Author's Note:

As mentioned in the summary, this fic was originally posted in May of 2006. It was brought to my attention that there were several broken HTML tags left over from my initial submission, but my unfamiliarity with the document managing system prevented me from removing them in a timely manner, and I pretty much forgot about fixing the problem. It wasn't until two years later that I read it again and realized that not only were the tags highly distracting, but the entire story felt rushed. So as I was resubmitting it I tweaked a few paragraphs, added a couple lines of dialogue, and generally filled in the spots that were bare. It's still a very short, very fluffy little ficlet, but a little bit more fleshed out. I apologize for any confusion or inconvenience that I may have caused, and I hope that everyone enjoys the new and (hopefully) improved "Soup."

This was (and still is) written for Czarownica Asia, my Muse and close friend.

Soup

Hermione didn't know which to glare at first: the bowl of soup that was so cheerfully steaming away on the breakfast tray, or the smug visage of the man offering it to her.

While she wasn't entirely certain which one would be more unresponsive to her sulking, she reasoned that the soup had done nothing to personally offend her. Killing the messenger was hardly appropriate in this instance, and it wouldn't be very satisfying, either. She turned her bleary gaze to the laughing brown eyes of her husband, then amended the thought; perhaps dumping it on his head would succeed in solving two problems at once.

"I'm not hungry," she muttered sulkily, in the tone of a woman who already knew that her's was a lost cause. Still, there was no reason to make things easier for him. She pulled the comforter up to her chin, determined that she would not give up without a fight.

The object of her exasperation was regarding her with an amused and slightly triumphant expression.

"Herm-own-ninny, you know that you cannot vin. You haff stomach flu for five days, lose too much veight. Now you must eat." She glared at him mutinously, which only served to make his smile widen further. She muttered several choice expletives under her breath before yanking the covers down with a loud "Harrumph!" Pleased that he had won this small concession so early on, he stepped around the stacks of books that surrounded the bed like a fortress, and set the tray down in front of her, sitting gently on the edge of the bed as he did so.

She stared at the creamy-white concoction with an expression of distaste. "Did you have to pick cream of...whatever this is? It looks like something I ate an hour ago, not something that I'm about to eat," she grumbled. Even the sound that it made as it sloshed in the bowl was unappetizing. It...squelched. She immediately began to formulate plans for how to get rid of it in the most inconspicuous manner possible. Viktor's lips pursed as though she had spoken the thought aloud. His intuitive understanding of how her mind worked was a trait that she usually adored, but was finding extremely difficult to appreciate in her current state.

"Your vand is in the kitchen, and I haff no intention of returning it until you haff eaten at least half," he said sternly. At her crestfallen expression, he softened. Leaning forward to place a gentle peck on her cheek, he compromised. "Fine. A fourth. And you must drink a glass of vater. And you must get out of bed today." She shot him a pained look, which she then turned on the bowl in front of her. Traitor, she thought. I should have kicked you off the bed when I had the chance. Desperate for a loophole, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, still focusing on possible means of disposal.

"Just a fourth?" she inquired hopefully. All she would have to do is push it around with the spoon a little bit, claim that it had been eaten, and then go back to sleep.

"You vill have to drink and get out of bed anyvay. And no, I vill not leave the room to 'let you eat in peace,'" he added before the words could leave her mouth. She grimaced. She had run out of ideas. It was time to pull out the big guns.

"Viktor, please," she said, her voice and lower lip quivering. She knew that she was being unfair - he absolutely hated to make her upset - but desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, she wasn't entirely exaggerating; the sight and smell of the soup made her feel like she was going to be sick again, and her stomach ached with remembered pain.

He exhaled long and hard through his nose, and she could hear the frustration behind the sound. "Herm-own-ninny, that is not fair. I vont you to get better, and you are making it more difficult than it needs to be." Chocolate eyes met swimming caramel, and even though he suspected that she was manipulating his emotions to get her way, his heart twisted at the sight of the very real tears that were threatening to fall.

"Please my loff, don't cry," he begged. "You know that I cannot stand to see you unhappy." He picked up the tray and set it gently on the dresser before enfolding her in a strong embrace. Her arms, which were still thin and weak from her illness, hung loosely around his waist. He also noticed that her body was hard and bony in places that were usually soft and yielding. Even her hair, those beautiful, honey-colored locks that he so loved to run his fingers through, was limp and dull. He could not deny that she was still a very sick girl. He sighed in resignation.

"You are a very stubborn voman, my Herm-own-ninny. You do not do anything that you do not vont to be doing, even if it is vot is best for you." She remained silent against him, knowing that he was absolutely right. From her initial insistence that nothing at all was wrong with her, to her steadfast refusal to visit either a Muggle hospital or St. Mungo's when her condition had worsened, to the shameful way she had rejected Viktor's help, she had caused an easily treatable illness to go on for much longer than necessary. She cringed internally when she remembered her childish behavior. She had skipped meals, worked late into the night when she should have been sleeping, and had even tried to sneak off to work while Viktor was at the market. It wasn't until her body literally gave out on her that she admitted she needed to take a break; she would have fallen into the fireplace if Viktor had not been standing right next to her, probably anticipating such an event. And even then she had not fully surrendered to his ministrations, especially as they pertained to food and fluids. His gentle chastisement - murmured in the soft, concerned tone that he only used when he was genuinely worried about her - made her insides writhe with guilt.

"Viktor, I..."

"Shhh. It is fine, my loff," he assured her as he stroked her hair. "I understand that you are strong-villed, and not used to being bossed by pushy, vorried husband. And you do not haff to eat the soup. But it vould ease my mind if you would haff a glass of vater. You need to...vot is vord? Regain? Regain your fluids?"

"Replenish," she corrected quietly, her voice muffled in his chest. He nodded in agreement.

"Yes. You must replenish fluids."

Hermione released a gentle sigh of her own, then slowly extracted herself from his tight hug. She gazed up into his eyes and allowed the smallest of smiles to quirk the corners of her mouth. How this beautiful, caring, enigmatic, and entirely frustrating man had come to be hers was a miracle outside of the realms of her comprehension. They had endured so much together, had seen the entire world change before their eyes, and yet he was still the same sweet, shy boy that she had fallen in love with so many years ago. And even though she was sore, grumpy, and in desperate need of a shower, there was no one in the world that she would rather have taking care of her. She reached up and touched his face, softly tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips. He closed his eyes and purred in pleasure, then tucked an errant curl behind her ear. She gave him the first genuine smile of the week.

"I'm sorry that I've been such a difficult patient, Viktor. I guess I'm still not used to having other people take care of me; it's always been the other way around." He accepted her apology with a nod and a kiss to the forehead. He let his lips linger for a second longer than usual, probably trying to gauge her temperature. His concern warmed her heart. "How about a compromise? I'll go to the kitchen and drink some water while you make me something to eat that doesn't have milk or eggs. Then maybe you can help me shower. I feel like I haven't been clean in years."

His answer was to sweep her into his arms once again, only this time he peppered her face with kisses as she laughed and squirmed in his grasp. As her giggles subsided, he carefully maneuvered her to the edge of the bed, ready to assist her in case she should stumble. He needn't have worried. Their teasing exchange seemed to have given her renewed energy, and she fairly sparkled when he pulled her into a standing position, once again wrapping her arms around his waist. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him deeply, obviously taking him by surprise. When she finally pulled away, he looked happily dazed. He pulled gently on her hand, intending to lead her out of the bedroom. She shook her head.

"I need to go to the bathroom. Don't worry, I'll be right behind you," she added in response to his concerned expression. He nodded, then proceeded out of the room and down the hallway. As soon as she heard the sounds of cabinet doors being opened, she walked over to the dresser, looking down at the now-frigid soup with a mixture of resignation and...affection? Hers eyes darted to the door, then back to the bowl, which sat forlornly on its perch.

She picked up the spoon and took a single sip.

Now smiling with mischievous pleasure, she turned on her heel and went to join her husband for breakfast.