rather wipe his nose on his best cloak than borrow this from Lupin, but after a moment's consideration, he stuffed it into the pocket of his robes, just in case. After he finished the Wolfsbane tonight he would have no further demands on his time. He would rest and he would be well again shortly. It was a simple matter of willpower. He had yet to encounter a situation or person he could not bend to his will and his health was no different. Even if he was coming down with a cold, it didn't mean he had to succumb to it.

Seeing Lupin had triggered a memory from another winter, long past, when he had also been ill and made the unfortunate discovery that not only was Pepperup ineffective for him, it actually caused an adverse reaction. A home remedy had seen him through a severe and prolonged flu that winter and he wondered if he still had the ingredients somewhere in his stores.