The Longest Day - (6 Parts)

[froglatte]

Disclaimer: These brilliant characters are not mine; I just like to take them out and play with them occasionally. I'll be gentle.

Summmary: When Snape comes down with a cold, it promises to be a long day for everyone.

Authors Notes: Just a few comments before you scroll down to read: (1) I do not write traditional sneeze fics and I do not phonetically spell out any sneezing that occurs. We all find different types of sneezes attractive, so feel free to use your imagination. (2) My stories involve caretaking and H/C, so don't expect huge, random fits that aren't applicable to the story. (3) This is NOT my first story, so feel free to rip me to shreds; I can take it.

This story is very AU, set well after the events of Deathly Hallows. The OC is left deliberately vague. Feel free to imagine any canon character in her place, or put yourself in there, if you prefer! Both his cold and his level of snarkiness progress in later chapters; this is only the beginning.

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She moved about their small kitchen quietly, frowning slightly as she consulted her watch. Normally he was awake at least half an hour before her, but this morning he was sleeping later than usual. She had lived with him long enough to know he was uncommunicative and irritable until he'd had sufficient time to prepare himself for the day and with less than an hour left before his first lesson, she would have to wake him soon. She hated doing it, but if she let him oversleep, he would be surly and out of sorts with everyone all day.

She prepared a cup of tea the way he preferred it - black, very hot and very strong - and carried it through to their bedchamber. He was sleeping on his side, curled up into himself, the blankets nearly covering his head. That in itself was unusual because he normally sprawled across the length of their bed and was continually throwing off the bedcovers which she would retrieve when the dungeon rooms became too chilly.

She sat down gingerly after placing the cup of tea on the nightstand. The mattress barely shifted beneath her weight and he made no movement nor gave any indication he was aware of her presence at all. His breathing was deep and even, if a little ragged-sounding, which wasn't out of the norm for him, although the faint possibility that something might be wrong with him was beginning to enter her mind. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

"Severus?" she said softly.

He made a small noise of displeasure but did not open his eyes or stir, either at her touch or the sound of her voice.

"Severus," she said, a little more loudly this time. "It's morning...wake up."

At this he groaned and opened his eyes. "What time is it?" His early-morning voice was a bit more hoarse than she was accustomed to.

"Your first lesson is in about forty-five minutes."

He sat up slowly and she passed him his cup of tea, which was still hot. Instead of immediately rising and beginning his preparations, as was his usual habit, this morning he seemed extremely reluctant to leave the warmth of their bed, pulling the blankets up to cover his lap with one hand while he took a tentative sip of the steaming tea.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, unable to keep a note of concern from her voice.

"I'm fine," he insisted, curling both hands around the cup and avoiding her eyes.

He had responded too quickly and too defensively for her to believe the veracity of his statement, but she had expected no other response. She studied him carefully although it was hard to gauge how he was feeling just from his appearance. His face seldom betrayed any emotion and he was always pale, but this morning there was a slight flush to his cheeks and perhaps the shadows under his eyes were a bit deeper.

I didn't sleep well last night," he finally admitted in response to her scrutiny.

She was a light sleeper and knew he had slept soundly last night, but she let it pass, deciding not to challenge him on it. "I'll make a quick breakfast while you're getting ready, shall I?"

He nodded and set aside his cup. He stood slowly, stretching and wincing a bit, which didn't escape her attention.

"Are you sure you're feeling well, love?"

Her familiar, affectionate phrase provoked the hint of a smile from him, just barely turning up the corners of his mouth, but he ignored her question and instead turned and made his way to the lavatory.

As she prepared breakfast, she listened absentmindedly to the sounds of water running through the pipes as he showered, her mind already racing ahead to her own busy day. She started a fresh pot of tea brewing and decided a quick meal of eggs and toast would have to do. She moved a small table near the fire and as she gathered the breakfast dishes, a sudden sound caught her attention. Although he had tried his best to muffle it, it had been the unmistakable sound of a sneeze.

She moved nearer the closed door, listening carefully. It could just be his allergies playing up on him, but it was still a bit early in the year for that. After a moment's pause, she heard another barely-suppressed sneeze and then a muttered oath. She nodded to herself. Everything added up. He was seldom seriously ill, but he was very prone to catch cold in the winter, especially around his birthday for some reason.

As he took his place at the table she watched without comment as he moved his chair closer to the fire, a shudder coursing through him. She passed him the morning post and he flicked through it casually, nothing grabbing his attention for very long. He helped himself to another cup of tea but ignored the plates of food, as he always did. Seven years together had not changed him in the least and he was not at all inclined to converse in the morning - or any other time, come to that - but the silence between them was comfortable and companionable, broken only by the rustle of turning pages and an occasional sniffle. She knew he wouldn't admit to it even if he were feeling ill and if she pressed him on it, he would deny it emphatically.

She rose from the table and took two oranges from the basket on the counter, returning after a few moments and placing a glass of juice nearby where he couldn't miss seeing it. It was a subtle gesture, and one not lost on him. He looked up from the journal he was studying just long enough to raise an impatient eyebrow, but she returned to her own breakfast without a word, offering him only an apologetic smile by way of explanation. He was a stubborn man, but not foolish, and after a moment's consideration he gave a resigned sigh and picked up the glass. She noted as he drank that swallowing seemed to be painful and began to mentally plan their evening meal. He never had much of an appetite, even when he was feeling well, so she would fix a light, nourishing meal...maybe a nice soup.

She was startled from her thoughts when he stood abruptly and strode towards the door, pausing only to pull on his heaviest cloak. He tended to do that. He would be sitting perfectly still and then would uncoil suddenly and be out the door and gone before she could react. She caught him just as he was leaving and stopped him with a hand on his arm. He turned somewhat reluctantly to face her. She straightened the heavy folds of fabric and brushed imaginary flecks of lint from the dense weave of his cloak as he stood silently, enduring her attention. His face was at first impassive and then pained, and he turned away from her as he was overtaken by a sudden, harsh sneeze that had come on too quickly to be muffled. She knew better than to offer him either a blessing or a dose of Pepperup; the former would not be welcome and the latter he dismissed as a child's remedy. he would rather suffer the miserable symptoms of a cold for a week than take anything that might make him look foolish.

She knew she was being overly protective of him. He was the most courageous, intelligent and resourceful person she had ever know; surely he didn't need her advice on how to manage a simple head cold. He knew enough to stay warm and to have an ample supply of handkerchiefs, but the memory of how close she had come to losing him still haunted her. He had lingered near death for weeks and his full recovery had taken close to a year. Even now, six years later, she couldn't help but coddle him a bit. Fortunately they had reached the point where he tolerated it, sometimes impatiently and sometimes, like today, with surprising good humor. She also managed to stop herself from telling him to have a nice day, which seemed out of the realm of possibility, but neither could she let him leave without saying something.

"Try to keep your temper in check today," she offered finally. It was sound advice, for today was Friday and if he could refrain from assigning anyone detention, he could have the weekend to rest. At his irritated scowl, she shook her head. It was going to be a long day; not just for him but also for his students and anyone else unfortunate enough to cross his path.

[Vetinari]

Nice start with lovely details thankyou. No ripping is required!

[Mistress Quickly]

Actually, I really like this. Like Vetinari said, no ripping required at all. Delicately handled, elegantly written, with a convincing, very un-obtrusive OC. I usually run away from any fics that feature Snape in a relationship, yet you pull it off nicely. And I always think less is more when it comes to the sneezing. Do carry on.

[stargazer]

Good start. I'm eagerly awaiting your next chapter.

[gothic rose]

I'm really enjoying this so far, and hope that you update soon. Also, I've often found that less is more when it comes to sneezing.

[Quell]

...

You know, I was hoping to rip something when I came here, and it turns out I like your story too much to rip it or you. So... *attempts to tear up a pipe cleaner*

I eagerly await the snark next update! *still trying to rip apart the pipe cleaner*

Edited July 1, 2008 by kittentissues

[froglatte]

Thanks everyone! The second part should be up later today.

[froglatte]

Chapter Two: Previous disclaimers and author's notes still apply! The story has taken on a life of its own and there are several more chapters in the works.

As she approached their quarters, she shifted the string bag full of vegetables to her opposite hand in order to access her wand. She had been preoccupied and uneasy all day and had finally made her excuses to Madam Bilfoy just after tea time. She had wasted no time in going straight from work to the kitchens and it had taken some fast talking before the house elves had allowed her to gather the soup ingredients, insistent as they had been on preparing it themselves, but she had finally prevailed. He had always sworn he could tell the difference between dishes prepared magically and those prepared by hand, and although it meant more work for her, she had to grudgingly admit she could tell the difference, too. Of course, he was usually willing to join her and it was among the more pleasant moments they spent together, with no need to speak, working shoulder to shoulder in a well-practiced rhythm honed from so many years together. But at the moment he was still in his classroom and she would have plenty of time to get everything ready by the time he returned.

She stopped short as she neared the door, her thoughts interrupted when she noticed the absence of the familiar prickling sensation along her skin produced by the protective wards. They were down. Had she forgotten to raise them when she had left? But as she thought back to the morning, she clearly remembered watching him walk away from her and then turning to latch the door and raise the protective wards.

She felt a sick twist of dread in her stomach and reached out her hand cautiously to try the latch. It was unlocked. Immediately wary, she pushed the door open slightly with her knee while scanning the corridor behind her. She edged in slowly, her body turned to the side, wand held in a defensive position, ready to cover herself from a rear or front attack. She hadn't lost her fighting instincts at all. Severus would be proud, she thought.

It was dark and chilly in the room and as she strained her eyes to make out any shapes in the gloom, the heavy silence was suddenly broken by a familiar rasping snore coming from their bedchamber. She blew out a relieved sigh and tucked her wand away but almost instantly began fretting again. He wouldn't cancel his lessons, particularly his afternoon classes, unless he were feeling absolutely wretched. She knew she should leave him in peace, but her desire to see him, to reassure herself that he was not seriously ill, was overriding every shred of common sense she possessed.

She stepped quietly into their bedchamber where a small, cozy fire was beginning to burn itself out. His cloak was thrown across a chair. A heavy woolen blanket was gathered around his sleeping form and he hadn't surrendered to rest completely, with one foot still flat on the floor. She was very familiar with this sleeping posture of his. She had seen it so many times before; the "I'm not tired but I'll lie down for a moment if it will end your ceaseless nagging" posture.

She lifted his leg as gently as she could to the surface of the bed and at her touch he stirred and rolled over towards her, unable to keep an irritated scowl from his face as he awoke..

"I didn't mean to wake you, " she said.

"Then why," he asked, his voice raspy and congested, "were you hauling my legs around like a deranged dustman?" The effort of speech provoked a fit of coughing and he struggled to reach a sitting position, finally slumping over his upraised knees. She summoned a tumbler and filled it with water, patting his back gently as he took a tentative sip.

"Still feeling under the weather?"

"That is a drastic understatement," he said, twitching away irritably from her touch. He turned to rummage under his pillow and withdrew a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry, love."

He started to reply, but then froze and with a sharp intake of breath, pitched forward with a sudden, forceful sneeze. She winced sympathetically at the harsh, congested sound, and as he snuffled ineffectively into his handkerchief, she suggested to him gently, "Perhaps you should blow your nose."

"What a marvelous idea," he said, regarding her balefully over the folds of the cloth. "I'm certainly fortunate to live with such a clever witch as yourself. I never would have considered such a thing."

She sighed. He had obviously done an admirable job of keeping his temper under control during the day, because he seemed determined to vent it on her now. And while she could do nothing about this unfortunate tendency, she could at least make herself a less available and willing target.

She raised her hands in surrender and stood from the edge of the bed but as she started to walk away, the lightest brush of his fingers against her robe was enough to stop her.

"Don't leave," he said softly. She turned back and for a brief moment, his dark eyes were beseeching and the look on his face could only be described as woebegone. She tried not to smile.

"Will you lie down with me for a bit?"

Surprised at his direct request, she toed off her shoes and clambered into the bed, settling herself beside him with a sigh, not realizing until that moment how tense she had been all day. She hated when he was ill, and although it wasn't fair to expect him to always be strong, it shook her nonetheless to see him vulnerable, the memories of his near-death always so close to the surface, even now.

She rolled to her side, propping herself up slightly so she could study him. He had flopped back down on the pillows, his eyes closed tightly, absentmindedly massaging his forehead with one hand. A distinct disadvantage of a fine, noble nose like his was its narrow contour, making it inefficient for breathing at the best of times, let alone when he was suffering from a terrible cold. At the moment he looked and sounded miserably congested.

"Isn't there something you can take for that?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

He gave her a disdainful look and did not bother to reply. For a man who had been Potions Master for so many years, he was hesitant to use healing potions, preferring, so he said, to keep his wits about him at all times. Of course, she had a few other remedies she could use, thanks to her Muggle grandmum, but he was nearly always resistant to their use as well. Perhaps he was too weary to protest today, she thought as she summoned a small glass jar from a nearby cabinet.

The cream within the jar was a combination of camphor and lavender, her grandmother's recipe. As she unscrewed the lid, the familiar scent took her back to her own childhood and the many happy hours spent in her grandmother's herb garden.

She settled herself in a seated position, leaning sideways against the headboard, her legs flat against the bed. His eyes were open now and he was watching her quizzically. She patted her lap with one hand and with a single doubtful look, he moved himself over and rested his head against her legs. She was surprised at his easy aquiescence. He so seldom allowed himself to be comforted.

She cupped her hands underneath his head, pressing the pads of her thumbs into the pulse points at his temples, making gentle circles. He gave no indication if it was easing his discomfort or not, but at least he was lying quietly for the moment. She moved her hands and let his head rest directly in her lap. She smoothed the cream over her hands, rubbing it in well so there would be only her soft touch on his skin and the scent of the camphor and lavender.

She placed her thumbs between his brows and used gentle pressure to stroke upward and outward and then used the same technique under his eyes. Finally she rubbed her hands together briskly and rested them over his eyes. He made a soft sound of pleasure and his hands came up to rest on hers, adding more pressure to her touch. His head lolled gently against her leg as he grew more and more drowsy, and she had to resist the urge to lean down and plant a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He was very nearly asleep when she saw his nose wrinkle slightly. She heard a soft sniffle and then felt him tense under her hands. He was instantly awake and quickly levered himself into a sitting position, barely in enough time to cup his hands around his nose and mouth to contain a violent and rather wet-sounding sneeze.

"Bless you, love," she said, passing him a fresh handkerchief.

He gave a deep, emphatic sniffle quickly followed by another sneeze into the handkerchief, half-stifled and half-uncontained, and then a long, resounding blow as he angled his body away from her. His hair had fallen forward, exposing the nape of his neck, and she placed a gentle kiss there as she climbed out of their bed.

He shot her an irritated look and then flopped ungracefully back to the pillows, lying prone, his head turned away from her. Oh, how he hated losing control, even in the presence of someone who had lived with him and loved him for nearly a decade. She brushed away the fall of dark hair from his face and kissed him again gently.

"Try and sleep if you can," she said, pulling the blankets up to his shoulders before she left the room.

[chui]

OMG!...dude... i think i love you! no really... this is just wonderful! his personality is spot on, and not that i don't already love Snape, but this is just...totally drool worthy!!! i do hope that you post a bit more...

[stargazer]

I think I've died and gone to heaven. I am soooo loving this.

[froglatte]

Back with an update already! And sorry to disappoint anyone, but this is quickly turning into a sick fic, not a sneeze fic. It's even developing a plot. *stares incredulously* No, really!

The original disclaimers and author's notes still apply to Chapter Three. Feedback is love and crack and all beautiful things.

He had dozed off and on for the rest of the evening, occasionally staggering into the other room to grumble about the supposed racket she was making. She ignored him as best she could while trying to remain sympathetic. She had offered the soup when it was ready, but wasn't at all surprised when he flatly refused it before stomping back into the bedchamber. She tried not to take his ill humor personally, recognizing his peevishness for what it was: His cold was settling in and he was overtired and uncomfortable and as much as he hated to admit it, he never slept well when he was alone.

She had her supper alone by the fire, accompanied by the sounds of him sneezing and coughing and trying to settle himself in the next room. She sighed. One of two things happened when he was ill with a cold: Either it would settle in his chest with a resultant cough that lingered for weeks or, more often that not, it would degenerate into a sinus infection, leaving him congested and headachey and irritable for days. It was too early to tell how this particular illness was trending, but he was going to be out of sorts either way and she would have to make the best of it.

She looked up as he appeared in the doorway once more, his appearance suggesting he had been on the losing end of a fight with his hair rumpled and clothing askew.

"Can't sleep?" she asked mildly, pulling up another chair next to the fire.

"I can't breathe," he answered, and the look he gave her intimated it was entirely her fault as he stumbled to the seat next to hers and sank heavily into it. He bowed his head forward and dug the palms of his hands into his eyes in a vain attempt to ease his discomfort. She perched herself on the footstool between his knees and gently pulled his hands away from his face. He glared at her, but then sighed and sagged against the back of the chair.

"I know you feel miserable," she said softly. "So first, I'm going to bring you some soup." She held up a hand to silence his protests. "You'll sleep better with something on your stomach, trust me."

She carried over a small bowl of the still-simmering soup and watched as he began on it resignedly. He nearly always had to be forced to eat but once persuaded, he had as healthy an appetite as anyone and she noted with some satisfaction that it took him little time to finish his meal tonight.

"Now," she said, removing the empty bowl from his hands and setting it aside. "I'm going to run a nice, hot bath. It will relax you and hopefully clear your head a bit. Sit tight," she said, patting him on the knee. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

He nodded, already beginning to look slightly drowsy, and she smiled indulgently. How she loved taking care of him when he would allow it.

She was still smiling as she watched the hot water stream into the tub, sending steam billowing towards the high ceiling. The eucalyptus oil she had added to the bath water was quickly filling the room with its scent and would hopefully prove effective. She arranged a stack of towels near the tub and hung a clean nightshirt on the hook near the sink where he would be sure to see it and then, satisfied with her preparations, called to him.

He peered into the room and she had to stifle a laugh at his expression. He was intensely private and looked completely horrified at the prospect of company while he bathed.

"Don't worry," she told him reassuringly. "I'm not going to hang about."

Before she left the room, she turned to watch him from the doorway as he began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, his fingers seeming uncoordinated and clumsy. She returned to him, gently pushed his hands away and started unfastening the fine white buttons for him. He stood quietly while she worked, but before she could finish, he turned and snatched a towel from the nearby stack and pressed it to his face. With his shirt gaping open, she could see his stomach muscles contract with the force of the ensuing sneeze.

"Bless," she said, and he made a noncommittal sound from behind the towel. "Come to bed when you're finished."

While she waited for him, she idly purused the latest issue of her professional journal, flipping the pages without really comprehending the words. When he finally entered the room, she saw that he had changed into the nightshirt. The ends of his hair were damp and curling against his neck, his eyes were vaguely unfocused and he was slightly pink around the nose. When he spoke, he sounded relaxed and drowsy.

"You're still awake?"

"I can't sleep if I know you're uncomfortable," she said, tossing the journal to the bedside table and turning down the covers for him.

"You have a regrettable soft spot for anyone in need, it seems," he said, settling himself against her back comfortably.

"No," she said, turning to look over her shoulder at him. "Just a regrettable soft spot for you."

"You're a sweet girl," he whispered, his warm breath against her neck making her shiver slightly. "However did you wind up with me?"

Because no one is more deserving of love than you. Because you walked among evil without letting it touch your heart. Because you nearly died trying to protect us and you would still sacrifice yourself for a cause in which you believe. You weren't afraid to stand alone on the side of good and you should have someone who loves you at your side now.

"I like a challenge," she said lightly. And at this he drew her closer, his arms tightening protectively around her, his face pressed into her hair. He was continually complaining about her hair, what a nuisance it was, how she left trails of it through their quarters, but he protested vehemently every time she suggested cutting it, and somehow, he tended to awaken with his fingers entwined in it every morning.

These unguarded moments just before he drifted off were especially precious to her. As aloof as he could be during the day, at night, his most uneasy time, he wanted her close. It seemed to comfort him to hear her speaking softly into the dark. She was never sure if he remembered what she said; just the rhythm of her voice seemed to lull him.

She knew tonight would be no different and she waited, wondering if he had fallen asleep, until at last he asked quietly, "Interesting day today?"

"It was. This morning we took possession of a book that appears to have its origins in Salem Village."

"The colonies?"

"The very same. On the surface it's just an old recipe book, but we suspect its true contents are protected by anti-Muggle charms. Madam Bilfoy bought it off a vendor in the East End and he was quite glad to be rid of it. Can't say as I blame him ..."

She continued talking softly, telling him of how the book had tried its old tricks and when no one had been terribly impressed with the slamming doors and flickering candles, it had finally begun muttering peevishly to itself.

His hand resting around her waist slackened and he gave a soft, contented sigh. He was very nearly asleep and she was falling asleep herself when she felt him suddenly press his forehead into her back. Before she could question him, his entire body convulsed with a sudden sneeze.

She rolled over towards him and he pulled her in close, her head tucking in neatly under his chin. She could feel the reassuring beat of his heart beneath her cheek, could smell his familiar scent of herbs and damp wool and as they both drifted towards sleep again, she knew that these walls encompassed all that was dear to her. The entirety of her world was this man she loved so fiercely, the shared joys and griefs and mundanities of their life together in these rooms. She asked for nothing else than the privilege of lying next to him every night and waking up with him every morning, having her first and last sensations of the day be of him.

"Bless you, love," she murmured against his chest.

[stargazer]

Well, I for one don't care if you're writing a sneeze fic or a sick fic. I am really enjoying this story not matter what type and love your writing. I can't wait for more.

[gothic rose]

Well, I for one don't care if you're writing a sneeze fic or a sick fic. I am really enjoying this story not matter what type and love your writing. I can't wait for more.

I agree, a sick fic is fine by me as well.

Also, I'm not sure if you consider what you have already written to be a sick fic or a sneeze fic, but what ever it is, I think its brilliant; keep up the good work!

[Guest crystal55]

Wonderful story!!

You mentioned you also wrote some fics posted FF.net. Any chance we can get them here also? If not can we get titles or author name??!!??

[froglatte]

*squeezes gothicrose, chui, kittentissues, dms and crystal55...hard* Thank you all for taking the time to leave such encouraging comments. I'm enjoying writing this story and there's much more to come, so knowing you're reading and enjoying it is keeping me motivated. (crystal55, my author ID on FF.net is fhestia, but my stories tend to have similar themes; snarky sick fics, not sneeze fics.)

[Quell]

Aww! Yes, I really do love this story! I've been sort of busy and unable to comment lately, but it's just splee!

*still trying to tear apart the pipe cleaner* WHY WON'T IT RIP?!

[gothic rose]

*squeezes gothicrose, chui, kittentissues, dms and crystal55...hard* Thank you all for taking the time to leave such encouraging comments. I'm enjoying writing this story and there's much more to come, so knowing you're reading and enjoying it is keeping me motivated. (crystal55, my author ID on FF.net is fhestia, but my stories tend to have similar themes; snarky sick fics, not sneeze fics.)

Well, I for one have read and really enjoy the two sick fics you have going over on FF.net (I think I may even have commented on one of them before, though my name isn't the same as here either). Anyways, I do hope you plan on continuing all three fics!

[froglatte]

Well, I for one have read and really enjoy the two sick fics you have going over on FF.net (I think I may even have commented on one of them before, though my name isn't the same as here either). Anyways, I do hope you plan on continuing all three fics!

Oh, thank you so much for reading my other stories! I'm flattered you enjoyed them. I do plan on continuing all three story lines and actually hope to have the latest chapter for this story up later tonight.

[froglatte]

On her way back from collecting their morning post, she paused to look out one of the high windows in the corridor and shivered. It was a raw day with grey clouds sitting low over the land, promising more snow, and a brisk wind blowing the fine powder around. She pressed her forehead against the glass, feeling a brief wave of contentment wash over her. The dismal weather didn't matter. It was Saturday and the weekend was free of obligations. The thought cheered her as she made her way down to their rooms.

They had both slept fitfully the night before, and he had finally fallen into a deep sleep in the early morning hours, sitting up in his favorite chair near the fire. As she entered their quarters, he was still ensconced comfortably, his head resting against the wing of the chair. He had either just awakened or had been on the verge of nodding off, because he seemed a bit startled as she approached him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He blinked blearily at her, considering the question. "Better, I think," he said, his voice nothing more than a hoarse croak.

"Yes, you sound it." She took a seat in the chair opposite him, depositing the morning's post on the table between them.

He cleared his throat, trying and failing to achieve a more normal register. "Has the weather improved at all?"

"Not from what I can tell," she said "and it looks like it may snow again."

He retrieved the Daily Prophet from the pile and shook it open, pausing to raise an incredulous eyebrow when she summoned a plate of toast and a pot of tea from the kitchen.

"You'll just have to make the best of it," she said, giving him a weary look. "I'm exhausted this morning."

She leaned over to pour a cup from the steaming pot, idly scanning the back page of the Prophet. It irritated him no end when she read over his shoulder, but it was a hard habit to break.

"Oh, dear," she said softly, her eyes coming to rest on a small, two-paragraph story near the bottom of the page.

He looked up, his forehead creased in puzzlement, and then turned the paper over to see what had grabbed her attention.

"'An overnight disturbance at Flourish and Blotts,'" he read aloud. "Your latest acquisition, I assume?"

"So, you were paying attention yesterday." She drummed her fingers uneasily on the arm of the chair. "I'm surprised Madam Bilfoy didn't send an owl this morning." She sighed resignedly and rose to her feet, snagging a piece of toast from the plate. "I should pop in and see what's happened. You're on your own for a bit, I'm afraid."

"However shall I manage?" he asked dryly, turning the paper over again and continuing to read.

She went through to their bedchamber to change into her work robes, wishing that she didn't have to leave. He sounded dreadful this morning, but he at least was acting more like himself. He'd be fine. There was no reason to be so overprotective.

She brushed out her hair and then poked around under the bed for her walking shoes. She pulled them on and laced them tightly. As much as she was dreading the prospect of a chilly walk to the Apparition point, she didn't dare Floo into the office, not until she had determined the nature of the disturbance.

She made her way from the dressing room, twisting her hair into a loose coil as she walked, and stopped short when she saw him waiting by the door, her cloak resting over one arm.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

"I'm accompanying you, of course," he said, helping her shrug into her cloak before retrieving his own.

She scoffed. "You're not well, Severus. I don't believe you could Apparate yourself into the next room, never mind all the way to Diagon Alley."

"Ridiculous," he said.

"May I also remind you that the nearest Apparition point is half a mile outside the main gate?"

"A walk in the fresh air will do me good."

"Yes, it would be just the thing if you wish to acquire a virulent case of pneumonia."

They stared wordlessly at one another. She wasn't willing to give an inch on this matter and she could tell from the stubborn set of his jaw that he wasn't either. It was just a matter of whose will would prevail and as usual, she gave in first.

"Very well," she sighed, lifting his heavy House scarf from a hook near the door. "But you're going to wrap up warmly."

He twined the scarf around his neck and she carefully tucked the ends into his cloak, snugging the collar tightly.

"I seem to recall saying you were a sweet girl," he said. "I was mistaken. You are a nagging harpy."

"Takes one to know one," she said, patting him on the shoulder as they left.

************************************************

They Apparated near the front doors of Flourish and Blotts and as they were making their way up the alley towards the office entrance, Madam Bilfoy poked her head out a window.

"I'm certainly happy to see you this morning!" she exclaimed, relief evident in her voice. Her hair was rumpled and although she looked cheerful enough, she had a faintly desperate look in her eyes.

"What's happened?" she asked, stepping closer and trying to peer around the older witch's bulk which was filling the window frame.

"Nothing serious," Madam Bilfoy said, waving her hand dismissively. "A small explosion."

They hung their cloaks in the entryway and she watched with concern as he tried to compose himself. The chill air had gone straight through him, it seemed, and he tucked his hands deeply into the pockets of his robe trying to quell the chills that were coursing through his body.

"Don't say a word," he said through clenched teeth and she sighed and went through to their small, shared office where Madam Bilfoy was securing a series of locks on a heavy door adjoining the room. Her attention shifted suddenly and she became rather flustered, a sure sign that he had entered the room.

Professor Snape, what a pleasant surprise!"

"Madam Bilfoy," he said, nodding to her from the doorway. "I'm delighted to see you again. Forgive me for not shaking your hand..."

She interrupted him. "Oh, poor lamb," she said sympathetically, her head on one side "You sound terrible. Have the sniffles, do you?"

He opened his mouth to reply but had to content himself with a glare in her direction, where she was having a difficult time containing her laughter.

"I understand you used your considerable business acumen to acquire a book yesterday," he said, clearly eager to change the subject, "purportedly from Salem Village?"

"That's right," she said, blushing slightly. "And it did take a fair bit of bargaining, I can tell you, but all for naught. It's really digging in its heels this morning...won't let anyone within three feet of it."

"I would very much like to take a look at it...with your permission of course."

"Oh, certainly! If you can get in the room, that is..."

*************************************************************

It was early afternoon when he finally staggered from the adjoining room, his robes and hair liberally covered in dust and cobwebbing, a long scratch down one cheek. He closed the door emphatically and leaned heavily against it.

"How did it go?" she asked.

He tried to answer her, but then raised one hand to hold off her question. She was quite familiar with the look on his face and knew what was coming. Before she could reach him, he folded forward and buried his face in his sleeve, the loud sneeze echoing in their small office. He remained bent over as he was overcome with a fit of rapid, closely-spaced sneezes, with barely enough time to catch his breath in between, making each successive sneeze sound a bit more desperate than the one before.

"Goodness," Madam Bilfoy said, unable to keep the wonderment from her voice as the fit continued unabated. "He does have a rather nasty cold, doesn't he?"

"Dust allergy," she explained, using her wand to clear away the powdery streaks clinging to his hair and the fabric of his robes. After a final violent sneeze seemed to clear the last of the dust, she chivvied him into a chair and pretended to ignore him as he wiped his eyes and attended to his nose. Madam Bilfoy plied him with a cup of tea and hovered about him anxiously.

"Any luck at all?" she asked as he sipped gingerly at his tea.

"A bit," he said, and she knew without asking that he wasn't ready to discuss it.

"Well, that's marvelous. Perhaps you'd like to take it back with you?" Madam Bilfoy asked in a hopeful voice at a particularly violent thud that rattled the closed door in its frame. They considered each other gravely.

"I think it's best to leave it where it is for now."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," she murmured.

[stargazer]

A cold and a dust allergy? You really are trying to kill me aren't you? I'm eagerly awaiting your next udate.

[Quell]

Just thought you should know, you're not helping this summer heat any. (That's a weird compliment...)

And the pipe cleaner still won't come apart. Maybe I should try scissors?

[chui]

*is squeezed*

omg.... how did i miss another update... sooo yummy!!!

*pulls on kittentissues' pipe cleaner... it still wont tear!!!!*

[froglatte]

Another update, and this one may be it for a while. I have a few scenes written past this section, but there are other projects awaiting my attention. And awwh, poor Snape...he's really ill, but not very sneezy now. My thanks to the few people who have been reading and commenting on my story; I greatly appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. (And if you've read it and HAVEN'T commented; why not? I don't mind concrit in the least).

Same old disclaimer song and dance applies.

When he had had his fill of being fussed over, he had settled himself at her desk, concentrating intently on some notes he was jotting on a piece of parchment. She paid him little mind as she went about her own work, knowing full well he would prefer to be left in peace. His head was bent low over the desktop, and she would hear an occasional stifled sneeze, but thought nothing much of it, attributing it to his cold and the remnants of dust that still wafted through the air. Madam Bilfoy, however, was seemingly taking great delight in blessing him very loudly from across the room with every sneeze. He would glance up, his concentration momentarily broken, and then give an aggrieved sigh and thank her politely, but she could tell just from his posture how deeply irritated he was by the entire situation.

The time passed quickly as she became caught up in her tasks, and when she realized she had heard nothing from him or from Madam Bilfoy for quite a while, she chanced a look over at him. He was sitting in the same position as before, but the quill he had been using had fallen from his grasp and his head was resting alongside his outstretched arm. She set aside the scroll she had been updating and rose to her feet, approaching her desk quietly. She placed a hand on his back, and at her touch he turned towards her, opening one eye and giving her a haggard glance before he slowly lifted his head. He passed a shaking hand over his eyes and she knelt beside him, feeling the fine tremor in his fingers as she took his hands in hers.

"You've pushed yourself too hard," she whispered, mindful that Madam Bilfoy, although she was pretending otherwise, was listening intently.

"Nonsense," he said, removing his hands from her grasp. "I'm a bit tired is all."

She took in his appearance: the pallor, the deepening shadows under his eyes, the spots of color high in his cheeks. "We're going home," she said firmly, taking his arm as he rose from his chair and wavered a bit where he stood.

**************************************

After taking their leave of Madam Bilfoy, which had dragged out much longer than was necessary, they began to make their way down the sidewalk that ran past the shop. He was shivering in the brisk wind that was whipping past them, and she could tell from the slow, deliberate steps he was taking just how tired he was.

"I'm afraid you've made yourself worse," she fretted as they walked.

"Not at all," he said, but he was forced to stop walking as a hard shudder ran through him.

"Let's stop in at the Leaky Cauldron before we go any further," she urged. "You look all in."

The look on his face suggested he was on the brink of arguing with her, but then he sighed. "I could do with a bit of warming up," he admitted.

They took a table in a relatively quiet corner of the bar and he propped one elbow on the tabletop, resting his chin wearily in his hand and closing his eyes. He seemed too weary to speak. She ordered for the both of them and then sat quietly with him until the barmaid delivered their drinks: Coffee for her and, at her insistence, a firewhiskey toddy for him. Normally he flatly refused to have anything more than wine with a meal, but despite his reluctance to try it at all, he seemed to perk up after a few sips.

"It was well worth the trouble to accompany you today," he said, after he had revived enough to sit up and look vaguely attentive.

"Oh, yes?" she said, torn between wanting to return home but also eager to learn what he had discovered.

"It's a book of potions, just as I suspected," he said, reaching into an inside pocket of his cloak and withdrawing a tightly rolled piece of parchment which he passed across the table to her. "The incantation I used revealed the first set of instructions, but the other pages remained inaccessible. I managed to copy what I could when the book wasn't hurling itself directly at my head."

She skimmed the parchment briefly. Neither the list of ingredients nor the instructions made any sense to her, everything arcane and ancient-sounding. "And what do you intend to do with this?"

"I suspect it's part of the protective charm. This potion must be prepared," he said, tapping one long finger on the page. "Once finished, it can be used to access the remainder of the book. I'm certain of it."

"Interesting," she said, re-rolling the scroll. "So a person must prove himself worthy to be able to use the potion recipes, then?"

He nodded. "I've heard of other texts employing similar methods of protection, but this is the first potions book I've encountered."

"You're planning on going straight to your workroom when we return, aren't you?" she asked in exasperation, knowing there was no way of stopping him if that was truly his intention.

"I don't have half of what's required," he said, taking the list from her and tucking it away securely. "There are one or two ingredients I don't even recognize."

"But you are going to prepare it..."

"Eventually."

He turned away from the table then, racked with a sudden fit of coughing, most likely provoked by the dust and the cold, dry winter air. She watched him in concern, and after the paroxysm had passed, she leaned across the table and rested the back of her hand gently against his forehead. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Before you start clucking, I already know I have a fever."

"Then you also know you should be resting and not traipsing about the countryside when you're ill."

"I would hardly consider this 'traipsing.'" he said, indicating the quiet corner where they were sitting.

"All the same, you shouldn't be exerting yourself any more than necessary until you've recovered." She didn't often put her back up with him, knowing the futility of trying to force him to do something he didn't wish to do, but she had neared her limit of patience. "Since you seem hell-bent on not taking care of yourself, someone needs to look after you. We're returning to the castle straightaway, you're going to lie down and I don't want to hear any argument."

"Very well," he said, rising to his feet and extending a hand to her. She sat stunned for a moment, eliciting a wry smile from him. "And are you coming along, or are you just going to sit there gaping at me like a trout?"

Wordlessly she took his hand and he pulled her up, tucking her arm into his. "I can occasionally be agreeable, you know," he said as they exited the pub.

"Just often enough to keep me on my toes, it seems."

And at this she was rewarded with one of his rare and genuine laughs, a low, throaty sound made even deeper by the toll the cold had taken on his voice. His lighthearted mood was fleeting, however, dissipating as soon as they were outside and the bitter wind renewed its assault on them. They had to pause numerous times on their way to the departure point, stopping so he could fish out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes and nose.

She stood next to him when they finally reached the open area reserved for Apparition, waiting for him to stop coughing before they attempted to Apparate back.

"I don't suppose I could talk you into a side-along, could I?" she suggested hopefully. He looked as if he was barely remaining on his feet, but he scoffed at her question.

"I've never splinched myself and I have no intention of starting now, if that's your concern."

"Very well," she said. "Just don't expect me to cart all the various pieces back to the castle afterwards." She turned in place, feeling the world spin away from around her.

************************************************

"Severus?" she said with concern, feeling his weight heavy against her as the area surrounding the carriage path came into view.

He had Apparated right beside her, and as she stepped away to give him more room, he reached a hand out blindly and lowered himself to the ground, dropping his head between his knees.

She knelt by him. She had to remind herself that he was strong, that he had endured much worse, but at the moment she felt utterly helpless. It was snowing quite hard, the wind blowing the flakes into their faces, and she tried to shield him with her body as violent shudders shook him.

"As loath as I am to admit you were right," he said finally, raising his head and clenching his teeth against another wave of chills, "I believe I may have overextended myself this morning." His tendency was usually towards understatement and she realized this casual remark meant he was most likely on the verge of physical collapse.

"Do you think you can make it back?" she asked, considering his appearance, which had worsened considerably in the short time since they had arrived.

"There doesn't seem to be any other option, does there?" he said, his voice hoarse and weak.

[Guest upturned_palms]

This. Is. Amazing.

One of my favourite stories, ever, and I cant wait for the next installment!

[stargazer]

Great update! And I didn't really miss not having any sneezing too. What a way to start my vacation. Thanks!