Seventh Year – Stomach Flu in the Common Room
It was late in their seventh year, and despite the chaos of the war, Hermione had found a moment of peace in the familiar surroundings of the Gryffindor common room. But that peace was short-lived. She had felt a little off for the past few hours—a little queasy, a slight headache—but she brushed it off. After all, they were studying for their final N.E.W.T. exams, and Hermione Granger didn’t let a little stomach upset stop her.
Ron, on the other hand, had been watching her all morning. He could tell something was wrong. Hermione wasn’t her usual self. She wasn’t answering his questions with the usual sharp wit and intellect, and she had been holding her stomach frequently.
“Oi, Hermione,” Ron said, concern creasing his brow as he sat down across from her. “You’re looking a bit pale. You okay?”
“I’m fine, Ron,” Hermione replied, forcing a smile. “Just a little stomach ache, nothing to worry about.”
But it was more than just a stomach ache. As the day went on, Hermione’s discomfort intensified, and before long, she found herself rushing to the bathroom, her face pale and her body shaking with waves of nausea.
Ron was right behind her, of course. He didn’t even hesitate. He followed her into the bathroom, concern radiating off him. “Hermione, this is not just a stomach ache, is it?” he asked, his voice low and urgent.
Hermione groaned softly as she leaned against the wall, trying to steady herself. “No, it’s not. I think I have the stomach flu... or something. I don’t know.”
Ron immediately helped her to a nearby chair and sat down beside her, rubbing her back in slow, comforting circles. “You should rest,” he said gently. “I’ll get you something to drink. And you know I’m not leaving you alone.”
“But Ron—”
“No buts,” he said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Madam Pomfrey was called to the common room shortly after, diagnosing Hermione with a severe case of stomach flu. She was given a cooling charm to ease the fever and some potion for the nausea. But it was Ron who stayed with her, even after Madam Pomfrey had left, holding her hand and making sure she had everything she needed.
“You know,” he said softly as they sat together, “I’m not good at taking care of people. But I’ll do my best for you, Hermione.”
She managed a tired but appreciative smile. “I know, Ron. I know.”
As the evening wore on, Hermione felt herself growing weaker, her body still wracked with the aftereffects of the illness, but Ron’s quiet presence made it bearable. He’d stay up with her, telling her silly stories, making her laugh when she had no energy to do so, and helping her through the worst of it. By the end of the night, Hermione could feel the fever and nausea start to subside, but she also felt a deep sense of gratitude toward Ron, who had been her rock in a way no one else had been.