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The frigid air nips at your skin, despite the extra layer you wore today under your cloak. The exhaustion from almost a term of teaching has been slowly catching up for a while now- and between the arrival of winter and a rather unprepared immune system, you suspected that the discomfort in your throat is not just a slight cough, but the beginnings of a cold.
You’ve taken to your classroom this morning, hoping to get a headstart on preparing the material for today’s classes. As close as the holidays were, so were the due dates for pending assignments. The peppermint tea sitting at your table was hot a few moments ago but has gone lukewarm as you favored a much less enjoyable task: grading. You were sure the tea was delicious, but you also seemed to have lost your sense of taste- defeated by a blocked nose.
The seconds ticked into minutes, yet the sky remained dark- a clear sign winter was in motion. The parchment in front of you was a student’s homework, yet you can’t seem to focus on their writing. It was hard enough trying to make sense of the handwriting, but the cold gnawing at your bones was all the more distracting today. Perhaps that, and a brewing headache.
When the words finally start blurring together (you must have reread a sentence thrice- yet have made no sense of it), you push the homework away, and yourself, up from your chair. You needed some sort of potion, draught- anything, that would get you through today.
Stalking through the halls, your journey was silent except for an attempt or two at clearing your nose. The students were just beginning to wake up, only the earliest of morning birds taking breakfast this early. A few Gryffindors you know from your classes greet you good morning, and you return the sentiment with a wave. You reckon you shouldn’t trust your voice, and the itch in your throat tells you you very well may have lost it a while ago.
The closer to the dungeons, the colder the air is. You pull your cloak tighter around your body, exhaling shakily. You were sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you when you saw the fog of your breath. Tracing the familiar path in the dungeons leads you to Snape’s office. The brooding, heavy wood door shuts you out, but from inside, the sound of crackling fire; a sign he was present.
You hold your balled fist up to the door, knocking thrice.
“Severus,” you call out, surprising yourself at how ragged your voice sounded. You clear your throat and try again. “Severus, it’s--”
The door swings open before you can finish your sentence. Amid winter, Severus Snape wears the same thing he always had. You wonder how he’s so unyielding to the weather.
“Good morning, Severus,” you greet. A cough you’ve been trying to stomp down escapes and you turn your head away, covering your mouth. A series of wet coughs tears through your already pained throat and you wince at the uncomfortable feeling. You turn back to him, hand still over your mouth.
“Good morning to you, too,” he responds, indifferently. He raises an eyebrow at your coughing fit. At the same time, he moves aside from the doorway- a silent invitation for you to enter. “Not faring so well in this cold, are you?”
“How could you ever tell?” you sigh. The strides you took into his room were generous, leading you straight to the fireplace. Crouching down, your hands hover near the flame. The glow provided a blanket of warmth. You shut your eyes for a moment, cherishing the way your skin tingles as the cold resides from the tip of your nose and the apple of your cheeks. The door clicks shut behind you, and heavy footsteps suggest that your host is standing a few paces behind you. With more feeling in your limbs, you turn, looking up at the Potions Master.
“You ought to put up more candles in the dungeon hallways with this weather, Severus. How the Slytherin students manage to operate when their dorm is located here is beyond me.” You wring your hands against each other, desperate for more friction; more heat. “I wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed if it was this cold.”
“The tolerance of young teenagers towards the cold is greater than yours. And probably mine, for the record.” Severus speaks slowly as he moves through the room, stopping when he is by your side. “In fact, I wish this weather would have knocked their energy down some levels. Perhaps that would make managing them easier.” He shares a knowing glance with you, and you can’t help but laugh a little.
“You might be right,” you say. Your smile makes a corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Your joy is interrupted by a rather intense itch in your nose. You jerk your head side violently, sneezing into your shoulder. A flurry of footsteps later, Severus hands you a handkerchief, which you quietly mumble thanks. Retrieving it, you dab it gently against your nose.
Right, you weren’t here to complain about teaching.
Phlegm cleared from your throat, you opened your mouth to speak.
“Severus, I have a favor to ask of you.’’ The look he gives you makes it obvious he knew what was coming, but you ask anyway. “Are you able to brew a potion which could alleviate my cold? I doubt I would be able to get through today's classes otherwise.”
He ponders for a short moment. “You’re aware a potion would not entail a permanent solution, but rather a temporary aid, yes?”
You nod. “I would expect as much. Which is why I would like to request a few vials of whatever you have.” Severus huffs, as if reluctant. You were quick to catch on, quickly brewing a compromise. “Of course- I’ll replace the ingredients you use,” you offer. “If there’s ingredients you’re missing, I could also get them--”
Severus cuts you off with a hand to your shoulder. You flinch, not expecting the touch, but it is welcoming nonetheless.
“Severus?” you ask, your eyes glancing from his hand to his face.
“I do not expect you to repay me for anything,” he says, with finality. “And you cannot convince me otherwise.” You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. He motions you to sit by his desk-- on a stool across the table from his chair. You guessed it was there for students serving detention. Severus hovers over his desk. He picks his wand up, a quick swish sending a cup of hot tea your way. The pile of papers in front of you disperse and stack itself in another corner of the desk, clearing up space. The cup places itself in front of you, the handle facing your direction as if asking you to take a drink. “Chamomile,” he tells you. “I haven’t drunk from it yet. It’ll help your throat.”
You thank him again, taking a sip. You still don’t taste anything, but the hot liquid tingles against your mouth.
“Of course, such draughts exist,” Severus continues, returning to your side. “Potions that alleviate coughs and pains associated with the common cold. They’re quite simple to get your hands on, and even simpler to brew. However…” He pauses, looking at you. “If taking that will mean you’ll work yourself right back to the same state, I’d rather not hand one over to you.”
You pull the cup away from your mouth to protest, but he lifts his hand, brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. The back of his hand meets your skin- warm against cold. You lose your words as Severus studies you intently. His hand trails from your forehead, to cup at your cheek gently.
“A fever,” he states simply. “What you need is rest, not a potion and a full day of lessons.”
You sigh. “Severus, no professor has enough time to substitute for classes right now. I’m sure everyone has their papers and assignments to mull over.” You place the cup down on the table, lifting his hand from your cheek. Your fingers slot between his. “Besides, there’s only a few more days until the break. I can manage a few days.”
“You’ve barely managed to hold a conversation without coughing,” he says disapprovingly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure Minerva would understand. In fact-” he nods towards your cup, urging you to drink more. “-I’m sure she'd be more upset if she found out you were teaching with a fever.”
Cup back at your lips, you were reluctant to agree, yet you knew Severus was right. “If your classes take place after lunch, I can cover for you. If you don’t mind, of course,” he offers amidst your contemplation.
Your eyes were back on Severus. “You? Teaching History of Magic?” You quirk your eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and amusement. He rolls his eyes as if annoyed by your doubt.
“The textbooks haven’t been changed in decades. I reckon the content is the same as when we were students,” he muses aloud. You confirm his thoughts with a nod.
“Yes, and you would be glad to know the current topic is the 1689 International Statute of Secrecy- always a joy to learn about and teach, no doubt.”
“A bundle of joy, indeed,” he drawls, sarcasm on the tip of his tongue when draws another chuckle from you.
A glance at the time tells the both of you breakfast is in order. Severus urges you to return to your quarter (“Before you get anyone else, or Merlin forbid- me, sick too,” he had told you, after insisting he’ll have a house elf bring around breakfast). You gave his hand a squeeze in return- a silent way of saying thanks that he understood by the way his gaze softened.
The sky had lightened by the time you left the dungeons, yet the Winter sun was nowhere in sight. It was strange to take to your quarters at this time of day, but the way your muscles relax as your body hits your mattress tells you it was much needed.
-
It was well into the night, after dinner, by the time you saw Severus again. Two knocks against your door make you stir in your bed, sitting up groggily. Blanket wrapped around you, you rake your fingers through your hair to calm down your bedhead as you tread softly across the floor. The lock clicks open and Severus stands at your doorway. You smile, this time being the one to invite him inside.
“I hope my class didn’t cause too much trouble?” you ask, taking a seat back on your bed. Your voice seemed to be in much better shape, though still rough in places. You chuckle at the way he sighs, exasperated.
“With the way, students were drifting off to sleep, you would think the content of the book was a sleeping spell,” Severus mutters. Noticing the way your voice sounds, he draws a teacup from a nearby cupboard. It makes its way straight to your hands. A pot of tea is conjured, and it pours itself into your cup. The smell of warm honey wafts deliciously as you bring it to your lips. “One student must have fallen asleep thrice by the time the lesson was over,” he continues, a slight smile on his lips.
“Though, I reckon this was much preferred to another cauldron blowing up?” you tease, enjoying the way Severus’s face twists in contemplation, before humming in agreement. Seeing as you finished the contents of your cup, he approached you by your bed.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks, quietly. You nod, letting his hand rest against your forehead again.
“I feel much better, Severus,” you mumble, then yawn. “Aside from still feeling cold. I should be fine to resume teaching tomorrow if anything.” He drops his hand and you move aside on your bed, leaving space for him. Severus didn’t hesitate, occupying the space beside you. “Besides, I can’t have you going for my spot as the History of Magic Professor.”
You hear him scoff as you lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder. The warmth of his body tempts you to close your eyes. Rhythmic breathing lulls you to sleep.
“I have no intention of going for your spot,” he tells you, although a glance at you tells Severus you might not have heard him. Settling both of you down under the sheets, a soft kiss to your lips wishes you good night as his arm wraps around you. Severus drifts off to sleep, the faint taste of honey on your lips now on his own.