Severitus fic where Harry gets sick, like really sick. He’s been living in Grimmauld Place for the past two months after the dementor attack, and he’s got no clue how he’s gotten ill. It’s just him and Snape locked up in the old dusty home, and the only thing he’s been doing is helping chop ingredients and sometimes helping Snape to brew one of his potions. Although once a week, there is a meeting where all of the Order members make there way into the house by Floo, so maybe he’s caught a stray cold from one of them.
Obviously, he doesn’t tell Snape about the tickle in his throat, but he does watch his professor extra close one of their brewing sessions to see if maybe he’s sick as well. Harry likes to think that over the last two months he’s gotten pretty good at reading Snapes expressions, considering they’ve decided to confine themselves to a single room for most of their days instead of taking advantage of the huge house. Snape seems pretty normal, so Harry takes him off the suspect list for who got him sick. He’ll be able to see everyone else the next day though, since that’s the day of their meeting.
Throughout the day the little tickle in the back of his throat turns into him excusing himself to the bathroom to have a coughing fit in the hallway, gripping the table when all the steam from the potions gives him a dizzy spell, and him stripping his sweater and over shirt from the fever he most likely has. He can tell that Snape has suspected that something is up, as he keeps throwing glances at him and checking in on Harry’s potions more often than usual. He talks to Harry and doesn’t mind when his questions sometimes go unanswered, letting the silence comfortably fill the room.
Snape doesn’t send Harry away for being sick, doesn’t even lock him away in his room as “quarantine” like the Dursleys do. He just gives him an extra long look when it’s clear he’s gotten dizzy or lightheaded, and spells Harry’s potions to stir themselves so he can have a chance to sit down. He doesn’t even get mad when Harry accidentally butchers some of his potion ingredients when chopping them up, just puts them to the side to deal with later. He does give him an awkward pat on his shoulder though, seeing Harry’s down trodden expression.
Harry is sent to bed a few hours later with a handful of vials stuffed in his pockets, various fever reducers and a pepperup potion. He assumes he was too sick to notice, but Snape had been brewing the Pepperup instead of the Skele-Gro and Essence of Dittany potion he was supposed to be brewing as a restock for Madam Pomfrey. He drinks the vials as he lays in bed, grimacing at the taste and the steam that’s pouring out of his ears from the pepperup. He falls into a fitful sleep listening to the quiet whistling.
The light pouring through his window when he wakes up suggests that it’s far later in the day than when he usually gets up. He has to steady himself on his bed when he tries to stand, not bothering to change out of his sleep clothes before leaving his room. He steadies himself with the wall as he slowly makes his way down the stairs, taking a break at the bottom to try and fend off his dizziness. He can hear muffled voices in the room over, which means he woke up late enough for the meeting to already start, he doesn’t even know what time it is. He takes a deep breath and makes his way over to Snapes makeshift lab, curling up in one of the comfier chairs tucked into a corner. The sound of a potion quietly brewing lulls him into another bout of sleep, he thinks it’s a sort of sleeping potion by the muted lavender scent.
Over the last two months him and Snape had gotten surprisingly close, which really shouldn’t surprise him, but considering their mutual hatred before the summer, it kinda did. The first two weeks were rough, everything they did seemed to clash or annoy each other, and Harry had a few outbursts when Snape had been especially cruel. By the end of the first month they had fallen into a sort of routine, and, to Harry’s shock, Snape had offered to help teach him potions. But only after he had ripped into Harry about how terrible his potions essay was, before actually physically ripping it to shreds in frustration. It was only supposed to be an occasional thing, but Harry found himself standing in front of a bubbling cauldron most of his days, answering questions and listing ingredients whenever asked. Harry, trying to get out of the quizzing, started to have, mostly one sided, casual conversation with his professor. He didn’t know when it started, but he found himself actually interested and seeking out information about his professor, getting in trouble a few times for asking too personal of a question, but each time he got scolded the words seemed to be less and less harsh.
Harry found himself in the lab even when he wasn’t helping with potions, sitting around and watching Snapes potions brew, or reorganizing (under Snapes watchful gaze) all of the ingredients laid out on various shelves. He decided he didn’t really mind preparing ingredients, even things like billywig sting slime or essence of anchovy weren’t too hard to get used to. The room was something he had started to associate with calm and, for the most part, happiness.
“Harry!”
He’s startled out of his sleep as Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him. He grumbled and he shut his eyes tight against the bright lights that were now turned on, lights that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen on in his room, as there’s usually a few lamps on but that’s about it. He moans in pain as Sirius continues to talk excitedly, his head pounding like a drum.
“I’ve been lookin for you, Harry! Thought maybe we’d lost you or something,” he laughed. “Didn’t think I would find you in Snivellus’s dungeon.”
Harry hummed quietly in response, unable to produce anything meaningful as Sirius continued to ramble about the meeting and everything going on outside the house. He sighed and sat up slightly, wincing at the full body ache. He felt a little bad for how annoyed he felt at Sirius, he did miss him, just… not at this very second.
“Black.” A sharp but quiet voice interrupted his speech. “Can’t you see your useless blather is bothering your oh so precious god son?”
Sirius sent him a nasty glare but stopped talking to truly take Harry in. He kneeled down to his level and placed the back of his hand on Harry’s forehead, grimacing at the temperature. “Harry…” Sirius murmured softly. “You not feeling too well?”
“Obviously.” Snape interrupted again, stepping closer to the pair, carrying another vial of pepperup.
Sirius scoffed and stepped to block Harry. “Back off, Snivellus!” He barked. “I’m taking him to his room, he doesn’t need your help.”
Harry shook his head, curling up further into the chair, hiding his face in the cushion. The bright lights and loud voices were making his headache worse, the sharp pain felt like stabbing behind his eyes. He cried out as hands grabbed at his arm, pulling him up from the seat. He tried to rip his arms out of their grip, tears filling his eyes as he struggled.
Suddenly, the hands were gone and the room was quiet. He continued to cover his face and cry into his hands. He felt silly, remembering the time he was sick as a child and cried in the middle of doing the dishes, Aunt Petunia had gotten so mad at him for making a scene that he was locked in his cupboard until he was better. The crying was in no way helping his headache, and he sniffled and wiped at his eyes but he just couldn’t stop.
After a few seconds, gentle hands were guiding him back onto the chair, which felt a whole lot more comfortable than it did before. He peaked his eye open and saw that the chair had been transformed into a small bed and quickly laid down, anxious to relax his aching body. The hands tried to get him to sit up again and he groaned.
“No, Sirius.” He whined quietly, hating how childish he sounded.
“He’s gone, Harry, it’s alright.” Snape murmured quietly, pressing a vial into Harry’s hands as he sat up. “This’ll make you feel better, drink.”
Harry quickly gulped it down, feeling the familiar stream of steam starting to pour out of his ears. He heard a quiet episkey and he felt his head heat up for a second before going back to normal, his headache nearly gone afterward. He blinked his eyes open and saw Snape awkwardly sitting on the edge of his bed, but it’s clear that his concern for Harry’s wellbeing was keeping him sat.
“What’s wrong with me, Professor?” Harry asked quietly, his throat aching.
“I’m not entirely positive.” He confessed. “It’s clearly not a muggle cold, as there’s no way it would persist through two rounds of pepperup, so it’s most likely a magical sickness you’ve somehow contracted.”
He pouted and threw himself back onto the bed, shutting his eyes against the dull ache. He finally realized that the bright lights were now turned off, replaced by the soft light of a few lamps around the room. “This sucks.”
“Yes, Potter, this does indeed suck as you put it.” Snape finally stood and began organizing some things around the room.
Harry finally took notice of everything around the room. There were a few ingredient bottles that were shattered on the floor, thankfully nothing that seemed too expensive, and there were a few furniture pieces that were out of place. He wasn’t quite sure how it all happened, but he assumed it was after Snape got Sirius to stop trying to drag him out of the room. Maybe he’d ask Snape about it when he’s feeling better.
“Rabid dog ruins everything he touches.” Snape murmured to himself, glaring at the mess as he flicked his wand at the floor, causing the glass to lift and lead itself to a waste basket in the corner.
Harry grimaced and turned to shove his face into the mattress, coughing pathetically. “He was just trying to help me.” Even to his own ears he sounded unsure.
Snape barked out a laugh as he continued to fix up the rest of the room, it quickly went back to looking like nothing had happened at all. After a few more minutes Snape had gone back to his cauldrons, checking that the potions hadn’t over brewed or been ruined somehow in the commotion. He tsked and spelled away one of the cauldrons, quickly grabbing a new one to replace it.
Soon enough the room filled with the sound of Snape chopping and crushing ingredients, the calming scent of lavender hitting him as soon as it was added to the cauldron. Harry closed his eyes and relaxed against the bed, listening to the potion start to bubble and the rhythmic sound of stirring. He suspected that all the crying he did was the reason he was so exhausted as he began to fall asleep. He heard some shuffling and then a soft blanket was placed over him, and maybe it was a hallucination from the sickness, but he swore he felt someone’s hand resting on his forehead for a few seconds before he finally fell asleep.
