A/N: If you have read this before, it's becauseI posted it under another name on another site. I'm not using it anymore (the pen name) so here it is now.

The frock coat was black velvet; it was quite fine, with small, immaculate stitching. The amount of wear evident, and the way it was still holding up, was testament to the quality of the garment. The luxury was clue to an exquisite and secret past that few knew of and none would speak of.
He let her take his wrist in her hand. The velvet was worn smooth on the inside of the wrist, and the genuine silver buttons were tarnished and pitted.
His hand was clammy, damp. His head resting against her shoulder was inhumanly hot, his stringy hair clinging to the sweat of his brow.
He made no noise. He was still conscious, but his eyes were closed and he looked uncharacteristically peaceful. Though he could manage a few lumbering steps, she was all but dragging him to the bedchambers.
The hallway was unearthly cold, with the air a vacuum like a hastily drawn last breath. Like the house itself was waiting to breathe out and slip beyond the veil. The silent rung her ears to the point of distraction, but she had her duty, and kept her eyes on the red carpet lining the maple-coloured wooden floors.
The portraits on the wall were still and silent, as all Muggle portraits are. They watched with no emotion, their eyes gazing glassily into void, their porcelain hands caressing long-dead puppies and gilded arm-chairs. She cast her eyes from them and onto the door. It was the only she knew was unlocked; the door to a large guest bedroom, at the end of the third story hallway.
She reached the oak panel and her hand found the age-worn knob. She turned it roughly and opened the heavy door, pulling him into the room behind her.
There was no fire in the darkened hearth, and, as it was night, the only light that shone through the weathered panes of glass across the room was bluish moonlight. She heaved the dead, panting weight toward the red-canopied four-post bed, and collapsed along with him onto the musty, feather mattress. Once her breath again was hers, she righted him, placing his sickness-heavied head on the dusty pile of pillows. His eyes opened to a blurry slit. They were black and beady with moisture, and closed again as he drew in a quick breath.
She pulled up the cuff of his woolen trousers, working at the knot at the top of his boots. She fumbled it loose and pulled off the heavy shoe and the black sock, doing the same with the other foot. His feet were frozen as death, and seemed a wrong shade of blue.
Next, she fumbled with the onyx clasp drawing his heavy cloak closed, releasing it quickly and throwing it impatiently to the wood floor.
She undid the many silver buttons on his sleeves, and then on the high neck of the coat, then down the waist. She didn't want to disturb him, but had to get him undressed before he burned to death. With effort, she hauled him into a partial sitting position, his head lolling to his shoulder. She flung him over her own shoulder and wrenched the coat from his body. Although quite skinny, he was heavy, much heavier than he looked. She worked in the tight space between them to undo the buttons on his white linen shirt, and then peeled that from him as well. He was positively drenched, and his skin was beyond body heat. She placed him back on the pillow, removing his trousers. He was now just in his black under-trousers, and she rushed to the window.
With a curse like this, it was at first necessary to get the body temperature down. Immediately. There was a risk of chill, but if the temperature did not fall, his brain would simply burn within his skull.
The summer air outside did little to help the temperature inside, which seemed to have risen since he had entered the room. She left the door open and rushed to the basement, where there was a locker of ice.
When she got back up to him, towels and a bucket of ice in tow, he was a little more responsive. His eyes were floating open and closed slowly, and he was reaching up a hand weakly to remove the drenched black hair from his mouth and eyes.
"Sir?" She said quietly. He took no notice. She sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping ice in a towel and damning herself for being without her wand. She placed the ice first on his head, then on the sides of his neck, and on his chest. His feet were now freezing, and she wrapped them in the heavy burgundy material of the bedspread.
Exhausted, and having nothing to do now but wait, she collapsed at the foot of the bed, letting sleep overtake her mind.