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Day 21: Gaunt face
Teddy Lupin had been through a lot in his short life. He had lost his mummy and daddy, inherited his daddy’s werewolf gene, and most egregiously, been forced to go to daycare. All these combined, however, did nothing to prepare him to face a cold.
Kreacher had popped in his room three times to remind him that Harry was expecting him for breakfast. Teddy sighed in relief when the house-elf disappeared, huffing and puffing about half-breeds. He started regretting that sigh when it quickly turned into a hacking coughing fit.
He looked at the clock in the corner of his bedroom, but he had no hope of deciphering the numbers. Careful not to repeat his previous mistake, Teddy gave a cautious exhale and decided that he should go potty soon to prevent Harry from waiting. Unfortunately, his little tired body begged to differ, and yawning, he gave in to his urges. He curled up beneath the covers again to enjoy some respite.
The next time Teddy opened his eyes, the sun was lower, and his room was flooded with light. He would have tried to get more sleep, but awful, incessant coughs had woken him up abruptly and shaken him to his core. Amid it all, he could feel that his skin was hotter than normal. He also realised that inhaling had become a more difficult task than it should have been.
Despite those problems, to Teddy the immediate concern was the coughing. He sat up and went to his en-suite bathroom. From there he grabbed a water bottle—carbonated, as Harry called it—and took cautious sips. Surprisingly, it did wonders. The coughing finally ceased!
Although a tad reluctantly, he figured that he would have to go downstairs and encounter a disappointed Harry. He had not gone to breakfast when Kreacher called and thus missed daycare. Harry had to go to work at eight—the time he dropped Teddy off at daycare—and picked him up around noon. The rest of the day he worked at home.
Gazing outside his window, Teddy gulped. Harry had probably left Teddy under Kreacher’s care until he came back. Judging from the position of the sun, it was probably noon already. Harry was home.
Teddy would probably get grounded. No flying for a month. And no dessert for a week. Of course, he knew that if he told Harry he was not feeling well, his godfather would not punish him. But Teddy could not tell him.
Despite the fact that Harry always made Teddy feel better when he was sick. He was not overwhelming like Mrs Weasley—always calm and collected. He acted like he knew what he was doing. At the end of the day, he would give Teddy a ton of hugs and make him feel loads better.
No, Teddy was resolute. He would not tell Harry.
Aunt Ginny was planning to leave for an internship with a team from Greece, and she would be gone for a while. Harry had been gloomy and sad all week. Teddy didn’t want to add to his misery by having to take care of him, too.
Determined to keep to his internal promise, Teddy started getting ready. Harry had taught him a month or so ago, and—as a big boy—Teddy had convinced him he was perfectly capable of dressing himself. This time though, it took all his willpower not to keel over.
Thankfully, he was stronger than he felt, because he was not only able to put on his robes but to re-enter the en-suite bathroom, as well. The effort almost made him throw up his entire meal from last night, though.
He frowned at that. He had thought colds—which was what he assumed he had—were supposed to make him feverish, not nauseous—which Aunt Hermione had told him was a word for wanting to throw up.
Looking at the mirror in his bathroom was a hard task. He had to step on his little stool to reach it. His face looked gaunt, pale and sticky. His cheeks sported two large red marks and his eyes were glazed over. His cheekbones—ones he had inherited from Grandmother Andromeda—were more prominent than he had ever seen them and, with a sudden shudder, Teddy realised he looked like a skeleton.
A bit spooked by that thought, Teddy decided this was the best time to go down and face the music. The staircase was long and cool. Any other time he would have jumped up and down, completely disregarding the shouted ‘Carefuls’ of Harry. But today he held the railing cautiously, taking one slow step after another.
He weaved his way through the corridor of portraits with practised ease, letting his ancestors bore him with the latest drama they had been caught up on, while he nodded absentmindedly. Teddy guessed the gossip was from the last century, at the least.
Eventually he reached the dining room, decorated with beautiful pastel greys and teals. Harry had redecorated 12, Grimmauld Place ages ago to make it more child-friendly. Teddy just thought it reminded him of his own godfather, Sirius Black. Who, according to Grandmother Andromeda, was his cousin twice removed or something.
There was a long oak table in the middle of the room—one which could fit the entirety of the Weasley clan and extras—with wooden chairs that looked way too expensive for anyone’s liking. But they were comfy, Teddy knew as he, as silently as possible, plopped himself on one, four seats away from Harry.
Aunt Ginny was sitting opposite Teddy’s godfather, and while Teddy loved her, she looked furious right now. She and Harry must have been in a row earlier.
“Half-breed finally shows up to eat,” Kreacher sneered in Teddy’s direction. He was used enough to this that he didn’t flinch at his “Mistress not be knowing disgrace would fall upon the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Kreacher’s Mistress—”
“That’s enough out of you, Kreacher,” Aunt Ginny interrupted smoothly. She waved a dismissive hand in his direction.
Kreacher scowled. “Blood-traitor dares command Kreacher! Mistress Black—”
“Has been dead for decades. Give us a rest, Kreacher.” Harry sighed. This time Kreacher was powerless to obey. He disappeared with a loud crackle for dramatic effect.
A tense silence followed Kreacher’s departure. Dad—Teddy liked calling Harry Dad, but Harry didn’t; today he hoped he would be excused per his cold—and Auntie Ginny were staring at each other with intensity. Teddy could practically feel tangible energy between them.
But then, unfortunately for him, they seemed to remember that he was present and immediately both straightened in their seats.
“If that’s all,” Auntie Ginny said coldly. “Then I’ll take my leave. I’ll see you in six weeks’ time.” Then she turned to Teddy. Her gaze softened minutely. “Bye, Teddy, sweetheart.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead, but he artfully dodged her. If she came in contact with his skin, she’d realise he was sick and tell Dad.
He felt a pit of guilt gnaw at his stomach at her look of hurt, but before he could apologise, she had already disapparated.
No matter how much Teddy wanted to be happy at the idea of one less person being focused on him, he felt the gaze of Dad like an ice block on his back. Teddy would now capture Dad’s full attention.
“So, Teddy,” He started, clearly an attempt to pry the truth out of him. He stood closer to Teddy than he liked, but he couldn’t very well tell him off without appearing suspicious. “Would you care to tell me why you decided to miss daycare today?” While it was phrased like a question, Teddy knew if he didn’t answer, there would be consequences.
He decided that a half-truth would do. “I didn’t wanna go.”
“Well, I don’t want to go to work either some days. Do I stop doing it?” It was a rhetorical question, but he knew Dad expected an answer.
“No,” He mumbled, looking down at his feet in shame. His head was starting to pound more; it felt like it would combust. His tummy was also doing somersaults. He felt like throwing up again.
“No, I don’t.” Dad agreed quietly. “Because I am responsible. Were you responsible today, Teddy?”
Teddy did the safe thing and shook his head. At the sudden movement, his tummy climbed to his throat. Bile rose to his mouth, and he had to inconspicuously swallow.
Swallow. Take a deep breath and swallow again. Breathe, swallow. Breathe, swallow. He repeated like a mantra in his head.
Teddy felt his eyes water of their own volition. He didn’t feel better than before, but he wasn’t about to throw up. A small win. Or maybe just a mercy from the universe?
Dad had stopped talking but was gazing at him really carefully, as if dissecting his micro-expressions. Teddy supposed he ought to get out of this room before Dad noticed that there was something wrong with him.
Just as he had stood up from his chair, Dad’s piercing gaze stopped him in his tracks. Swallowing, he turned on his heel and tried to make a run for it.
He was not so lucky, because the next thing he knew, Dad was grabbing him by the arm. “Teddy.” His voice had softened with an edge of concern. “Is everything okay?”
Teddy nodded. “Yeah.” Harry looked displeased by his answer, not to mention entirely unconvinced. With a sudden jolt of panic, Teddy realised he wouldn’t let this go.
Dad’s gaze lingered on what Teddy belatedly realised was the gauntness of his face, and sighed. “Alright then, baby, how about we get you into bed?” The idea of sleeping sounded heavenly, but Teddy couldn’t simply give up. Dad had work to do. He had so many responsibilities, and his mind was already off with Auntie Ginny leaving. Adding Teddy into the mix just didn’t seem fair.
“I’m fine, Dad, really.” The moment the words left his mouth, Teddy froze. He was so stupid! He never called Harry Dad after he had explicitly forbidden it unless he was tired or hurt. Or, as in this case, sick.
Dad’s stare softened further. He got up from his chair and led Teddy by the shoulders, directing him to his bedroom. Teddy swallowed back a groan. He didn’t want Dad to take care of him. Well, he didn’t want him to push everything aside to take care of him, but that was the same thing in his childish mind.
“Harry, I’m fine.” Dad raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing a word he said. Teddy pouted.
“Then you wouldn’t mind spending the day with me, would you?” Dad smiled oh-so-innocently. It would have elicited a giggle from Teddy any other time, but right now he had suggested something that Teddy dreaded: social interaction.
Dad had planned to visit Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron for the evening and had promised to take Teddy with him if he was good. But now seeing them seemed more like a scene straight out of a nightmare.
“No, don’t wanna.”
“But why? You seemed so excited yesterday. If you are as well as you claim to be, surely you’ll love reading some books with Aunt Hermione.” Dad was probably bluffing. Aunt Hermione had a very important meeting next week. If Teddy was sick, she might get sick and miss said important meeting.
“But I missed daycare today. I’ve been naughty—not good.” That was a great excuse! Teddy smiled, thinking he had trapped Dad into a corner.
“I’m willing to overlook the fact you missed daycare today.” Dad waved a dismissive hand in the air. Teddy felt his stomach drop. How?! How could he have found a counterargument—that was another very big word Aunt Hermione had taught him—to his perfect excuse that fast?
“Sorry.” Teddy shook his head so slowly it would make it seem like one of the slow-motion cartoons his daycare put on the big, black screen that Dad had informed him was a television. He hoped this performance would portray how guilty he felt to decline Dad’s offer.
Dad probably figured Teddy was not going to relent so easily because he sighed heavily and made a sharp left before they could reach the stairs. They were headed towards Dad’s room.
The moment we entered his bedroom, Dad went to his closet and pulled out some pyjamas.
“What are you doing?” Teddy asked, confused.
“Getting you in some pyjamas.” He replied, clicking his tongue at some options while he literally made faces at others that must have been unwanted gifts. Probably from Grandmother Andromeda—she always got him Slytherin-themed presents.
Finally, he seemed to find something satisfactory enough and decided that they would do it.
“Come on, Teddy, hands up.” He felt too tired to protest that he was a big boy and could do it on his own by now.
He complied with relatively no fuss. Dad pulled the brown pyjama over my head and slid it over my hands.
“That’s my good boy.” Dad praised as he started pulling Teddy’s trousers down. He shivered at the cold because, despite the warming charms that Dad had placed in Grimmauld Place, it was still a chilly mansion in the middle of London.
“Dad,” Teddy whimpered. Dad’s eyes snapped to mine. “Cold.”
“Oh, teddy-bear, one moment.” He whispered as he slid the pyjama bottoms over his ankles. Quickly, he smoothed them to meet his waist and kissed his cheek. “My brave boy.”
The pyjamas were comfy and warmed Teddy up. He sighed contentedly, burrowing into them. Thankfully, no other coughing fit assaulted him due to the action. Dad took his little hand in his and placed him on top of his big bed. Then, carefully and painstakingly slowly, he put a hand over his forehead.
“You’ve got a fever, kiddo.”
“‘M fine, Dad,” Teddy mumbled, but his attempt sounded weak even to his own ears. His plan was going off the rails. Before he could say anything else, though, a cough made its way up his throat and begged to be released. Teddy’s eyes watered, trying to hold it in, but in the end he had no choice but to relent.
Dad rubbed soothing circles on his back, whispering sweet nothings to Teddy’s ear until the coughing fit finally subsided.
“Shh, how, everything’s alright. Take a deep breath for me.” Dad muttered, and I couldn’t help the whimper after my first attempt, if I tried. “It’s okay, Teddy.” Dad soothed. “Again. Take a big, long breath for Dad.” This time his efforts bore fruit. He drew in a shaky breath to Dad’s pleasure. But when he tried to do it again, the next breath hitched in his throat and caused another coughing fit. Tears sprang to Teddy’s eyes instinctively. “You’re being very good, Nico. We’ll get you some medicine, and you’ll feel way better.”
Teddy’s brain short-circuited. Medicine? Dad knew Teddy hated medicine. While wizarding droughts were a nightmare on any given day, Dad insisted that Teddy needed to build up an immunity to human sicknesses and so—when not afflicted with a wizarding sickness—gave him Muggle medicine—which was even worse. Apparently, the Muggle children ate everything in front of them, so the Muggles thought it a good idea to make all medicine taste awful, so they wouldn’t deliberately seek it out. Teddy pitied the grown-up Muggles.
“No,” He whined, exhaustion preventing him from stomping his foot against the floor. “No medicine.”
“Yes medicine,” Dad said firmly. He grabbed Teddy by the armpits and pushed his little body against his chest. Easily, he settled Teddy on his lap.
Teddy took the opportunity to cuddle up to him. It was not a rare treat, but he enjoyed it nevertheless. Most usually it was Auntie Ginny who cuddled him, probably next to Dad. Teddy always enjoyed soaking in their warmth, especially when he was sick.
Dad started rubbing his back in comforting circles and humming a tune that Teddy had heard Aunt Hermione singing to Victoire when she was tired. The soothing gestures coupled with the warmth permeating from Dad’s body made Teddy’s initial wariness wane. Dad would not take care of him like this if he was an inconvenience.
Teddy must have drifted off because the next time he opened his eyes, they were in the kitchen, house-elves chittering around them and preparing dinner. “Open up, buddy,” Dad said. Teddy groaned because at that exact moment he noticed two white lengthy capsules sitting innocently on Dad’s palm.
He whimpered and whined, turning his face into the crook of Dad’s neck. But to no avail. Dad caught my chin gently between two calloused fingers and pressed on his jaw with enough force to open his mouth but not enough to actually hurt him.
Teddy tried to squirm out of the way, panic clogging at his throat at the sight of medicine, but Dad only shushed him and determinedly popped the pills into his mouth with no further preamble. Teddy shook his head frantically, trying to spit them out, eyes watering at the disgusting taste, but Dad held his mouth firmly shut. He massaged his throat gently until Teddy had no other choice but to swallow.
“I know, cub,” Dad cooed as Teddy sniffled. The way the capsules had been forced down his throat left his oesophagus scratchy and raw. “Everything’s going to be okay. Cry it out.”
Dad rocked him back and forth as Teddy started wailing into his chest, little arms wrapped tightly around his neck. His face was scrunched from the tears and reddened like a tomato as he sniffled pitifully.
“Better now, my little teddy-bear?” Dad asked as he dropped a kiss on Teddy’s nose. His wails had dropped to whimpers, but he still shook his head stubbornly. Teddy felt his body vibrate with a chuckle that must have come from Dad.
Then, suddenly, he sensed a hand under his bum, steadying him as Dad started standing up. Teddy yelped at the sudden change in position, only to earn himself an apologetic rub to the back.
“Shh, Teddy. Everything’s alright.” Dad whispered, smiling down at him. Teddy quieted, burrowing himself deeper into him. Content with his docile attitude, Dad paced around the room with me in his arms, making little bouncy jerks on top of his knee for Teddy’s sake. It soothed him exponentially.
After what seemed to him about an hour—but his perception of time was faulty due to the young of his age, Aunt Hermione always told him—through half-lidded eyes Teddy realised they were heading back to Dad’s bedroom.
He felt himself being laid down on the comfortable mattress, but over the comforter. Teddy thought this was his cue to kip—though he found it weird that Dad had not tucked him in. With a hum, he curled himself into a ball only to whine in confusion as Dad started undressing him from waist down. He made a soothing noise and then turned him on his stomach.
The change in position made him whine and scowl, but Dad acted as if nothing had happened. Instead, something long was inserted steadily into Teddy’s bum.
He screamed at the contact; Dad’s whispered reassurance went ignored, as he kicked and squirmed. The something was big and cold, and it felt so weird against his bum. The longer it stayed in, the more the inside of his bum was starting to hurt and burn. “It’s just a thermometer, baby. Take a breath for me and count to sixty.” But Teddy could not concentrate on Dad’s comforting words. The burn had now become incessant, and the tears he had been keeping at bay spilt down his gaunt cheeks. He sobbed with pain as the thermometer was snugly settled in his bum. “Let’s count, baby.” Dad urged again. “Show me if you’ve learnt your numbers.”
“O-one,” Teddy choked out. Dad clapped twice with pride, but he just wanted a hug. “T-two…”
Teddy continued to count until he reached the long-awaited 60. The thermometer—as Dad had called it—had still not beeped. This, he guessed, meant that he had a fever. Presumably to keep him distracted, Dad instructed him to count sheep one by one.
He had counted twenty-nine sheep by the time the device beeped. Very quickly—so quickly Teddy barely felt it exit—Dad took it out.
“Oh, baby. You really are sick, huh?” Dad gathered him in his arms, deftly slipping his underpants and pyjama trousers to his waist.
The intrusion to his bum had made him pout and glare, but it only seemed to amuse his father further. In retaliation for Teddy’s glaring, Dad booped his nose and blew him a raspberry. Despite himself, the toddler giggled.
In response to that, Dad flashed him a beautiful smile that he reserved just for Teddy. It always made him feel warm and safe to be the recipient of such a gesture.
A yawn cracked his jaw. “Sleepy,” Teddy mumbled, trying to burrow deeper in Dad’s embrace. He heard a chuckle, and then Dad shifted him on his hip, so Teddy could lay his head on his shoulder more comfortably. He blew out a tired exhale.
“Do you want to kip with Dad in his study or in your bed?” Dad asked, voice tender.
Teddy contemplated. While the bed was obviously the most comfortable option, piled with a multitude of pillows and quilts, it didn’t have Dad.
“With you,” Teddy slurred, exhausted. He tightened his grip on Dad to prove his point.
“As you wish,” Dad told him. “But first, let’s try to bring that fever down.” Something very cold was applied to his forehead. Teddy whined in discomfort; he did not like the chill. He wanted warmth. “It’s a wet cloth, teddy-bear.” Dad grabbed his straying arms, preventing them from throwing the cloth to the floor.
Seeing his attempts were failing, Teddy leaned back into Dad’s chest and pouted. In response, Dad only kissed his forehead tenderly and instructed him to kip.
Taking his advice, Teddy’s eyes closed. As he was about to fall into darkness, he couldn’t help but think that maybe being taken care of was not such a bad thing.