InsaneJournal

who ? daphne greengrass and roger davies
when ? sunday morning, 13th november
where ? roger’s house, diagon alley
what ? being poorly
status ? complete



Whilst Roger wouldn’t necessarily admit it, he’d gotten quite used to waking up next to Daphne. It wasn’t like they spent all nights together, hardly, but there were at least a few during the week and almost always the weekends. More than being used to it, Roger had become rather aware that he genuinely enjoyed their mornings together. The weekends, by far, were preferred because they could be lazy and stay in bed for however long they wanted to. The workdays, though, there was an appeal with those, too. By now, Roger and Daphne almost had a routine for getting ready for work together. It was... nice. Roger had no idea how else to describe it but nice.

So when he blinked awake that Sunday morning, there was no surprise to find Daphne lying right next to him. What was surprising was the way Roger’s head felt heavy, the way his body felt achy. Reaching out, far more weakly than Roger had intended to, he poked Daphne in the side, just under her ribs. “Daph,” Roger half-whined, voice sounding groggier than even his just-awake state would justify. “Daph,” he repeated. “I feel like shit,” Roger informed her pathetically.

--

Daphne didn't feel all that wonderful when she cracked an eye open and looked at Roger. She didn't feel like she was going to die or anything dramatic, but she definitely didn't feel up to par. Immediately more concerned that Roger wasn't feeling well, she lifted her hand and pressed the back of it against his forehead. "You're warm," she told him. "I can make you some soup," she offered. It certainly wasn't the most wonderful option for breakfast, but if he was feeling less than stellar, soup would help.

--

The moment Daphne’s hand came up to Roger’s forehead, he leaned into the touch, shifting closer to her as he closed his eyes briefly, only opening them again to frown at her. “For breakfast?” Roger asked scrunching up his nose at Daphne’s offer of soup. “I don’t want soup,” he decided, reaching out to wrap an arm around Daphne’s waist, pulling her in closer against his own body. Tilting his head upwards, Roger pressed a kiss against Daphne’s forehead and then frowned.

“You’re hot,” he told her. “Like not sexy hot,” Roger clarified before pulling back a bit to give Daphne a proper look. “Like really not sexy hot,” he told her deciding that Daphne looked about as great as Roger currently felt.

--

"Then I won't make soup," Daphne said simply, closing her eyes when he pressed his lips against her forehead. It felt nice, even if he followed it up with how unattractive she was. "Gee, Roger, thanks for the compliment," she teased, rolling her eyes. "You sure know how to make a girl feel special." She groaned, not feeling like moving at all but knowing she probably should. Laying in bed with Roger, especially when she felt so poorly, sounded so much better than moving.

"We're sick," she muttered. "Lovely."

--

“It’s okay,” Roger assured her. “I’m sure I look like shit, too,” or he certainly felt like he did. Roger felt like perhaps he should’ve told Daphne that she was, in fact, still attractive, but that both felt like unnecessary effort and somewhat of just pleasantries. Not that Daphne was unattractive, hardly so, but Roger wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t just told her she didn’t look great right this minute.

At Daphne’s announcement that they were sick, Roger gave a groan that half-masked as a whine. “I don’t want to be sick,” he told Daphne like it was somehow her fault that he was sick. It probably was. Or well, Roger was going to opt for that as the truth of his choosing. “We should have tea,” Roger informed Daphne like he had any idea, but then his next words kind of undermined that idea. “The house elves always made us tea when we were ill at home,” he told Daphne, because really, Roger’s only knowledge of how one deal with being ill was having a house elf deal with it.

--

She laughed softly at his statement. "I refuse to respond to that," she told him, smirking just a touch. He looked like he didn't feel well, that was certain. The mention of tea was probably a good plan. "I'll get up," she told him, reluctantly untangling herself from Roger's arms. "Do you want me to bring it here or do you want it in the living room?" she questioned, crawling off of the bed and trying not to whine as she did so. Her head felt achy and she shoved down the urge to crawl right back into the bed and under the covers.

--

Roger had no real idea what the best thing for being ill was, whether it’d be staying in bed or finding a place that hadn’t been the original base for getting ill. Usually, whenever Roger had a cold, he mostly made Max look after him. Max, unsurprisingly to anyone, was not a great person to have look after you. When Daphne visibly forced herself to get out of the bed, Roger decided that he much preferred her to look after him. It also made Roger feel like he probably needed to do something in return. So what he managed was to follow her out into the living room, dragging the blankets from the bed with him, before settling down on the sofa, where he could watch Daphne make the tea in the kitchen.

“I blame you,” Roger informed her before sneezing and then whining as the movement caused his head to hurt. “I assume it’s your fault,” he added because Roger couldn’t actually be certain. He did prefer to blame Daphne for most things, though. “Coming here, kissing me with your germs,” Roger muttered loudly enough that Daphne could hear it.

--

Daphne rolled her eyes at Roger and the blame that he laid on her. Moving about the kitchen, she started a kettle and collected mugs for the both of them. "Well, I could very well blame you," she pointed out. "Maybe you already had the germs when I came over with kisses." No matter who had the germs to begin with, they both were sick now. It did very little good to complain about it, but Daphne was content to let Roger whine if he wanted to. "Do you want any breakfast with your tea?" she asked him.

--

“Well, I don’t blame me,” Roger informed her like it mattered. It didn’t. Daphne was right that they were never going to figure out which one of them brought the germs to the kisses, but they certainly now both shared them. As affirmed with another sneeze that surprised Roger and then lead to him groaning in despair. “No,” he said in reply to Daphne’s question. “Yes,” he corrected and then frowned. “No? I don’t know, I’m too ill to know whether I’m hungry,” Roger told her like that made any sense at all.

Making himself more comfortable into the blankets and the sofa, Roger sighed. “You seem less ill than me,” he said to Daphne accusatively, like somehow she had not only made him sick but made him sicker than her.

--

Daphne laughed. "Maybe I'm just better at hiding my illness," she said. "Or better at sucking it up and dealing with it. It wouldn't do very well for us to both be whining, would it? Who would make you tea if I just laid down and hoped for death?" She couldn't resist giving him a hard time. She was quickly finding that Roger didn't do sick very well.

The kettle sounded and she moved to get their mugs filled. She probably should have made something for breakfast, but she wasn't sure if she could muster up enough strength to stand for longer than tea would require. She could make breakfast later, she decided. Bringing both mugs to the sofa, she sat hers on the table and offered his to him. "Are you going to be cross with me for being less ill?" she asked him, smirking.

--

Roger was really quite sure that Daphne was definitely right in saying that she was better at sucking up and dealing with being ill. This was both based in the fact that she was yet to whine about feeling in but also at the fact that she seemed to have enough energy to mock Roger’s whining. “Yes,” he told her seriously but did also offer a thanks at the mug she handed him. Then, despite his response, Roger moved on the sofa, pulling up the blanket so Daphne could crawl under it, next to him.

Smelling the tea in a fashion that Roger assumed was helpful because he’d seen other people do it, Roger shuffled back in closer to Daphne. “I really don’t like being ill,” he informed her. Whilst no one liked being ill, Roger was sure he disliked it more than other people. Evidently he disliked it more than Daphne because she seemed so much more fine with the whole thing.

--

She laughed, then descended into a coughing fit for a moment before crawling under the blanket next to Roger. "Me either," she admitted. There wasn't much she could do about being ill, though, unfortunately. Illnesses simply took time. As much as she would have liked to snap her fingers and be better, it didn't always work that way. She could brew a potion, but even that wouldn't be instant.

"My head feels like it's three times bigger than it's supposed to be," she muttered.

--

When Daphne coughed, Roger made a noise that was intended to be sympathetic, but the sneeze that joined it kind of undermined that. Instead, Roger nudged his shoulder against Daphne’s somewhat in sickness-solidarity. “Should we owl someone to come and look after us?” Roger asked thoughtfully, or as thoughtful as he could manage in his current state at least. “Arran’s only across the road, but I’m not sure he’d want to look after me,” Roger admitted. “Your sister’s down the road, she seems caring,” Roger told Daphne because Astoria genuine did.

Taking a sip of his tea, Roger gave a small sigh, which was then followed by another sneeze. “Fuck,” he swore in between sniffles. “This sucks.” It did.

--

Astoria was definitely caring and likely would come if Daphne owled for her. There was, of course, the chance that she would just end up getting sick, too. That wasn't something Daphne wanted and she frowned at the thought. "What if we just get them sick?" she asked. "Then we'll all be miserable."

"I would almost pay to see Arran's face if you did owl him, though. He'd probably come over here just to tell you to shove it," she teased, nudging him with her elbow. She laughed, but that didn't last long before she sneezed and distracted herself from what she'd found so amusing. She groaned and slumped back against the sofa. "There goes my plans of staying in bed and enjoying myself all day."

--

Yes, Daphne was probably right in that they would risk just getting someone else ill. Roger wasn’t quite sure whether he minded that if it meant he had someone healthy to look after him (because Roger did feel a bit bad for making Daphne make tea, when she was starting to look more and more an equal level of ill to Roger’s own), but he wasn’t going to force poor Astoria to do it. And he also wasn’t going to owl Arran, partially because he suspected Daphne was right and Arran would just tell Roger to fuck off.

“Hey, now,” Roger said instead when Daphne complained about her plans for the day. “Aren’t you delighted to get to spend time with me?” Roger asked but then sneezed in a clear indication that she probably shouldn’t be delighted at the prospect at all.

--

Daphne attempted to smile at Roger, then covered her mouth to cough. "I'm delighted to spend time with you," she told him. "I would much prefer to be spending time with you without sneezing or coughing up a lung, though." Kissing and spending the day rolling around in his bed? Those were much better options. Unfortunately, she doubted either was a viable decision for the day despite her wish they they would be.

"At least you're comfy," she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. "And warm." He felt very much like a personal space heater, actually. She knew she was warm, but she felt chilled and the heat Roger was giving off was helpful.

--

Roger, too, would’ve rather spent time with Daphne when they weren’t both ill with what felt like but was unlikely to be the plague. Perhaps, there was a small chance, that Roger was a bit too melodramatic about being ill. It wasn’t his fault, though, he was sure. For one, it was definitely Daphne’s fault that they were ill, and for another, Roger really was absolutely awful at being ill. “‘m glad at least I’m comfy,” he commented sarcastically, but did shift so Daphne could press into him more comfortably, bringing one of his arms up in order to wrap it around her.

Taking a sip of his tea, Roger sneezed again. “This is so horrible,” he repeated, because it was and somehow he was sure that the more he said it the better he’d feel (this was yet to be proven true). “We’re going to have to owl someone for potions,” he said thoughtfully, trying to figure out where his owl was. Probably in the garden, it liked the garden. “I could owl Shiv? She’s very good,” by which Roger mostly meant that Siobhan was caring and also a Healer, so she’d ought to send them something good.

“Ugh,” Roger sighed realising that any sort of owling would involve actually getting out of the nest he’d successful built around himself and Daphne. “I’m glad you’re here to feel like shit with me,” he told her. “Even if you did make me ill,” Roger added, this time at least somewhat teasingly.

--

Daphne leaned into Roger appreciatively. She gravitated towards his warmth, a moth to a flame. He felt so good. He radiated heat and as badly as she felt for him, she was thankful for his presence in that moment. In every moment that they'd been intertwined together over the weeks since they'd met. Even as he sneezed and whined, she was comforted by the fact that he was there. The solidity of his body against hers was enough to make her feel at least marginally better.

The mention of his sister-in-law and getting her to send over potions was probably a good plan. "It can't hurt," she told him, opening her eyes to look up at him. She smiled at his words, turning her head to kiss the underside of his jaw. There was no point in staying away from those soft touches. He was already sick and no risk of catching what she had again. "My apologies for making you ill," she said, not caring if he blamed her. "I promise I'll make up for it in cuddles now and chicken soup later."

--

Roger hummed approvingly when Daphne apologised for making him ill. And then sighed. “Prolonged physical contact,” he corrected for what felt like a hundreth time. And Roger didn’t doubt wouldn’t be the last one either, since Daphne, he was sure, only said ‘cuddling’ so Roger would correct her. Chicken soup, though, sounded nice. As a concept for the future. Right now Roger had no desire to move and just as little desire for Daphne to move.

“You can’t go home, you know?” Roger said before sneezing. “Not before you get better or you’ll make Astoria ill,” he told her. “I guess you’re stuck in the house of disease, sorry,” he added not feeling all that apologetic about the fact, really.

--

She still hadn't gotten used to his term for cuddling. Prolonged physical contact. "My mistake," Daphne said, rolling her eyes. Whatever Roger wanted to call it was fine with her. No matter what he referred to it as, it was still touching and snuggling into him.

His mention that she couldn't go home made her smile a little. He was right about getting Astoria sick and Daphne didn't want to do that. She also didn't feel like leaving his side either. "Is that so?" she asked. "Confined to the house of disease. How horrible. At least the company isn't the worst," Daphne said. Turning her head, Daphne sneezed, groaning at the way it made her whole brain feel like it had exploded. "Tissues," she said. "We should owl for tissues along with those potions. Unless you've got some lying around somewhere."

--

“I do somewhere,” Roger confirmed, shuffling upwards from the nest of blankets, but only barely, as he located his wand, which, thankfully, was near by. Muttering a rather pathetic ‘accio’, a box of tissues landed in his lap and Roger held the box out to Daphne. “Like a hero,” he informed her before giving another loud sneeze. “I don’t think the tea is helping,” Roger muttered but took another sip of it anyway, before sinking back down into the blankets, closer to Daphne.

Sniffling, Roger gave a small whine. “Being ill really sucks,” he announced again, as if Daphne, who was also ill, wasn’t able to guesstimate as much herself. “It’s nice that you’re here, though,” Roger told her. “Even if you are at fault,” he added, feeling that it was a crucial point, necessary to repeat for as long as he was going to be ill.