Chapter Text
There was an outbreak of Owl’s Flu at Hogwarts.
It wasn’t actually a flu originating from owls, according to the chapter in the book Harry had found that discussed magical infectious diseases. It was just called that because this flu had once been believed to have spread via owls carrying post from one location to another. Modern magical medicine said otherwise, but the name had stuck.
Outbreaks, when they did occur, tended to emerge in late winter, just before the turn of spring. It was mocking, in its way, displacing the enjoyment of the slowly-warming weather, spreading easily among the students in close quarters. All that aside, the symptoms didn’t seem all that different from the regular Muggle flu, save for one’s skin taking on a noticeably gray tinge.
Harry knew of at least five Ravenclaws who had caught it so far, and, when he noticed Michael sniffling during breakfast, he might have spotted the sixth.
“You should probably get to the hospital wing before you infect us all,” Terry advised, shifting away from Michael less-than-subtly.
Michael scowled. “It’s not the flu.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and Terry gave him a look.
Long story short, it was the flu.
“We’re all gonna die,” Anthony said dramatically during lunch. “Well, the girls are probably safe, but we sleep in the same room as him, breathe the same air-”
“Have you never had the flu before?” Padma interrupted.
“Don’t think so. I never get sick.”
“I had it once,” Lisa said through a mouthful of grilled chicken. “It was awful.”
“Dad and I both got it a few years ago,” Stephen added. “If my grandmother hadn’t come to help we probably both would have starved to death.”
“Can you get it again if you’ve had it before?” asked Morag, the one other Muggle-raised student of the Ravenclaw first years.
“Well, not right away,” said Lisa. “According to the Wizarding Disease Control Center, the virus fully mutates every two or three years, so it’s like a whole new disease by that point.”
“Do people die from it?”
“Rarely. It just spreads so fast that there’s nothing to do but let it happen.”
The next several days proved Lisa’s point. By all reports, the hospital wing was overcrowded, and Madam Pomfrey and Severus were working around the clock to prepare and administer the necessary potions. Severus still wanted Harry in his office every day, so Harry spent a good portion of each evening doing his homework in Severus’ potions lab while the man brewed. All classes were invariably missing a few students, and several teachers had caught it as well. A number of students had taken to utilizing Bubble-Head Charms during the day, but that trend ended quickly when Dumbledore announced one morning that the charm was not airtight enough to prevent transmission. The virus was clever, he’d said, and was resistant to most magical preventative measures.
Though Michael had since recovered, Terry and Padma were out, as well as Padma’s sister Parvati, whose parents had opted to bring home to recover. Hermione, Neville, and Ron seemed fine, but Seamus Finnegan was ill, too. Judging by the state of their Potions classes, several Hufflepuffs had fallen ill, and the same could be said for the Slytherins during Herbology. Zabini was all right, though, having had the flu just last year.
“If only ghosts could catch the flu,” Su muttered as they tried to stay awake through Binns’ lecture.
Harry snorted. “Or we could just catch it ourselves to get out of class like everyone else.”
Harry’s words proved to be prophetic, at least for him. He woke up in the middle of the night unable to breathe through his nose and a headache blooming at his temples. He managed to fall back asleep briefly, only to wake up again, his headache even worse.
“Harry,” a distant voice was saying above his head. “You’re going to be late for class.”
Harry moaned and blinked his eyes open, staring hazily at Anthony, whose brow was furrowing in concern.
“Oh, it’s got you as well,” he said, frowning.
Harry just groaned, pulling the covers over his head.
Anthony, with the help of Su, managed to haul Harry down to the common room, where they were stopped by prefect Penelope Clearwater, who peered down at Harry with narrowed eyes.
“I’ll take him,” she said. “I’m immune. Get to class, you two.”
“Feel better, Harry,” Anthony said with a pat on the shoulder. Su squeezed his arm, and they both sort of… faded from existence. From Harry’s admittedly unreliable perspective, at any rate.
“Thank you, Miss Clearwater,” Madam Pomfrey said tiredly when Penelope half-carried Harry into the hospital wing. “Run along, now.”
Penelope left, and Madam Pomfrey led Harry to one of the few empty beds. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Harry sunk into the mattress, horribly dizzy, his head pounding sickeningly, and an awful nausea rising in his stomach. He pressed his hands over his ears at the grating sound of coughing and sniffling from the many ill patients. This was, officially, the worst.
***
Harry must have fallen asleep at some point, because he awoke to the sound of a familiar voice.
“Why was I not informed immediately?” Severus snapped.
“Because I have over thirty ill students and staff members to look after,” Madam Pomfrey shot back. “And those are just the ones who can’t be cared for at home. I’ve already had to call in trainees from St. Mungo’s to assist, and they won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
“I’ll take him off your hands, then.”
“That’s probably best. He’ll be more comfortable in a private room.”
Harry blinked his eyes open as he was carefully lifted off the bed into Severus’ arms.
“ ‘m sorry,” he mumbled, though he wasn’t sure what for.
“Hush.”
Though it was clear Severus was trying to be gentle, the trip down to Severus’ quarters made Harry’s head throb worse, and he thought he might vomit every time he was jostled a little too roughly. He pressed his face into Severus’ shoulder and tried to breathe evenly.
“We’re nearly there,” Severus murmured, resting his palm against the back of Harry’s head.
“I got ill,” Harry slurred, because, for some reason, it felt like the thing to say.
“Yes, you did.”
“It’s- it’s a bird flu,” he said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.
“Well, strictly speaking, it is a wizard’s flu…”
Harry lost track of what Severus was saying and kept his eyes closed until he was lowered into soft bedsheets and a bottle was pressed against his lips.
“It’s just water. You need to remain hydrated.”
Harry obediently opened his mouth and swallowed a few mouthfuls before turning his head away.
“Th’nks,” he mumbled, curling onto his side.
“Don’t thank me.”
“I wanna thank you.”
Harry didn’t hear Severus’ reply, because he was fast asleep.
Something soft is brushing against his face. It feels a bit like feathers, and when he opens his eyes, they’re greeted with the orange-red hue of a curtain of long hair. He reaches out with both arms, and he’s pulled into the safest place in the world. It smells like flowers, and it feels like…
The hair is a different color now, dark brown, and its texture rougher and more tangled. At least, it looks that way, because he’s not touching it. It’s a few feet away, framing an olive-toned face that’s grinning mischievously at him. Jade’s smile doesn’t always reach her eyes, but it is now. The woody scent he’s surrounded by reminds him of the flowery smell. Not because it smells the same, but because it feels the same…
Harry tried to squirm away from the hand on his shoulder that was shaking him awake.
“Harry, you need to take this potion.”
“Po- potion?”
“Yes, you require this potion.”
“Where’s Jade?”
“Who is Jade?”
Harry’s eyes filled with tears. “Jade’s gone,” he hiccuped. “She went away and l-left me all alone.”
A soft hand smoothed over his cheek. It felt nice, not like the hard hands that slapped his cheek. He nuzzled against it.
“Is Jade a friend of yours?”
Harry sniffled. “Yeah. She’s my- she’s my only person. She’s in the treehouse…”
No, that wasn’t right. If she was in the treehouse, then she wouldn’t be gone.
“Treehouse,” Severus murmured. “Might that be the treehouse I found you in when you had the grand idea of running off to Surrey on your own?”
“ ‘s a nice treehouse,” said Harry, his lips turning up into a smile. “Jade found it first, an’ then I found her.”
Severus stroked his hair. “It is indeed a nice treehouse.”
“Your hand ’s soft,” Harry said, lifting his arm to grab hold of it. It took two tries, because his arm felt quite heavy. Severus let Harry hold his hand, which was just the nicest thing to do.
“Lotsa people’s hands hurt,” Harry stated, counting Severus’ fingers to make sure he had all five of them.
“Do they?” Severus asked.
“Yes,” Harry said decisively. “Uncle Vernon’s hand is very mean.” He shuddered, squeezing Severus’ thumb. “It hurts a lot. Also Aunt Petunia’s.”
Severus made a strange face that Harry didn’t understand, but he could understand Severus cradling Harry’s face in his two soft hands and saying, “no one will hurt you again,” in a croaky, choked sort of voice.
Harry reached over to touch Severus’ face. “No one’ll hurt you either.”
Neither of them could promise that, but it was nice to say.
Severus took a long, deep breath, then took one of his hands away from Harry’s face to pick up the bottle of magical potion again.
“Will you drink this, please?”
“ ‘kay.” Harry swallowed the potion even though it tasted horrible, because Severus had asked so nicely. The man then gave him more water, which helped clear away the taste.
“Try to go back to sleep,” Severus said, patting Harry’s shoulder.
Severus’ words were better than any sleeping potion, because Harry fell asleep straight away.
***
It was the dry coughs that woke Harry an indeterminate number of hours later.
Harry clutched at his blankets as horrible, unrelenting coughs wracked his body. When they subsided, he gasped for air, pressing a hand against his aching chest. The headache seemed to be mostly gone, as was the nausea, but the pain in his throat and chest was even worse.
Harry took several careful breaths and fumbled clumsily for the half-filled bottle of water on his nightstand. The water helped soothe the dryness in his throat, but it didn’t prevent the next bout of coughs, which were so rattling that the bottle slipped out of his hand. It didn’t shatter when it hit the floor, but the remaining water spilled out of it.
Feeling perilously close to tears, Harry turned onto his side, trying to suppress the next round of coughs. He was startled into releasing them, however, when Severus strode into the room.
Harry’s whole body shook with the force of the coughs, and Severus sat at the edge of the bed, pulling him upright and rubbing his back. Tears were streaming down Harry’s face by that point, and he didn’t even care how pathetic it made him look.
“Hurts,” he croaked when the coughing ebbed.
“I know,” Severus said quietly, still holding Harry upright. He pulled a vial out of his robes. “This won’t prevent the coughing entirely, but it will reduce the frequency.”
Harry downed it in one gulp, desperate for a reprieve, and sighed in relief when the overwhelming urge to cough faded to a faint tickle in the back of his throat.
“Aren’t you going to get ill from me?” Harry asked hoarsely as Severus lowered him back into his pillows.
“Do not concern yourself,” Severus replied, leaning over to retrieve Harry’s water bottle and refilling it with a flick of his wand.
“I am concerned, though,” Harry whispered, because it hurt less than using his voice.
Severus set down the bottle and arranged Harry’s blanket properly. “I contracted the illness within the past three years, so chances are slim that I will catch it from you.
“Okay,” Harry mumbled, blinking tiredly.
Severus shifted as though he were going to stand, and Harry grabbed the man’s wrist reflexively. Why had he done that? His face heated a little when Severus turned to look at him, exhaustion lining every inch of his face. But he couldn’t bring himself to let go.
“Can you-” Harry cleared his throat, wincing at the ache.
“Yes?” Severus asked, his voice low and whispery.
Harry opened his mouth but could not bring himself to speak, to ask for the one thing he wanted more than anything in this moment. It was horrible, truly, how it was right there for him to take if only he could reach it, but it felt too far away. Severus would give it to him if he asked for it, but he just couldn’t… couldn’t…
Harry’s eyes welled up with frustrated tears, and before he could let Severus see that, he pushed himself up carefully, his heart pounding with the exertion, and shifted himself closer to Severus. Before his brain could do anything more to stop him, Harry wrapped his arms around the man's neck.
“Please,” he mumbled into Severus' bony shoulder. “I just need- please.”
And then Severus hugged him back. It felt so incredibly good that Harry’s eyes welled over, his breaths growing short and shallow with the effort not to sob, because he really didn’t want to right now.
“Breathe, child,” Severus murmured, still holding Harry tightly.
Harry did his best to obey, but it felt rather superfluous. What did he need air for, when he had this?
***
Severus’ throat felt strange. It was tight and achy, and his chest felt no better. His eyes were stinging, too, wetness pooling at the corners. Yet, none of those symptoms were a sign of illness. They were a sign of the feverish child currently clinging to him and shivering due to the lack of temperature regulation that came with his illness, his overheated form radiating warmth. His child had wrapped his skinny little arms around him with a delirious desperation, his hitching breaths puffing against Severus’ neck. And it made him want to weep. In sadness? Pain? Joy? Severus had not shed a tear in many years, and perhaps he had forgotten how. Yet if there was any one thing in the world that could draw them out, it would be this child. The fever seemed to have stripped Harry of his protective walls and his wariness, and it had allowed him to express his true desire. He just wanted to be held, and he wanted Severus to do it. And by all the gods, Severus would set fire upon the earth on his way to fulfill that need. And if pained, joyous, incredulous tears were now emerging, in a darkened room in the dead of night, so be it.
***
The next time Harry woke up, much of the fog of his illness seemed to have lifted. He still felt weak and achy, but a vague hunger was beginning to make itself known, not to mention a pressing need to use the facilities.
Slowly, Harry slid off of his bed and to his feet, his hand brace against his nightstand for balance. He could probably make it to the door as long as he held onto something. And he did manage to make it out of his room, feeling along the wall on the way to the toilet.
“What are you doing up?”
Severus’ voice startled Harry so that he nearly lost his footing, and Severus was there in a flash to catch him under the arms.
“Need the loo,” Harry mumbled, red-faced, squirming out of Severus’ grip. He pulled open the door, then turned to stare up at Severus when the man made no move to retreat.
“You’re not coming in with me, are you?” he asked, half-trepidatious, half-mutinous. Just let Severus even try...
“No,” Severus said mildly. “I will be waiting outside the door in the event that you faint and crack your skull against the tub.”
Harry turned his head away, flushing, and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a snap. He wasn’t going to faint.
He emerged shortly, still flushed, and Severus was right there waiting for him.
“Back to bed, then?”
Harry shook his head rapidly. “No, I’m hungry.”
Severus studied him for a moment. “That’s a good sign,” he said, wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders and leading him to the table. Moments later, a plate of buttered toast, a bowl of some sort of broth, and a steaming cup of tea popped into existence. Severus sat across from Harry with just a mug of black coffee.
“Eat slowly,” the man advised. “You may have more if you clear your plate.” He pushed a glass of water in front of Harry. “I want you to finish this as well.”
Harry gave a tired salute that had Severus smirking into his coffee and tried not to devour his food too quickly. Surprisingly, he barely managed to finish one slice of toast and just a few spoonfuls of broth, along with the glass of water. He pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, the exhaustion starting to creep up on him again.
“How are you feeling?” Severus asked.
“I’m-” Harry’s voice emerged as a croak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m all right, I think. Tired. Everything aches.”
Severus nodded shortly. “That’s to be expected. Headache?”
“A bit.”
Severus waved his wand to summon a vial, which landed right next to Harry’s plate.
“That will clear your sinuses, which should ease the headache.”
Harry downed the potion in one swallow and exhaled in relief when his airways abruptly cleared, relieving the tightness in his forehead and temples and leaving a minty coolness behind. He closed his eyes for a few moments and just breathed, reveling in the absence of pain. A little while later, he managed to make a decent effort at his cup of tea while Severus sipped his coffee and flipped through a journal.
“Who is Jade?” Severus asked abruptly, lifting his head.
Harry nearly choked on his tea. “How- how d’you know about Jade?”
“You mentioned that name to me at the height of your fever.”
Harry’s face heated at the thought of what he might have said if he'd been in such a delirious state that he couldn't remember any of it. “What did I- what did I say about her?”
“You implied that she was a friend of yours who had left.”
Harry bit his lip, staring at the dregs of his tea. “She was,” he said, very quietly.
“Did she pass away?” Severus asked in a careful tone.
Harry jerked his head up. “No! She just moved away.”
“I see,” said Severus. “Was she a friend from school?”
Harry shook his head. “I dunno what school she went to. We met outside of school. Not in my neighborhood. She lived on the side of town that Vernon used to say was populated by hooligans.” Harry ended the sentence on a dry note.
“Did she leave quite abruptly?” asked Severus.
Harry stared. “How d’you know?”
“You stated that she had left you alone.”
Harry’s shoulders hunched, and he dropped his eyes towards his plate.
“What is her surname?”
Harry glanced up, confused at the question. “I- I don’t know. I don’t think we ever mentioned our family names.”
Severus inclined his head. “Her age?”
“Well, she was a year ahead of me at school, so she’s probably twelve now. Or maybe thirteen- wait, why are you asking?”
“I thought I might make an attempt to track her down,” said Severus.
Harry blinked, then blinked again, finding himself unable to fully comprehend what Severus was suggesting.
Track her down? I’ve never even thought… why have I never thought to try?
Probably because he’d grown used to the loss, having accepted the ache of her absence just as surely as he’d accepted his parents’ deaths. They would never come back, and neither would Jade. But why not? She wasn’t dead. He hadn’t had the resources to find her back then, but he had a whole magical world at his fingertips now.
Harry refocused his gaze upon Severus, who was looking back at him with a faintly concerned expression on his face.
“You- I-” Harry broke off, taking a careful breath. “If- if you can find her, I- I-” He gave up then, swallowing against the rising lump in his throat.
Severus gave him a brief, tired smile, reaching across the table to refill Harry’s water glass. He lowered the jug, his hand lingering upon it for a moment, then released it to press his palm against Harry’s forehead. The warmth it left behind was no longer a sign of fever.