Heart of the Guardian

18. Custodi Bene

The next morning, Potter stayed in bed later than usual. Snape was not surprised. The boy had had nightmares two nights running. He hoped the boy was at least getting some sleep in the early morning hours. He was not much better himself. Despite a lengthy hot bath, his muscles protested every move as he dressed. His ankles ached, his neck was stiff, and his wand wrist was tender and a bit inflamed. He felt like he was coming down with some blasted Muggle 'flu. Groaning slightly, he threw a wool jumper over his shirt, wedged his feet into the lamb's wool slippers Potter had conjured for him in the infirmary, and went to hang his head over the table, too ill to even order breakfast from the kitchen. The thought of food made him queasy.

He was still sitting there an hour later when the door to Potter's room opened. The boy halted when he saw him. Snape did not have the energy even to raise his head.

"Professor?"

Snape groaned softly in reply.

"Are you okay, Professor?"

He groaned again. His head felt like it was going to burst, and he was chilled despite the sweater.

The boy walked over and stood by him uncertainly. He could see the boy's feet to his left if he cracked his eyes – but why on earth would he want to do that? He wanted to let his head slide down to the table, but some innate sense of dignity kept it upright.

A hand touched his forehead. It was cool. That felt good, but also made him shiver. He groaned.

"Professor... you're warm... Should I... should I...?"

"'m fine, Potter. I just need... rest."

Silence – thank Merlin.

"Professor? I think you should go back to bed."

That sounded blissful... but he was uncertain just exactly where his bed was, at the moment, and he seemed to have misplaced his head. Or something. He really couldn't think... didn't want to.

"Come on, Professor..."

How he got to bed, he didn't know. One minute he was at the table, the next he knew coherently, he was in his bed, buried under blissfully warm blankets, a fire in the fireplace, and a cup of steaming tea on his nightstand next to a purple vial of... something. A worried-looking Potter was looking down at him.

"What time is it?"

The boy looked guilty.

"What's the matter?"

"Uh... nothing. It's... it's around seven, Professor," the boy said in a thoughtfully quiet voice.

Seven. That didn't make sense... hadn't he been up at seven?

His thoughts must have flitted across his face because the boy said, "It's seven at night, Professor. You've been sleeping all day."

He groaned, but not from soreness... just for having wasted an entire day.

"Are you all right, Professor? Should I get Professor Trelawney or Firenze?"

He groaned again in negation. "No! I'm fine," he ground out. Though he was not fine enough to decide to get out of bed, he realized. He struggled to a sitting position, grateful when the boy did not aid him.

"You should drink the tea, Professor," the boy said, reaching for the cup and handing it to him.

"What's in it?" he croaked, though his nose twitched at familiar scents and his mind started automatically cataloging ingredients. He seemed to be thinking again.

"Elderberry... and eucalyptus... and willow bark," the boy said.

Likely to be effective, Snape conceded. He inhaled. Even the scent helped calm his stomach and ease his head.