Kismet

'Hermione, stop, I'm not –' Ron sneezed loudly, and sniffed, '– sick,' he finished, without really convincing anyone.

Hermione simply raised an eyebrow at him. 'You are sick. You should go to Madam Pomfrey.'

Ron glared at her, sniffing again, and wiping his nose on his sleeve. 'I am not. Besides, I can't be sick, because we have a Quidditch match in a few hours.'

Hermione let out an angry sigh. 'Ron, stop being such a stubborn prat, and go to the Hospital Wing!'

'No!' said Ron, jumping up.

Hermione patiently grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled him back down. 'Do you really think you can play Quidditch like that?'

'Like what?' huffed Ron, crossing his arms over his chest.

'You sneeze every three seconds, you have a fever ('Haven't!'), and you're sick. You can't play Quidditch.'

'Can too,' said Ron, pouting.

'You're acting like you're about three,' Hermioned scolded.

'Lay off, Hermione. I'm going to play Quidditch. And I'm not sick.'

Ron stood up, forgetting she was still holding his shirt. Hermione found herself being pulled up; she wobbled and lost her balance, crashing into Ron, who put his hands on her shoulders to stop himself from falling.

'Oh, he smells nice, doesn't he? Go ask him what it is,' a voice in the back of her mind said.

'I will not.'

'Yes, you will. You're curious.'

'No.'

'Yes, you are.'

'I most certainly am not!'

'You're pathetic, you know that?'

Hermione blinked to clear her mind from the annoying voice, and looked up at him, pleadingly. 'Ron, could you just go? Please?'

He sneezed. 'No.'

'But –'

'I said, no!' And with that, Ron pushed her away. Hermione, who hadn't expected this, fell backwards, tripped over a table, and landed rather forcefully on her behind.

'Bloody hell, Hermione, are you all right?' Ron was kneeling next to her.

Hermione groaned, sitting up and rubbing her back with a pained expression. 'I don't recall seeing a table there.'

'Seamus moved it so that we could play Exploding Snap,' said Ron apologetically, extending a hand to help her up.

'Thanks,' said Hermione, surprised at his unexpected display of chivalry, allowing herself to be pulled up.

'No problem.' Ron grinned at her as she dusted her skirt off with her wand.

Ron's grin was a very peculiar thing, she'd decided long ago. He would tilt his head somewhat, and grin, but only half way, so that a small dimple would appear in his cheek. It did something strange to her stomach, which would clench a bit, giving a swooping feeling.

'Could you please go to the Hospital Wing?' she asked.

You could say a lot of things about Hermione Granger. She was intelligent, an amazing friend, loyal to a fault, and funny, when she wished to be. Sometimes, however, she really didn't have good timing.

Ron's grin faded. 'I told you, I'm not going,' he snapped at her, earlier chivalry clearly forgotten.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. 'I'll hex you.'

'W-what?'

'I said –' began Hermione, but Ron interrupted her.

'You'd, er, hex me?' He tried to make it sound like an offhand comment, but Ron would always be Ron – and that Ron would be a terrible liar.

'Yes, I would,' said Hermione matter-of-factly, putting her hands on her hips.

Ron sighed. 'All right, I'll go,' he said, defeated.

Hermione's anger vanished, and she let out a victorious squeak, which she quickly turned into a cough when Ron glared at her.

'You're free to go now, Mr Weasley. Next time, though, see that you stop by sooner.'

Ron glared at Madam Pomfrey, who hadn't noticed the smug look on Hermione's face, while the matron grabbed the Pepperup Potion from the nightstand next to the bed she'd forced Ron to sit on. She disappeared into her office, closing the door behind her.

'Now aren't you glad you went to Hospital Wing?' Hermione said.

Ron rolled his eyes.

'I'm always right, you know,' she continued, undeterred.

He didn't reply, choosing to study the ceiling intently instead.

'You know,' said Hermione, her cheeks flushing, 'you, er, you smell good.'

Ron stared.

Hermione gave a small smile and then stood up, leaning forward, and kissing his cheek.

Ron gave her an even more bewildered look, his hand clutched to his cheek, which felt warm.

'Good luck on the Quidditch match,' said Hermione, her voice coming from far off. 'I'm really glad you're feeling better. I was just worried.'

Ron nodded wordlessly, still staring at her. Then, without a warning, and without planning to at all, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Hermione couldn't have been happier.