Wrapped Tightly (Snape)
Winter at Hogwarts had a dark side, much the season itself. The chilly drafts were expected as were the cold puddles of melted snow in the Entrance Hall. Filtch bemoaned every time he scuttled by with a mop. And yes, some fell prey to bouts of perpetually gray-skied induced seasonal depression. The magic of the season kept most of the blues away, but there was one seasonal misery that couldn’t be vanquished by pretty decorations or decadent feasts: germs.
Spreading faster than the hottest rumors via sneezes, shared cauldrons, and the occasional ill-advised snogging sessions, sickness indiscriminately ripped through the student body in the form of the flu. Naturally, professors valiantly taught through the chorus of sniffles and coughs, well aware it’d take a Herculean effort to get all classes caught up, only to succumb themselves. Even in the safest place in Wizard Britain winter illness reigned supreme.
Notices of student absences piled on each house head’s door, eventually making their way to Minerva. Trelawney was the first professor to fall victim. She cloistered herself in the Astronomy Tower, a convenient excuse to skirt the staff room to many’s relief. But then Pomona ran a fever, followed by Sinastra and Hagrid, his own coughs thundering through the corridors.
Having served as Potions Master for twenty odd years, Severus Snape had learned to enter the term prepared. By October he’d brewed enough Pepper Up potions to supply a small army for the impending siege. Once December hit, his complacence became apparent. He underestimated this year’s collection of walking Petri dishes otherwise known as students. Soon the flu conquered every corner of the castle, effectively cancelling classes the Friday before exams. A veritable disaster.
He brewed late into the night, rebuffing Poppy’s plea to take care of himself. Her solution to submit an order to St. Mungo’s was out of the question. In all his time as Potion’s Master, they never resorted to groveling to St. Mungo’s and he intended to keep it that way, if only to keep his pride intact.
He and Erica woke up the next morning with matching symptoms: fever, fatigue, muscle aches, and full body chills. They didn’t even bother wasting Poppy’s time for a diagnosis, and instead shuffled to their respective desks to scrawl a note to Minerva.
“Are you hungry?” Erica croaked, starting the coffee pot with shaking hands. Poor Severus looked as miserable as she felt.
“No,” he rasped, his dry lips brushing her feverish brow as he accepted his mug. Despite their illness, they wouldn’t break their morning coffee ritual. “Where’s Virgil?”
“I think he’s helping the elves and Poppy check in on students,” Erica sighed, tightly gripping her mug as another tremor ripped through her.
Grunting, he nodded and made himself comfortable in his armchair. The only thing to do was ride it out. Erica disappeared for a moment, returning with an armful of blankets. In her infinite kindness, she draped Severus with his preferred cozy blanket before covering herself with the rest on the couch.
Slouching in his armchair, too weakened to change out of his pajamas, Severus glared at his purple clad feet. The thick woolen socks (thanks Albus) were too ridiculous to see the light of day, but were undeniably welcomed in his misery.
The day went by in a haze. Severus would read a couple pages, inevitably doze off, startle awake, flick his eyes to Erica, then return to his book and repeat the cycle again. Erica appeared to spend most of the day asleep with a book held to her chest. At least he assumed. He couldn’t quite see, her head currently sandwiched between two pillows.
The mountain of blankets shuddered as she shoved herself into a sitting position, willing away the lightheadedness. “You look like death warmed over.”
Glaring, Severus set down the book he was to miserable to comprehend. “Thank you for the observation. You, however, look radiant as a butterfly emerging from your cocoon.”
Erica snorted a laugh that devolved into a coughing fit. “Ugh, I feel about as useful as one. The fucking flu made us pathetic.”
“Speak for yourself,” Severus muttered, his own voice coarser than normal. “I’m perfectly capable of suffering in dignified silence.”
He’d selflessly (or stupidly) given Poppy his entire stock of Pepper-Up potions for the students, resulting in he and Erica taking the ones from St. Mungo’s that Poppy ordered anyways. Although brewed by an equally “qualified” Potions Master, Severus could taste the abhorrent quality in contrast to his own.
“Yeah, your old man groans and bright purple socks are super dignified.”
“I was deep in thought,” Severus scoffed, the day’s first smile forming on his lips. “And you swore on our wedding day to keep my secrets,” he gestured to his feet. “That includes my possession of obnoxious socks.”
“Mmm, not sure I remember that vow.”
Gently, she reclined once more. They laid in silence a couple moments, taking solace in their shared suffering. Severus didn’t handle being sick well. Rarely did he receive any comfort as a boy and certainly didn’t solicit any as a man. Despite his reputation on the rare occasion a Slytherin fell gravely ill, he did take an interest. He wasn’t a friendly as Filius or openly worried as Pomona in view of the students. Nor did he descend into a spiral of worry as Minerva was prone to do. His concern was more discrete, usually a visit after the child was asleep. An aloof facade only Poppy saw through.
That luxury disappeared when Erica came into his life. He couldn’t hide his worry for her, much to his perpetual annoyance. Part of his discomfort stemmed from the fact he couldn’t alleviate hers. Love was to blame for his typically stoic concern twisting into something he didn’t particularly enjoy, vulnerability. And she didn’t have to say it, but he knew she felt the same.
“How do you tolerate all those layers?”
“Because I’m cold,” Erica croaked pathetically, sinking deeper into her sea of blankets.
“You’ve commandeered the entirely of our textiles,” Severus chuckled, readjusting the lone blanket on his lap.
“I gave you one, drama queen,” Erica teased playfully, the sparkle in her eyes not quite extinguished in their current wretched state. “And I didn’t take your cloak.”
“How generous of you.”
Rolling to her side, Erica pointed a shaky pale finger in his direction with a tired smile. “This is your fault.”
“My fault?” Severus asked with as much mock outrage as he could muster. “How exactly did you come to that conclusion given you could’ve caught it in any room of this castle?”
“Because I said so.”
“Ah, the ironclad argument of a toddler. How ever will I overcome it?”
The blankets shook again with Erica’s raspy laughter. In sickness, boredom, and everything in between, they could talk ruthlessly bicker with each other. That would never change.
“Can’t argue with it if it’s true,” Erica teased.
“Perhaps you should instead on reflect on your lacking immune system.”
“Oh, I’m reflecting alright,” Erica sniffed, looking slightly less miserable now. “Reflecting on how I regret letting my plague-ridden husband kiss me.”
Severus’ lips twitched again. Yes, his mood was vastly improving. “Plague-ridden? That’s dramatic even for you.”
“I’m too sick to be dramatic,” she shot back, her evident delight betraying her artificial exasperation. “Because of you. And I’m still cold.”
Bilby chose that moment to pop in and deliver a pot of tea, only offering a sympathetic smile before disappearing to continue delivering meals to those quarantined to their rooms. Even some of the other elves had fallen under the weather.
“Did you bribe Bibly to make this for us on top of all the other work they have to do?”
“Bribe implies negotiation,” Severus smirked, pouring them each a cup. “I merely implored they take pity on us.”
“Translation, you complained until he caved,” Erica grinned, accepting a dose of herbal warmth.
“I asked while you were asleep, but told him it wasn’t an immediate need and to deliver at his leisure,” Severus relented. “He waved away any form of payment, more excited I asked him for something over Virgil. That elf would do anything for you.” His eyes found hers, soft tenderness shining. “As would I.”
They enjoyed another stretch of silence, the only sounds being the clink of spoons and occasional sniffle or groan. Soon Erica’s eyelids grew heavy again, another nap on the horizon.
“I don’t know how you can stand it, I’m still freezing.”
Sighing as if it was the greatest inconvenience he’d ever endured, Severus got to his feet and shuffled to the sofa. He grabbed the corner of her blanket pile and slid underneath, pulling her closer to him as he settled beside her.
His wife squeaked adorably in surprise, as her head found his chest. “So you were holding out on me.”
“Nonsense, I’m killing two birds with one stone. Preventing you from allegedly freezing to death and silencing your complaints in the process.”
“You’re far too smug for a man whose nose is as red as a quaffle,” Erica yawned, slapping his chest playfully.
“And I’d take your insults more seriously if you didn’t look like a sneezy elf.”
She chuckled softly, her warm breath fanning across his chest. They laid like that for a long while, wrapped tightly in their shared cocoon. Erica couldn’t help but smile. Severus made everything better, even being sick.
“You’re pretty cute when you’re sick and grumpy,” Erica murmured drowsily.
Just thinking about tomorrow made him pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. “I’m already envisioning the inevitable headaches.”
“What headaches?”
“Make up assignments and general stupidity once the miscreants grow bored with their rejuvenated health.”
“See? You’re just a grumpy old man.”
Severus brushed his lips across her slightly less feverish forehead. “You’re delirious. Now sleep.”
“Admit it.” Erica’s eyes now now closed. “This is nice.”
He didn’t answer, but as she drifted off, Severus’ arm wrapped tightly around her and that was answer enough.