Harry peered down the stairs with trepidation. He had barely been back at the house an hour, and he had hidden himself in his room after he lugged his stuff up the stairs. Vampyr had pawed at the door, but when Harry would not open, the dog had finally gone downstairs.

Snape hadn't talked much, not since he had seen Harry after he fought the basilisk and confronted Lucius Malfoy. Snape hadn't said much then either - just herded Harry towards the hospital where he got cleaned up and bandaged by Pomfrey.

On the next to last day at school, Harry had felt a tickle in his throat which stayed despite the many times he swallowed throughout the day. The next day at the Feast, he had felt a little dizzy and cold as he sat at the table. He hadn't wanted much food, but when he saw Snape watching him from the professors' table, Harry served himself some food and pretended to eat with gusto.

On the train ride home, he felt worse, and though Ron and Hermione had clamored to know what was wrong, Harry gave them a brief smile and said he felt rather tired after the long school year. Ron tried to figure out if Harry was worried about staying with Snape all summer, but Hermione grabbed his arm and whispered for him not to ask.

The problem was, Harry decided as he peered down the stairs, he couldn't tell Snape he was feeling bad because Snape might think it had to do with Harry's adventures in the sewers, and Harry would do anything to avoid that conversation. Snape didn't seem too wrathful, but that was because Harry had lied and said Lockhart dragged him down through the pipes and that was the reason Harry had to fight for his life and Ginny's. Lockhart was currently crazy, and Ron and Ginny wouldn't say anything, but Harry knew that a few well-placed questions would have his story tumbling like a house of cards.

And he made it his mission not to let Snape catch him in a lie ever again. This would be their first summer together where Harry wasn't kidnapped and Snape wasn't insane. Well, as close to not being insane as Snape could get. And Harry did not want to start it out by whining about getting sick.

Besides, he told himself as he crept down the stairs, he wasn't sick. He would feel fine after a few hours outside and a good night's sleep.

Snape came out of the living room when Harry reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh, hi," Harry blinked.

"Hello," Snape frowned dourly.

"It's good to be back," Harry glanced around. "It looks nice here."

"Don't lie to me. Are you going to be as much trouble as you were the last few weeks at school?"

"No, sir," Harry looked at the floor.

"You feel all right, don't you?" Snape gave him a careful look. "No lasting effects of the basilisk?"

"No, sir, I'm fine," Harry said, and he smiled as much as he could without chattering his teeth. Why was the tiny house so cold?

"Go outside for a while, and don't bother me," Snape ordered.

Out in the backyard, Harry pretended to romp with the dog while Snape was watching from the window, but as soon as the man left, Harry planted himself down in the sun and had the dog lie close to him for warmth.

That night Snape seemed to cook a lot of supper, piling Harry's plate high with food and giving him a huge glass of milk to drink. Harry ate a few bites, but his stomach seemed to rebel, making the hot rolls in his mouth taste awful. He waited until Snape went to the stove to remove the whistling tea kettle to grab his whole chicken breast and feed it to the dog. When Snape got up for another roll, Harry fed the rest of his food to the dog.

"All done," he told Snape when the man turned back. "May I be excused?"

"Absolutely not. You have dishes to do. And then I want your whole trunk unpacked and put away before bed."

Washing dishes took an absurd amount of energy, and piling the dishes into the hot water burned his cold fingers. He felt fairly certain that he had a cold, but he knew that Snape would blame that on running about in the cold pipes and getting soaked and slimy. Harry thought anyone could get a cold and he didn't see why people were always looking for reasons why he got sick. Sometimes people just got sick, and it had nothing to do with what had happened to them in the past days.

Harry very much wanted to go to bed after the dishes, but it was only eight, and he knew Snape would suspect something if he headed to bed on his own accord at such an early hour. So Harry had to sit in the living room and pretend to read, keeping himself behind a large book and swiping at his nose with his sleeve. Finally at ten, Snape put down his own book and announced in a foreboding voice, "Bedtime."

"Not yet," Harry protested because he knew Snape expected it. "Another hour."

"Absolutely not. You might have snuck around Hogwarts at all hours of the night, but here for the rest of the summer you will be in bed by ten, until of course you are being punished in which case it will be much earlier."

Harry felt frustrated at that - he could have been in bed hours ago if he had just thought to annoy Snape and earn himself a punishment. But it was hard to think rationally with such a bad cold.

Once in bed, Harry chattered as he pulled up the covers. His bed had a sheet, thin blanket, and quilt, but they seemed threadbare to his aching limbs. Snape insisted he wear the silly nightshirt from last year, but Harry had grown and it barely reached his knees and added no warmth at all.

In the midst of the cold night, Harry awoke, feeling like he was slowly freezing to death. He raised a trembling hand up to his forehead; his fingers felt like ice to his burning forehead. He shakily took his quilt and doubled it up.

Vampyr was asleep on the floor, but he woke up at Harry's shifting.

"Come on," Harry whispered, his voice hurting to talk. "Up here with me. Keep me warm."

Vampyr made a whining noise. Harry guessed Snape had trained him not to jump up on the beds, and he also guessed that no amount of coaxing would get Vampyr to come up. Taking the sheet, blanket, and quilt with him, Harry rolled off the bed and stumbled to the cold, hard floor below. He pressed himself against the dog and wrapped the covers around both of them, desperate for any heat the dog would offer. It was slightly warmer than the bed, but Harry's whole body hurt against the hard floor.

He wished he had the nerve to go tell Snape he was sick. Snape would be furious at being woken in the middle of the night, but he might give Harry something to help with the chills and the aching and the headache that had started to form.

Harry slipped into a dream where he did go tell Snape, but Snape didn't understand and Harry had to shout out that he felt awful. Snape finally gave him medicine in the dream and he felt momentarily better, but Harry awoke to find himself still hurting on the floor.

Morning light finally came, and Harry dragged himself to the bathroom. He tried to tidy his hair and brush his teeth, but his sinuses were so stopped up he could barely breathe and he choked on a handful of water. A bout of coughing followed, but he turned the water up so Snape couldn't hear. He splashed cold water on his face (agony) and then pinched his cheeks and chin and forehead to give himself some color.

Thankfully, his glasses covered his red, bleary eyes, and by the time he was dressed, he convinced himself he could survive this illness. He was stronger than it - it would go away eventually. He had taken care of himself when he was sick at the Dursleys', and he could take care of himself at Snape's as well. He would stay still and let his body heal itself.

"I want you to start weeding the garden today," Snape announced at breakfast. He set down a plate of eggs, sausage, and rye toast before Harry along with a glass of milk.

Harry's stomach flipped right over at the sight of so much hearty food; the sizzling sausage was enough to make him nauseated. Why couldn't Snape give him a bowl of plain porridge? Or maybe just a cup of tea and dry toast? Why did Snape have to give him meals at all? Why couldn't Snape starve him and leave him in peace rather than torture him with breakfast?

Again Harry made use of Vampyr, and he took a few bites of food while Snape was watching. But Harry just kept moving the food in his mouth and spit it into a napkin when Snape looked away or got up.

After escaping breakfast, Harry went outside. The sky was overcast and gloomy, and Harry felt certain the whole world was trying to kill him with its coldness. He knelt by the flower beds and pulled out a few weeds, but he didn't have the strength to pull out more than the smallest weeds.

He hated that his body was failing him, and he wished he could find a warm spot on the face of the planet to curl up and sleep.

"What are you doing?" Snape stormed out of the house a long time later. "You've not done one bed, and it's almost noon. I'm not tolerating your insolence, not this summer, Potter!"

He yanked Harry off the ground by the collar, marching him into the kitchen which was mercifully warmer than the yard, and stood him in the corner.

"You'll stand there until lunch, and if I see any more disobedience, I'll paddle you until you can't sit down for the whole summer," Snape snarled. "I get stuck with you, and you turn into a horrid little brat who sets out to ruin my summer. There will be no more fun for you this summer - I will make this summer worse than the last one, and believe me, I can make your life a nightmare, young man, and -"

Harry leaned his head against the walls of the corner, letting Snape's berating wash over him. Standing was not something he wanted to do, but he preferred it over weeding. He wondered what he would have to do for Snape to make him stand there longer after lunch; Harry had plenty of ideas on how to rile Snape up, but it was a fine line between mildly irritating the man enough to earn mild punishments and infuriating him enough to gain a real chastisement. Whatever happened, Harry knew he could not endure a stern spanking at the moment; he just could not. He didn't want to kneel beside the gardens; he couldn't imagine the pain his head would be in if he was turned over Snape's knee.

"I'm not hungry," Harry said outright when lunch was ready and he was called from the corner.

Snape's eyes glinted, and the hard lines appeared around his mouth. "You will eat."

Harry looked at the food. Sandwiches, salad, and fruit. He could choke some of that down.

"Fine," he said. "I'll eat a little."

"What's wrong with your voice?" Snape asked as they sat down.

"Nothing. What's wrong with your voice?" Harry tried to use sarcasm to cover up his hoarseness.

"You will spend another hour in the corner after lunch," Snape decided.

The second hour in the corner was worse than the first, but Harry tried to brace himself for the duration. "I can do this, I can do this, I can do this," he said to himself over and over again, a mantra of desperation to get him through the hour.

When he was finally done, Snape told him to go back out to weed.

"And if you aren't through with at least four beds, I'm going to teach you a lesson about lazy little boys who ignore their fathers."

"Yes, sir," Harry whispered.

He did try. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he wanted to throw up but he hadn't eaten anything, and he was freezing, but he tried to weed.

For an hour, he clawed at the weeds, begging them to come up.

Then a light drizzle started.

Harry leaned back on his heels and stared up at the sky, watching the small droplets splatter on his glasses. He was cold and alone and sick, and he wanted to cry. Tears were welling in his eyes, and he hated himself for being so weak and needy and helpless.

He pushed himself up to his feet and staggered into the house, so dizzy he nearly fell over. He dragged himself into the living room where Snape was reading.

"What now?" Snape put down his book to glare. "How do you plan to bother me now?"

Harry turned towards the door, not saying anything. He took a step, resolved not to say anything. He would take care of himself; he always had and he didn't need Snape.

But he did.

Harry turned back. "I'm sick," he whispered.

"What?" Snape lifted his eyebrows.

"I'm sick," Harry said, a little louder. "I don't feel good. I don't know what's wrong, but -"

Snape stood up and swept over to him. Harry didn't step back; it took every bit of his strength to keep tears back. Sliding his fingers under Harry's fringe, Snape felt his forehead.

"You're burning up."

Snape lifted up his glasses to peer in his eyes, and Harry's world went blurry for a moment until Snape set them back on his nose.

"How long have you been sick?" Snape asked, reaching down to press his fingers around Harry's throat to check for swelling.

"A while."

"How long?" the question was sterner.

"Several days," Harry confessed.

"Are you hurting?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I ache and my head hurts and it's hard to breathe."

"Mmm," Snape nodded.

Harry wondered what would happen now. Would Snape make him ask for a potion to feel better? Well, it wouldn't be the cruelest thing Snape had ever done, but -

Snape suddenly leaned Harry against the table. Harry knew what was coming next, but he could not believe that Snape would spank him while he felt so bad.

"You awful boy, how dare you not tell me you were sick?" Snape roared. And then he smacked Harry's bottom.

Well, it was almost a smack. More of a firm pat than a smack, not enough to cause any pain at all, but Harry burst into tears. He hated being punished by Snape, and the fact that Snape thought he needed to be reprimanded but didn't want to hurt Harry nearly broke Harry's heart.

Three more pats, and Harry couldn't see for the tears that kept coming.

"I'm sorry!" he wailed. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."

"You're about to be," Snape stood him up and started marching him towards the stairs, his hands tucked firmly under Harry's arms but not tight enough to hurt his ribs.

They stopped in the bathroom, and Snape deposited Harry on the lone chair while he stoppered the tub and began filling it with hot water.

"Don't move," Snape ordered, pointing a finger at Harry before stomping out.

Harry hastily took off his glasses and swiped at his face. He hoped the bath might help warm him up, but he expected Snape to bring back a potion to help him.

Snape did come back with several vials of potions, but he set them aside and dipped a hand in the water. "Good enough," he decided. He pulled Harry out of his chair and began tugging off his clothes.

"I can undress myself," Harry objected. "I'm almost thirteen, and that's too old to -"

"Silence," Snape ordered. He stripped Harry to his underwear and then supported him as he stepped into the tub, easing Harry down into the hot water.

Harry breathed out a long shuddering sigh at how good he felt, but Snape uncorked the potions and began pouring them in the bathwater. Harry stared as the water turned blue, purple, and red, before clearing again. Then the steam of the bath clouded his glasses, and Harry couldn't see.

Snape slipped his glasses off and put them on the chair before grabbing a folded towel. He put it on the edge of the tub and then leaned Harry back on it, padding his head against the hard porcelain. Snape shook out several more towels and spread them over the top of the tub, allowing the hot water to steam inside. He left Harry's head peeking out above the towels.

"You stay there and soak in the water," Snape ordered. "One potion is to keep the water hot, and you'll steam in it for a good half hour."

Harry nodded. He wasn't even sure if he could lift his head if he wanted to.

He zoned out, staring at the blurring world before him and listening to the soft ripple of water under all the towels. Snape had gone somewhere, but Harry felt sure he would come back eventually, and if he didn't, Harry wouldn't mind lying there forever. His headache had mostly gone, and without the cold, his body didn't hurt as much.

"All right," Snape finally appeared again. "Time to get dried off."

Harry couldn't see him until Snape peeled off the towels and helped himself out of the tub. Though he couldn't really see, Harry grabbed for the dry towel.

"I can dry myself," he objected. "Where's a pair of dry underwear?"

Snape had an odd look on his face, smirking slightly, but he let Harry dry himself off and even turned away to gather up the wet towels while Harry slipped on a fresh pair of underwear. He grabbed his glasses, and the world went clear again.

"Where are my clothes?" Harry glanced around.

Snape's smirk grew to an evil grin. "Oh, while you were lolling in the tub, I went to find you something warm to sleep in. I had to enlarge it a little, but it should fit you."

Snape held up a white garment.

An awful moment of horror later, Harry realized that he was staring at a sleeping garment. A one piece, white sleeping garment that had feet at the end of the legs - just like the sleepers they put toddlers into. Snape turned the garment a little, and Harry saw that the back side had a drop seat. And worst of all, it had a hood attached to the collar, a bunny hood with big floppy bunny ears, and down the front of the garment ran a row of orange carrot buttons!

"I'm not getting into that!" Harry declared, his voice stronger after all the steam of the bath.

"Oh, yes, you are," Snape looked delighted. "This will keep you nice and toasty. But first," he grabbed a potion pot filled to the top with tan globs of what looked like fat, "this will be rubbed over your skin."

"I don't want that on me," Harry shook his head.

"You came to me and told me you were sick," Snape set the pot on the chair. "I'm doing everything in my power to make sure you heal properly. Now stand still."

Snape dipped his fingers into the pot and Harry made a disgusted face, but he stood still while Snape started rubbing the stuff into his shoulders. It felt greasy and sticky, but Harry felt more worried about having to wear those awful bunny pajamas than whatever Snape rubbed him down with.

Snape started lecturing, scolding him for waiting so long to reveal how sick he was. "I could see this as pure disobedience, Harry. You are not allowed to get sick and not tell me. I even asked if you were well this morning, and you lied to me. Wicked boy! You do not lie to me. Once you are well, we are having a serious talk about this, as well as a sound discussion about what you did in the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry bit his lip nervously, but he was too distracted by how much better he felt and Snape's rubbing and the bunny pajamas to think coherently. "I - I - I don't know. I was good in the Chamber."

"You told me Lockhart forced you down there. Is that true?"

Harry squirmed as Snape moved down to cover his back in the sticky potion. "No?"

"Harry," Snape's voice was low and stern.

"Maybe? I knew the truth about the Chamber, and I was worried about Hermione, and Ginny was taken, and I'm the only one who can speak to snakes so I had to rescue them."

"We will have a very long discussion once you recover," Snape promised.

"Then I'm never getting better!" Harry said.

"If you don't get better, I will spank you," Snape moved the pot and pushed Harry to sit down in the chair so he could start on his legs.

"You can't spank me when I'm sick," Harry managed to feel a small bit of comfort.

"Don't push me."

Snape finished with his legs and set to work on his stomach, which Harry found tortuous as it tickled somewhat, but Snape was fast and pulled Harry up to stand. He bent Harry against the sink and pulled down his underwear to hastily smear the potion over his bare bottom.

"Snape!" Harry objected. "I'm almost thirteen!"

"And I expect you to act your age and tell me when you're sick," Snape replied as the man pulled up his underwear. "When you don't, I take care of you like a toddler."

"So last summer I was a work boy, schoolboy, and apprentice, and this summer I'm a toddler?" Harry retorted.

"That's enough out of you. Stop upsetting yourself and step into these pajamas," Snape unbuttoned the outfit and dropped to one knee to hold it out for Harry to step into.

"This is humiliating," Harry groaned, but he lifted one foot for Snape to slide the pajamas on. He had to grab onto Snape's shoulders to keep from tripping over.

"A little humility is good for you," Snape helped him with the other foot.

"Humility and humiliation are not the same thing," Harry protested as Snape pulled the pajamas up. He slipped his hands into the sleeves, and Snape stood to button those beastly carrot buttons.

"Hush. You're still very sick, and I won't let you make yourself worse. Here, this will keep your fingers warm."

Harry watched as Snape pulled out what Harry thought were rounded sleeve cuffs on the pajamas. But the cuffs folded inside out and fit over his hands like big, fingerless mittens. He couldn't even use his fingers anymore.

"I am not wearing the hood!" Harry declared, feeling close to tears again. "No, I won't!"

"Very well, but if your head gets cold, I'm pulling it up," Snape warned. "Now turn around so I can button your seat up."

Harry did not know what to do as he turned. He was wearing pajamas that encased his feet and hands, and he wanted to be angry and upset at Snape, but the potion made his skin feel good. It didn't seem so greasy; it was warm and soothing, and he didn't ache anymore.

A wave of drowsiness hit him, and he lifted his hand (white paw) to cover his mouth. The pajamas were made of the softest cotton he had ever felt, and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Now we'll put you to bed," Snape announced.

Harry wrenched his eyes open to look at the plain clock on the wall. "It's not even five o'clock," he said, just because he thought he should object to going to bed in the middle of the afternoon.

"Move along," Snape ordered.

Harry looked down at his legs, but his covered feet didn't move, and he felt too tired to walk.

"Of all the annoying cheek," Snape grumbled. He put a hand behind Harry's back and scooped him up. The swiftness of the move surprised Harry and he grabbed onto Snape's neck as he was carried from the bathroom to his bedroom. He wondered briefly where Vampyr was, but Snape deposited him on the bed on his side and covered him up.

Harry wasn't sure if he was awake anymore - he felt warmer and more comfortable than he had been in months. Once Snape removed his glasses, Harry had no reason to keep his eyes open. He let them slide shut, and somewhere in his deep fall into sleep, he felt Snape tucking the covers around his shoulders and over his mittened hands.

"Wretched, worthless boy," Snape pressed his lips into a straight line as he watched Harry slip off. "How do you manage to get yourself into such trouble? You have a lot to answer for. Lying and getting sick and worrying me to no end. If you ever pull this nonsense again, I will leave you in the cellar to rot."

It was rather odd, in light of Snape's harsh words, that he took a seat next to the bed and situated himself to watch the boy sleep. He tried to convince himself that he did not really care, that he only wanted to see whether or not the boy would live for the next few hours, but he frowned in concern as he watched each deep breath the bunny-clad boy took, easing only the slightest edge off his worry.