Ficlet: In Sickness
Title: In Sickness
Word Count and Rating: 690, PG
Summary: Scorpius is not an easy patient.
Notes: Written for my 100quills table for prompt #079 "Sickness" and for the_ass_fest Winter Shorts 2008 Round One for megans_writing's prompt "blanket, vomit, grandmother."
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG
Albus burst through the door of his bedroom with his hands over his ears. The small silver bell Scorpius had deemed necessary in case he was “too weak to call” had been transfigured into a large cowbell.
“Scorpius, enough!” Albus marched up to their bed and pulled the bell out of Scorpius's hands, placing it out of his reach on the bedside table. “What was wrong with the little bell?”
“I rang the little bell but you didn't come.” Scorpius was even paler than usual and had the pinched, somewhat deflated look of someone who had spent a couple days eating very little and throwing up quite a lot. He glared up at Albus as though his boyfriend was guilty of a great sin. “What kept you? I waited and waited.”
“Oh, forgive me, my liege!” Albus fell to his knees next to the bed in mock supplication. “Forgive me for delaying three whole minutes before rushing to your side.” He dodged as Scorpius batted at his dark head and climbed to his feet again, picking a damp washcloth and crumpled pajama top up off the floor on his way. With a flick of his wand, he sent them sailing toward the clothes basket in the corner. “Your grandmother came by with some soup for you, that's what kept me. I was just putting it in the kitchen.”
“Grandmother Malfoy?” Scorpius fussed weakly with the blanket twisted half under his body.
“Yeah, she said it was 'Malfoy Elf Soup.' It's not made out of bits of Malfoy elves, is it?” He waved his wand to straighten the bedclothes, smiling a little. “I was afraid to ask.”
Eyes closed, Scorpius mumbled, “Relax. The elves just make it. There's no need to mobilize your Aunt Hermione for an assault on the Manor.”
Albus sat on the edge of the bed and cupped a gentle hand over Scorpius's forehead, pushing back his damp and slightly stringy hair. His skin was hot and chalky-feeling. “Does your grandmother ever cook?” He summoned a clean washcloth and dipped it into the bowl of tepid water by the bedside.
“Narcissa Malfoy? No way.” Scorpius opened his eyes to small slits and admired the way Albus's hands flexed as he twisted the excess water out of the cloth. He sighed in relief when the cool cloth was draped over his forehead. “But she does instruct the elves to make it with extra love and care-or else.” Albus laughed and ran a finger down his cheek. “Wait a minute,” Scorpius's eyes snapped open. “Why didn't Grandmother come up to see me?” he asked plaintively.
“I asked her to-begged, really-but she said no.” Albus grinned. “I guess she knows what a big baby you are.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not!” Scorpius suddenly belched and looked distinctly green. Albus leaped to his feet and grabbed a nearby bucket, holding it out toward Scorpius in preparation, but the sick man waved it off, rolling onto his side and breathing heavily through his nose for a few moments. Nausea compressed his mouth into a thin line of misery. Albus reached out and rubbed his shoulder in sympathy.
Exhausted, Scorpius said, “Al, if I die--”
“You're not dying, Mr. Dramatic. You just have a stomach flu. You'll be a lot better tomorrow. In fact, if you don't vomit up your tea, maybe you can even have some of that soup tonight.”
“If I die,” he continued doggedly, “I absolutely forbid you to move on.” He peered up blearily to see his boyfriend grinning down at him. “You are to love me forever, Albus Potter. I mean it. And always remember me as handsome, too. Not gross like I happen to be right now.”
“Love you forever, always think you're handsome, got it. That sounds easy enough.” Albus climbed over Scorpius to spoon behind him, slipping an arm around his waist. “Close your eyes, gorgeous, and sleep for a while.” He pressed a kiss against the back of Scorpius's neck and hugged him a little tighter when he sighed.
Word Count and Rating: 690, PG
Summary: Scorpius is not an easy patient.
Notes: Written for my 100quills table for prompt #079 "Sickness" and for the_ass_fest Winter Shorts 2008 Round One for megans_writing's prompt "blanket, vomit, grandmother."
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG
Albus burst through the door of his bedroom with his hands over his ears. The small silver bell Scorpius had deemed necessary in case he was “too weak to call” had been transfigured into a large cowbell.
“Scorpius, enough!” Albus marched up to their bed and pulled the bell out of Scorpius's hands, placing it out of his reach on the bedside table. “What was wrong with the little bell?”
“I rang the little bell but you didn't come.” Scorpius was even paler than usual and had the pinched, somewhat deflated look of someone who had spent a couple days eating very little and throwing up quite a lot. He glared up at Albus as though his boyfriend was guilty of a great sin. “What kept you? I waited and waited.”
“Oh, forgive me, my liege!” Albus fell to his knees next to the bed in mock supplication. “Forgive me for delaying three whole minutes before rushing to your side.” He dodged as Scorpius batted at his dark head and climbed to his feet again, picking a damp washcloth and crumpled pajama top up off the floor on his way. With a flick of his wand, he sent them sailing toward the clothes basket in the corner. “Your grandmother came by with some soup for you, that's what kept me. I was just putting it in the kitchen.”
“Grandmother Malfoy?” Scorpius fussed weakly with the blanket twisted half under his body.
“Yeah, she said it was 'Malfoy Elf Soup.' It's not made out of bits of Malfoy elves, is it?” He waved his wand to straighten the bedclothes, smiling a little. “I was afraid to ask.”
Eyes closed, Scorpius mumbled, “Relax. The elves just make it. There's no need to mobilize your Aunt Hermione for an assault on the Manor.”
Albus sat on the edge of the bed and cupped a gentle hand over Scorpius's forehead, pushing back his damp and slightly stringy hair. His skin was hot and chalky-feeling. “Does your grandmother ever cook?” He summoned a clean washcloth and dipped it into the bowl of tepid water by the bedside.
“Narcissa Malfoy? No way.” Scorpius opened his eyes to small slits and admired the way Albus's hands flexed as he twisted the excess water out of the cloth. He sighed in relief when the cool cloth was draped over his forehead. “But she does instruct the elves to make it with extra love and care-or else.” Albus laughed and ran a finger down his cheek. “Wait a minute,” Scorpius's eyes snapped open. “Why didn't Grandmother come up to see me?” he asked plaintively.
“I asked her to-begged, really-but she said no.” Albus grinned. “I guess she knows what a big baby you are.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not!” Scorpius suddenly belched and looked distinctly green. Albus leaped to his feet and grabbed a nearby bucket, holding it out toward Scorpius in preparation, but the sick man waved it off, rolling onto his side and breathing heavily through his nose for a few moments. Nausea compressed his mouth into a thin line of misery. Albus reached out and rubbed his shoulder in sympathy.
Exhausted, Scorpius said, “Al, if I die--”
“You're not dying, Mr. Dramatic. You just have a stomach flu. You'll be a lot better tomorrow. In fact, if you don't vomit up your tea, maybe you can even have some of that soup tonight.”
“If I die,” he continued doggedly, “I absolutely forbid you to move on.” He peered up blearily to see his boyfriend grinning down at him. “You are to love me forever, Albus Potter. I mean it. And always remember me as handsome, too. Not gross like I happen to be right now.”
“Love you forever, always think you're handsome, got it. That sounds easy enough.” Albus climbed over Scorpius to spoon behind him, slipping an arm around his waist. “Close your eyes, gorgeous, and sleep for a while.” He pressed a kiss against the back of Scorpius's neck and hugged him a little tighter when he sighed.