Hermione Granger had always been a fighter—strong, intelligent, and fiercely independent. So when the nagging ache in her stomach began to flare up that morning, she stubbornly tried to ignore it. She sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a book on magical creatures she’d been meaning to read for weeks. But as time passed, the dull pain in her abdomen grew more insistent, curling in on itself like a persistent storm cloud.
At first, she thought it was just a bad batch of tea or something she ate earlier. After all, she didn’t often get sick. But by mid-afternoon, when she had trouble focusing on the words in front of her, the pain became unbearable.
"Are you alright?" Ron’s voice cut through the silence of the room, concern laced in his tone.
Hermione winced but quickly smiled, trying to act casual. "I’m fine, Ron. Just a little stomach ache. I’m sure it’ll pass."
But Ron was no fool. He set down the book he was reading and moved to her side, his brow furrowed. "Hermione, you look a bit... pale."
She shook her head, not wanting to worry him. "It’s nothing, really."
But Ron’s hand gently touched her arm, urging her to look at him. He could see past her forced smile. "Alright, if you say so. But if it gets worse, we’re going to the healer."
Hermione sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I’ll be fine," she said quietly, though even she wasn’t sure.
--
The afternoon dragged on, each passing minute an unwelcome reminder of the gnawing pain in Hermione’s stomach. She tried to focus on the books strewn around her, but the words blurred, spinning together in a haze. She wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable. Her stubbornness was her trademark, but now, there was something undeniably overwhelming about the way the discomfort crept through her body.
Ron hovered around her, though he tried to give her space. His usual boisterous energy had quieted into something more subdued, and Hermione could feel the weight of his concern in every glance.
"How about we take a break, yeah?" he suggested, his voice soft but insistent. "You’ve been at this for hours."
Hermione shook her head, unwilling to admit just how much she needed rest. "I’m fine, really. Just need to push through a bit more."
Ron didn’t buy it. "Hermione," he said, kneeling down beside her, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of discomfort. "You’ve been clutching your stomach for the last hour. Just—just let me help you."
Her defenses crumbled under the tenderness in his voice. She met his gaze, finally allowing herself to see the worry etched into his features.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay, maybe I need a break."
Ron helped her stand, his hand steady on her back as he guided her to their bedroom. She didn’t argue as he tucked her into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Her head rested on the pillow, and for the first time all day, she allowed herself to truly stop.
Ron hovered nearby, like a protective shadow, his hand resting lightly on her arm. "Just rest. I’ll take care of everything."
Hermione tried to smile, but it felt weak. "You don’t have to, Ron. It’s just a stomach thing. It’ll pass."
Ron shook his head. "Not if you keep pushing yourself."
There was silence for a moment, the quiet hum of the apartment filling the space between them. Then, slowly, Ron stood up and disappeared into the kitchen. Hermione heard the clink of glass and the sound of running water as he returned moments later with a glass of water and some soothing herbal tea.
"Here," he said softly, handing her the tea. "It’ll help, trust me."
Hermione took the cup, wrapping her hands around it as if the warmth could somehow chase away the cold dread settling in her chest. Ron didn’t sit down; instead, he busied himself by rearranging the blankets around her and fluffing her pillows. He was doing everything in his power to take care of her, but Hermione could see the strain in his movements—the quiet panic beneath his usual calm.
After a while, she couldn’t stand seeing him so anxious anymore. She reached out and took his hand, pulling him gently toward the bed. "Ron, it’s okay," she said softly, her voice hoarse. "I’ll be fine. You don’t have to do everything."
He hesitated for a moment, but then sat beside her. His hand brushed her hair back, his fingers light against her scalp. "You’re everything to me, Hermione. If you’re not okay, then I’m not okay."
His words hit her like a wave, and Hermione felt her chest tighten, a lump rising in her throat. She had never doubted Ron’s loyalty, but hearing him say it like that—so raw, so full of love—made her heart ache.
"I don’t want to be a burden," she said, her voice small.
"You're never a burden." Ron’s voice was firm, his expression earnest. "Never."
Hermione squeezed his hand, closing her eyes. She was too tired to argue, too tired to fight against the exhaustion. "Thank you."
A knock at the door broke the moment. Ron stood up quickly, his brow furrowed in confusion. He opened the door to reveal Harry, who was standing in the hallway with a worried frown on his face.
"Hey, I got your message," Harry said, his eyes flicking to Hermione in the bed. "How’s she doing?"
Ron sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not great. She’s been sick all day. I didn’t know what else to do."
Harry stepped inside, his gaze falling on Hermione, who was pale and trembling under the covers. "Merlin, Hermione," he murmured, kneeling beside her bed. "You look awful."
Hermione managed a weak smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Thanks, Harry," she said softly, attempting to tease him.
"Do you need anything?" Harry asked, looking back at Ron.
Ron bit his lip, his hand gripping the edge of the bed as if he were trying to keep himself together. "I don’t know. She’s been throwing up and can’t keep anything down. I—I don’t know what’s going on."
Harry’s face hardened with concern. "We should probably get a healer to take a look at her."
Hermione sat up slightly, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I don’t want to make a big deal out of it."
Ron turned to her, his expression serious. "It’s not about making a big deal, Hermione. You’re clearly not okay. Let’s just get some help, alright?"
She opened her mouth to protest but closed it again when she saw the look on his face. His usual jokey demeanor was gone, replaced by a deep, genuine concern. She nodded quietly.
"I’ll go make a call," Harry said, standing up. "I’ll be back in a minute."
As Harry left, Ron sat back down beside Hermione. She looked up at him, her eyes still heavy with pain and fatigue. "You don’t have to do all this for me," she whispered. "You’re already doing so much."
Ron smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "That’s because you’re worth it."
--
An hour later, a healer arrived at the flat, a young woman named Marissa who was part of the wizarding network of magical medical professionals. She quickly assessed Hermione, casting a diagnostic charm and asking about her symptoms. After a few minutes, the healer concluded that it was likely just a stomach bug, though there was some worry about dehydration.
"Don’t worry," Marissa said kindly, offering Hermione a calming potion. "You’ll feel better in no time. Just take it easy for the next day or so, and drink plenty of fluids."
As Marissa left, Hermione sank back into the pillows, feeling the weight of the day finally lift. Ron settled back beside her, his hand finding hers again.
"See?" he said softly. "Told you we’d get through this."
Hermione nodded, closing her eyes and leaning into him. "I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ron."
"You’ll never have to find out," he said, his voice full of warmth. "I’m here."
--
The next few days passed in a haze, Hermione slowly recovering and spending her time resting, with Ron by her side every step of the way. He made sure she ate, drank, and slept, always ready to offer a comforting word or a playful distraction when she needed it.
In the quiet moments, when the world outside seemed far away, they found themselves even closer than before. It was in the small acts of care—the way Ron would brush her hair back or make her laugh when she was feeling down—that they truly showed their love for each other.
As Hermione regained her strength, she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Not just for the care Ron had given her, but for the unwavering support of their friendship, which had always been the foundation of their relationship.
And in that quiet, tender space between illness and recovery, they found something even more precious than before: a deeper understanding of what it truly meant to be there for each other, no matter the storm.
--
The End.