You Make Me Live (Remus Lupin x Reader One-Shots)

She's My Baby

(Basically, I'm so freaking sick right now and all I can think of is how good Remus Lupin would be at taking care of me. So, as previously stated, entirely self serving but I hope you enjoy it, too.)

I woke up with my airways blocked and groaned in agony from my burning throat. I had gone to bed with a bit of a scratchy throat only to wake up, as I had expected, miserably sick. I checked the alarm clock to discover that it was forty-five minutes after the potion I had taken the night before had been due to wear off. Carefully lifting the blankets, I crept out of bed. My whole body erupted in shivers and my limbs ached, so I sought out something warm to wear into the bathroom, retrieving my slippers from under the bed and Remus' bathrobe from the back of a chair. Padding into the bathroom, I blew my nose as quietly as possible and brushed my teeth again to get the horrible fuzzy feeling from my mouth. I considered taking a dose of Pepperup Potion, but I didn't feel like smoking at the ears at an ungodly hour of the morning, so instead I stumbled back to bed. Remus woke up almost completely at the sound of my involuntary whimper when I laid my head back.

"Are you alright, darling?" His hand was on my shoulder, just the warmth of it was heavenly.

"I didn't mean to wake you," my voice sounded horrible, and I cringed at the sound of it.

"You're up all night looking after me every month."

"I am not. I sleep in my Animagus form. You sleep with me, especially when you're on Wolfsbane." I was absolutely rambling at this point, and Remus chuckled affectionately.

"Let's get you a bit more comfortable, yeah?"

I nodded helplessly and nearly dozed off again while he leaned my limp body against his shoulder to stack the pillows. I now had three and he had one.

"That's not fair," I objected weakly as he laid me back down on my pillow tower.

"Better, love?"

"Mmm-hmm." My eyelids began to get heavy, closing without my permission. I was already breathing through my mouth again.

Remus ensured that his hand was cool before pressing it to my forehead. "Well, you don't have a fever yet, but it looks to me like you're headed that way."

"I can't be sick, I have a presentation tomorrow. There's a speech for the Prophet and everything."

"If you're ill, you're ill, sweetheart. Can you postpone it?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, then we'll just have to take good care of my girl, won't we?"

"Don't say things like that when I'm like this."

"Like what, my darling?"

"Don't say sexy stuff when I'm feeling too gross to do anything about it."

His laughter shook in his chest and he reached to stroke my hair. "Just get some rest, love. I'll spend the whole day looking after you when you wake up."

"Mmm, promise?"

"On my life. Goodnight," he kissed my temple and slid his arm around my waist.

"G'night."

In the morning, as promised, he helped me into his robe and pulled a stool into the bathroom so I wouldn't have to stand to brush my teeth. I waited there, slumped over the sink while he turned on the shower. He joined me to hold me up and help me, even when I shivered at his preferred temperature and the amount of hot water I needed was too much for him. He even washed my hair when I insisted I could do it. He got me hot tea with honey and spices as soon as I was dry and had an entire regimen of potions and balms and remedies waiting for me. At dinner, he insisted that Molly Weasley had made the soup we were eating, but I knew Molly's chicken soup recipe and she never added this much onion, garlic, and sage. As expected, I developed a fever in the afternoon and he was there with a cool compress to nip it in the bud. When he wasn't actively playing nursemaid, he was holding me in bed, rubbing my sore muscles whenever I so much as shifted and fixing the blankets around my shoulders if I shivered.

"I should get sick more often," I joked as he gathered me into his arms again, blankets and pillows newly adjusted.

"Please don't. Breaks my heart to see you like this," he laughed off his comment weakly, but I could tell there was some truth to it.

The next day, ready or not, I got dressed for work and headed in to submit my proposal to the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - and, to my terror, the Minister of Magic himself. Being the model representative of his administration, Fudge had always found my interest in the werewolf communities to be my way of occupying myself with quaint charity work. Like Goblins, or Centaurs, or Merpeople, werewolves were still viewed more as Beasts than Beings by most witches and wizards who were being honest with themselves, and this was what I intended to put a stop to - I just hoped beyond hope that I didn't *sound* like I had a stuffy nose.

When I walked into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Kingsley was waiting for me. We had been close since the war, as we had met through the Order and started at the Ministry at around the same time. He was a close friend, which was why he was well within his rights to look at my paper-white pallor, bloodshot eyes, and dark circles and conclude: "Y/n, you look like shit."

"I know. I've been ill." I had begun to ensure that I said 'ill' instead of 'sick,' especially in the immediate context, to avoid being misconstrued.

"You might still be. Can you speak?" He knew how important this day was for me.

"Let's see, shall we?" I pulled my speech out of the pocket of my robes. I didn't get past "Witches and Wizards of the Wizengamot-" before he cut me off, shaking his head.

"You're going to want to use Sonorus. At least."

I sighed deeply, nodding. Kingsley thought for a moment, glancing around.

"You've got an hour before you go in there. Try some slippery elm bark, it works wonders for the throat."

"Really?"

"You don't have time to ask me silly questions."

"Thank you, Kingsley."

"Go on!"

I made for the nearest apothecary and was back in twenty minutes with a pocketful of slippery elm lozenges, which I was informed had been given some kind of magical kick. The shop assistant was apparently sworn to secrecy about the exact ingredients, but he promised that if it didn't instantly heal my throat, I could get my full four sickles back. Figuring that my odds couldn't exactly get worse, I polished off three of them before making my speech.

Despite the fact that my voice was still quite weak (and I a nervous wreck), my speech seemed to be a rousing success. All I could do now was hope that Rita Skeeter wasn't given the honor of writing the Prophet article. When I came home, Remus looked like he'd spent the whole day pacing. "How did it go?" he asked anxiously. He had more cause to be nervous about the outcome than I did.

"I think it went well. We'll see what the papers have to say about it."

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Much. Wouldn't mind a few more hours in bed with you, though."

"Granted." He kissed my forehead with a smile and I cast my work robes aside sleepily.