Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Call me morbid, call me pale.

I’ve spent six years on your trail.

Six long years on your trail.

Half A Person - The Smiths

Wind blew through the nearly vacant hallways causing a severe draft. A light whistle of wind licking the crevices of stoney walls, followed by eerie silence as the wind slid by. No one was out of bed. Or rather no one should be out of bed.

Cutting through the reigning silence, the swish of a heavy bottomed cloak slipped by nearly imperceptible. The low thudding of boots emerged as a more prominent sound. Severus hated his patrol route on a normal day, but with the winter holidays sending many of the staff running top over tail from Hogwarts, his patrol route only extended further up into the castle. Another draft, a shiver, and a wrapping of the cloak ever so slightly tighter only caused more displeasure. A walk at night was never particularly to Severus’ distaste, chronic insomnia plaguing him more years than not, but the chill seeping from all corners was. 

“Hall 21, clear. Round, hall 22,” could be heard muttered under breath. Tracking steps was the only battle against the boredom of walking in circles for hours. That and the delight in catching a student out of bed, but with only 13 students left for break, none of which were in his house, there wasn’t even joy in his hunt. 

Turning another corner near the Great Hall steps had him taking pause. The front doors to the castle were heavy wooden things built far before Scotland was even known by that name. Why they weren’t spelled to keep the draft out was beyond Severus, but Albus cited “tradition” when it came to things like that. Severus thought it was stupid, just another opportunity for snotty brats to truly become snottier as the whipping wind brought with it the seasonal flu. Another draft, another shiver, but unfortunately the cloak he wore couldn’t be drawn in any further. 

“ Calidum, ” Severus said with a quick circular motion. A slight spark of warm rose from the tip of his wand and towards his bare hands,

“Should have broughten gloves,” and with that he marched up the stairs to continue the route, oblivious to the gentle creek of the large ringed door knob being lifted and the large wooden door cracking open by an unseen force, slipping out into the dark Highland night. 

Harry wasn’t homesick, at least not of Privet Drive, but a sinking feeling had settled in his bones. Perhaps it was the cold, perhaps the desolation of a school usually filled with such life, or perhaps it was grief. He couldn’t tell and dared not to probe further to uncover what was lying still. 

It was cold outside. Not raining or worse, snowing, but below freezing with a blustery wind flying past. Not good weather for flying unfortunately, though Harry couldn’t imagine how to fly slow enough to keep his father’s cloak wrapped around not only himself, but his broom. No. Harry simply was out for fresh air. With his roommates all gone for the holidays and the rest of the few remaining students making themselves scarce, the silent stagnant air of Gryfindor towers felt oppressive. Despite the late hour and biting cold, it was worth the risky journey out to the grounds for a breath. 

Harry’s feet carried him instinctually towards Hagrid’s hut, but he stopped himself as the gentle plums of smoke came into view. Hagrid, despite his warm and caring nature, could feel overwhelming at the best of times. The wind blew, rattling the wicker roof and attempting to displace Harry’s cloak. Harry shivered, pulling the cloak closer around him to no avail. Invisibility cloaks aren’t meant for warmth. Turning, Harry walked back up the hill towards the Quidditch Pitch. The stands seemed to sway with the gale, wood creaking with age. Walking over through the bottom of the pitch, Harry immediately sat down with his back against the wall. It was dark, but with such little light the stars shimmered against the night sky. It was peaceful, if not melancholic. 

Folding his arms up to tuck his hands under his armpit, Harry curled tighter to keep the body heat in. Though cold, the fresh cool air felt like a balm on his mind. In the aftermath of Sirius, Harry hadn't quite been able to calm his racing thoughts. Not even sleep was a respite as the nightmares would come in hard and fast leaving Harry a clammy, frightened mess. On multiple occasions he’d woken with a scream scraping against his teeth which he stamped down with an iron will and fear of waking Ron 5 feet to his left. Sleep was becoming more and more rare, and Harry had given up on the endeavor entirely this break with no witness to point out the smudges growing under his eyes. No witness except for the endless sky staring back at him. 

Harry sat for what felt like hours, but most likely was only around one. With the cold creeping in and dark winter clouds blowing in to cover the stars, he could smell moisture in the air. With great effort Harry uncurled, hands out from under his arms and feet coming untucked from the fetal position he had assumed. Standing slowly to prevent the black splotches that tend to creep into his vision, Harry tugged the cloak closer around his making sure that his feet didn’t stick out awkwardly from the bottom. Trudging back up the hill to the front doors of the castle was a battle of wills and a testament to his determination to return to the warm fire in the common room. Approaching the massive doors, Harry reached towards the ringed handles before tugging and slipping into the main hallway. Turning to close the door as quietly as possible, Harry was startled by a distinct clearing of the throat.

“Ah, Mr. Potter and that infernal cloak up to no good again? No use in trying to pretend that’s not you, off with it,” demanded Snape.

There was a brief moment of silence in which Harry contemplated running back out the castle, stunning Snape, and crying all at once, but in a moment of maturity he simply took the cloak off.

“Professor–”

“Ah-Ah, Mr. Potter. No excuses. Not only is it beyond a reasonable hour, but you were also parading around the grounds! With me. Now!”

Harry scrambled after Snape balling the cloak in his arms as to not let it drag along the floor.

“Sir, I am really sorry, but as you said the hour is late–”

“Indeed it is late. Quiet would be much appreciated at this time.”

“Don’t you think it would be best for us to just go back to bed, sir?” Harry asked in a desperate attempt to escape as Snape led them deeper into the dungeons of the building, the hallways growing colder and dampening each staircase down. 

“You should have thought about the hour before you decided it was within your rights to march around the grounds at night! No, seeing as you’re not tired enough, you’ll be joining me down in my office now ,” Snape snarled. Realizing it was pointless to argue Harry dragged his feet after Snape. 

Finally arriving at the door to Snape's office, Snape rapped the door in an intricate sequency before swinging the door open and entering. Harry stood frozen in the hallway. 

“Any time now, Mr.Potter,” Snape spat out. Rushing into the room Harry threw himself into the chair sitting across from Snape. Standing behind his desk, Snape flick his wand towards the fireplace in the corner with a quick Incendio , with such ferocity Harry flinched back. Snape squinted his eyes before gracefully placing himself in his chair. 

“Potter.”

“Professor.”

“Do not play such games with me, Potter!” Snape yelled, slamming a hand on the desk and rising to tower over Harry. “Tell me what in Merlin’s name had you tramping around in the dead of Scottish winters far past curfew? Do you even know the hour?”

“I… I was just… I–”

“Cease you dribble! And simply tell me–”

“I couldn’t sleep!”

“... You couldn’t sleep,” Snape asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Harry replied.

“You couldn’t sleep, so you decided to slip on into the Highlands off to who knows where? Do you realize the utter idiocy of your little escapade? Dangerous creatures don’t only roam the Forbidden Forest at night!” Snape bellowed. When Harry didn’t reply, Snape pitched the bridge of his nose. “Seeing as you’re struggling so deeply with rest, I suppose you’ll simply have to expend all your excess energy in detention. For the next five days. Be here at 8 am on the dot tomorrow.”

“But, sir, it’s break!” 

“Ah, it is, isn’t it? Well Suppose you’ll have ample time,” Snape grit out. “You are dismissed.”

“But, sir, please–”

“You are dismissed , Mr. Potter! It is late, and in shocking news I too am human and require sleep. Tomorrow, 8 AM. Do not be late,” Snape snarled before gesturing harshly to the door. He then turned towards the fire to snuff the flames.

Fuming, Harry rose quickly ignoring the spots blocking out his vision before bundling his cloak to his chest.

“That, Mr.Potter, will remain here,” Snape threw out behind him pointing at the cloak, “until I deem you responsible for it.”

“You can’t do that!” cried Harry.

“If you decide to go through the Hogwarts rule book, which I doubt you even knew existed, you will see very clearly I can confiscate ‘dangerous or misused items’ which I am doing now, so please place it on my desk,” explained Snape.

Harry blanched, pulling his father’s cloak even closer to his chest than before. A moment passed in which neither moved. Snape slowly turned around to face Harry.

“Potter, put it on my desk now and get out of my damned office, boy!” shouted Snape. As if shocked, Harry rushed forward depositing the cloak before turning tail and running from the office in a panic, not that Snape noticed. He simply snarled collecting the cloak and turning to the wall tapping the bricks in a specific pattern before disappearing into his quarters. 

Harry sped the whole way back to Gryffindor tower before he realized nobody besides Vernon had ever called him “boy” like that before. 

Chapter Text

Drinking was an ugly habit, one Severus was always glad he hadn’t picked up. Albus, disregarding his distaste for inebriation, every Yule gave him the same gift as the rest of the staff– a nice bottle of aged Fire Whiskey. Minerva, since his first year teaching, had always “valiantly” agreed to take the bottle of his hands in a move so Gryffindor-esk it was almost Slytherin. Now though, with the stone walls of his quarters, he desperately wanted that burning warmth Fire whiskey would provide. But, alas, he didn’t drink. 

Checking his watch, a dated thing, Severus winced at the time. Detentions were never something he particularly liked. Doleing them was fun, but hosting them was not Severus’ favorite pastime activity. With most of the staff gone and Filch off to Merlin knows where, he was going to have to undertake Potter’s detention. 

“Eight AM was a mistake,” Severus muttered as he dragged another blanket over to his bed. He was asleep the minute his head hit the pillow.

Harry woke up with the sun most days. A remnant habit he hadn’t been able to kick from years living with Petunia Dursley. Despite the winter darkness, Harry still woke up far earlier than he would have liked too. A quick glance at his watch told him he’d only been asleep a few hours. Still sweating from the night terrors that plagued his sleep, slowly Harry rose to shower. Fortunately, with all his friends gone for the holidays, he didn’t have to worry about his noise level as he clumsily slammed his trunk open grabbing a wad of clothes. 

The shower was short and Harry was changed by 6:30 AM. Still time. Though breakfast in the castle was already open for those who similarly rose with the sun, Harry’s stomach rolled at the idea of food. Maybe after Snape’s detention… 

Harry’s train of thought was interrupted by a quick tap, tap at the window. Hedwig nearly blended into the sky with its heavy clouds. She pecked at the window again forcefully. Rising, Harry let her in, smoothing a few feathers that had shifted due to the blustering wind. Hedwig held out her leg which had two letters bound to it. There was no guess as to who wrote them. Hermoine’s neat script announced her hefty letter was not to be opened until Yule. Ron’s had no such writing so Harry tore the envelope open. 

HARRY!!

You won’t BELIEVE what Dad surprised us with! A TRIP TO FRANCE! Isn’t that cool!

Of course, he’s got some ministry work, but I’m so excited. I’ve heard the women there are alike nowhere else! At least that’s what Fred and George say…

I was worried after all the stuff we wouldn’t be able to travel, but because it’s ministry duties, Dad said we should be fine. It’s only a few days, but I’m so excited! It’s been too long since we did something fun, y’know?

I miss you man. Stay warm! This winter’s bloody freezing.

Happy Christmas,

Ron

Ron’s handwriting was terrible, but Harry smiled regardless. He’d been deciphering Ron’s scrawl for several years and admittedly his was much better. Harry’s smile faded quickly. Ron’s absence this Holiday season only exasperated the gnawing feeling biting at Harry. The loss, or whatever felt much deeper without him. He was glad he was having fun. 

“Don’t be selfish,” Harry muttered before writing a quick response back. With a scratchy Happy Christmas written at the bottom, Harry rolled up the parchment and tied it to Hedwig’s leg. Giving her a few pellets, she was back off into the early Scottish morning. The cloud seems heavier, threatening snow. Great , thought Harry , more cold .

The watch ticked quietly. 7:13 AM. A bit more time to kill. Harry gathered his old school cloak and decided wandering around the castle was better than loitering around for another thirty minutes to pass. He made his way out of the bedroom without making a sound.

Scratch, Scratch, Scratch. 

The only sound filling Severus’ quarters was that of quill on parchment. A sip of coffee. More scratching. A glance at the watch indicated the time was now 7:45 AM. 

Rising, creaking joints and all, Severus poured more coffee into the chipped mug. With two sips the lukewarm beverage was gone. He had a detention to prepare. With no dirty cauldrons to scrub clean of sludge and caked on layers, Severus had to pull out a new meaningless task for Potter to complete. Ingredients to prep perhaps? The infirmary’s stores were low. Had the detention been with a more proficient student perhaps he could have even enlisted them in helping prepare potions, but with Potter’s abysmal track record with a cauldron, Severus decided he’d rather not waste the ingredients.

Exiting his quarters into his office, a stack of parchment piled precariously, Severus tapped the walls in reverse. The bricks shifted and pulled, hiding the doorway to his rooms. Sitting at his desk his watch ticked away. It was an old thing and remarkably muggle, but for some reason the habit of wearing one persisted through from his childhood into adulthood. This one in particular had already had the buckle replaced twice. It needed to be rewound every morning and yet, it was the only one Severus would wear, tucked under two layers of clothes and resting on the opposite arm to his mark. He wouldn’t let those two mingle. 

It was now 7:55 AM. Early is on time and on time is late as they say.

7:55 AM.

Harry looked up from his watch to the dark oak door in front of him. He was early. He should be early. Late was unacceptable, but he delayed knocking. The less time with Snape, the better. So he waits. And waits. And waits. Harry was once told he was a fidgeter, but now he was impeccably still watching the second hand on his watch go round and round. 

7:59 AM. It was time to bite the bullet. 

Harry knocked tentatively. 

“Enter,” came the muffled response. Tugging the handle, Harry quietly slipped into Snape’s office. 

“Ah, cutting it rather close are we, Potter?” Snarled Snape. Harry didn’t respond, but his stomach rolled. He was tired.

“Follow me then, let us begin.”

Harry followed Snape into the adjoining classroom. The counters usually filled with cauldrons and bunsen burners were empty and wiped clean of the grime that usually covered them. It was dark and without the tiny crackling fires the room was freezing. Harry shivered wishing he’d brought his hat. And his scarf. One table had a cutting board, knife, and list placed in precise ordering. Snape gestured for Harry to stand there. He did.

“Seeing as your skill with that cauldron causes more harm than good, you will simply be assisting me these next few days. Madam Promphrey’s stores are running low, most likely due to your clumsy misadventures, so I must brew. The list next to you has your tasks. You will do them with exacting precision or you will do them again. Am I understood?”

Harry nodded silently.

“A verbal response, Potter,” spit Snape. 

“Yes, sir .”

“You will not disturb me as I brew. I require silence. The only sound I should hear is the chopping of mandrake root.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Snape turned towards the front corner of the room where a cauldron was already set up and ingredients were tediously placed left to right on the table beside it. As Snape began brewing, Harry began gathering his ingredients. 

Once Potter began chopping quietly, Severus’ shoulders dropped ever so slightly. Imperceptibly. Severus had always been an introvert and having to work with someone else in the room was never to his preference, but alas. What must be done must be done. 

With an aguamenti the cauldron filled with clear water. Incendio and the burner lit as well. Starting by crushing bay leaves, the room slowly began to fade into the background. Brewing, much like occlusion and defense, had always come easily to Severus. The methodical chopping, grinding, juicing, stirring, pausing, turning up the heat, stirring, kept his hands busy and mind focused. Nothing matters, but the chemical combinations and specification of a brew. Though the Pepper-Up potion was a first year potion and one Severus could have out-sourced, he found pleasure in the simplicity. It also allowed him to subtly watch Potter. 

Potter hadn’t uttered a word except for confirmative Yes, sir ’s. It seemed… out of character. Potter’s knife work, Severus could begrudgingly admit in his mind, wasn’t terrible. He silently took the mandrake root and diced it methodically into even pieces. If only his brewing wasn’t distracted, Severus could admit Potter wouldn’t be his worst student. Or the penultimate worst student. Severus was waiting for Longbottom to fail his OWLs. Allowing his mind to refocus Severus observed Potter. 

Potter looked tired. And cold. The cloak he wore wasn’t built for the winter weather, Severus noted. The left sleeve cuff was splitting and a thread was dangling from it. Potter’s glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them up with the back of the hand. Seemingly feeling Severus’ gaze he looked up, but Severus had already averted his eyes. Harry looked back down at his task. 

Chop, bubble, Chop, Grind.

Chapter Text

Harry did not make his way to the Great Hall. Though he hadn’t eaten much in the past two days, his stomach rolled. Anything that was going to be eaten was likely to come up again. Dinner, Harry thought. I’ll eat dinner . 

Decision made, Harry had an hour to kill. With no new letters, except for Hermoine’s Christmas note, there wasn’t much to do. Hedwig was still out flying and Harry didn’t know any of the current students staying at the castle. Not that he had the energy to really look. Allowing his legs to carry him, Harry ascended the stairs from the dungeons moving up through the castle. 

It had always seemed unproductive to Harry that the staircases moved, but it did always aid his wandering. Two steps in and the marble began to shift to the left causing Harry to stumble. Guess I’m not going back to the common room , thought Harry. Landing with a thud Harry tumbled off the staircase and through the drafty halls. Though the midday sun had begun to rise the chill continued to permeate the air. Harry’s hands had begun to shake, so he tucked them under his armpits and continued along the hall. Passing the courtyard, the cloud had seemed to droop even lower. Two Hufflepuff girls sat out, bundled to the gills, giggling over some piece of paper. They looked up as Harry passed, but without much of a passing glance they returned to their quiet conversation. Nobody cares enough to look. Harry continued on.

Potter had not shown face in the Great Hall. Typically this observation would not cross Severus’ mind, but with only thirteen students around it was hard not to notice an absent face. Especially one Severus had an obligation to. 

No matter, perhaps he had eaten too much breakfast. The fumes in the dungeon did have a way of making one nauseous. Severus swiftly ate, rising from the table with a nod towards Pomphrey and Pomona, the only other staff present until New Years. Back to the classroom. 

12:15 PM. A few more minutes of peace.

At 12:29 PM exactly Potter returned to the dungeon classroom to complete day one of detention. Snape immediately set him gutting toads. The stench of formaldehyde filled Harry’s nose which he scrunched in an attempt to escape the smell. Looking up, Snape serenely was stirring at a cauldron which was slowly turning from an ashy blue into a pleasant lavender. Looked like a calming draft. Or maybe it was just a temporary color?

“I suggest you pay attention to the toads in front of you. I’m not opposed to holding you until the task is complete,” commented Snape without even looking up.

“Is that a Calming Draft?” Snape looked up briefly, eyebrows furrowed together in a stern look. 

“If you’re having a difficult time identifying this, then perhaps you should spend the rest of your break studying for the upcoming OWLs, Mr. Potter.”

Harry scowled before returning to his de-gutting. The frogs seemed to scowl back at him. De-gutting was always a disgusting and mildly upsetting task. When he was in primary school Harry remembered the day the sixth years would do their frog dissections. There would be a sickly chemical smell hanging over the school for the week and the students were always a slight shade of green.

As Harry continued slicing and separating the guts from the bodies, Snape continued his observations from the morning. It was clear the snow had begun to fall as the temperature in the dungeon continued to drop. Despite the well made cloak and flame in front of him, even Severus was feeling the chill setting in. Potter, who was covered in slime and ill-dressed, seemed to be shivering. Serves him right for forgetting a winter cloak thought Severus. 

Another draft blew through causing the knife to slip out of Harry’s hand. A clatter rang out in the classroom. Harry lunged quickly to pick up the knife, but with his hands numb from the chill the knife managed to knick his hand. 

“Shit,” muttered Harry as he pulled his hand in closer. 

“Language, Mr. Potter,” chided Snape who finally looked up to see Potter hunched over his hand. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“Let me see,” Snape said as he strode over to Harry’s station. Harry quickly withdrew his hand in further. 

“Mr. Potter, let me see your hand, I will not ask twice,” growled Snape. Harry flinched before slowly infurling his hand. Though the knick wasn’t horrible, it was deep enough to cause a decent amount of bleeding. 

Reaching out Snape went to grab Harry’s wrist only for him to snap his arm back towards himself. 

“Potter, desist this childish game of back and forth immediately! Give me your hand!” Snape snapped. Harry finally relented allowing Snape to take hold of his wrist. The grip he had was surprisingly gentle as Snape muttered an Episkey. Just as it had been there the cut quickly faded away. 

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly. 

“It’s nothing. Finish tidying your station. I think that is quite enough excitement for today,” Snape stated as he strode back towards his cauldron. Giving it a quick stir and adding a touch more ginger, he turned the heat down to let it simmer. Potter seemed to hustle around the room in an attempt to escape the detention as soon as possible. Snape huffed to himself. Still four more days to go . 

Harry, having finally finished tidying his station to a standard that even Petunia would accept, turned to flee the dungeons as soon as possible. 

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry froze. He was so close . “Yes, sir?” 

“Do wear your winter cloak tomorrow. The temperature is only going to drop further and we don’t want another accident. Eight AM sharp, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, sir,” muttered Harry. 

Finally with a wave of his hand, Snape dismissed Harry. If only I had a winter cloak was the only thought that crossed Harry’s mind as he trudged up the stairs.

Chapter Text

Dinner at the Great Hall, to Severus, was typically a grueling affair. Hundreds of children stuffed into lines at their tables for nearly one hour, loud and restless. Food flying through the air was nearly as common as the ghosts. Messy, raucous, and overwhelming. Now though, with so few students and even fewer faculty, the Great Hall seemed almost peaceful. 

The dull clattering of utensils and quiet conversation allowed Severus to decompress from his day of detention with Potter. Though he wanted to pick at the flaws of Potter’s chopping or preparation he couldn’t seem to find one beyond the possible contamination of his frog supply. 

They’re not that vital , his mind chided. Go away, he shut that door. 

“Has anyone told you not to play with your food, Severus?” Pomphrey had taken residence in the chair one down from his. She smiled serenely at him, teasing. 

“Perhaps.”

“Well I would be remiss not to remind you. Your mash is looking more like mush the way you're pushing it back and forth on your plate,” She pointed out. Severus looked down, noting his peas and mash had turned a bit of a sickly green.

“Sickle for your thoughts?”

“Simply tired. Detentions,” he replied. He took a bite of his food simply to prove a point.

“Who’s the unlucky student? And why do I have a feeling it’s Mr. Potter?” 

“I caught him sneaking about after curfew.”

“Ah, I suppose that’s fair… though you tend to be too hard on that boy.”

Turning away from Madam Pomphrey scolding, Severus turned towards the Great Hall again. Potter’s not here , he noted. He hasn’t been here all day .

“Excuse me, Poppy, I have something to see to,” Severus said as he stood, “Would you let me know if you see Potter anytime soon? I forgot to give him his tasks for tomorrow.”

Pomphrey gave him a long look before nodding with a wave of her hand. With that Severus made his way out of the Hall, cloak swishing as he went. Poppy furrowed her brow as she looked about the Great Hall. The ceiling reflected the incoming grey winter weather.

The snow had begun to settle in thick white sheets across the Highlands. The heavy clouds muffled all sounds as the snow fell thick and fluffy. The wind whistled by blowing some of the flurries in Severus’ face. 

Searching for Potter was not a common pastime for Severus, despite Potter and his friends’ insistence that he was out to get them. A close eye, yes, but Severus detested hunting people down. Too much energy. Alas.

Standing at the top of the hill, Severus casted a quick Calidum over his gloved hands. The green house windows were fogged with condensation and Hagrid’s chimney billowed as the half-giant puttered outside in the snow, chopping wood into neat stacks by his door. Though Severus had initially assumed Potter would have found his way to Hagrid’s for dinner, he was mistaken. He’d been watching this scene for well over ten minutes and Hagrid had made no indication of having guests. You could go ask him , his mind muttered. He was not in the mood for conversation. 

Turning towards the castle, a quick movement caught his eye. Trudging a few steps over the ridge, Severus looked down towards the Quidditch pitch to see a bright figure twisting this way and that. There were few rules about recreational Quidditch during the holidays, despite Poppy’s pushing over the years due to an inordinate amount of injuries in the off-season. So though Potter’s post-dinner flying wasn’t against the rules, certainly flying in such hazardous conditions was. As Severus made his way down the hill he watched as Potter turned sharply before diving. As Potter plummeted towards the earth, Severus’ heart seemed to plummet as well. At the last second Potter yanked his broom up to come to hover mere feet above the ground. Just as soon as he had dived, he went flying back up again. Severus, who had stopped at the base of the stands, watched hidden beneath an awning out of the snow. You should stop him, his mind supplied, this can’t be safe. For some reason though, Severus couldn’t bring himself to stop him. He looks lighter , he thought. He’d let him fly. Just for a minute.

Flying is a lot like riding a bike. Not that Harry ever learned how to ride a bike or ever even had been allowed on the cherry red one Dudley had gotten for his eighth birthday, but he imagined they were much the same. The first time is rickety, with the stick shuddering under your weight, but when you finally gain momentum it’s like you’ve known how to do it all along. Yes, learning how to fly must be a lot like riding a bike. 

Harry’s mind never felt quieter than when he rode a broom. Cutting through the wind like a knife, Harry could twist, turn, and drop at breakneck speed with no fear. There were many things to be afraid of but being on a broom was never one. Right after Snape released him from detention Harry grabbed his gear and broom and made out for the pitch. The snow was falling, but that didn’t phase him. He’d flown through conditions worse than this. Mounting his broom and jetting off into the sky the rest of the world faded away. The chill that had taken residence in his chest began to thaw as he drove harder and faster. The broom Sirius had gifted him, though no longer new and shiny, was in great condition. Harry sometimes believed that Sirius’ magic must have found a way to make the broom ever so slightly faster, but perhaps that was just a bittersweet thought. Faster . Don’t think about that.

And so he flew. Higher and faster, more recklessly. The time seemed to drift by as the snow grew thicker and the sky darker. Just a bit further. A bit faster. He should have been faster. He could have maybe saved Sirius, Cedric, if he’d just gone faster. Shut it off! Turn here, dive here, last minute pull the reins, back to the hoops, repeat the maneuver. 

Again and again Harry repeated the same turn, dive, and pull attempting with each deathly turn to shake the frost that he’d grown so used to. Had hours passed? Harry finally pulled his broom into a hover glancing around. The twilight had set in as the winter had shortened the Scottish days into long Scottish nights. It’s gone past dinner , though Harry. He hadn’t eaten all day, though his appetite continued to not reflect this fact. The snow drift had grown as the flakes which had begun as soft fluffy things came down icier. Shit, Harry thought, curfew . Making his way to the ground, Harry’s worn trainers sank beneath the snow causing them to grow wet immediately. Long walk , Harry thought as he turned only to immediately make eye contact with a damp Severus Snape. 

Potter looked… unwell. As a gust of wind blew through, Potter seemed to sway with the breeze. He was soaked. His Quidditch gear had gone from Gryfindor red to something more akin to rust as the snow had soaked through the layers of clothing. His feet were sunk into the snow banks and his broom was clutched in an ungloved hand. Hair windswept and eyes vacant, Severus couldn’t help but make a comparison to a flushed rat. 

Neither of them said a word, just watching each other carefully, before finally the tension grew too much. 

“I was flying,” Potter said. The snow had begun to obscure the stands of the pitch.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. I can see that,” Snape replied. 

Silence. The world seemed muffled by the snow. 

“Shall we return to the castle now, Potter?”

Harry looked around at the haze of the snow, before turning back to his Professor. For once Snape didn’t look foreboding with his billowing black robes, but instead seemed smaller. More worn. As though the heavy clouds of snow were bearing down on him. 

“Mr. Potter?” Snape questioned before beckoning towards the castle. “It’s growing late and the weather is far too hazardous for you to be flying in. I have half the mind to extend your detention.”

“Extend?”

“Yes, but perhaps I’m feeling the jolly Yule spirit. Shall we?” Snape gestured towards the castle. Harry, seemingly coming out of his trance, began walking towards Snape who had turned to trudge back up the hill towards the castle. 

Calidum.

Harry suddenly felt a gust of warm air. The cold that had begun to settle in his bone became glaringly obvious with the newfound warmth. He hadn’t…

Up ahead from him he saw Snape retuck his wand up his sleeve. 

They continued up the hill in silence, albeit a slightly less awkward one.

Chapter Text

By the time they arrived back at the main doors the snow had begun to descend heavily. Hagrid’s hut was obscured completely by the sheets and the outline of the Highlands had faded into an ominous dark grey. Harry, pleasantly surprised and warmer than he had been all day, felt the exhaustion begin to lace his trudge to the castle. Days of restless tossing and turning were sneaking up.

The great oak doors swung open at their arrival shoveling snow into banks that were growing taller by the minute. The storm was certainly setting itself out to be a mean one. Snape swiftly entered the main hall, Harry close behind. With a wave of his hands the giant doors shuddered close with a thump . Snape whipped around towards Harry.

Shit , Harry thought, goodbye Christmas.

“You weren’t at dinner,” Snape said, raising one brow, “Neither did you attend lunch.”

Uh… That’s not what I was expecting . 

“No, sir. I meant to attend dinner, but got caught up?” Harry shuffled awkwardly. The snow, which had now begun to melt, caused a squelching as he shifted his body weight back and forth. 

“Is that a question or a statement, Mr. Potter?” Snape, miraculously dry, crossed his arms, “You seem to be asking me.”

“A statement, Professor. I just got– I was just flying and lost track of time,” Harry brushed his damp hair away from his face. 

“Do not let it happen again, Mr. Potter. Not only were the conditions extremely dangerous but flying without any sustenance could have caused catastrophe. What if you had fallen off your broom, Potter? For either or both of those reasons?” 

Am I being scolded ? Thought Harry, surely not. But looking at Snape, with the furrow between his brow and the subtle tapping of his left foot, Harry couldn’t help but feel like a young child being told off. About dinner no less. Growing slightly frustrated, and colder with Snape’s charm wearing off Harry snapped, “It’s fine , sir. I understand how to take care of myself.”

Snape’s lips curled into an ugly expression. “Don’t use that tone with me, boy, I will not tolerate your disrespect. Tomorrow I will be at the Great Hall for breakfast at seven am and I expect to see your face there.” As Snape turned towards the hall, Harry’s frustration mounted. I am not a child .

“You’re not in charge of me!” burst from Harry’s lips before he could bite his tongue. Uh-Oh.

Snape’s cloak billowed as he turned sharply on his heel. Marching forward with a few strides, Snape came within mere centimeters of Harry’s face. Up close the bags under Snape’s eyes became more apparent as did the barely contained fury.  

“You,” Snape whispered, lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, “are a spoiled and reckless boy. Thinking yourself so talented as to, without telling anyone I may add, disappear into one of the worst snow storms we’ve seen in years to whip around on your broom. The lack of respect for the faculty who are seeing to your every need–”

“Sorry, sir, for not being hungry,” he cut Snape off. “I’ll be more considerate of my lunch time like a child! Which I am not!” 

A hand was brought up swiftly causing Harry to recoil. Stumbling back, Harry slammed into the main doors, shoulders raised. His breath caught in his throat. The blood rushed to Harry’s cheeks as he realized what he’d done. Slowly unfurling his body, he looked up to meet the eyes of a very still Severus Snape. He stood there frozen with his hand level with his chin at a point. His jaw had gone slightly slack and the furrow of his brow had loosened from rage to a more curious expression. 

He wouldn’t hit you, Harry’s mind chided, he’s faculty. Teachers can’t hit students. Even if it is Snape. The tension was overwhelming. Harry needed to go. He needed to go now .

“I’ll be at breakfast, sir. May I go? I’m cold,” Harry weakly said. Snape’s arm dropped to his side as he continued to look at Harry. Harry squirmed under the attention feeling much like the frogs whose guts he’d been taking apart this morning. The silence was stifling with only the dripping from Harry’s clothes filling the room. As a draft blew through causing Harry to shiver, Snape finally seemed to relent, an unbearably curious expression still on his face. 

“Go,” Snape muttered, waving Harry off. 

Harry needed no further excuse. Pulling his broom close to his side, he rushed away as quickly from the interaction as possible. He didn’t want to seem like he was running. Suitably embarrassed and soaked head to toe, he marched up the winding staircases towards Gryffindor Tower for another restless night. God. Humiliating.

Severus watched as Potter dragged his feet around the corner. He watched the empty hall as the squelching of shoes grew more and more distant, until eventually there was nothing but the whistle of the wind in the castle. He watched for a moment longer. 

What, he clenched his jaw , was that?

You know, his mind whispered, you know what that was.  Shut up! He roared at himself. Shut. that. Door! With an unnecessary force the thought was pushed away. Straightening up, Snape finally turned away from the vacant hallway. It was cold. And he needed time to think.

Chapter Text

By the time he made it back to his quarters, old watch ticking away, Severus had done nearly three laps of the castle. Each time his feet would take over as his mind pushed and prodded at a flinching Potter, he somehow kept ending up at the base of Gryffindor tower. The second time it had happened, he turned so sharply his foot had nearly caught and sent him tumbling, but Severus was nothing if not a graceful man. The Fat Lady had been sleeping, but Severus had been quite suitably embarrassed. 

3:14 AM.

His quarters were his sanctuary in the castle. Only Albus, Poppy, and begrudgingly Minerva, had access to the Floo network which connected to his fireplace leaving his space devoid of others, most delightedly children. Tapping a familiar pattern, the bricks moved aside allowing Severus in. Though Occlumency was a strong tool, the door regarding “Harry Potter” had developed a bit of a locking issue. 

Severus, knowing sleep was already scant, knew tonight would be no different. The long Highland winter nights only exasperated his insomnia. The return of the Dark Lord hadn’t helped much either. 

Severus pulled an old kettle from his cabinet, filling it with cool tap water before setting it to boil. Much like his watch, certain muggle habits died hard and, in the privacy of his own home, the muggle way tasted better anyways. Placing his tea bag to steep, he settled on the worn leather couch in his main room. Scattered along the table were piles of paper threatening to tip over. Second year potion exams to be graded, a request for an apprenticeship to be denied, and notes upon notes from his more extracurricular activities. His eyes were pounding just looking at it, but with at least 4 sugar cubes added to his tea, he was off. The second year exams came first. It was always a bit of fun to find new ways to tear into the same mistake. 

Mister Grant, your handwriting is atrocious. As is your spelling. I can’t even tell what “Bakhleuuu” is supposed to be standing for.

Miss Casey you seem to fall in your sister's poor potioneering ways! This is unacceptable! Pink is not “light red” and I don’t appreciate you attempting to convince me otherwise!

Miss Kim, I don’t even have words for this. I want a rewrite in quill please. This is a… I don’t even know what you wrote this in. Report to me after class. 

As the exams grew drenched in red ink, Severus was able to shift his mind away from Potter. He spent enough time concerned about that reckless boy, and he had no reason to suspect anything. Potter had been through some real hardships in the past two years from the Triwizard Tournament to his mutt of a Godfather passing. Though he had little love for Sirius, he could feel a twinge of sympathy for the loss. A war was emerging and the casualties had begun. He didn’t want to dwell on this. He didn’t need to dwell on this. It was nothing. He saw nothing. 

The pressure , Severus thought, perhaps the pressure is surmounting to an unmanageable level. Years of service to a conniving old wizard and a manic war lord has started to wear down on him. It didn’t help that without the distractions of classes day in and day out, Yule break had always left him in a bit of a rocky mood. 

You could try and sleep . He made another cup of tea.

Harry could admit that not sleeping much and not eating much were not solutions to whatever was going on with him. Hermoine could rant and rave about “healthy coping” and “guilt”, but Harry had learned to tune her out. He knows. He knows this can’t go on, but after waking up from the second nightmare he’d had in one night he had to call it quits. 

Weak. Quit and someone dies . 

Sighing Harry rose from his bed, a heavy quilt pulled from his bed as he dragged himself to the window. There was nothing to see outside the window. The snow which had been falling heavily earlier in the evening continued to whip violently out his window. With the icy gusts and dark sky he could only see a mere meter or two from the window. It was slightly better than watching paint dry, but much better than sleeping so he sat, old watch ticking away. Stillness was becoming easier for Harry. For once, staring off into that dark night, Harry felt nothing. The snow was numbing. 

The hours seemed to flow by. Harry sat motionless, listless, as the inky blackness lifted into a navy then a slightly lighter gray. The quilt had slipped down his shoulders into a pile in his lap, but Harry couldn’t care. He was cold. A quiet had descended over his mind.

Beep, beep. Beep, beep.

6:30 AM.

He had to go to breakfast. He didn’t want to. 

Turning the quiet alarm off with a press, Harry stared into the snowy morning one final time. He couldn’t see if Hedwig was out in this. He hoped she wasn’t. Dragging his feet, he threw the quilt onto the bed before dragging his feet into the bathroom. A cold shower and a change of clothes later he only felt slightly more human. Still cold and still numb, but at least he looked alive. Sort of. 

Silent as a ghost, he crept to breakfast. 

There he was . 

Potter trudged into the Great Hall seemingly at wand point. Without a passing glance at the head table he sat down, alone, at Gryffindor’s table. A breakfast selection appeared along with one place setting for him. 

Snape watched him carefully as he sat with his shoulders hunched in towards his chest. Hair limp and skin sallow, he watched as Potter tentatively reached out towards the bowl of porridge and scooped a meager amount. 

“He doesn’t look well.” Poppy’s eyebrows were creased, already trying to deduce what was causing Potter to seem so colorless.

“He’s a young boy all alone over Yule break with a tower entirely to himself. I don’t imagine he would be sleeping when there’s so much trouble to be causing,” Snape replied. 

Poppy turned to Severus, eyebrow raised. “He looks unwell, Severus. I can tell you’re concerned. Why else pay attention to his eating habits?” 

“Once again, I don’t want Potter having free range and ample time to muck about the castle. Now if you excuse me, I have a detention to prepare for.” 

As Severus began to rise, Poppy’s hand darted out to grab his wrist. He looked at her only to see a dark look pass her face. Lips pursed and eyebrows crinkled, Poppy looked at him. Something is wrong . It radiated off of her. Withdrawing his wrist, Poppy heaved a sigh. 

“I won’t be shocked if he’s ill,” she muttered, “or something else, that’s all.” She finally turned back to her breakfast. 

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Snape relented. She gave him a glance from the corner of her eye, but seemed satisfied with the answer. Snape rose from the table, coffee in hand. He walked through the isle past his few Snakes nodding as he passed sparing only a glance towards Potter. The spoon was loose in his hand, pushing the porridge this way and that.

Snape left the Great Hall with a sinking feeling and a rattling doorknob on the Harry Potter shaped door in his mind.

Chapter Text

The knock on the potions classroom’s door came at a prompt eight AM. 

“Enter.”

Snape looked up as the old door creaked open revealing, as much as he wished to disagree with Pomphrey, a rather sickly looking Potter. In the brighter light of the Great Hall Potter had looked unsteady and pale, but with the flickering candle light of the dungeons casting shadows he looked exhausted. Though Potter had never been a very tall young man he looked almost childlike as he curled in on himself. His hair, usually wild in a James Potter way, fell heavy around his face making him look gaunt. Worst of all though, were his eyes. Snape was never one to avoid eye contact but looking into Potter’s eyes, Lily’s eyes , he could help but shy away. It was as if the light had gone out and all that was remaining was a shell. Snape rose from his desk, snide comment dying on his tongue. 

“Those all must be disinfected. Heaven knows how well I can trust third years to properly deal with their equipment,” Snape gestured towards the beakers and vials cluttering the counter. 

Harry glanced over towards the massive collection of glassware and resigned himself to a morning, and most likely afternoon, of cold water. The distance between the entrance of the potion’s classroom and the sink felt like miles as Harry dragged his body towards the pile. It felt as though every limb was leaden dragging behind him as he moved. Only for a few hours, then maybe you can pass out . The lack of sleep was finally catching up. 

Harry dunked his hands in the basin, plugging the drain and filling the sink with water and solution. Though he cranked the heat as high as he could go, the faucet merely gurgled and spat out ice water. Suppose even magic castles have old pipes. 

Snape watched as Potter began his task of filling the sink with sudsy water then as he dragged the first crate of beakers towards his station. He watched as Potter worked silently dragging glass from crate to sink, scrubbing the beakers in a slow but methodical manner before moving it to the next basin to rinse. The task taught to first years was well ingrained at this rate, but Snape couldn’t help but notice the clumsy nature of Potter’s cleaning. A missed grab here and a near drop there, Snape could see the exhaustion clinging to Potter’s frame. 

Something is wrong , his mind whispered, you know something is oh so very wrong . I know! He bit back, I can see that . But there was nothing he could do. The illness was a consequence of a reckless flight through blizzarding conditions. The consequences of an arrogant, insulant, and danger-prone boy. Nothing more. 

The argument was weak even to him. Potter continued on grabbing, dunking, rinsing, and repeating each glass until the first crate of beakers was empty. The winter coat he’d advised Potter on wearing was nowhere to be found though his scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck. 

His hands are shaking, Snape noticed. 

Then he saw something. A scar. Not just from the missed scalpel from the day prior, a real scar etched into the top of Potter’s left hand. Though hard to see from the distance, the sinking feeling from earlier in the morning returned. Snape was not one to ignore so many blaring sirens. A sickly and exhausted Potter, he could excuse away, but the scar on Harry’s hand spoke to something much larger. 

“Potter,” Snape interrupted the silence which had consumed the room beyond the clinking of glasses. Potter continued dunking, scrubbing, and rinsing as if he hadn’t heard. 

“Potter,” Snape said more harshly. Clink, Splash, Woosh, Wipe, Repeat.

“Potter!” he snapped. Harry’s head jolted up from his washing, glass in his hand making an ugly thud as it quickly sunk to the bottom of the basin. Harry turned to face Snape and for the first time Severus acknowledged that look. 

He looks scared. 

Eyes blown wide, red rimmed and vacant, the bags under Harry’s eyes seemed harsher in the lighting. His mouth was slightly agape, shocked out of his stupor. Arms pulled in, Harry looked ready to bolt at any moment, tightly wound.

Severus slowly took a step towards him. Harry froze, shoulders shifting closer to his ears. Before Severus could get any closer though the shaking in Harry’s hands seemed to grow even more violent. Severus swallowed.

“I– I didn’t mean to disturb you. You’re not wearing a winter cloak, Potter,” Snape probed.

Severus watched as Harry furrowed his brow slowly, debating his response. He looked as though he had barely understood the question. 

“This is my cloak,” he finally landed on.

“No, Potter, your winter cloak. Not your school robes.”

“I don’t have one of those,” he muttered back. He looks embarrassed. 

“You may warm the water, Mr. Potter. With the storm you were flying in yesterday, more exposure to the cold is most likely not in your best interest,” Snape pointed out.

Harry turned back towards the basins. Staring at the water pooled in the sink his brain seemed empty of anything. He pulled his wand out but only held it limp by his side. Warming the water? How… How do I warm the water? A thick fog had settled over Harry’s brain and digging for any relevant information felt like walking through a hazy Scottish morning. Nothing came to mind. He felt fuzzy.

Severus watched as Potter stared into the water. The concerned feeling was only growing watch him stand there, wand held loose in his palm. 

“A C aliente would prove effective, Mr. Potter,” interrupted the silence. But Harry didn’t move. He stood there still, limp wand and hunched shoulders. 

“Mr. Potter… Do you need me to come over there and assist you? Is it not a third year spell?” Severus was about to move over towards Potter when his wand finally split from his grip. After a second Potter turned and looked down at the wand. And just like that Potter’s eyes rolled back and his knees buckled leading him to land in a lump on the floor before Severus could even move. 

For a brief moment there was nothing but tthe dripping of the tap, then the scrambling of Professor Snape rushing to Potter.

Chapter Text

There’s a split second after someone collapses in which nobody moves. Crowds are brought to a stand still under the collective pressure. Then, like a release valve, an eruption of action. For a split second Severus could only watch as Potter’s figure crumpled into the ground, all ruffled fabrics and a heavy thump. In almost slow motion he then felt his body move towards Potter of its own accord. 

Rolling him over revealed a pallid face. Hair greasing and sticking to his forehead made his fever apparent even if Snape couldn’t feel the heat radiating off him. The shaking which has been obvious prior was even more prominent in close proximity. Potter’s breath was shallow and congested. Sticking out from a threadbare cloak was Harry’s boney wrist. Reaching slowly, Severus grabbed his hand. Gently shifting Harry’s palm towards the floor, Severus’ suspicions were confirmed.

I must not tell lies.

A faded scar, sharp white lines in the scrawl Severus had been ruthlessly tearing apart for years. 

I must not tell lies.

Severus yanked his hand back. A shudder ran down his spine. Staring at a prone Potter, an unfortunate reality was slowly dawning on Severus. Something is very wrong. The door that had acquired a faulty lock had begun to creak open and for once Severus couldn’t bother to close it. 

I must not tell lies.

Severus rose quickly, wand moved in an old familiar pattern. Potter rose onto a desk turned stretcher as Severus chucked a disproportionate amount of floo powder into the fireplace. 

“The Infirmary,” shouted Snape, and in a billow of flames they were off. 

Poppy’s schedule was nothing if not consistent. She rose at a sharp 5:30 AM no matter the time of year. Patients had to be seen too and breakfast had to be eaten. Potions to be restocked and log books to be kept. So even during the holidays Poppy continued her regimented routine. In a job in which the unexpected was expected it did her well to control what she could. 

Thankfully, with so few students at Hogwarts for the holidays, Poppy’s day had gaps for her own pleasure. Though she would typically be outdoors, the blistering winter storm left her inside reading a new study done at St. Mungo’s from a prominent mind healer. This is where Snape found her as Potter and him tumbled out of the floo. 

“Merlin!” Poppy startled from her reading, “A little warning would have been nice, Severus! I’m not as young as I once– Oh my!” Poppy rose quickly from her chair rushing towards a prone Potter and pale Severus. As soon as she reached the stretcher Potter’s shivering, sweaty state was quickly apparent. 

“I told you he didn’t look well this morning!” Poppy chided, nudging Potter’s stretcher towards the nearest bed, already rushing to her cabinets to gather supplies. “Place him there, gently. I should have been firmer with you, letting the boy attend detention like this,” she scoffed. 

“He looked rather unwell, but I just thought… He looked worse once he came to the dungeons. Foolish boy collapsed while scrubbing vials for me,” Severus muttered, lowering Potter towards the bed closest to the fireplace. Tilting the stretcher carefully, Severus pushed Potter onto the bed. A quick wave of his wand and the covers pulled back. He may have been part of Potter’s arrival to the infirmary, but he wasn’t going to tuck him in. 

Poppy returned shortly, arms laden with bottles, creams, and gels, wand tucked behind her ear. Severus withered under her sharp look shifting away from the bed side. 

“I’m just glad this can be dealt with now,” Poppy muttered, waving her wand in a series of complicated twists and turns. A rolling table rushed to her side where she deposited her collection of bottles. Severus watched as a scroll appeared, clearly a diagnostic test of some sorts. Poppy’s flurry of motion left him standing awkwardly to the side in a daze. 

How did you not see this? I kept trying to tell you! His mind mutinously yelled. 

I… There was no excuse. He saw what he wanted to see. 

I must not tell lies. 

“Poppy,” Severus finally moved towards her, “There is really something you should see.”

She pushed past him to look closer at the paper hovering to Potter’s left. Pulling the sheet towards her she finally looks over to Severus. He’s still, but futzing with the watch tucked under his sleeve, a nervous tell. She frowns, “What is it?”

Without a word Severus reaches towards Potter's limp wrist, gingerly lifting his arm. She looks at him confused before moving towards his hand. A gasp escapes her lips as Severus turns his hand over.

I must not tell lies.

“Severus… This is… ” she trails off, hand over her mouth. 

“I know,” he replies solemnly.

“Who?” She asks, a dark look coming over her face. Severus pauses.

“I have a suspicion, but no confirmation. We won’t know until Potter wakes,” Severus says, placing his hand back down onto the cot. Potter grabs a handful of the sheets restlessly. He groans, brows furrowed and lips pressed together. This sent Poppy back into motion as she unraveled the parchment which had crinkled in her fierce grip. As she quickly reads through the parchment, a concerned expression returns to her face. She lowers the paper to look at Potter scrutinizing. 

The wind decided to make her ghastly presence known causing the snow to whip against the glass windows of the infirmary. Potter wrestles to get away from the cold breeze as Pomphrey gently hands the paper over to Severus. 

With an eyebrow raised he takes the paper as Poppy returns to her fussing.  

Diagnostic of One Mage Harry James Potter

Temperature: 39.4 Degrees Celcius

Blood Pressure: 74 mmHG

Magical Core: Stable

Illness: Influenza, Developing Bronchitis, Fever, Deprivation of Sleep, Malnutrition

Injury: None

Magical Influences: Dark Magic (unidentified), Blood Wards

Potions: None

Mediacations: None

Medical History: Please see Medicinalis Historia

Dark Magic? Severus looks through the rest of the information with a passing glance. Malnutrition? He certainly looks thin. 

Blood Wards. Oh, Lily. A beautiful stained glass window in the House of Severus’ mind glows. Though the window was cracked, the light seemed to shine through despite the damp hallways. Always a bright spot, even though  damaged one. Severus turned back to the paper in an attempt to push the blinds shut. 

Sensing his thoughts Poppy looked up from her spellwork, Pepper Up floating towards Harry’s mouth, “It’s likely the Dark Magic is coming from the mark. The spell’s not the most specific in terms of identification. There really isn’t much I can do this far out… I could… Maybe? I need to– Hold this please!” Shoving another fever reducer and a pain medication towards Severus she rushed off back to her office leaving Severus alone with Harry. 

Though the fire was already lit, the chill from the windows seemed to seep into the infirmary. Potter shivered as he was sprawled across the cot, blanket still lowered loosely by his hip. Placing down the bottles on the cart next to the bed, Severus summoned another blanket through the air. All but dumping it on Potter, the boy immediately found purchase, pulling the blanket weakly towards himself. Covering an exposed foot, Severus put his wand back into his holster just as Poppy came back, shooing him off so that she could finish tending to her patient. 

So much for not tucking him in, his mind snarked. He stepped through the floo back to his classroom covered in dirty vials and freezing water. 

Up a mountain of stairs and through winding hallways, Harry began to settle under his blanket.