Scabior stumbled, falling to his knees in the snow, pulling his daughter down with him. He let go of Melody, one hand pressed into the cold snow, the other holding his throat as he gasped and wheezed, trying to catch his breath.
This was why Scabior feared losing his job. He knew he couldn't run and breathe like he used to. And in a job where running was an essential part of his work, Scabior knew that if he couldn't keep up with the rest of his men and do his job, he was likely to get fired.
"Dad, are you alright?" Melody asked, crawling towards him in the snow.
"Yes," he gasped breathlessly, his chest heaving as he fought to draw air into his lungs. He coughed harshly. "One moment..."
He sounded like he was choking. This was the worst she'd ever seen him. And as she watched her father struggling to breathe, she began to understand why her mother kept saying that Scabior needed to have his tonsils removed.
Even when he wasn't sick, Scabior still had difficulty breathing, swallowing, and sleeping. No matter what kind of potions his wife tried, his throat was almost always swollen and sore, making everything he did a constant struggle. He spent so much energy just trying to breathe that he had little strength left for anything else.
"I don't know about this," said Melody, her brow creasing with worry. "Maybe mum was right. Maybe you really should have your tonsils taken out."
"I don't need surgery," Scabior managed between labored breaths. "I'm fine."
"Seriously, dad? Because you sure don't look fine to me."
Scabior gathered the last of his strength and pushed himself onto his feet, swaying slightly as he stood up. He was running on empty, and he knew this, but he refused to give up. He wiped the sweat off his fevered brow with the back of his hand, still breathing heavily through his mouth as he looked around.
They had landed half a mile outside of Hogsmeade, the snow falling around them as they stood on the edge of the woods.
A smug smile spread across the flushed features of Scabior's face. He was quite pleased with himself. Because despite being sick, he'd still managed to bring them to the correct destination.
"Come on," he said, his harsh, ragged breath steaming in the weak December sun as he marched off through the snow towards the village.
Melody scurried through the snow, kicking up a flurry of white powder as she got to her feet and followed him. "So how long do you think we have before mum finds out where we've gone?" she asked. "I can't imagine her being pleased to see that we've run off like this."
For a while Scabior was silent, one hand massaging his throat as he walked through the snow. "She won't find us," he whispered, each word grating like jagged razors against his sore throat. "Although she may 'ave learned a few of my tracking spells from spending so much time with me in the woods."
"And how are we going to pay for mum's present? I don't have any money. And I don't think you brought any gold with you."
"They know I'm good for it," Scabior rasped hoarsely, still rubbing his throat. "They can put it on my tab."
Melody winced, hissing through her clenched teeth as she heard his voice crack. "Doesn't it hurt your throat to talk?"
"I'm used to it, pet." He then reached into his pocket and brought out the spray bottle filled with milky white potion his wife made for him.
Scabior opened his mouth and sprayed the potion onto the back of his throat, drenching the inflamed tissues with the cool, soothing potion. It brought him little relief. But these days a little relief was better than nothing.
His daughter looked at him in disbelief. "You're used to it?"
Scabior nodded.
Melody sighed. She could tell from looking at him that he was miserable. He might have been used to it, but he certainly wasn't enjoying himself.
Scabior was more stubborn than a mule, and possessed a great deal of strength and mental fortitude. He could endure great amounts of pain without so much as blinking an eye. For him to show any signs of being in pain meant that he had to be really suffering. This worried Melody, for she knew that whatever Scabior showed on the outside was bound to be ten times worse on the inside.
They continued into the village, walking the snow covered streets, searching for a store that was still open. Sometimes a few of the stores would stay open for a couple hours on Christmas eve, allowing customers to do some last minute shopping. But everywhere they went they were met with closed doors and "closed" signs propped up in the windows.
Scabior swore under his breath, looking from one set of closed doors to another. "Do you know wha time it was when we left?"
Melody shrugged. "I don't know. Probably around two in the afternoon, I guess."
"Damn." Scabior turned in a circle, glancing around at the closed buildings on either side of the street. They'd left so late in the day that everything was probably closed by now. And in an hour or two it was going to start getting dark outside.
He ran a trembling hand through his hair, his tangled tresses wet with perspiration. He was shaking with feverish chills, and he was beginning to feel the familiar sensation of tightness closing around his throat.
He tugged at his scarf until the plaid material hung loose around his neck. "Come on, Melody," he whispered. "There 'as to be something tha's still open."
"Dad, are you sure you're alright?" Melody asked. She could see that his breathing had become labored, each shallow gasp costing him a great deal of pain and effort.
Scabior turned to her, his mouth slightly open and his breath rasping harshly in his throat. He swallowed, wincing at the pain this caused, and nodded.
They continued searching the village for several minutes, but everywhere they turned everything was closed.
"There's nothing open, dad," said Melody. "We might as well go home." She then stopped when she realized her father was no longer walking beside her.
She turned around and saw Scabior leaning with one hand pressed against the side of a building, his other hand clutching his chest as he doubled over, gasping for breath. She ran to him just as he began to slide down the side of the building into the snow. He collapsed into her arms, his strength failing as his vision began to blur.
"Melody..." he gasped, his hand closing around the front of her jacket as he clung to her. "I...I can't...I can't breathe..."
The young witch began to panic. She wasn't a healer like her mother, and she hadn't the slightest idea what she should do. He let go of her jacket, his body going limp in her arms as he sank onto the ground, and for a moment Melody feared he was either going to lose consciousness or die right there in front of her.
Suddenly there came the sound of footsteps approaching from down the street. Melody looked up and felt her already racing heart skip a beat as her mother came running towards them.
Melody quickly stepped aside, getting out of the way as her mother knelt beside Scabior in the snow. Draconius eased him up into a sitting position, making him lean forward as she placed the tip of her wand between his shoulder blades.
"Anapneo respiro," said Draconius, and within seconds Scabior began to cough, his breathing eased somewhat as he inhaled several deep, rasping breaths.
"Mum!" Melody exclaimed. "How on earth did you find us?"
"How did I find you?" Draconius snapped. "I think a better question would be how the bloody hell did you two manage this?" she said, motioning with her hand towards Scabior, who was still coughing and wheezing. "And why is he out of bed? Your father is very sick. He can't be running all over the place in the shape he's in."
She sounded thoroughly annoyed with the both of them. But more than anything she was amazed that Scabior had the strength to apparate all the way to Hogsmeade with his teenaged daughter in tow.
Draconius looked back at her husband, her features softening as he groaned and leaned against her, his breathing loud and harsh in her ears as he rested his head against her shoulder. She smoothed his hair out of his face, her hand lingering on his forehead as she felt how hot he was. He was positively burning with fever, his face was flushed, and his tangled red and brown hair clung to his cheeks and neck in loose, wet strands.
Scabior closed his eyes, his body relaxing as he felt his wife's gentle touch easing the damp, perspiration soaked hair out of his face. He felt ready to sleep right where he was, and might have dozed off next to her if it weren't for what he heard next.
"This has got to stop, Scabior. And the only way it's going to stop is if you have your tonsils removed. So I'm scheduling your surgery for tomorrow morning."
Her voice was so calm, so sympathetic and compassionate. And yet if he'd been awake enough to understand what she had said, it would have been enough to make him panic.
He opened his eyes, blinking slowly as he looked up at her through the haze of fever and pain that clouded his mind. "Wha?" he faintly moaned, not really sure what he was hearing. She couldn't have just said what he thought she said.
"You're getting your tonsils out first thing tomorrow morning," said Draconius.
His tired eyes widened. "No," Scabior mumbled, his voice low and drowsy. "No, I'm fine. I don't need to 'ave my tonsils taken out. I don't need surgery."
He continued protesting her decision until his words dissolved into muttered nonsense, his tired body succumbing to the fever, pain and illness that had been threatening to overwhelm him for so long.
Draconius motioned for her daughter to come over. "Come here, Melody. Help me get him up. We need to get him home and put him to bed."
Melody went over to where her mother was sitting in the snow, supporting her father as he slumped against his wife, shivering and moaning, still insisting that he was fine and didn't need an operation. Together the two witches lifted him up onto his feet. He was shaking so badly that Draconius feared he was going to collapse and pass out.
"Mum, what's wrong with him?" Melody asked, giving her father a worried look as he took a deep breath and released a horribly wretched, rasping cry that was somewhere between a sob and a half strangled scream, his body shaking uncontrollably as he tried to pull away from them.
Dear Merlin, he sounded like he was crying...
With one hand Draconius began stroking Scabior's hair, her other hand around his wrist, holding him steady and making sure he couldn't apparate without bringing her along with him.
"Oh dear. I was afraid he'd react this way," said Draconius. "Your father has a horrible fear of surgery and all things related to the healing arts. I'm sure he knows he needs this, but can't bring himself to have it done because of the overwhelming phobia he has."
"You mean dad is afraid of something?" said Melody, looking at her mother in disbelief.
She'd never known her father to be afraid of anything. In her eyes, Scabior was the strongest, bravest man she knew. It was hard for her to believe that he, of all people, was scared of having his tonsils removed.
Draconius continued stroking and petting Scabior's hair as she tried to calm him down. But instead of relaxing like he usually did, he flinched at her touch and tried jerking his arm out of her grasp.
"Hush now. Settle down, Scabior," said Draconius, as another ragged cry escaped his lips. "You're going to make your throat hurt worse if you keep that up. Melody," she turned to her daughter, "take my arm. We need to get him home as soon as possible. I can't risk him running off in the shape he's in."
Melody gave her father one last worried look before taking hold of her mother's arm. Draconius then tightened her hold on her husband, and vanished on the spot, taking Melody and Scabior along with her.
.oOo.
It wasn't easy hauling Scabior through the snow and up the front steps into the house. Illness and exhaustion had weakened him to the point where he could barely stand or walk, and they had to practically carry him into the house.
Once they got him inside, Draconius forced a dose of calming draught down his throat then put him to bed. Within a few minutes the potion began to work, helping to soothe Scabior's shattered nerves. Draconius then sat down on the edge of the bed, and told him to open his mouth so she could examine his throat.
He opened his mouth, allowing her to examine him, and right away she noticed that the swelling in his throat had progressed to the point where his tonsils were almost completely obstructing his airway. There were also raw, bleeding patches on his tonsils, with streaks of blood visible between the spots of yellowish pus that coated the back of his throat.
Scabior could tell by the look on her face that what she saw wasn't good. He was in hopes there was still a chance he could avoid having an operation. But when he saw her frown and shake her head, he knew it was all over.
"You look worse than ever, Scabior," said Draconius. "And I see that your tonsils have started bleeding. Probably because of all the yelling and fussing you were doing back in Hogsmeade."
"Bleeding?" Scabior croaked, holding his throat.
"Your tonsils are fragile, and they can bleed if you're rough on them while you're sick."
"Wha does it matter?" Scabior muttered in a low, dejected tone. "I won't 'ave them much longer anyway."
Draconius reached towards him. "Scabior..."
"Don't." Scabior brushed her hand away as she reached to stroke his hair. "Just leave me alone."
He rolled over in bed, his back towards her as he stared at the wall. Silence stretched between them, and several seconds passed before Draconius spoke.
"You'll be fine, Scabior. It's a very simple procedure. A couple weeks rest and you'll be good as new."
Weeks? Oh, that sounded lovely.
Scabior groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, curling up in a ball on his side. Maybe, if he closed his eyes, he might wake up somewhere far away from this.