In The Privacy Of His Chambers
a Harry Potter story
by Superimmunegirl
Severus Snape entered his chambers wearily. He had rarely been so glad to see his own bed. With a flick of his wand he transferred the ingredients waiting on the counter into the small cauldron for a much-needed dose of pepper up. The cold had been coming on since noon, but he'd been too busy to attend to it. He'd had classes, and then spent an hour in Albus' office, arguing with him about the best course of action. He'd made the unbreakable vow, so it looked like murder or suicide were his only options. But there had to be another way.They'd come to no conclusion, and finally he'd returned to his chambers and prepared to make the potion to treat his cold. But just as he was about to mix it, he'd been interrupted by an urgent summons from the Dark Lord. He'd had no choice but to go immediately.
Severus slowly peeled off his layers of clothing and dressed himself in his warmest, most comfortable night clothes. The Dark Lord did not take kindly to signs of weakness. When Severus' cold symptoms became noticeable, Voldemort had sneered, "Not feeling well, Snape?" with undisguised malice. "No. I'm not," he said acidly, indicating clearly that he had no more use for Voldemort's scorn than he had for the cold itself. Voldemort laughed. Any other Death Eater would have foolishly denied it or cravenly apologized. It was the reason Voldemort respected Severus-he could stand up to him.
But it was a fine line to walk, Severus thought, as his nose tickled and his breath hitched. "AATCHUHHH!" he sneezed into his hanky. He'd suppressed his sneezes all day, both in his classes and with the Dark Lord. Now, in the privacy of his chambers, how ridiculously satisfying it was to sneeze freely! "Huh-huh-huh- huuhhhahhTCHOO!" He gave his nose a trumpeting blow, not caring how it sounded. Sniffling, he gave the cauldron a clockwise stir and left it to brew. Meanwhile, he set about arranging all the little things he liked to have about him when he was sick. Severus was not the kind of person who ever had someone else to take care of him, so he'd long since learned to care for himself. He placed items on his bedside table: a stack of handkerchiefs, a tin of his favorite cherry cough drops, and a big glass of pumpkin juice. He found a cup to magic the potion into when it was ready, and selected a favorite book-not that he would be able to read much tonight. "You should eat something," he thought to himself. When his self protested that he wasn't very hungry, he thought sternly, "You should eat something anyway." So he summoned up a comforting bowl of chicken soup from the kitchen. Finally, he did a warming spell on his bed and gratefully eased himself under the covers.
He reveled in the feeling of finally being tucked into bed to nurse his cold. "AhhTCHSHHH! (sniff) Ugh.I feel awful," he said, needlessly, as he attended to his nose. Somehow it felt good to say it aloud. He looked longingly at the pepper-up, but it would not be ready for another ten minutes. Sighing, he picked up the bowl of chicken soup and had a few spoonfuls. It was very good, and perked up his appetite. It also made his nose run, and he blew again. He felt that his nose was beginning to get a little sore and red. There was a spell for that, but he was too tired to do it. He was so bloody tired.
As his remedy bubbled in the cauldron, he assessed his symptoms. He had a sore throat, a headache, his body ached, his nose was stuffed and running, he was sneezing, and he had a slight cough. Since he had not had the chance to nip it in the bud, the cold might easily persist into tomorrow despite the pepper-up. And he hated, HATED being noticeably sick around his students. He would often cast spells to hide his illnesses rather than admit to weakness. "You are NOT going to do that tomorrow, those spells will only make the cold worse. You'll take a sick day if you need it." Admitting he was too ill to work was also something he avoided, and he hadn't taken a sick day for almost two years. But tonight he was inclined to agree with his better judgement. He'd been working too hard, not sleeping enough, and was under a ridiculous amount of stress. A day of rest would do him good. As he accepted the idea, he actually found himself looking forward to it. A day in bed, with no demands, no infuriating students, no dangerous facades to keep up. All he would have to do was sip hot tea, read, and tend to his cold. It sounded like paradise. He opened his book.
Presently, the potion was ready. He motioned his wand and the potion flew neatly into the cup at his bedside. He drank the medicine and grimaced as steam burst out of his ears. "AAAATCHISHHH! ATCHOOO! ATCHUMMMPHH!" he sneezed, as the potion stimulated his immune response. He blew and blew, soaking through two handkerchiefs. Then he sat back, weary and sniffling. "This is ad awful code," he complained to himself. Now that he'd taken his medicine, he considered going to sleep, but he'd just started a chapter. He opened his book again and continued reading.
By the time he got to the end of the chapter, he was already feeling better. His nose was still stuffed and runny and he was sneezing intermittently, but he didn't feel so ill, achy and chilled. Perhaps he would recover by tomorrow after all. But by now he'd gotten very attached to the idea of a day in bed and felt despairing when he realized he might not need it.
"Well, so what if you don't need it?" asked a rebellious voice inside. "You haven't taken a day off in two years, you're working night and day, you've made this stupid unbreakable vow that will likely result in your death sometime in the next few months and the only other option is to kill Albus-in the face of all that, who cares if you don't have a cold? Merlin's sake, take a bloody day off!"
Giddily, the idea took hold of him. Yes-yes! He would do it. He would take tomorrow to rest whether he was sick or not. It wasn't something he did, he always took his duties very seriously, so it felt wonderfully decadent. Which was, he thought, pathetic. Was he really so hyper-responsible?
Severus put his book away and curled up under the covers. He had an odd habit of rocking himself back and forth as he was going to sleep, and this he did. He wiped his nose and kept his handkerchief balled up in his hand as he drifted off.
In the unguarded space between waking and sleeping, the reality of his situation-the reality that he tried his best not to think too deeply about--rose up as it did every night and stared him in the face.
I'm going to die, he thought. I'm going to die.
No you're not, he insisted as he did every night. You are not going to die. You are never going to die. We'll find a way. There has to be a way. Tomorrow you'll rest, and maybe once you're rested, you'll think of something.
Severus had always been a convincing liar. He fell asleep.
Week #89- General Bunny: Warm and quiet places. A normally unpleasant or even downright evil character - well, Snape would be the classic, but I dare you to think outside that box - retreats to a personal and cozy hiding place to recover from an awful cold. Limits: In the short story range