She moved about their small kitchen quietly, frowning slightly as she consulted her watch. Normally he was awake at least half an hour before her, but this morning he was sleeping later than usual. She had lived with him long enough to know he was uncommunicative and irritable until he'd had sufficient time to prepare himself for the day, and with less than an hour left before his first lesson, she would have to wake him soon. She hated doing it, but if she let him oversleep, he would be surly and out of sorts with everyone all day.

She prepared a cup of tea the way he preferred it - black, very hot and very strong - and carried it through to their bed chamber. He was sleeping on his side, curled up into himself, the blankets nearly covering his head. That in itself was unusual because he normally sprawled across the length of their bed and was continually throwing off the bedcovers which she would retrieve when the dungeon rooms became too chilly.

She sat down gingerly after placing the cup of tea on the nightstand. The mattress barely shifted beneath her weight and he made no movement nor gave any indication he was aware of her presence at all. His breathing was deep and even, if a little ragged-sounding, which wasn't out of the norm, although the faint possibility that something might be wrong with him was beginning to enter her mind. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

"Severus?" she said softly.

He made a small noise of displeasure but did not open his eyes or stir, either at her touch or the sound of her voice.

"Severus," she said, a little more loudly this time. "It's morning. Wake up."

At this he groaned and opened his eyes. "What time is it?" His early-morning voice was a bit more hoarse than she was accustomed to.

"Your first lesson is in about forty-five minutes."

He sat up slowly and she passed him his cup of tea. Instead of immediately rising and beginning his preparations, as was his usual habit, this morning he seemed extremely reluctant to leave the warmth of their bed, pulling the blankets up to cover his lap with one hand while he took a tentative sip of the steaming tea.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, unable to keep a note of concern from her voice.

"I'm fine," he insisted, curling both hands around the cup and avoiding her eyes.

He had responded too quickly and too defensively for her to believe in the veracity of his statement, but she had expected no other response. She studied him carefully, although it was hard to gauge how he was feeling from his appearance. His face seldom betrayed any emotion and he was always pale, but this morning there was a slight flush to his cheeks and perhaps the shadows under his eyes were a bit deeper.

I didn't sleep well last night," he finally admitted in response to her scrutiny.

She was a light sleeper and knew he had slept soundly, but she let it pass, deciding not to challenge him on it. "I'll make a quick breakfast while you're getting ready, shall I?"

He nodded and set aside his cup. He stood slowly, stretching and wincing a bit, which didn't escape her attention.

"Are you sure you're feeling well, love?"

Her familiar, affectionate endearment provoked a hint of a smile from him, just barely turning up the corners of his mouth, but he ignored her question and instead turned and made his way to the lavatory.

As she prepared breakfast, she listened absentmindedly to the sounds of water running through the pipes as he showered, her mind already racing ahead to her own busy day. She started a fresh pot of tea brewing and decided a quick meal of eggs and toast would have to do. She moved a small table near the fire and as she gathered the breakfast dishes, a sudden sound caught her attention. Although he had tried his best to muffle it, it had been the unmistakable sound of a sneeze.

She moved nearer the closed door, listening carefully. It could be his allergies playing up on him, but it was still a bit early in the year for that. After a moment's pause, she heard another barely-suppressed sneeze and then a muttered oath. She nodded to herself. Everything added up. He was seldom seriously ill, but he was prone to catch cold in the winter, especially near his birthday for some reason.

As he took his place at the table, she watched without comment as he moved his chair closer to the fire, a shudder coursing through him. She passed him the morning post and he flicked through it casually, nothing grabbing his attention for very long. He helped himself to another cup of tea but ignored the plates of food, as he always did. Seven years together hadn't changed him in the least and he was not at all inclined to converse in the morning - or any other time, come to that - but the silence between them was comfortable and companionable, broken only by the rustle of turning pages and an occasional sniffle. She remained quiet, knowing he would never admit it if he were feeling ill and if pressed on the matter, he would deny it emphatically.

She rose from the table and took two oranges from the basket on the counter, returning after a few moments and placing a glass of juice nearby where he couldn't miss seeing it. It was a subtle gesture, and one not lost on him. He looked up from the journal he was studying just long enough to raise an impatient eyebrow, but she returned to her own breakfast without a word, offering him only an apologetic smile by way of explanation. He was a stubborn man, but not foolish, and after a moment's consideration he gave a resigned sigh and picked up the glass. She noted as he drank that swallowing seemed to be painful and began to mentally plan their evening meal. He never had much of an appetite, even when he was feeling well, so she would fix a light, nourishing meal...maybe a nice soup.

She was startled from her thoughts when he stood abruptly and strode towards the door, pausing only to pull on his heaviest cloak. He tended to do that. He would be sitting perfectly still and then would uncoil suddenly and be out the door and gone before she could react. She caught him just as he was leaving and stopped him with a hand on his arm. He turned somewhat reluctantly to face her. She straightened the heavy folds of fabric and brushed imaginary flecks of lint from the dense weave of his cloak as he stood silently, enduring her attention. His face was at first impassive and then pained, and he turned away from her as he was overtaken by a sudden, harsh sneeze that had come on too quickly to be muffled. She knew better than to offer him either a blessing or a dose of Pepperup; the former would not be welcome and the latter he dismissed as a child's remedy. he would rather suffer the miserable symptoms of a cold for a week than take anything that might make him look foolish.

She knew she was being overly protective of him. He was the most courageous, intelligent and resourceful person she had ever know and surely he didn't need her advice on how to manage a simple head cold. He knew enough to stay warm and to have an ample supply of handkerchiefs, but the memory of how close she had come to losing him still haunted her. He had lingered near death for weeks and his full recovery had taken close to a year. Even now, six years later, she couldn't help but coddle him a bit. Fortunately they had reached the point where he tolerated it, sometimes impatiently and sometimes, like today, with surprising good humor. She also managed to keep herself from telling him to have a nice day, which seemed out of the realm of possibility, but neither could she let him leave without saying something.

"Try to keep your temper in check today," she offered finally.

It was sound advice, for today was Friday and if he could refrain from assigning anyone detention, he could have the weekend to rest. At his irritated scowl, she shook her head. It was going to be a long day; not only for him but also for his students and anyone else unfortunate enough to cross his path.