The first sign that something was wrong came in the form of a sudden, violent shiver that wracked Hermione’s entire body. She blinked, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes, but the world seemed to tilt sideways as if her bed was swaying beneath her. She curled up tighter in her blankets, hoping it would pass. But it didn’t.
A few minutes later, a heat blossomed in her chest, climbing up her throat and swirling around her head. She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. The room was too bright even with the curtains drawn tight. A pulsing headache had begun to throb behind her temples, every beat of her heart making her ache.
“No, no, no…” Hermione muttered to herself, trying to push the feeling away. She had a mountain of work to get through before the end of the week. She couldn’t afford to miss classes.
But when she tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness washed over her, and she collapsed back onto her pillows, clutching her stomach, the discomfort gnawing at her insides like an animal. Her body felt foreign to her, too heavy, too slow. Her muscles screamed in protest, her skin hypersensitive to the air.
It wasn’t just the fever. It was everything. Her mind sluggish, her thoughts half-formed. The world around her felt like it was slipping through her fingers.
After an agonizing moment of deliberation, she forced herself to sit up, her head spinning violently as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cold stone floor beneath her feet was a jarring contrast to her burning skin. She stood, then stumbled to the door, reaching out for the handle—but her legs gave out beneath her.
She collapsed to the floor with a soft thud.
-----
By the time Ron and Harry found her, Hermione had somehow managed to drag herself back into bed. Her face was flushed with fever, her hair sticking to her forehead in damp clumps. The pile of blankets had been kicked off in a desperate attempt to cool her, but even the slight draft from the window made her shiver uncontrollably.
Harry stood at the foot of her bed, looking helpless. “Hermione, you’ve got to let us help you. You’re burning up.” His voice was soft, full of concern, but there was a hesitation to his words. He knew how fiercely independent Hermione was. How she hated showing weakness.
Ron stood next to him, arms crossed over his chest. His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed with worry. “You’re not going to get better if you don’t rest. You should’ve stayed in bed.”
Hermione lifted her head with effort, her eyes cloudy as she met their gazes. “I can’t,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I’ve got so much to do… You can’t… you can’t do it for me.”
Ron stepped forward then, his tone firm. “Hermione, we’re not asking you to do anything. We’re telling you to rest.” His voice softened as he kneeled down beside her bed. “We’ll help. Let us.”
Hermione felt a lump form in her throat. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to acknowledge just how weak she felt. But her body was betraying her, and the ache that pulsed through her limbs was unbearable. She let out a shaky breath, her vision starting to blur again.
“I… I don’t want to be a burden,” she murmured, more to herself than to them.
Harry stepped closer and sat on the edge of her bed, his voice a low whisper. “You’re not a burden, Hermione. Never.”
Ron nodded in agreement. “We’re your friends. We’ll take care of you. You’ve always been there for us, and now it’s our turn.”
Hermione closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of their words to settle in her heart, even as her body felt distant and weak. She didn’t want to give in. Didn’t want to need them. But deep down, she knew they wouldn’t leave her like this.
-----
Over the next few days, Hermione barely left her bed. Her fever lingered, stubbornly high, and the aches in her body showed no sign of fading. She tried to eat, but her appetite had completely disappeared, replaced by a gnawing nausea. Every time she swallowed, it felt like fire running down her throat.
Harry and Ron stayed by her side, quietly going about their work but always checking in on her, offering water, soup, or whatever they thought might help. It wasn’t much, but it was everything she needed. Even when she refused to let them take care of her, they simply sat with her, their presence a steady comfort.
One night, after Ron had tucked her in and Harry had promised to wake every few hours to check her temperature, Hermione allowed herself to finally rest, the warmth of the blankets surrounding her in a cocoon of safety. She had fought against needing anyone for so long—she had fought against being vulnerable—but in this moment, all she could do was lean into the care they were offering her, the care she had always been too proud to accept.
In the quiet of the dorm room, with the low hum of the castle outside the windows, Hermione finally allowed herself to drift off to sleep.
And for the first time in days, she wasn’t alone.