It was snowing. 

Of course it was. Could this day get any better?

Harry shivered, knees damp from the wet ground as he tried to find the last ingredient on his list. Nearby, Snape was analyzing a flower he’d just harvested and didn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by the onslaught of snowflakes. 

Of course he wasn’t bothered; Snape hadn’t restricted himself from using magic so the professor had made use of a warming charm and a charm to repel the icy precipitation. Harry, though, had been forced to turn over his wand to the professor for the duration of the detention, as he apparently could not be trusted. 

You raise your wand to a professor one time and they act like you’re a career criminal…

Harry had been on his knees, gathering ingredients, for nearly 3 hours so far on the detention he’d earned from his burst of temper earlier that afternoon and if he didn’t find the bloody mosswort soon he was going to lose his temper yet again. 

Would it have been too much for Snape to allow him to charm his clothes to remain dry? Or perhaps use a warming charm so he wasn’t freezing to death? Being out on the grounds after a rain, as the drizzle was morphing into snowfall, was bad enough when all he had was the worn clothes the Dursleys provided him and a Weasley Christmas jumper that was a bit snug, as it was from the previous year. To have said threadbare clothes saturated in cold moisture was just inhumane. 

“I can’t find it, sir.” Harry said slamming his hand onto the ground only to regret it as the hand came back wet and even colder than it had already been. “I’ve searched this entire field. Perhaps there just isn’t any mosswort growing here right now?”

“It’s there, Potter. Stop being lazy and continue searching.”

“It’s snowing.” 

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You’ve learned to gauge the weather through observation.” Snape replied in a dry, bored tone. 

An onslaught of swears were at the tip of Harry’s tongue, but he resisted the urge to shout all of them at the dour professor and instead resumed his hunt for the illusive plant. 

“Do hurry, Potter. It looks like the weather will get worse before it gets better and you don’t want to have to dig through snow to look for ingredients…” Snape paused, then sneered, “Knowing your proclivity towards destruction of everything around you, you’d likely find the plant only to render it useless through carless manhandling.” 

“Or we could acknowledge that I found the other 19 plants on the list and we could go inside where it’s warm.” Harry muttered, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to restore some feeling to them before scooting on his knees to the next patch of weeds and brush to look for the coveted final item. 

“Perhaps you’d be warm right now if you had followed my directions and dressed appropriately for the weather.” Snape retorted, “I’m sure you felt that coming to detention unprepared for the cold would lead me to reschedule or find an easier task for you to complete, but I’m not in the habit of mollycoddling students who do not take the initiative to look out for themselves.”

“I am prepared!” Harry replied, his temper flaring. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have a heavy cloak, gloves, or a hat. It wasn’t his fault that his relatives didn’t give two knuts if he was dressed appropriately for a northern winter. And it wasn’t his fault that the professor had chosen for him to go outside in the cold for detention instead of having him scrub cauldrons or write lines. His hands shook, but this time not from the cold and instead the burst of rage that warmed him from the inside out as he dwelled on the injustice of the whole ordeal. 

“Hardly, Potter. Mind your tone.”

“I’m prepared as I can be.” Harry snapped, “I’m wearing a jumper, my thickest trousers and two pairs of socks. And I’m still cold, sir.” 

“Hardly adequate for being outside in a snowstorm, Potter.” Snape sneered, “Certainly even your tiny brain can comprehend that proper winter gear is vital when temperatures are this cold.” 

“I don’t have any other winter gear, sir.” Harry replied pointedly, rubbing his red, chapped hands together once more, “I can’t wear what I don’t own - that’s my aunt and uncle’s fault and not mine.” 

“Telling stories will get you nowhere, Mr. Potter. How would your relatives feel if they heard you were spinning lies about them and their inability to provide you with the basic clothes outlined on your supply list?” Snape sneered once more, “Perhaps I should send a letter to them informing them of your accusations.”

Harry’s gaze hardened and he ignored the professor and went back to work. The last thing he wanted Snape to do was write to the Dursleys and accuse them of not providing for him, even if Snape thought it was a lie. The Dursleys never reacted to owl post well, nor the idea that people may find out they were less than stellar guardians. 

True to Snape’s predictions, the snow began to fall faster and harder, and soon Harry was having to dig through two inches of the fresh white snow to look at the plants underneath. At this rate, he’d be searching for mosswort through the duration of the winter holidays...if he didn’t freeze solid first. 

His nose began to run and he sniffed then hastily wiped it on his sleeve, hoping to Merlin that he wasn’t getting sick and that it was only a side effect of being out in the frigid air so long. 

Another hour passed before Harry spoke up again, looking to his bored professor with a pleading expression, “Sir, I still can’t find it.”

Snape crossed his arms, looking down at Harry as if he were an unpleasant insect that he wished to squash. Snow was still falling at a quickening rate, and the pathway they had taken from the castle was now completely covered in the white signs of winter. Even the professor had to admit that the boy would have very little luck finding the plant now that the snow was accumulating. 

“Another detention tomorrow, then, to finish your assignment.” Snape replied, motioning the boy to stand and turning to walk back towards the castle with long strides that Harry would have no chance to keep up with due to his short stature. 

Harry wearily rose to his feet, his knees aching from not only the wet cold, but also from having been seated on them for such a long period of time. He bent his knees in a squat a few times, trying to get the blood circulating back to his calves and feet once more, then scowled at the professor’s retreating form. 

His feet and hands were numb and he tripped over himself a few times as he tried to catch up to Snape. The snow was coming down hard, and before Harry could catch up to the professor he completely lost the older man in a sea of white. 

Perfect, that’s exactly what he needed to make this day even better. Merlin knows he’d probably get another detention for taking too long to follow or getting buried in snow or merely existing - the reasoning for detentions with Snape was rarely justified to Harry, anyway, so it wouldn’t surprise him in the least.

Harry ungracefully tripped over his numb foot again and went sprawling into the snow, grimacing as the cold and wet seeped through the rest of his clothes, causing his shivering to intensify. If the detention was over, why hadn’t the professor even bothered to cast a warming or drying charm on him before traipsing back to the castle? Did he want Harry to turn into an icicle? Probably. 

“What on earth are you doing, Potter?” 

Snape’s voice cut through Harry’s thoughts and inner monologue and Harry looked up with a petulant expression, unable to bite back the first thought that entered his mind, “Just thought I’d have a lie in, sir.”

“Insolent little brat.” Snape sneered, reaching down and grabbing Harry by his jumper to get him right on his feet, “Youngest seeker in a century and you can’t even walk in a straight line.” 

“It’s hard to walk in a straight line when your feet are frozen solid, sir.” Harry replied angrily, “And even more so when the snow is getting deep.” 

And the snow was, indeed, getting deep. Harry hadn’t seen snow accumulate this quickly in ages. If the storm didn’t let up soon, it would easily be past his knees before they got to their destination. 

“Gryffindor theatrics.” Snape muttered, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the boy. He started to say an incantation, but stopped as Harry ducked and darted away from the professor. “I wasn’t going to hex you, you idiot, I was simply going to warm you up. But if you’re going to be so dramatic, I can just put my wand away and let you suffer.” 

Harry’s teeth chattered in the cold, but he refused to ask Snape to continue with his spellwork. He hated being talked to like he was stupid or like he was five, and he felt like it was a completely normal reaction to try to get away from the person pointing a wand at him, especially when that person was someone as unpleasant and mean as Snape. No, he wouldn’t give the professor the satisfaction of asking him for a favor. He’d just deal with the cold, he’d been cold before and survived. 

He began to trudge his way towards the castle, flinching but not stopping as the professor spat out a swear and then repeated the warming charm. Harry had thought it would be a pleasant spell, a way to relieve some of the aching cold in his bones, but the results of the spell were agonizing right from the start. 

Harry hadn’t been aware that he’d cried out, but he was completely aware of the pain he was feeling in his hands, feet, and face now that the cold had been replaced with warmth. It felt like they were burning, like his skin was melting off, and he had to look down to make sure there weren’t a thousand tiny knives piercing his skin because it felt like he was being attacked. 

“Stop it now! Make it stop!” Harry demanded, wincing from the pain as he thrust his burning hands into the snow. It did little good, however, as the charm prevented the cold from seeping through it’s enchantment. 

“What is it, Potter?” Snape asked in annoyance; foolish Gryffindors seemed to be overly dramatic about everything, “It was just a warming charm, you’re fine.”

“I’m not fine!” Harry shouted, burying his painful hands deeper into the snow, “It hurts! Take off the charm, it hurts!”

“Carrying on like a toddler….” Snape muttered in annoyance, though he ended the spell. In the polar opposite of gentleness, Snape grabbed Harry’s hands and brought them close enough to inspect, uncaring that it caused the boy to nearly drop to his knees again at the sudden movement, “Stop being difficult, boy, and let me take a look!”

“Let me go!” Harry shouted, trying in vain to pull away, “You’ll just hurt me more, you enjoy it!”

“Stop! This instant!” Snape barked angrily, the little patience he possessed completely gone in the wake of Harry’s tantrum, “Give me your hands!”

“No!” Harry protested, still trying to dislodge himself from the older man’s grip, “Let me go!”

Snape pulled out his wand once more, the look on his face intentionally threatening, “You will cease this madness at once, Potter, or you’ll have detention with me every night for the next three months.”

Harry stilled, though his tense body indicated he was likely to bolt again at any time. Snape inspected the boy’s red, chapped hands with a frown. 

“It doesn’t look like frostbite, but I can imagine you’re feeling the effects from the prolonged exposure to the cold weather.” Snape commented, “You have to let me warm you up even though it hurts. The pain is caused from how cold your hands actually are, adding warmth will get your blood circulating once more and after the initial discomfort, the nerves in your hands will appreciate the warmth as well.” 

“I don’t want another warming charm, I’d rather them freeze.”

“It will be hard to fly your broomstick or wave your wand once we’ve had to amputate your hands.” Snape replied curtly, smirking when Harry scowled and looked away. 

They made their way back to the castle, Harry still hissing and wincing along the way as the warming charms did their job, though he had to admit as they finally approached their destination that Snape had been right, the pain was lessening as he became accustomed to the warmth. 

As they entered the castle, Snape used a drying charm on the boy and gave him a stern look, “You are to go straight to your dormitory for a hot shower. If you still feel chilled afterwards, you will see out Madam Pomfrey for a potion. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry replied sullenly, not particularly wanting to take a hot shower if it meant his body would feel the same effects as the warming charm, and not even slightly interested in the idea of visiting Pomfrey for anything ever. 

“Tomorrow morning Gryffindor third years have a free period, correct?”

“Yes, sir. After Defence.” 

“Perfect. You will meet me in my office at that time to finish this detention.” 

“Fantastic.” Harry retorted dryly. 

“Believe me, I feel the same way about your company as you do mine, Mr. Potter.” Snape replied, giving the boy a warning look. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Off you get, then. Straight to the showers, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry agreed, making it to the staircase before giving a loud sneeze. He scowled, hoping that this wasn’t the start of a cold. They only had one day of classes left before the winter holidays and he didn’t want to spend his free time fighting the sniffles. 

“Don’t forget to use soap,” Snape called after him, “I don’t know why thirteen year old boys feel like soap is optional, but it is acutely necessary.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the command as he ascended the staircase. Who did Snape think he was, anyway, telling him to use soap? He wasn’t his father and he wasn’t his head of house, so what business was it of his anyway? In fact, he ought to not use some just on principle to show he couldn’t be bossed around for things that happened outside of the classroom and corridors. 

~*~

Harry’s shower turned out to be wonderful; the warm water enveloped his entire body, the warmth erasing some of the ache in his bones. He would have stayed there forever if the heat hadn’t started to make him drowsy. He begrudgingly turned the shower off, drying off and getting dressed in a hurry, not wanting to lose any of the warmth the shower had given. 

He sniffed slightly, rubbing his nose on his sleeve, then sat heavily on his bed. A glance at the time told him his friends were probably down at dinner. He knew he should join them, but couldn’t summon up the desire to actually do so. As if trying to convince him otherwise, his stomach grumbled with hunger. Fortunately for Harry, he was well-accustomed to ignoring hunger pains and instead flopped down onto his stomach and buried his head into his pillow.

For several minutes, Harry contemplated whether he should get up and join his friends or if he should given in to the overwhelming desire to take a nap and then get something from the kitchens later; after all, what was the point of having a map of everyone in the school if he couldn’t use it to his advantage? On the other hand, there was only one day left of classes before the holiday break and he wanted to spend as much time with his friends as possible before they went home to their families and he was left behind with the few other students who were staying. 

Ultimately, his body made the decision for him, as he fell asleep before even realizing what was happening. 

When he awoke, the dormitory was dark and he could vaguely make out the sound of Neville snoring. It took a moment for him to realize what had woken him, though he soon realized he was freezing; he’d fallen asleep on top of his blankets. He hadn’t expected to sleep for so long, and it was a bit disorienting to wake up and find that so much time had passed. 

He sat up to get underneath the duvet, frowning when the change in position caused his nose to get blocked and his head to pound. Fantastic; that’s exactly what he needed at the brink of the winter holidays, to have a head cold. 

Harry wasted no time burrowing under his covers, teeth chattering as he began to shiver. Through the window, he could see the snow steadily falling - the dormitory wasn’t typically this cold, but it also didn’t usually snow so hard for so long, either. His nose felt chilled and the cold air of the room stung his throat as he breathed. He absolutely hated when he was sick like this; colds seemed to linger on forever, but it was hardly worth a trip to the infirmary; it was just enough of a nuisance to make him miserable, yet not serious enough to be concerned over. He’d almost rather having something more serious, because at least then he could justify being examined and would get a potion to cure him. 

Breathing through his mouth made his throat dry and after a few moments it started to tickle like he needed to cough, but he tried to suppress it. The last thing he wanted was to wake up everyone in the dorm; Dean and Seamus would likely be annoyed and Ron would tell Hermione, who would then start pestering him and checking over him like a fussy mother. Gross. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he was able to drift back to sleep. 

The next time he awoke, it was incredibly hard to find the energy to open his eyes. His head felt heavy, like it was packed with cotton, and it throbbed unmercifully. His throat felt as if it were on fire and though his nose was incredibly congested, it was also dripping unpleasantly. 

Harry was drenched in sweat and where he’d been shivering and cold when he’d fallen asleep, now he was uncomfortably hot, barely able to stand laying in the bed as he felt his body heat rebounding from the sheets. He kicked his covers off, only to start shivering moments later. This was definitely not a good sign. This was destined to be a terrible day. 

He could hear the other boys starting to stir and he groaned inwardly; he wasn’t ready to get up, he knew he probably looked as awful as he felt and he didn’t want anyone to call him out on it. Besides, even though he couldn’t decide if he were hot or cold, he did know he didn’t want to move a muscle or leave the sanctuary of his 4-poster nest. He rolled over, burying his head into his pillow. Maybe they’d leave him alone if they thought he was sleeping. 

Wrong, again. 

It hadn’t been more than ten minutes when a hand shook Harry’s shoulder roughly, “Hey, mate, time to get up.”

Harry ignored his best friend and hoped the ginger would give up. 

“Harry - time for breakfast! Wake up!”

“Go away.” Harry’s voice was muffled from his pillow, but the intention was clear as he used a rude gesture to get his point across. 

“Come on, don’t make me go down there alone, Harry! Hermione’s going to start prattling on about holiday study schedules or something dumb like that if there’s no one there to distract her.” 

“I’m sleeping.” 

“You can’t be tired, you went to bed early last night.” 

“Leave me alone.” Harry groaned, “I’ll be down in a bit, okay?”

“Don’t come whinging to me when there’s no sausages left, then.” Ron warned, disappearing out the door moments later. 

Finally, peace and quiet...or so he thought. Not two minutes later, the doorway was opening and Hermione’s voice assaulted his ears. 

“Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Let me see; I’m trying to sleep and my well-intentioned but absolutely annoying friends keep harassing me....” Harry groused into his pillow, “I can be tired without there being something wrong, Hermione.”

In typical Hermione fashion, she ignored his protests and instead marched over to him, pulling his shoulder to roll him over and placing her hand against his forehead like he’d seen mothers do on Dudley’s television programmes throughout the years. 

“Harry, you’re burning up!”

“I had my face shoved in a pillow, ‘Mione. No need to worry, I’m fine.”

A snort behind Hermione alerted Harry to Ron’s presence. That traitor. 

“No, no. You’re doing that thing where you downplay everything and hope no one notices you’re suffering, but you can’t do that. You’re ill, Harry.” Hermione fretted, “Come on, get up, we’re taking you to the hospital wing.”

“Absolutely not.” Harry retorted, wrenching his shoulder from her hand and burying his face in his pillow once more, “Stop trying to parent me, Hermione.”

He tried to ignore the whispering taking place between his two friends, unable to make out what they were saying though he could assume they were conspiring against him. He may have been able to convince him to leave if his body hadn’t chosen that moment to turn against him. The tickle in his throat he’d tried to suppress was suddenly too much to hold back and he found himself harshly coughing into his pillow, which only made his throat hurt even worse. 

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione insisted, “A pepper up and you’ll be as good as new. Wouldn’t you rather go down there now and be healed than wallow up here all day until you eventually listen to us and go?”

“I’m tired…” Harry complained, realizing belatedly that whining like a child just reinforced to his friends that his respiratory system was trying to do him in. “I’ll go after classes today, alright?”

“Why suffer through all of your classes when you can just take care of it now?” Ron pushed, “We can pop in and out and still make it to breakfast on time.”

Harry’s stomach rolled at the idea of breakfast and he groaned loudly, “Leave me alone.”

“Harry--”

“I said leave me alone!” Harry shouted, tossing his pillow in the direction of his friends. He was well aware that he was being unreasonable and extraordinarily grouchy, but there was very little he loathed more than them calling him out on being sick and weak. He hated this sort of attention; pity and worry and a hyper focus on his every word and move. He just wanted to be alone to suffer in peace. 

His friends were silent for a beat, and then Hermione dropped the gauntlet, “If you don’t see Madame Pomfrey before Defence, I’m going to tell Professor McGonagall you’re sick and she’ll make you go.” 

Harry tossed Hermione a look of betrayal before motioning towards the door, “Go on, then. I’ll see you guys shortly.” 

~*~

After a hot shower Harry felt a bit more like himself. The steam had enabled him to breathe from his nose again, the heat had woken him a bit more and left him feeling more human and less troll. His argument with his friends played on repeat in his brain, though, and he knew he’d have to apologize for shunning them when they were just trying to help. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, satisfied to see that he looked better than he had before his shower and perhaps this cold wouldn’t be so bad as he feared it would be upon waking. He could feel his nose draining in the back of his throat, which still felt quite raw and painful, but if that was all he would have to deal with he would consider himself lucky. 

Harry glanced at the time, realizing he was barely going to make it to Defence on time. He must have stood in the hot shower a lot longer than he’d originally assumed. He finished getting dressed and grabbed his bag, racing down the stairs, nearly tripping over some first years in his haste. He called an apology over his shoulder, but didn’t take time to stop. He slid into the empty seat next to Ron just as class was scheduled to start, and gave his best friend a smile that hopefully told the redhead that he was feeling better and sorry for being a prat. Ron returned the smile after a moment, so Harry figured all was well.

As Lupin began to review the homework assignment he’d set during the previous class period, Ron looked to Harry and whispered, “Did you get the potion?”

“Do I look like I’m still in bed?” Harry retorted, dodging the question and hoping he wouldn’t get called out for it. Ron seemed to take his response as an affirmation, and he let the subject drop. 

Defence, for the large part, was rather dull. Lupin hadn’t wanted to start a new lesson before the holidays and Harry was grateful for it as the congestion and weariness from his cold started to return about halfway through. He could feel Ron and Hermione’s gaze drifting towards him throughout the lesson and if it wasn’t for the fact that it would just draw more attention to him, he’d have snapped at them to mind their own business and that curiosity killed the kneazle.

He was more than happy to dodge their concern and questions after class, calling over his shoulder as he hurriedly walked away that he had detention with Snape and would catch up with them later.

~*~

As he approached the dungeons, he realized he was a complete idiot. He was not prepared at all for a detention, especially one outdoors in the cold and while he was already feeling under the weather. He really hated to see Pomfrey, but perhaps she’d be the lesser of two evils. He was just about to turn around and head her way when Snape appeared in the hallway and they made eye contact. With a sigh, Harry realized it was too late now and mentally braced himself for what was to come.

“You would think that after nearly freezing solid outside yesterday that you would come adequately prepared today.” Snape sneered, taking in Harry’s standard uniform under his dark robes.

“Sorry, sir.” Harry muttered, knowing it was useless to try and explain away his lack of winter clothing after the man had ridiculed him about them the previous day. 

Snape gestured to the open classroom door, a jerk of his head telling the boy to enter. Harry stared at him in confusion for a few moments, his sluggish brain trying to process what was happening. With a growl, Snape grabbed Harry by the collar of his robes and propelled him into the room. 

“There’s still too much snow to harvest, so you’re going to be preparing ingredients for my stores instead. I want you to chop these roots in one-point-five centimeters thick.” the professor flicked his wand and a measurement scale appeared on the work table, “Since I’ve seen your abysmal work and know you lack even the basic knowledge of both measurements and potions, I have provided a guide for you to use. If you ruin my supplies, you will be digging through the snow to replace all of it. Understood?”

“Why don’t you give us guides like these in regular classes? It would make everyone’s work more precise.” Harry questioned, fascinated by the measurement scale as he’d never seen one before, “Not to mention some of us are pants at estimating that. It should be something included on our supply lists.” 

“You don’t get to tell me how to run my classroom, Potter.” Snape spat out, “Does your microscopic brain understand my directions or should I have someone translate them to quidditch terminology so they have a chance of being retained in your hippocampus?”

Harry’s head gave a painful throb as he tried to follow along with Snape’s narrative, “My hippopotamus?”

“Merlin save me from idiot children.” Snape sighed, turning and walking towards the doorway that connected the classroom to his office, “Once you are finished, come to me for your next task. Don’t dawdle, I will know if you aren’t working efficiently.” 

What did a hippopotamus have to do with chopping roots or quidditch? Harry frowned, still trying to wrap his tired mind around Snape’s words to determine if they had been an insult. It didn’t take long before he gave up, assuming that Snape was indeed insulting him, as that was what he did best. 

The classroom was cool and damp, a side effect of being in the dungeons, and Harry shivered slightly. The cool air was making his throat hurt worse and his nose was now leaking like a drippy faucet. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing in not only his head, but also his ears and sinus cavities and he wished desperately that he had taken his friends’ advice and gone for a pepper up when they’d tried to drag him there. 

It was hard to concentrate, and Harry wondered if it were due to the pressure and congestion, the tired fog that had settled in his brain, or because this was the most boring task ever; even when comparing it to sitting on his knees looking at grass in hopes of recognizing a plant for hours the day before. 

His thoughts were disjointed as he worked, bouncing from trying to concentrate on the task and making sure the roots were lined up according to scale to wondering just how much snot had to be in his head for it to feel like it felt to wondering if Snape ever had to harvest or chop his own ingredients or if the students managed all of that for him. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he had stopped paying attention to chopping roots until he brought the knife down hard on his finger. 

The instant pain ended all thoughts other than the task at hand, and he dropped the knife, staring down at the blood on his hand with a frown. He’d seen Dudley cut himself once, and his cousin had needed fifteen stitches to repair the damage. This cut didn’t look nearly as gnarly as that one had, but the bleeding was not slowing down and he knew he needed at least a plaster if he didn’t want to contaminate the rest of the roots.

With several harsh coughs and a sneeze that only increased the pressure in his head tenfold, Harry trudged to Snape’s office, hesitating at the door as he watched the professor marking essays. What sort of scathing remarks was he making, or did he just save those acidic words for Harry? 

“What is it, Potter?”

“I cut my finger, sir. Do you have a plaster or something I can put on it so I can finish my work?”

Snape sighed, rising and motioning for Harry to approach his desk. Harry obliged, trying not to look at the dripping blood, as it was making his stomach roll just as badly as it had earlier, when Ron was trying to force him down to breakfast. He felt another droplet roll off the tip of his finger and he squirmed slightly. He wasn’t typically squeamish, but right now he felt as though he may need to sick up at some point soon.

Snape brought the tip of his wand to a point directly over Harry’s injury, murmuring a Latin phrase Harry didn’t recognize. The professor met the student’s questioning gaze and supplied, “Healing spell - who needs muggle plasters when you can seal the injury immediately and prevent infection?”

“Oh.” Harry replied dumbly, then glanced down at his hand. The blood was still visible and Harry’s stomach clenched tightly. Quickly averting his eyes, Harry tried to breathe deeply in an attempt not to vomit in Snape’s office. 

“Potter? What’s wrong with you?”

Breathing deeply was difficult through his congestion and burning throat, and as soon as the cold dungeon air was forced into his lungs, Harry began to cough. The wracking coughs continued for a few moments before the coughing morphed into gagging and then yesterday’s lunch had reappeared all over Snape’s desk and the dungeon floor. 

Harry looked up at the professor, mortified and wishing the floor would swallow him whole. Snape frowned, cleaning the mess with a wave of his wand before turning his attention to the boy and studying him closely. 

“You’re ill.”

“I’m fine.” Harry replied hoarsely, his throat wrecked between the coughing and heaving. “It was just the blood...” he shuddered just thinking about it.

Snape walked around his desk, stopping in front of the boy with an expression Harry couldn’t quite decipher in his foggy mental state. Harry squirmed, hating every moment of scrutiny as the older man studied him, “I’m fine, professor, honestly.”

“Surely you can’t already be sick from being out in the cold yesterday - germs take time to mutate and multiply.” Snape said carefully, reaching out and placing a cold hand on Harry’s forehead, “And you’re burning up; clearly this isn’t something suddenly onset.” 

“Don’t touch me.” Harry complained half-heartedly, too exhausted to even try to move away. His energy was completely spent and he felt like he’d been plowed over by the Hogwarts Express. 

Snape realized this as well, and his gaze narrowed further, “Why are you here?”

“Detention, sir?” Harry asked in confusion. 

“Instead of in the hospital wing,” Snape clarified, his voice showing Harry that he still thought the child was a complete dunce. Maybe he was, Harry was having a hard time keeping up with even the simple parts of the conversation. “You had to know before now that you were unwell.”

Harry shrugged, looking down at the floor and admitting, “I woke up feeling crummy, but after a shower I felt better. It wasn’t until I got here that it got worse.” 

“Perhaps if you had worn a jumper or even a winter cloak you could have maintained your stamina a bit longer.”

Harry scowled, looking away and refusing to engage. 

“Of course, come to think of it, I’ve not seen you with adequate winter clothes all year and I vividly recall you shivering outdoors last year, too.”

“What about it?”

“Don’t talk to me in that tone!” Snape scolded harshly, the flicker of concern he’d shown gone in an instant. 

“I told you yesterday, I don’t own any winter clothes.” Harry replied through clenched teeth, a sudden flare of his temper leaving him breathless and a bit lightheaded.

Snape watched him carefully in silence for what felt like an eternity before commenting, “We will need to rectify that, Mr. Potter, if you insist on breaking the rules and spending so much time in my company. The headmaster would be upset if I let his golden boy freeze to death.”

“It’s fine, sir.” Harry replied with a sniff as his nose began to run once more, “Mrs. Weasley usually sends me a Christmas jumper.”

“Still not adequate for a cold winter.” Snape dismissed, “You couldn’t have picked something up in Hogsmeade?”

“I’m not allowed to go.” 

“And we both know that hasn’t stopped you.” Snape replied curtly, “Never mind that, though. I’ll get a mail order form and we can send an owl out to get you the necessary supplies. I’ll get the form today and give it to Professor McGonagall and you two can go through it and owl order whatever you need.”

Harry winced, really not wanting to have to talk to his head of house about his lack of appropriate winter clothing. He could picture her stern face in his mind and wondered if she’d scold him or be disappointed that he was inadequately prepared. Even worse, she may look at him with that pitying expression some wore when they learned about how awful the Dursleys were. No, she couldn’t find out about this. 

“Actually, sir, could we keep this between you and I?” Harry asked hesitantly, apprehension bleeding through his tone even though he tried his hardest to remain neutral. 

The dour professor’s response was cut off as Harry began to cough again, bringing his elbow to cover his mouth and grimacing when he noticed he’d coughed up a bunch of gunk. A handkerchief appeared in front of his face and Harry stared at it uncertainly for a moment before the professor snapped, “You insufferable child - take it before I charm it to stick to your face.”

Harry wasted no time complying, and by the time he had finished with it, Snape was nowhere to be seen. Exhausted, Harry sank into the chair behind him and folded his arms on the edge of Snape’s desk, resting his pounding, stuffy head. He really wished he’d gone to get a potion; if possible, he was feeling more wretched than he had upon waking. Of course, sicking up usually had that effect on people, making things seem even worse than they already were. He decided not to dwell on that thought, lest history repeat itself, and instead allowed himself to get a tiny bit of relief by closing his eyes. 

Harry wasn’t sure how  much time had passed; it could have been thirty seconds or it could have been five minutes as everything seemed to blur around him once he’d rested his head, but the next thing he knew was a hand on his shoulder, startling him to full consciousness as he quickly sat up. Snape was standing beside him, holding out a vial of the most disgusting looking potion Harry had ever seen, and that’s including that horrific skelegrow he had to take the previous year. 

“What’s this?”

“A string quartet, Mr. Potter.” Snape sighed, “It’s clearly a potion...you should be quite familiar with the concept, considering the amount of time you spend in my class and serving detentions in my classroom.”

“What kind of potion?” Harry asked, taking the vial and peering at it as if somehow he would suddenly be able to recognize one of the hundreds of concoctions the professor was capable of brewing. 

“A poison I reserve for my most annoying students.” Snape retorted dryly, “I’ve just been waiting to get you alone in my office to administer it so I don’t have to obliviate all of your classmates after giving it to you in your pumpkin juice in the Great Hall.” 

Harry stared at the man, his mouth hanging open as his brain sluggishly worked through the large quantity of words that Snape’s answer contained. “Is it?”

“Of course not, you imbecile.” Snape growled, “It’s for your cold. Please take it so I am not tempted to throttle you in your weakened state.” 

Harry uncorked the mixture, glancing towards the professor with a frown, “That makes more sense. Uh, thanks.” He swallowed the potion in one shot, trying to ignore the bitter flavor and focus on the fact that soon he’d be able to think and breathe again. 

“If I were trying to poison you, you wouldn’t know it until it was too late.” Snape told the boy, then leaned against the edge of his desk, scrutinizing the third year. “You need to be in a bed somewhere, preferably far away from here. I’ll escort you to Gryffindor Tower and make sure you don’t come into any trouble along the way.” 

“I don’t need you to walk me, sir.” 

“With the speed you are processing information today, I don’t trust you to not step into a trick stair and not realize it until your neck is broken at the bottom of the staircase.” 

The man had a point. 

They had made it halfway there when they stumbled into Lupin and Snape had foisted the sick boy off on the werewolf for the remainder of the journey. Snape gave Lupin clear instructions that Harry was to be delivered to his dormitory and deposited into his bed and that if the Defence professor thought it necessary, he could charm the bed to restrain him so he wouldn’t be able to leave it unless it was a life or death emergency. Harry thought it was a bit overkill, but then again it did sound like something Hermione might also threaten should she find out he had ignored her demand to seek medical care hours ago. 

Snape had turned to walk away when Harry spoke up, “Wait, Professor Snape!”

“Yes?” Snape drawled, slowly turning around the face the two Gryffindors that existed within the school simply to annoy him most. 

“I just wanted to say thanks...you know, for not yelling when I was sick and for giving me a potion and making sure I didn’t fall down the stairs and die.” Harry rambled, realizing he needed to shut his mouth before he said something weird or that he’d regret. Apparently the potion relaxed his brain to mouth filter as well, because as Snape went to turn around again, Harry added, “You know, for being nice to me and all. Thank you. No one’s ever taken care of me like that before.” 

Snape raised an eyebrow, “I was hardly nice to you, Mr. Potter. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re healthy and safe.” 

“But you didn’t have to. You could have just shipped me off to Pomfrey and she could have held me hostage there.” Harry’s inner voice was screaming at him to shut up, but once he started talking it was hard to turn it off, “Oh no, I didn’t finish my detention.” 

Snape rolled his eyes as Harry started to struggle against Lupin to be let go, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have plenty further opportunities to test my patience in detention. Right now you need to go to bed.” the professor hesitated, then added, “And come by my office at 9:00 tomorrow morning so we can send off that owl order, understood?”

Harry nodded, but was unable to respond verbally as Lupin ushered him down the hall and out of sight. Less than 15 minutes later, Lupin was all but tucking him into bed and Harry couldn’t help but feel like maybe Snape wasn’t always quite as bad as he seemed.