Chapter 2
Hermione woke in the middle of the night, disoriented and achingly hot. Her head throbbed, her throat felt raw, and worst of all, her stomach twisted in warning. She barely had time to shove the blankets back before she was scrambling out of bed, half-stumbling toward the door.
Ron was awake in an instant. “Hermione?”
She didn’t answer—couldn’t. The moment she reached the bathroom, she collapsed to her knees, gripping the toilet as another wave of nausea crashed over her. The retching was relentless, her body trembling with exhaustion.
A second later, a warm hand was at her back, rubbing gentle circles between her shoulders. “I’m here,” Ron murmured, voice thick with sleep but full of concern. “It’s alright.”
Hermione gasped, resting her forehead against the cool porcelain, utterly spent. “I hate this,” she croaked.
“I know,” Ron said softly, brushing damp curls from her face. “Wish I could fix it.”
She shut her eyes, fighting back tears. “You shouldn’t have to—”
“Oh, hush,” he interrupted. “I told you, you’re not ruining anything. If anything, I should’ve known you were getting sick sooner.”
She let out a weak, miserable laugh. “How, exactly?”
He grinned, nudging her lightly. “Dunno. Maybe I’ve got a sixth sense for when my girlfriend’s about to be horrifically ill.”
Hermione groaned, but there was no real frustration in it. Just exhaustion and gratitude. Slowly, she sat back, wiping at her face. “I think it’s done,” she murmured.
“Yeah?” Ron eyed her carefully before standing. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll get you some water.”
She nodded weakly, and as he left, she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of warmth—not just from the fever, but from the way Ron stayed by her side, unwavering, through every miserable moment.
Maybe this trip wasn’t going as planned, but in some strange way, it made her love him even more.