1 January 2012
Sellaphix Home
London

"Uugh..."

Thirteen-year-old Francis Sellaphix was a puddle on the floor of his bedroom. Well, half way. His upper half was draped on his bed while the rest of him was melting onto the woven rug on the floor - a dramatic show of not even being able to make it under the covers he was so utterly wretchedly ill. All around him, the bedroom he once shared with his brother Figaro was in a somewhat disheveled state of affairs due to packing for school. The train for Hogwarts was leaving tomorrow. He'd been doing his best, but in such a state he hadn't made as much progress as he'd like.

"Uuuugh....!"

Shortly, Zelda Sellaphix appeared in her sons' door.

"We can hear you from downstairs," she said, not batting an eye at her youngest's pitiable showing. But her half-smile was tolerant and warm; he'd clearly come down with something unpleasant. If it had been Figaro, she'd have guessed he was over-doing it to get out of school. But Frank loved school and organizing his trunk - this was legit.

Frank flopped over and sat himself on the floor. He looked pale and sweaty. "I don't feel good."

"I know, you look terrible. Take a break from ... whatever you're currently doing ... moaning and packing, and drink this for me."

"Nnngh... it tastes foul, mum. I hate that stuff," he groaned. Zelda always made the nastiest most beastly remedies. "Turns my pee green. It's unsettling."

She walked over and put the canteen in his lap. While she was there, she checked his forehead.

"You've got a fever. Drink it, then get some rest. Packing can wait. Your dad can help you later."

"Am I going to die," Frank asked even as he complied. He made a face at the taste of Zelda's concoction. "Why is there so much garlic in this?"

"Oh, you're going to be fine, love. I know you're made of sterner stuff. Drink, rest, ride it out," she said and sat on the bed. Pat, pat. "Come on, up you get. Probably just the flu."

fin