The warm glow of the fire in the Gryffindor common room seemed to mock how miserable you felt. Bundled in a thick blanket, you sat curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, your head pounding and your throat scratchy. The usual chatter of your housemates blurred into the background as you tried to focus on not feeling like absolute rubbish.

Hermione appeared out of nowhere, her brow furrowed in concern as she placed a hand gently on your forehead. “You’re burning up,” she said, her voice filled with worry. “You shouldn’t be down here—you need to be in the hospital wing.”

You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “I’m fine,” you rasped, even though you were anything but. “It’s just a cold. Madam Pomfrey doesn’t need to fuss over me.”

Before Hermione could argue, Harry and Ron joined her. Harry crossed his arms, giving you a look that said he wasn’t buying your excuse. “You look like you’ve been hit by a Bludger,” he said bluntly. “Come on, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey before you keel over.”

Ron, holding what looked like a bowl of steaming soup, plopped down on the armrest of your chair. “I, uh, nicked this from the kitchen,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Figured you might need something warm.”

Despite feeling awful, you couldn’t help but smile at your friends. “Thanks, Ron,” you said, your voice hoarse. “You’re my favorite.”

Ron smirked, clearly pleased, while Harry sighed. “Alright, fine, but if you’re not better by tomorrow, we’re dragging you to the hospital wing, like it or not.”