Year 3's Company

"H'nxxh!" Hermione pinched her nose in a tightly controlled sneeze. Her other hand didn't break from taking notes.

Ron sniffled and passed his box of tissues to Harry who passed them onward to Hermione. The dungeon was bitterly cold on the best days. Today though, it was positively miserable.

Ron rested a hand on his head, staring idly at the curls of smoke coming from Snape's cauldron. The way they twisted so delicately was like a silky smooth dance ending in puffs of smoky dust. These thoughts worked their way from Ron's mind through the end of his freckled nose and his dropped his head forward in a loud, "Hutchoo!"

He sniffled unabashedly and reached for the tissues Harry had just passed back to him. He held the tissue to his face and closed his eyes for a long honking blow. When he opened them again, he jumped directly back at the sight of Snape's eyes only inches from his own.

"Mr. Weasely why are you very intent on disrupting today's lecture?"

"I can't help it," he proclaimed indignantly. "I'm sick."

"And so you thought it beneath you to take Pepperup? Perhaps you disapprove of all potions?"

"Madam Pompfrey's run out of it sir. Too many people need it. Someone needs to make some more."

Snape reacted to the words like a slap. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence," he snapped. "As though I have nothing better to do than produce medical supplies." This he mumbled under his breath.

"H'nxxh!" Hermione sneezed again and Snape whipped around to stare at her.

"You too, Miss Granger? You also insist on infecting the entire class?"

"I'm sorry Professor," she whispered through a sore throat. "I didn't want to miss today's lesson. I've always been interested in-"

"Stop it," Snape commanded with a hand. "I'm in no mood for your brown-nosing today. Or should I say, red-nosing?" He smirked at his own joke as he walked back to the front of the classroom.

"Although," he said stopping to turn back around. "It is interesting to me how the two of you seemed to be sharing this cold. Perhaps I should alert your Professor McGonagall to the germ spreading going on in the Gryffindor common room."

Ron scowled while Hermione blushed.

Snape smacked his hand sharply down beside Harry's notes, causing the boy to jump. "What about you, Mr. Potter? Are you also feeling under the weather?"

"No Professor," Harry answered quietly. "I'm alright."

"Pity," Snape let the word roll off his tongue. "I guess three is a crowd."

The Godfather

Harry pulled the collar of his mackintosh more tightly around his neck as he waited impatiently to enter Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The entryway seemed to appear intolerably slowly on this rainy day. When it was finally wide enough for him, Harry squeezed through, dripping water across the threshold in the process.

"Sirius!" he called out from the foyer. It was unusual for his godfather not to be waiting at the door. "Sirius, I'm here."

"Must you drip everywhere?" Kreacher's voice was low and nasally as he appeared across the room.

"Make yourself useful and bring me a towel, why don't you?" Harry replied, pulling off his sodden wellies.

Kreacher ignored the request, stretching his twisted body against a doorframe.

"Solid marble, that floor. But you don't care a bit, do you? Filthy brat…"

"Shut up Kreacher," Harry snapped. "Where's Sirius?"

Kreacher sniffed. "Master Sirius has been in the kitchen all day. Sick as a dog, he is, but still insisting on cooking Harry Potter's dinner." The name came out almost as a swear word.

Harry looked up in surprise. Sirius was ill?

Before taking the chance to contemplate this, Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of his godfather.

"Harry, I didn't hear you come in," Sirius smiled warmly as he moved toward and embraced the boy. "Good god, you're soaked to the bone. Kreacher, bring a towel."

The shortly stated command was returned with an angry pop as the house elf disappeared.

"Hello Sirius," Harry returned the greeting just as warmly. He briefly studied his godfather's worn features. There was a definite shadow beneath his eyes. Only faintly reminiscent of the first days after his escape from Azkaban.

"Kreacher says you're ill?" Harry asked concernedly.

Sirius waved off the question. "Oh don't listen to that blithering idiot. I'm fine. Now come in, sit by the fire. You must be freezing."

Harry couldn't deny the accusation and was eagerly hurried to the side of a roaring fire. Sirius exuberantly conjured up a pot of tea and held a steaming mug out to his godson. Just as he was handing off the cup, he froze. Harry, sensing what threatened, hastily took the cup as Sirius exploded to his side in a volley of quick sneezes.

"Bless you," Harry said with a hint of worry. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Before Sirius could answer, Kreacher reappeared holding a towel and a fresh handkerchief. Sirius took both, passing the towel off to Harry and bringing the handkerchief to his nose as he said gruffly, "Would it kill you to dust in here once in a while?"

Kreacher bowed slightly then, swearing to himself, disappeared again. Sirius poured himself a cup of tea before sitting beside Harry with a fatherly smile.

"Now Harry, tell me about school."

"School?" Harry was incredulous. "School is school. I'm sure you have many more interesting things to tell about the Order."

Sirius sighed. "Please, let's just have one afternoon of normalcy. Just be a teenager for a moment. I made dinner, you talk about classes, and we'll go on pretending the Dark Lord didn't rise again."

"Sorry," Harry bowed his head. Then he perked up. "You actually cooked?"

Sirius smiled proudly. "You know, it was your mother's recipe. A very hearty beef stew, perfect for today's weather."

"My mother," Harry whispered.

"When you were six months old it was the wettest winter in years," Sirius coughed lightly into the back of his hand and continued. "I was snowed in for a week at your parents' house. Your mother made an enormous pot of this stew and we ate nothing else for five days. Well except for you. I believe you ate strained beets."

Harry laughed as he watched his godfather reminisce. "I loved it so much that she gave me the recipe. That was before…"

He trailed off, staring at nothing.

"It's a muggle recipe, you know. So please forgive me if it comes out horribly. This was my first time peeling a potato by hand…" he trailed off again, grasping desperately at the handkerchief.

He sneezed another five times in succession and once again after a moment of lingering. When he was finished, he blew his nose and quickly rubbed at his temples.

"I do wish you hadn't gone to all the trouble," Harry spoke up. "Clearly you're not feeling well. You might have spent the morning in bed instead of peeling potatoes."

"Dammit Harry, you're going to have one average, boring evening of home cooked food and small talk," Sirius said tiredly. He raised his hand again to his forehead and closed his eyes.

Gently Harry leaned forward and rested his hand atop the older man's. "And you don't think you curled up in bed with stew while I sit beside you and we scan whatever rubbish is playing on the telly is normal?"

Sirius raised his head and looked at Harry with tired eyes. He sighed again. "That does sound nice," he finally consented.

"And utterly normal," Harry insisted, as he followed his godfather upstairs.