Secret Santa for Frenchposie (M, Harry Potter)

[OCC]

So, here's at least part of your Secret Santa. I'm so sorry, but I completely procrastinated and didn't finish it in time. However, I got it to an OK stopping point I figured I would share what I have, and post the rest tomorrow when I'm finished. I'm not an excellent fic writer, so I hope it's alright. (the format never works for me, so I'm sorry for however it looks)

Remus Lupin stifled a groan as he woke up to a pounding headache and a dripping nose. He knew whose fault it was, bloody Sirius Black who was always catching colds and losing them just as quickly. He never had to deal with them, but he'd pass them on to Remus.

A harsh “Ketchoo” snapped him out of his reverie. He sniffed, grabbing his wand and muttering a quick Evanesco. His handkerchief was in his trunk, so he opened the hangings slightly and peered out. James, Sirius, and Peter were still asleep, as he had expected. They rarely got up before they were absolutely required to, especially on Saturdays, when their first meal was frequently lunch. As it was a weekday, they would probably be waking up in a few minutes to get their clothes on and scramble down to breakfast. Remus summoned his handkerchief, not a moment too soon, as a tickle returned to his nose and he snapped forward with a quick “Hetch-chhgt.”

He stood up, and the suddenness of it made him dizzy. He briefly considered going to Madame Pomfrey and asking for a pepper-up potion, but he’d missed a good deal of class the last time-the last full moon. If he went to the infirmary, she’d want to keep him there, and he couldn’t afford to skip potions again. He dressed sluggishly, between bouts of vigorous sneezing and nose-blowing, and made his way down to the Great Hall.

There was hardly anyone at the Gryffindor table, except Alice and Amelia. Remus sat down quietly, nodding at the others because he wasn’t sure he could speak normally. His throat hurt quite badly, and he had to keep from wincing as he swallowed his pumpkin juice. He didn’t want to arouse Amelia’s suspicion, as prefect she would herd him to the infirmary whether he wanted to go or no, so he decided not to blow his nose, although he could feel the congestion building in his sinuses. Instead, he tried to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his robe as nonchalantly as possible, although he ordinarily hated that.

He wasn’t hungry, so he took his leave as soon as possible, ducking into an alcove so he could finally blow his nose. By this point it was red and raw, and annoyingly sensitive. Clearing the mucus led to a short string of aborted “Hetch-schu”s that were louder than he really would have liked, culminating in a final “HETCH-TSHHHHIEW” that was so forceful it brought tears to his eyes and made his body shake. Swallowing in an attempt the alleviate his once again stinging throat, he looked around to make sure no one had heard. When he was satisfied that no one had, he wiped his eyes with his dirty sleeve, grimacing, and continued on his way.

As he still had a few more minutes before the rest of the Marauders would grow suspicious about his absence, he decided to use the third floor restroom to take stock of his appearance. He could see he looked awful, his face unnaturally flushed, his lips and nose chapped, and the rest of his skin a pallid grey. Putting a hand to his forehead, he was certain he felt a fever. He again entertained the idea of going to Madame Pomfrey. He felt, and apparently looked, like death warmed over, and it would be nice to lie down with a cool cloth on his forehead, at least. But he was tired of being a invalid, tired of spending more time in the infirmary than anyone else. As much as it would be nice to be fussed over when he was feeling ill, he'd always hated being the liability of the group. He’d always felt slightly as if he didn’t belong. He’s been brought up alone, and he’d spent so long hiding the secret of his lycanthropy, that he never quite felt as if he could bare himself completely to anyone else. In his worst moments, even the Marauders felt temporary, as if they would someday leave, tired of dealing with Remus and his “illnesses.”

He shook himself out of his reverie and found himself pitching forward in another fit of sneezing. “Hitch-shoo” following “Hetchoo,” Remus found himself gulping air between harsh, forceful sneezes, coming insistently, one after the other. The insistent itch in his sinuses eventually died away, and he pushed himself up off the sink, which he had been using to support himself. As he straightened, he felt a dizziness returning, and swayed, lightheaded. He grabbed at the sink for purchase again, but darkness encroached on the edge of his vision and he fell forward.

[frolicking periwinkle]

Awww poor Remus!! And... what a cliff hanger to leave off on! OMG. I hope you'll continue it. But, I love it just as it is, too. Thank you!

[Dusty15]

O_o MORE LUPIN FIC on this board?! *raises hands to the sky* Hooray! I'm looking forward to more if you decide to write it