A/N- For Quidditch League, round 3. Keepers had to write about an epidemic, so I wrote about Yellow Fever in 1850 in the US.
Muggle!AU- Remus is still a werewolf.
June GGE fic, for Remi. (You requested Marauder Era, and although this is a bit before their time, it is the characters from that era, so I hope that's okay. :))
1850, USA
"Remus. What's wrong?"
His voice seems to echo, and your head is throbbing. "Nothing. I'm fine." You almost smile as you say this, thinking to last week's venture into town where you saw no fewer than fifty dead or dying bodies littering the cobbled streets. You are far from fine.
"You haven't eaten in nearly two days, and you keep shivering. It's scorching. Something is clearly wrong. Do you have a fever?"
"I don't know," you say dryly. "Why don't you check?"
He lays a hand to your forehead and snatches it back immediately. "Is your head on fire? I've got to get you some water."
"Sirius, don't. The Americans might see you."
"So what if they do?" he says carelessly, waving a hand in the air. "Doesn't matter to me."
"It matters to me," you say firmly, finally forcing yourself to sit up. You lay a hand on his arm. "Unfamiliar territory, Sirius. We have to be careful, otherwise-" Your voice breaks off and you take a shuddering breath before leaning forward and retching. Your stomach feels like it is turning inside out, but there is nothing for it to get rid of, so you continue to gag and retch for another minute before you finally catch your breath. Your body feels as if it's made of lead, and it's all you can do to open your mouth and croak, "Water." Sirius nods.
"Don't move. I'll be back as soon as possible."
Don't move, he says. You almost laugh.
"It's been three days, you know. They say it usually goes away in three to four days."
"That doesn't explain all the dead bodies we saw on the street, Sirius. I don't think 'went away' is quite the right way to phrase what happened to them."
Sirius glances down for a split second, and you see the fear in his black eyes. You almost don't want to hear the answer, but you turn your head to him and ask, "What if it doesn't go away?"
He looks at you with a blank expression. "Then it gets worse."
"How much worse?" You don't know why you're still asking questions. You already know the answer, and he knows that you do.
"Worse."
Two days ago, your fever went down. Yesterday, it was completely gone and you slept through the entire night without a hitch. When you wake up, Sirius is so optimistic he is practically bouncing.
"You're better!" he exclaims, patting you on the shoulder. "You're better, and we can keep travelling, and we don't need to worry-"
"Sirius."
"-about illness or-"
"Sirius, look at me."
"-not enough food, or- Remus."
"Sirius?"
"W-what happened to your face?"
"What happened to my face?" You stare at him in confusion until he hands you the scrap piece of metal that you were lucky enough to find. Looking into it, you don't see your old, healthy reflection but perhaps a ghostly form of yourself, thin and unshaven and waxy. "Sirius, you look just as bad. We haven't had a shave in weeks, haven't gotten enough to eat, you can't expect me to look my best, can you?"
"Remus," he whispers, and his voice almost cracks. "Your skin is yellow."
"I- what?" You look more closely at your reflection and see that he is right; there is a faint yellowness to your skin. "M-maybe it's getting close to the full moon?" you ask desperately, and Sirius shakes his head.
"The moon wasn't even two thirds visible last night," he tells you, and you can tell he's frightened. "Maybe it's, er..."
"Sirius," you say for what feels like the umpteenth time. "Stop pretending. I have it. I had a fever, and my goddamn skin is yellow; where do you think the name comes from?"
"No. No no no no no n-"
"Be quiet," you snap, and his mouth immediately shuts. For some reason, you feel anger bubbling inside of you. This is not Sirius' reason to be in denial. This is not his reason to be afraid or upset or concerned. No, this is your battle, and he has no right to act like he's the injured one. You open your mouth to say this to him, but your eyes widen as something leaps up your throat. Jerking to the side, you vomit all over the grass, eyes watering so that you can hardly see. For this reason, you hear Sirius' scream before you see it for yourself. There is blood. The taste of it is in your mouth, and you can feel it, sticky, at the corner of your mouth. You swipe at your face in disgust, but Sirius flies to your side in seconds.
"I've got it. Take a deep breath," he says uncomfortably. He's never been one for reassurances. "I... I can handle this."
But as you look at his trembling hands and hollow eyes, you start wonder if he can handle this.
It only gets worse from there. You wake up a few days later and can't even bring yourself to open your eyes, and when you finally look, you wish you hadn't. Sirius turns away the moment you make eye contact and informs you with a resigned sigh that your eyes look like someone extracted the whites, mixed them with a hearty dose of lemon juice, and reinserted them into your head.
The description almost makes you smile. But you don't. Instead, you tell him to stop fussing over you and continue travelling, there is so much to see and all you've been doing is holding him back.
"What do you want me to do?" he asks, horrified. "Leave you on the streets to die like the people in that village we saw?"
"It's not like you have any other option," you respond, trying to keep your voice measured. "It's okay, Sirius. I'll be fine."
"You're not fine," he says, almost angry. "And I'm not leaving you alone on the streets."
Suddenly, realisation dawns on you. "You have to leave me alone tonight," you gasp. "It's... it's a full moon."
"Do you think that it will change anything?"
"About the Yellow Fever?" you ask, and he nods. "I highly doubt it."
"Don't be so certain," Sirius says thoughtfully. "Anything is possible."
The next morning, opening your eyes is not so much a burden as a liberation. Shakily, you bring yourself to your feet and nearly cry out with joy. "Sirius!" you exclaim, and he jolts out of sleep. "Is it...?"
"Gone," he whispers, unable to keep the exhilaration out of his voice. "It's gone." For a moment, it looks as if he is about to say something else, but he shudders violently before he can get the chance.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm- fine," he chokes out. Suddenly, he lets out a heaving sigh and vomits all over his shoes. Your stomach drops.
He is far from fine.