Hermione walks over to the counter, standing on tiptoe to glance at the contents inside of the bag and starting to coax them out with a wave of her wand. The fridge door opens in time to receive the vegetables, lined neatly up in the crisper, while dairy products line the shelves above and less perishable condiments kept in the door. There's a clear increase in the volume of goods, and Hermione can't help the pleased smile that spread across her face.

Everything that isn't food remains on the countertop, to be tended to when Ron returns. Hermione could take the liberty, but sometimes there's a pleasantness to putting items together with another person the old-fashioned way.

"No apologies necessary. I'm not sure whether or not he'll ever appreciate me very much," Hermione says, offering the grindylow a slightly apologetic look. "Although I couldn't tell you what it is about me that it takes issue with. Anyway. Thank you for shopping on Ron's behalf. I might have done it myself, but I came back and... passed out on the table, apparently." Sheepishly, Hermione points to where her cheek still feels warm, the imprint of her sleeve and the table remaining in an angry pink.