Disclaimer: Many thanks to JKRowling for allowing us to play in her world.

Hermione had the worst summer cold. The third day she arrived at work, sneezing the entire way down the hall, her boss insisted she go home.

“I'm fine, really,” Hermione insisted through the handkerchief currently pressed against her face.

“It's not a request,” the kindly witch insisted.

“But-”

“Go home and get some rest, Miss Granger. And may I suggest some buying some Pepper-Up potion on your way home?”

Skulking her way back down to the Floos, Hermione muttered that she already had tried the suggested Potion. Twice. It would relieve her symptoms for perhaps and hour; then she reverted back to her congested and coughing self.

She stepped into the lift, trying unsuccessfully to mask her cough. Maybe the rest of the day in bed would be a very good idea; she was so tired.

“That cold is still hanging on I see,” said Harry thoughtfully.

Hermione looked up, saw him standing there with a stack of parchment, and made for the opposite corner of the lift.

“What's the matter?”

“I don't want you to get sick,” she told him.

“Hermione, come here,” he said with all the affection their long-time friendship deserved. Harry put his arms around her and held her to him.

Sighing contentedly, Hermione just relaxed in his arms. He was the best friend she could have asked for, and had been so very proud of him when he was accepted into the Auror Training Program.

Harry could have had any job, inside the Ministry or out, but he applied to the Auror program. Once accepted, he had insisted on beginning at the bottom like every other new recruit. This accounted for his current presence in the lift with arms full of notes, for new recruits often had to run errands, make the tea, and in Harry's present situation, perform research for other Aurors.

“You're burning up,” he said as he pulled away to look at her.

“I'm alright, I just need to-to-Achoo!”

“Go home and get some Pepper-Up.”

“I've already tried that, Harry,” she said. “It didn't really work for me.”

“Really? That's odd. Look, I'm going to take you home right now.”

“No, Harry, I can make it! I don't want you getting into trouble.”

The lifts opened the the lobby and Hermione jumped out. She allowed Harry to walk her to the nearest Floo, but insisted he return to work.

“Hermione-” he said, clearly worried about his friend.

But she didn't give him a chance to say more, but instead stepped into the fire. Closing her eyes to minimize the dizziness she sometimes got from spinning through, Hermione stepped out of her own Floo a minute later. She waited for the sensation to pass and then opened her eyes.

A few shaky breaths later, Hermione felt well enough to walk across her lounge. She dropped her bag in a chair and went straight to the kitchen cupboard.

There it was, a tall yellow bottle with the words 'Pepper-Up' on the front. She'd purchased it along with a few other basic Potions more than a month ago, but it had a shelf-life of nine months. Hermione frowned at it, shrugged her shoulders and took a double dose.

Other than the smoke now pouring out of her ears, she felt no different. Hermione wanted to cry.

Had she felt any better, she'd have made herself a cup of tea or taken a hot bath. As it was, she barely had the strength to make it into her own bed.

But she managed a few minutes later to find her bedroom, where she flopped onto the welcoming bed without even taking off her clothes. Pajamas could wait. Taking her hair down could wait. Everything could wait.

“Hermione?”

Damn.

She tried to croak out a response but couldn't manage one, so she tried to sit up at least.

“Hermione? I'm coming through.”

It was Ginny, and thank Merlin for it.

“Oh, goodness,” Ginny exclaimed upon seeing the condition of her friend. “You look horrible.”

Hermione could only groan in return, and Ginny went to feel her forehead.

“Harry's right, you're impossibly ill. Do you want to go to St. Mungo's?”

“No,” Hermione rasped. “It's just a cold.”

“More like a flu, I think. Have you ever gotten this sick before?” Ginny asked as she sat next on the edge of the bed.

Shaking her head, it suddenly occurred to Hermione that she never had been anywhere near this ill. Was something more the matter?

“Harry Floo'd me and asked if I'd come check on you. Said you left work and that you looked...unwell.”

What Harry actually said was that she 'looked like hell', but Ginny thought it unnecessary to share that little bit.

“I feel... horrid. I thought it was a cold, but I took three doses of Pepper-Up now and it isn't helping.”

“Hmm... I think it's time we-”

“Ginny, aren't you supposed to be at practice?” Hermione asked as she recalled Ginny had just been signed to the Harpies.

“Yes, I have a few minutes before I'll be late, but you're more-”

“Go, please. I can manage by myself,” Hermione insisted, and in attempt to prove her point, rose from the bed. She promptly fell back into it.

“You cannot be left alone, Hermione. You need a strong cup of tea, or perhaps a bath, or...oh! I know the perfect solution!” Ginny squealed.

Hermione caught her friend's eye and said, “Oh, no. I don't want him to see me like this!”

“Come on, you've been dating a few months now. He's the perfect choice.”

“No.”

“Hermione...”

“NO.”

“I'll just go make that tea then. Try to get into some pajamas while I'm gone, at least?”

Hermione nodded and watched the trail of red hair walk from her bedroom and down the hall. Exhaling slowly, she dragged herself from the bed and made her way to the dresser. She pulled out her most favorite pajama pants and held them to her chest; soft, fluffy, downright fuzzy pale blue cotton with tiny white clouds all over called to her.

Putting them on, of course, meant getting out of her robes and the rest of her clothes. Hermione still wanted to cry.

Stupid cold!

She undid the clasp and her robe fell to the floor. One layer down and too many to go.

Where the hell was that tea?

As her fingers went to the zipper of her skirt, she heard, “May I?”

Her heart skipped a beat and then thudded into her stomach.

“Ron, what are you doing here?”

“Ginny had to get to practice so she asked me to come over, said you weren't feeling well.”

This time Hermione actually did cry.

Ron was beside her in the next moment, and he wrapped her in his arms.

“I dwnt yuto sem elikthis.”

“What?”

She pulled away and cried, “I didn't want you to see me like this. I'm a fright.”

But Ron had never seen anything as beautiful as the witch before him. Her hair was sticking up in ridiculous places, her eyes bleary and tired, and there was a pinkness to her face that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

“You're sick, Hermione. And I'm here to take care of you.”

Without asking what she needed, Ron took the pajama pants from her arms and set them on top of the bureau. With fingers that would have trembled with excitement under different circumstances, he unzipped the side of Hermione's skirt and slid it to the floor.

He appreciated the curve of her hip, the length of her thigh, even if it was covered in black stockings, and refrained from reaching out to caress the place he longed to touch.

They'd been dating for four months now, and after their first date, he knew there would never be another witch for him. She was brilliant, fiercely loyal, one of his best friends, and to him if no one else in the world, truly beautiful.

“Ron,” she rasped, and this time he did see embarrassment.

“Don't worry, Hermione,” he said with a smile and proceeded to unbutton her blouse.

Another tear slid down her face, one he wiped away tenderly with the ball of his thumb.

“Why are you crying?” he asked as he released the last button.

“This isn't how I imagined you undressing me,” she admitted, and it was Ron's turn to blush.

For four months, they had hugged, kissed, held hands and flirted. Only within the past few weeks had they progressed to a bit of petting, and Ron had been completely intoxicated with the feel of her sweater covered breast in his hand. He ached to know more, but after everything they'd gone through to finally get together, he was more than willing to take his time.

“There's time enough for that,” he whispered in her ear.

A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with how unwell she felt.

Her gaze met his, and Hermione could have drowned in those crystal blue orbs, the love and concern she saw starting back at her. Warmth pooled inside of her, and with a small smile, she remembered how last week, they were locked in a heated exchange of kisses that lead the new territory being explored.

Alright, so they were completely dressed when her hand brushed against his arousal for the first time, but she'd gasped just the same at the thought of the things to come. Ron had groaned in response, and when Hermione saw the look on his face – eyes with heavy lids, mouth slightly open, his lips curved into almost a smile – she knew at that moment he would be the one she'd give herself to.

In every way possible for a woman to give herself; heart, body, and soul.

And here he was, undressing her with nimble fingers but barely touching her.

Bloody hell.

He slipped the blouse from her shoulders and Hermione wished to Merlin she felt better. Somehow he was making this entire moment feel erotic, romantic, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and express her love for him in the way she knew would change everything.

As if this wasn't enough, Hermione could only watch as Ron knelt before her. She watched his eyes glimpse at the baby blue lace, the only thing left on her chest, and then wander to the matching knickers.

She heard him sigh, and then oh,my, Ron licked his lips.

His hands went to her stockings, fingers slid beneath them, and he slipped them down her leg, taking his time as he revealed the curve of her thigh, her perfect knees, and finally her calves that nearly begged to be touched.

Hermione lifted one leg and he freed it. She repeated the motion with her other foot, and Ron tossed the offending garment aside.

His eyes raked over her body, and Hermione searched for the word to describe how she felt at that moment...revered? Worshiped? Adored?

“You're every bit as beautiful as I thought you'd be,” he told her as he stroked the side of her face.

“Oh, Ron...”

To her surprise and slight dismay, he turned from her, grabbed the fluffy blue pants and knelt again.

When she didn't step into them right away, he looked up at her.

“What's wrong? Do you want something else?”

Indeed.

She wanted to curse the cold or flu or whatever was ailing her body at this moment.

She wanted to reach out and touch that beautiful face, that freckled nose, those perfectly kissable lips.

She wanted this to be the moment for their first time.

She wanted him to carry her to the bed and make sweet love to her until she didn't know what day it was.

She was ready.

Her body was not.

“Achoo!”

“Bless you,” he said, handing her a handkerchief.

Hermione stepped into the pajamas then and watched as Ron found her the matching shirt. He pulled it over her shoulders and buttoned the front. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the bed. He drew the covers back and fluffed up her pillows.

“Your chariot awaits,” he said playfully.

She climbed in, cursing the aches in her body, both from the cold and other things, and smiled up at him when he draped the blanket over her.

“Be right back,” Ron said with a kiss to her forehead and bounded out the door.

Less than five minutes later, he came back with a steaming mug of tea that smelled so wonderful Hermione could have kissed him.

“There's a bit of honey in it, how you like it.”

Oh, when it went down, Hermione felt it's restoring power and closed her eyes. Tea, the balm to the world's ills.

“Thank you,” she said at last.

“Anytime.”

“I certainly hope not. I hate being sick.”

He took her hand in his and said, “Hermione, I'll be here no matter what.”

“You don't have to stay.”

“You want me to go?”

“No.”

“Then here I am, at your service,” he winked.

Hermione took another sip of tea and felt her body begin to relax. She really was very tired. The tea and the pajamas and the wizard holding her hand were more than she was competition for, and though she felt the weight of the mug gone from her hand a moment later, she was too tired to mumble a thanks and drifted off to sleep.

The darkened room felt comfortable and quiet, despite not being able to see her hand in front of her face. Hermione sat up, stretched her limbs, and heard something in the corner of her room.

“Hermione? Do you need anything?”

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“You're still here.”

“I told you I would be. Do you need more tea? A glass of water?”

“Nothing,” she said and slipped out of bed. Heading the chair she thought he was occupying, Hermione bumped into him. He had been on his way to check on her.

“How are you feeling?”

Not a single pain remained. Her nose, her throat, all felt fine. The muscle aches and pains were gone.

“I feel wonderful, now that you mention it. What was in that tea?”

“Something my Mum used to give us when we got sick. I brought a bit with me before I stopped over yesterday.”

“Yesterday? How long have I been asleep?” she asked.

“About fourteen hours, I'd guess.”

And he had stayed, just as he said he would, watching over the witch he loved more than life itself as her body healed in sleep. He'd only left the room long enough to Floo Harry and Ginny to let them know he was staying with her, and to grab a sandwich from the kitchen around six o'clock. Every other moment he'd spent watching, waiting in case she needed him.

“You stayed the entire time?”

“Hermione, I told you I'll be here no matter what.”

Without a word, she nipped into the bathroom, brushed her teeth and shot a cleaning spell at herself. When she emerged a few minutes later, Ron had lit a small candle on her bedside table. She walked up to him and planted a kiss full on his mouth.

Several long moments later when she broke away, Hermione whispered, “I need one more thing from you.”

“Anything,” he answered, his voice full of promise.

“Help me out of these pajamas.”

A/N: Just a fluffy bit of fun for any canon fans out there! Reviews are most welcome!