Written as a birthday gift for Dragon MoonX.
It had certainly been worth it to lurk around the forest looking for undesirables in this cold weather, Fenrir thought. The Snatchers had managed to catch two Mudbloods and a so-called half-blood. Unfortunately, Fenrir barely had time to think about what he could do with the reward money before he heard a cough.
The cough had clearly issued from Scabior, as he was the only other Snatcher currently in the tent. Turning to face him, Fenrir asked, "Are you okay?"
"Course I am. Why wouldn' I be?" said Scabior, dismissing Fenrir's question with a wave of his hand.
Scabior did not look okay. His nose was red, he seemed to be slumping a bit in his seat, and in his lap were a few used tissues. If Fenrir's suspicions were correct, Scabior appeared to have a cold.
"If you're okay, then what are these?" Fenrir asked, pointing at the tissues. Under ordinary circumstances he would have shoved them in Scabior's face, but he was not about to touch anything covered in the fellow Snatcher's snot. "You're sick. Admit it."
As bad as he felt, Scabior still had his pride. "I am not sick, Fenrir. Just tired, maybe."
"Well, tired isn't contagious, and I'm not catching whatever you have. Go to bed and don't come back until you're better." said Fenrir.
"'Ow many times do I 'ave to tell you? I'm not sick!" Scabior insisted.
It took quite a bit of dragging, pushing, and the head Snatcher whining like a small child, but Fenrir eventually deposited Scabior on his bed. When he remained there, Fenrir left the room and made himself some soup. Carrying it to the table, he saw Scabior had returned, this time wrapped in a burnt orange blanket.
"It's warm in here. Clearly, if you have a blanket, you're sick. And unless you'd like to get me sick, I suggest you go to bed, as me getting sick will lead to you being in pain." said Fenrir.
Scabior tried to ask if that was a threat, but instead unleashed another round of coughing. "Okay," he said finally. "You win. But if I'm sick, then you'll 'ave to bring me some soup and all that stuff."
"I am not bringing you soup."
"Then I'm perfectly 'ealthy."
Fenrir sighed. If this was how Scabior behaved over a simple cold, he nearly shuddered to think of what might happen if his fellow Snatcher caught the flu.
Fenrir sent Scabior back to bed and informed him that if he got up again, he was most certainly not making him soup. He made the soup and brought it to Scabior, who was now missing everything except for his pants, even though he was beginning to shiver.
"I brought the soup." said Fenrir.
"I don't want soup," Scabior whined. "Too 'ot."
"You are not hot, you're shivering. Put a shirt on and eat this." Did Scabior not care that Fenrir's own soup sat cooling in the other room?
Scabior put the shirt on, but he still refused the soup. By now, Fenrir had absolutely had it with him. He raised a spoonful of the soup and crammed it forcefully into Scabior's mouth. Ignoring the Snatcher's splutters, he continued until the soup was gone. Fenrir slammed the empty bowl down on Scabior's bedside table and shouted, "Don't think I'm doing anything else for you ever again!"
After storming away, Fenrir used a spell to warm up his own soup, but even after sending two spells at it, it still felt cooler than usual, and he doubted it had to do with the physical temperature. Fenrir might have been unfriendly on his best days and, well, bloodthirsty on the others, but a feeling was beginning to bubble up inside of him that would be considered guilt in anyone else.
He strongly disliked it, so he forced himself to swallow his pride and do something he had sworn years ago never to do…apologize. The short way of saying admit you did something wrong. Two things Fenrir never did.
Fenrir forced himself to make his way to Scabior's room, but was spared having to figure out how to actually apologize to someone by the Snatcher being asleep. Scabior's nose was still red, and more tissues surrounded him than ever, but Fenrir noticed he seemed to be feeling at least a bit better than he had earlier. He reached out to shake Scabior awake, but when Fenrir's hand made contact with the slightly scratchy fabric of his shirt, he could have sworn he saw a ghost of a smile around the edges of Scabior's mouth.
Fenrir decided this could wait and left the room to go wash his hands. After all, Scabior was no less contagious in his sleep.
This is also for the Something Old, Something New and Crayola Color challenges.
Reviews are always appreciated.