a/n: This was my submission for Romione Sinfest'18 under the category 'Greed'. Beta credits to one and only callieskye

"Ermione?"

Hermione let out an exhale before she looked up from the scroll that had just arrived from her office. "Yes, Ron?" she asked in the most patient voice she could muster, given the circumstances.

Her fierce Auror, war-hero husband sniffed, pulled his heavy cloak more snugly and wiped his already beetroot-red nose on a tissue before he dragged himself into the room and collapsed on the couch.

For the past couple of days, the only time Ron had let her out of his sight was when either of them had been to the loo. He had gone to the extent of conjuring a chair and sitting huddled in it while she had a shower.

"''ou sure I don need to see a 'ealer?" he managed in a heavy nasal voice between sniffs. Hermione gave up on the scroll and picked herself up, totally familiar with the conversation that was to ensue. He had asked the same question ten times so far, and she was sure he had called for her a hundred and fifty-eight times since morning. Yes, she was keeping count.

By the time she'd crossed the small distance between them, Ron had decided to lie down on the couch, his head resting oddly on one armrest while his legs hung out over the other end.

Hermione placed her palm flat on his forehead, and as expected, it was absolutely normal to touch.

"I'll get you another dose of Pepper-Up Potion," she told him, arranging his fringe out of his eyes and patting him tenderly on his cheek.

"Okay," he coughed. She had barely turned when he grabbed her hand and tugged. "Stay wid me," he pleaded, looking at her with puppy eyes, "summon ed."

With extreme effort, Hermione choked back her laughter and patted his hand lovingly before casting a silent Accio. The half-empty bottle zoomed into the room, right into her hand.

"Dis can'd be a normal 'old," he declared after taking a gulp. "am sure, it's someding else."

Hermione walked over to her desk under the pretence of putting away the potion bottle. But it was steadily getting harder to keep her laughter in check. Her oblivious husband let out a loud and dramatic moan, unaware that she was practically shaking with silent mirth.

"C'mere, pleade," he called. She returned to him and sat down on the floor with her legs folded underneath her. Hermione tucked the cloak properly and cast a spell to expand the couch. Ron settled in more snugly, mouthing a small 'thank you'.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Some tea, pleade?"

"Sure, I'll be right back."

Once she had placed the kettle on to boil, Hermione rested her back against the counter. Ron's two-day-old cold seemed to be like a glimpse of the future. She had no clue how it would be once they had kids, but she was sure they couldn't be as bad as him. The absurd part was, she had seen her husband go on the most dangerous of missions and come home severely injured. He had landed in St. Mungo's more times than she could count. But she had never seen Ron so miserable, in fact, his pain tolerance was extremely high, he hardly ever complained. It was just hilarious that a simple cold had turned him into-

"Ermione!"

"One hundred and fifty-nine," she muttered to herself. "Be there in a tick, Ron!" she replied.

She walked into their study, not just with tea but a plate full of his favourite chicken sandwiches.

"I think these will make you feel better," she said as she set the tray down on a small table. Ron picked himself up and grabbed a sandwich but with much less enthusiasm than she had expected. He took one bite before placing it back on the tray

"Sid?" he called, and familiar with this new nasal-accent of his, she sat down beside him. He managed to adjust his tall frame and placed his head on her lap, closing his eyes.

It was moments like these that stopped her from pointing out his overreaction. For years, Ron was always the one pampering her. He was clearly the more emotional of the two, and caring came naturally to him. Always placing everyone's needs above his, Ron rarely gave her the chance to spoil him to her heart's content. She knew which episode in their lives had triggered this sense of duty in him and it saddened her to think that over the course of time, Ron had forgotten to let go of his responsibilities. It had become a second nature of sorts for him put his discomfort aside for others. She knew, once he recovered, he would be just the same. It wasn't really wrong on her part to crave these role-reversal moments, was it? Even when she was being just as silly...

Running her fingers through his hair she watched his expressions relax. Ron grabbed her free hand and placed it over his chest, sighing contently.

" 'M only feelin better wid you nexd to be bud 'm also worried you'll catch whad I 'ave "

Hermione chuckled and pressed a kiss on his nose to which he protested vehemently, arguing she'd catch his deadly infection.

"Honestly, Ron, I'm sure I'm already saturated with this 'deadly' virus by now."

He gaped aloud and sat up straight, then scooted away while wrapping his cloak around him. "No," he declared with determination, "I musn'd be near you."

"But you said that's the only thing which makes you feel better?" she countered.

His expression softened, "Id does, bud I don'd wand you to feel like dis. I'll watch some telly," he announced, wiping his nose. "You should fidish your work."

She watched as he left the study, sniffing and sneezing. The tv was soon switched on and Hermione chuckled as she went back to her desk. She had barely managed to read a couple of sentences when the Floo chimed.

With a groan, she picked herself up and knelt in front of the grate. Within a couple of minutes, Ginny's head appeared within the green flames.

Hermione always thought that all the Weasleys looked rather amusing when they Floo-called. If the flames were red instead of green, they'd appear to be on fire. Ginny grinned, making her resemblance to her brother more pronounced.

"Hey there, Sister-in-law!" she laughed, "Harry said, Ron's got a cold. So I thought, I'd check on you. Wow, you're holding strong, aren't you? I thought you'd be at an asylum already."

"Shut up, Gin!" she mock-accused, "He's not that bad!"

"Hah!" she exclaimed. "You forget, I grew up with that git."

"And you forget, so did I," Hermione laughed. "How's James?"

"Sleeping, finally!" Ginny proclaimed with an overdramatic eye-roll. "No, but seriously, I know how bad Ron is when he gets a cold."

"I can't really recollect an episode before this, Ginny," Hermione pondered aloud.

"That's because he hasn't had one in years, I guess," Ginny provided. "The last time, he was ten and Dad had to take leave from work till he recovered 'cause Ron wouldn't let him out of sight."

Hermione bit back a smile which did not go unnoticed.

"And I can see he is doing the same, not that you're complaining, are you?" smirked Ginny.

"Shut up, Gin. It's perfectly within my rights to care for my husband," she justified, hating how her cheeks flushed with colour.

"Of course, and it's perfectly within your rights to enjoy when he's being greedy of your attention. Yuck, you guys are disgusting." Ginny pretended to puke in the grate.

"Look who's talking!"

"Oh, no...I am-" began Ginny before she stilled and then sighed, "James is up. I'm seriously contemplating feeding him some Sleeping Drought."

"Are you crazy? He's barely a couple of months old!" chortled Hermione.

"Remember this when you guys have kids," Ginny replied, sobering Hermione. "Okay, I gotta go. But don't let my brother anywhere close to my husband. I've got one kid to manage already and no patience to handle another."

"I'll do that, Gin," she promised, laughing, and Ginny's head disappeared along with the flames.

Hermione sat back thinking about what Ginny had told her. Was she supposed to be more strict with Ron? After all, how long would a cold last, three days, four at the most? Couldn't she play along for a while if it made him feel good? However, Ron wasn't exactly feeling good, was he? On the contrary, he was sure he was dying. She chuckled at the thought. Suddenly something occurred to her and she picked herself up and walked briskly to the kitchen.

"Ron, take this." He looked at her and pulled an arm out from the blanket.

Hermione handed him a goblet and sat down at the edge of the couch, "Ginny Floo called. Your mum asked me to give you this potion. Said it'll help."

Ron nodded once and raising himself a little, drank the contents in one go. He handed her the goblet back and she wiped the traces of liquid from his lips, edging closer for a kiss before he stopped her.

"Nod till I recover," he declared.

"Fine," she replied, "But this should make you sleepy and you should be all better in two hours."

"Really?" he asked eagerly.

"Your Mum said so."

"Stay wid me?" he asked as he lay back and she nodded, resting her back against his chest, switching the television off and picking up an old copy of Wizarding Communities Around the World. Within a few minutes, Ron was snoring softly. Hermione looked at her husband fondly, remembering the article she had read in a medical journal weeks ago. It said that grown-up wizards and witches rarely suffered from the common ailments that plagued Muggles, simply because they could choose to heal themselves. Almost like the scratches on her knees healing magically when she was tiny. She never realised she was making it happen by choice. All Ron had to do to feel better was to simply decide to feel better and he'd actually be okay.

She glanced at the goblet and grinned to herself before picking it up and draining the last few drops. Hmm, warm water, a cube of sugar and a pinch of salt didn't taste so bad after all.

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