"Severus, can you get that, please?" she murmured as the bedside alarm chimed, not yet willing to move any part herself from underneath the warmth of the blankets. As the noise continued, she rolled over and noticed immediately that his side of the bed was not only empty, the covers had been pulled up neatly. She blinked at the clock. This was the earliest he had managed to rouse himself in days, so he was obviously feeling better. As for her, she wished she could say the same. The scratchy throat she had gone to bed with had progressed overnight until now there was no doubt she had finally and inevitably succumbed to his cold.

She flung the blankets away and, shivering in the chill air of their bed chamber, quickly pulled on her dressing gown. It was very tempting to crawl back under the covers and stay home with Severus, but there was too much to do at work today.

She stopped short in the doorway when she spotted him, already seated at the table, looking through the morning post. He had changed from his usual jumper into...were those his professorial robes? Considering it had been only a few days since he lacked the strength to perform even a simple cleansing spell, it seemed unlikely he planned to return to work, but for all of his grousing, she also knew he didn't like to be away from his classroom any longer than necessary.

"You're going to teach today?" she asked, sliding into the chair across from him and reaching for the teapot. "Are you certain you're feeling up to it?"

"My apprentice will handle the lectures," he said, "Leaving me to be a glowering presence in the classroom."

"You realize you may not be capable of inspiring the usual level of terror in your students today."

"Perhaps not," he said. "But you'd be surprised the effect a well-timed sneeze has on a classroom full of twitchy little first-years." For a moment, she thought he looked almost cheerful at this prospect but as he turned over the last envelope in the stack, his expression grew suddenly serious. She glanced at the address, but the handwriting was nearly as crabbed as his own and she could make nothing out.

He scanned the letter, and she tried to catch his eye as he looked up, but he stared past her, fingering one edge of the letter thoughtfully. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision and rose to cross to his desk, taking the parchment with him.

"I won't return until later this evening," he said in an offhand manner, as he wrote something at the bottom of the letter. She knew from his tone of voice and his unwillingness to make eye contact that she was to ask no further questions.

"Already planning detentions?" she asked mildly, trying to elicit more information without being too obvious.

"Heaven forfend," he said, resealing the envelope. "No, I'm visiting with a former colleague tonight."

"Ah. And who was it you said you were going to see?" she asked.

" I didn't," he said. "But since you insist on being meddlesome, it's Hristov."

"Hristov?" she said, her voice rising. "Certainly you don't mean Petar Hristov? What business do you have with him?"

"Personal business," he said flatly. "And I'm not seeking your permission. I was merely informing you of where I would be this evening."

She remained silent, her eyes cast downward to the table. It would be futile to argue with him, or to try to convince him to remain at home. She began to shiver, unable to explain the sense of stark terror that filled her heart at the thought of him going to meet a former Death Eater, unaccompanied.

"I don't know why this is upsetting you so," he finally said in exasperation. "He's living a staid life in North Glasgow, managing an apothecary. He poses absolutely no threat to anyone and certainly not to me."

She raised her eyes to his as he rejoined her at the table, still finding herself incapable of putting her fear into words.

"Need I remind you that Hristov was exonerated by the Wizengamot years ago?" he said in a cold, even tone. "As was I. Unless you are also questioning that decision?"

"Of course not. You know better than that, but Severus..." She trailed off, twisting her hands in her lap. "It's nothing," she said, trying to quell her uneasiness. "I'm being silly."

"You are many things, but never would I describe you as 'silly.'" He sighed. "If you must know, I'm consulting with him concerning some of the ingredients needed for the potions recipe. There's nothing more to our visit than that. What is it that concerns you? If he were truly a danger, he would be in Azkaban."

"I know that. I know, and I'm sorry I said anything." She attempted a smile, but it felt rather shaky. "What time will you return, do you think?"

"If all goes well, later this evening," he said. "Shall I walk you to the gates this morning?"

"No, not today. The Floo connection at work has finally been repaired, and a good thing, too..."

She stopped talking and to cover her embarrassment, took a quick swallow of her tepid tea. She had been on the verge of telling him she was now coming down with the cold, but stopped herself just in time. He hadn't noticed she was feeling ill, unobservant as he could be sometimes, and if she said anything now it would seem like a ploy for sympathy, which he never tolerated well.

He gave her an inquiring look as she rose from the table, but fortunately he did not press the matter.

It was late. The dinner hour had long since come and gone and it was nearly curfew, still with no sign of his return. There was no reason at all for her to be hanging about the entrance hall and even less reason for her to wander outside every few minutes, straining her eyes in the gathering dark, hoping to see him. Every movement at the edge of the woods caused her heart to leap in anticipation and when it proved to be shadows or branches rustling, the panic would rise again.

She couldn't keep her imagination from running away with her, despite his assurances this morning. What if it had all been an elaborate trap? What if Hristov had been waiting all these years for an opportunity to exact his revenge? She shook her head. She was tired and not feeling well and pacing at the entrance would do nothing to hasten his return.

She turned and walked slowly in the direction of their rooms, hoping somehow to hear his footsteps echoing hers, but it was silent; much too silent. As she entered their quarters, his absence was conspicuous and unsettling. Since his recovery, they had spent very few evenings apart, and she wanted him here, acerbic as his company could be at times.

She curled into one corner of the couch, drawing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. She knew she should just take a dose of Pepperup and go to bed, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She closed her eyes, and sank her head to her knees, trying to bring her roiling emotions under control. If she could just hear his voice...

He spoke her name from the doorway, and for a moment she wondered if she had imagined it. As she looked up, he was already crossing the room to sit near her on the couch. He gathered her up to his side wordlessly and she sagged against him, grateful for the solid reality of his body next to hers. He smelled of the crisp, cold air outside, and underneath that, the herbal and medicinal traces of the apothecary shop he had just left. He let one hand trail down the back of her head, gently twining her hair about his fingers as he did so.

"This is very unlike you," he said. "Were you truly that concerned?"

She took a shuddering breath and nodded, tears threatening to spill over. She would not cry in front of him.

"I don't know what else I could have said to convince you I was in no danger tonight." He placed a hand against her cheek, turning her head towards him. She shivered at the cool sensation of his hand against her face. She raised her eyes to his and his expression was grave as he studied her. "I will never leave you," he said.

At this she was unable to hold back the tears any longer. This was her deepest fear, that she would be left alone. And as strong and capable as she thought she was, she didn't know how to live without him.

"You shouldn't have worked yourself into such a state over me," he said. As she brought herself back under control, her breath hitching, he rested his hand on the back of her neck. "You feel warm," he said, a note of concern creeping into his voice. "Have you been careless enough to catch the same wretched cold I've had?"

"'Careless?' she said indignantly, pulling away from him. "How could I possibly have prevented it? And it's not as if catching cold is some sort of moral failing on my part." He caught her wrist as she struggled to her feet, pulling her down alongside him again.

"Sit still and stop being so stubborn," he said mildly. "Shall I fix you a cup of tea?"

"You make horrid tea," she said, laughing and trying not to cry again.

"Admittedly," he said. "But I'm rather at a loss of what else to do for you. Have you taken any Pepperup?"

"I've been putting it off," she admitted. She hated the aftereffects nearly as much as he seemed to.

"If you think you can wait an hour, I'll prepare a batch that won't leave you steaming at the ears." At her incredulous look, he shrugged. "The steam is mostly for show."

"Then why in the world didn't you brew some for yourself when you were so ill?"

He stood, his unease at discussing the subject obvious in his suddenly brisk manner. "Pepperup always makes me sick," he said reluctantly. "And usually in a quite spectacular manner."

"How awful for you," she said.

"Not nearly as awful as the first time I realized it," he said. "Unfortunately, it was right in the midst of a Transfiguration lesson."

"Oh, dear." She hid her grin behind one hand.

"To your credit," he said, "You're finding this much less amusing than my classmates did at the time."

"Why don't you keep me company while I work tonight?" he suggested, attempting to change the subject. It was rare for him to allow anyone in his work room, even during the preparation of basic potions, but she had always loved watching him brew. Perhaps tonight he wanted her presence as much as she wanted his, or perhaps he was trying to make amends for his brusqueness earlier in the day; regardless, she wasn't going to pass up the opportunity when it presented itself.

"I'd love to," she said.

The dungeons were always cold and dank, regardless of the season, but especially so in the winter. His private workroom was no exception, but the flames under the cauldron soon warmed the small space comfortably. She was sitting to one side, well out of his way while he prepared the potion ingredients. Her eyes were growing heavy as she watched him.

"Did you have a pleasant visit tonight?" she asked, her voice slurring slightly as she spoke.

He gave her a calculating look. "Pleasant enough, I suppose. I was able to procure a few of the things I'll need for the potion." He continued talking softly while he worked, and she tried to concentrate on his words, but he was explaining some esoteric fact about a rare herb available only in the States and she kept drifting in and out.

She started in her seat at the sound of a flask being thunked down on the table next to her. Had she fallen asleep? She rubbed her eyes and blinked at him muzzily.

"It's ready?"

"Yes, but before you drink it," he said, "You should be aware of one thing."

She paused with the container lifted halfway to her mouth.

"I did say, if you recall, that the steam was mostly for show. It does serve some purpose, however; that of ridding the body of the virus. If there is no steam, as is the case with this formula, the body must shed the virus in another fashion."

"And how does it do that?"

He pulled open a drawer and handed her a stack of folded handkerchiefs. "You'll need these."

"All of them?"

"Most likely."

"Very well. I trust you," she said, downing it quickly in hopes of avoiding the bitter aftertaste.

"Urgh," she groaned. "I notice you did nothing to improve the taste."

He shrugged. "It's the hyssop base. Can't be helped." He turned from her and began decanting the remainder of the potion.

Her first sneeze was unexpected and extremely loud in the small space of the workroom. When she opened her eyes, she saw him mopping spilled potion from the counter and his hands. "I'm sorry," was all she managed to get out before she sneezed again.

After what seemed hours of sneezing and blowing her nose she had nearly run through her supply of handkerchiefs, but her symptoms had gradually disappeared and now she felt only drowsy and contented. She tossed the handkerchiefs in the laundry bin and stumbled towards the sink to wash her hands.

"That was like a horrible head cold condensed into a few minutes' time," she said. "I'm not certain I don't prefer the steam. But I feel marvelous now. You're sure you won't try it?"

"Besides the fact that it's useless for me at this stage," he said, pushing the last rack of phials onto the shelf above his head, "I would think you've had quite enough of tucking my inert form into bed lately."

He was frowning slightly and seemed preoccupied as he glanced at her. She was trying to appear alert, but the strain of the day's events had taken its toll and she was unable to completely hide an enormous yawn.

"You're tired," he said. "As am I. Shall we head back?"

She nodded and as he reached out to take her arm, his eyes suddenly widened and he crushed her hand in his own.

"Severus, what is it?" she asked, noticing with alarm that he had gone a sickly color. "Is something wrong?"

"I can't...catch my breath," he gasped, his hands going to the neck of his robes, where he tugged frantically and ineffectively at his collar. She unfastened the buttons with trembling fingers and helped him to a chair.

"Is that any better?" she asked, her heart thudding so hard that she was certain it was audible.

He shook his head, his breathing rapid and labored. He reached out for her, and though he rarely showed overt fear, there was no mistaking the expression on his face. She tried to keep her voice steady and soothing. "Sit tight. I'm going to fetch Madam Pomfrey."

His eyes closed and he swayed alarmingly. She caught him around the shoulders.

"Hurry," he said in a strangled whisper.