i hate when you're right
It had been exactly one day since Hermione had declared herself “recovered.”
That was, of course, a complete lie.
Ron had tried—tried—to get her to rest longer. She had slept most of the afternoon after her shower, curled up against him on the couch, and he had foolishly thought she’d take it easy for a bit. But no. The moment she could stand without swaying like a drunk Boggart, she was bustling about the house, declaring she had so much to catch up on.
Ron had spent all of the next morning watching her like a hawk as she worked at the kitchen table, sipping weak tea and pushing papers around. “I’m fine, Ron,” she had insisted, rolling her eyes when he asked if she needed to lie down.
By midday, she was reading case files. By late afternoon, she was writing up notes for an upcoming Wizengamot hearing. And by evening, she was standing at the counter, trying to cook dinner, her hands slightly trembling as she chopped vegetables.
That was when Ron had had enough.
“Hermione,” he said, standing behind her, arms crossed.
She barely looked up. “Hmm?”
“Sit down.”
“Ron, I—”
“Sit,” he said firmly, taking the knife from her hands before she could protest. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I do not,” she huffed, wobbling slightly as she stepped away.
Ron snorted. “Sure. And Harry doesn’t have a hero complex.”
She opened her mouth to argue—but then a wave of dizziness hit her, making her grip the counter.
“Right,” Ron muttered. “That’s it.”
Before she could even protest, he had scooped her up again, carrying her effortlessly back to the couch.
“Ron, put me down! I can—”
“You can’t,” he interrupted, plopping her down onto the cushions and covering her with the nearest blanket. “Because if you could, you wouldn’t look like you’re two seconds away from keeling over.”
Hermione groaned, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I don’t understand. I felt better.”
Ron sat beside her, rubbing slow circles on her back. “Yeah, well, your body’s been through hell, love. You can’t just force yourself back to normal.”
She sighed, letting her head fall against his shoulder. “I hate when you’re right.”
He grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “No, you don’t. You love it.”
She let out a small, tired laugh. “Maybe just a little.”
Ron tucked the blanket tighter around her, pulling her against his chest. “Now, do me a favor and actually rest this time?”
Hermione closed her eyes, the warmth of his embrace making her eyelids heavy. “Mmm. Fine.”
Ron smiled against her hair. Finally.