Hermione backed away from him, her hands raised. 'I'm not ill!' she insisted.

'You sound ill,' he pointed out. 'You sound like you just smoked a pack of cigarettes.'

She lifted her chin. 'Yeah, well, maybe I just took the habit up,' she croaked. 'Working at the shop's changed me. I'm a chav now. Someone oughta buy me some contour and hoop earrings.' She turned away and coughed into her elbow.

He rolled his eyes. 'C'mon. I'm starting to think you don't want to spend time with me.' He pouted.

She shook her head. 'I'm fine. I said—' She ducked her head, wheezing.

Harry took the chance to press the tip of his wand against her forehead. As soon as it touched her skin, it began to glow a faint red. He stared at his wand then at Hermione. She looked back at him. 'You're not going,' he declared. 'Go back to bed. I'm calling in to tell Georgia. They'll be fine if you don't go in today. You, on the other hand, will not be if you don't do as I say.'

Her cheeks, already pink, flushed red. 'Harry!' she sputtered. 'You can't—'

'I can, and I am. Hermione, go.' Despite the sternness of his tone, he prodded her gently towards the corridor.

She dug her heels in. 'I'll just take some acetaminophen. I'll be fine, Harry.'

'You're delusional. Hermione, you're obviously ill.' She looked up at him, at the anxiety in her eyes. 'Hermione,' he said. 'Please. Put your stubbornness away for one day. Let me take care of you.'

She stilled, looking at that anxiety. It stirred something inside her, something that wanted to reach out and hold him, to assure him that whatever was worrying him would turn out okay. That they'd be okay.

The only way she could alleviate that anxiety was to listen. To put away her stubbornness and let him take care of her.

She slumped against him. 'Fine,' she grumbled.

He sighed. Before she could force her feet to take her to her room, he tucked his arms underneath her and carried her through their house. 'Harry!' she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck. 'Harry, I can walk!'

'I know you can,' he replied. 'But let me do it for you.'

She looked at him from his arms. She had to admit, it was nice. His chest was warm and solid and he held her close enough that she could lay her head on his shoulder. He smelt good too. Like soap and coffee and aftershave. His jaw was clean and sharp, and she must've been really ill because she had the strangest desire to run her finger along it, to kiss it and nibble at the soft skin of his earlobe.

Merlin. It must've been dragonpox.

Her door swung open, knocking into a pile of books. He cursed, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. 'Jesus, Hermione. How many books do you have?'

'Not enough,' she mumbled.

Harry chuckled and manoeuvred around the piles of precariously placed books. 'I think you have enough, Hermione. I thought we put them all in shelves?'

She shook her head. 'I brought most of them up here so… so you wouldn't make fun of me.'

'I would never,' he promised. For a moment, his mind flashed back to their first year. He winced and pushed the memory away.

Carefully, he placed her in her bed. 'I'm gonna go make you some soup and tea, okay? You stay here.'

She groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets over her shoulders. 'Where else would I go?' she grumbled.

He smiled and placed a hand on her head, checking her temperature. She closed her eyes against the cool weight, already settling back into sleep. 'One day,' he said, soft enough that she wasn't sure if she was actually hearing him, 'I'm gonna build you a library. Big enough to fit all your books you want.'

~~~

Harry kept them holed up in her room for the most part. A pot of tea, magicked to refill itself, the radio, and more books than they could ever read in a day.

It took some pleading, but he finally moved into her bed. 'On top of the covers,' he had said. 'On top of the covers,' she had agreed.

She wedged herself between him and the wall so she could look over his arm whilst he read. She tried not to focus too much on him. In her bed. On their legs touching, though there was a blanket between them. The frame creaked whenever he shifted. If she wanted to, she could reach up and kiss him. If she wanted to.

Harry had insisted against anything nonfictionous, which meant that he was currently holding a copy of War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. It was her father who was the sci-fi geek. He was the one who watched Doctor Who and kept up a collection of George Orwells and Ray Bradburys.

'At times I suffer from the strangest sense of detachment from myself and the world about me,' Harry read. 'I seem to watch it all from the outside, from somewhere inconceivably remote, out of time, out of space, out of the stress and tragedy of it all. This feeling was very strong upon me that night. Here was another side to my dream…'

He read slowly, which she didn't mind. She had read most of all the books in her room so she already knew where the story was heading. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused on the tenor of his voice.

Not on him, specifically.

Next to her.

In her bed.

Merlin.

It was gonna be a long day.

~~~

They got halfway through War of the Worlds when Harry sighed and set the book down. 'Are you tired?' he whispered.

Hermione didn't know why he whispered but she whispered back, 'No. Why?'

He shrugged and she felt his shoulders lift against hers. 'I dunno. I thought you get all tired when you're ill.'

Hermione shook her head. 'Once my fever breaks, I crash.' She grabbed his hand and held it against her head.

'Still warm,' he concluded. He leaned over and grabbed the Muggle thermometer off the bedside table and stuck it in her mouth. Patiently, Hermione waited, going cross-eyed as she tried to read it. Finally, Harry winced, taking it out. He turned it over and reported, '38.4'

Hermione sighed and said stuffily, 'How long till I can take another pill?'

Harry leaned over again and squinted at the clock. 'You last took one at…?'

'Ten-oh-three.'

'Give it another thirty minutes.' He grabbed a cup of water and handed it to her. Gratefully, she gulped some down.

'Let's play chess,' Harry suggested.

Hermione shook her head. 'Don't know how.' He tilted his head. 'Huh?'

She took another swig and said around a mouthful of water, 'Ah don knaw hah teh glay.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Because that made sense.'

She swallowed. 'I don't know how to play chess,' she repeated. 'There. Understand?'

Harry reached around her for his wand and waved it. 'Accio chess set,' he mumbled. As it came soaring through the door, he reached out and grabbed it.

'I— did you not hear me?'

Harry emptied the pouch of the figurines. 'I heard,' he said. Carefully, he set the board between them and placed the pieces in their places.

'Harry—' He pushed a cup of tea towards her and explained, 'I'm gonna teach you how to play chess in the time it takes for you to finish your tea. And by the time I'm done, you can take your medicine. Perhaps we'll be able to get a game in before you pass out again.' He smiled.

She sniffed, reaching up to rub her nose with a tissue. 'I don't wanna play.'

His smile fell. 'Why not?'

She shrugged. 'I just don't wanna.'

He leaned forward, looking in her eyes. 'No, there's something else. What is it?'

She scowled. 'I just don't wanna play, okay?'

'Liar.'

'Stop it.'

'It's just chess.'

'Stop it, Harry.'

'C'mon. You'll have fun.' He poked her in the side.

She huffed and swatted his hand away. 'I don't want to play, okay? Merlin.' She threw her head back, blinking harshly at the ceiling.

Harry paused and leaned back. 'Sorry,' he said, looking down at the board. 'I didn't mean—'

She sighed. 'I know, Harry. It's just…' She swallowed and fisted her fingers in the blanket around the waist. 'What if I'm bad at it?'

Harry paused, taking in her words. Hermione. Brilliant, gorgeous, amazing Hermione. Practically perfect in every way. How could she be bad at anything? But that was a terrible way to view her, he reminded himself. Perfect Hermione who was never allowed to mess up. How unfair of him to put that sort of pressure on her. He reached over and untangled her fingers with the blanket. Gently, he said, 'It's okay not to be good at everything, Hermione.'

She laughed, though it sounded shaky. 'Yeah, but it's not okay to fail. It's stupid. Why would I try something new when I could just stick to what I know.' She scoffed. 'Why fail at something when I can just continue succeeding?' She turned her head, chin tilted, daring him to explain.

Harry sucked in a breath, caught in her gaze. Her fingers tightened around his, as if to hold him down— not that he could've or even would've run.

His own words echoed back through his ears, ill-suited for the situation: 'I choose you.'

A thousand times over, he added in his head. Out of everyone, ever. Even when they're at their best and you're at your worst. I choose you.

He swallowed and pushed the thought away. It was a platonic thought, of course. There wasn't a question about it. It was loyalty, he reminded himself. And friendship. Emphasis on friendship. Unfiltered and innocent. Nothing more, nothing less.

'Why, Harry?' she breathed.

He cleared his throat. 'Because,' he said. 'Because it's better to try and fail and learn than to never try at all. It's like… it's like new books.' She furrowed her brow at him but he barreled on. 'Yeah, they're nice when they're all fresh and new but you have no idea what's inside them. You have no idea what it is, the plot or characters or anything. And then you read it again and find out that- that you cracked the spine or- or bent a page funny, and yeah, it sucks because it's not as- as pristine and lovely anymore but- but you know what it is, y'know? You know the plot and the characters and everything. And who cares if it's a little scuffed if you loved the book? Is- isn't that what you told me once? That the most scuffed up books are the most loved ones?' He looked at her, trying to make her understand.

She stared at him, her eyes wide and watery. She sniffed and wiped her nose. 'When did you get so poetic?' she mumbled, dragging a hand under her eyes.

He smiled, his shoulders relaxing. He reached out and swiped his thumbs across her cheeks, flicking her tears away as they fell. 'I guess you're just wearing off on me. 'Books and cleverness' and all.'

She looked at him, her eyes all wide and brown and red-rimmed. She turned her head, coughing into her elbow. Wordlessly, Harry pulled a tissue out and handed it to her.

Her hair mussed with sleep and her cheeks red with dying fever, she had never looked more beautiful to Harry. It made his heart swell in weird places to know that he was probably the only person besides her mum or Madam Pomfrey who had seen her like this.

That he'll now be the only person to see her like this.

He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the board. 'Shall we?' he asked.