Author's Notes: Takes place fourth year, pre-Yule Ball. I haven't read GoF in a while, so I apologize for any mistakes.
Hermione told herself that she would just check on him.
She waited for Arithmancy to end. Usually time went by quickly, but now that she actually had to do something important, the seconds seemed to last lifetimes.
Packing all of her things into her bag five minutes before the end of class, she sat patiently. Professor Vector asked if she had finished her assignment, Hermione reassured her that she had. Eagerly, she checked the hourglass to see if the conversation had lasted long.
Drat. Four minutes left.
Thump. Thump. Thump. She drummed her fingers on her desk. Her parents might have been dentists, but she knew sickness when she saw it. Ron's, in particular, seemed unbearable. His nose was redder than usual and the parts of his face that weren't flushed had a sickly glow. His nose was constantly stuffed to the point where he talked kind of funny. One could tell that he was very achy—he collapsed in the common room the day before. It happened very discreetly, where only Harry and Hermione could see him, but the poor thing...he needed them to hoist him up.
Of course, Ron was also excruciatingly stubborn. He'd insist "I'b nob sick!" and fall over the next moment. It was strange for Ron to have an excuse to slack off and not use it, but only recently had he and Harry made up—Hermione supposed that maybe Ron was trying to be a good friend, making up for lost time. At this time, she couldn't imagine Ron being very pleasant.
Which is why she decided that after this class she would jump Ron after Divination and march him to the hospital wing for a Pepper-Up Potion. He was weak. She could take him on.
The hourglass made a shrill noise and started hopping up and down. Finally! She ran out the door, knocking over a few third years, and leaving some students bewildered. Why was Hermione, teacher's pet, she who always stays after class, running out the door as if her life depended on it? She rushed up the staircases, faster than people could recognize the quick girl with the bushy brown hair. Hermione made it to the North Tower, leaning over and panting, just as Ron walked out of Divination. Harry was there too, but seemed to be in a daze. She followed his line of vision (and line of walking—he didn't seem to notice Ron or Hermione) toward a certain Cho Chang. Poor Ginny.
"What do you want, Hermione?" said Ron in a tired voice. There were bags under his eyes. He must have been sick if he couldn't fall asleep during Divination.
"Oh, Ron!" she replied sympathetically, brushing his arm.
Electricity.
That's what it felt like in the brief moment that her hand grazed her forearm.
Hermione had always had a good memory. Photographic, some called it. But it was more than that. She could remember the smell, the sounds of things. One of Hermione's clearest memories was when she was five. Being young and naïve (and interested in science), she experimented what would happen if she stuck something in an electrical outlet. She did, indeed, feel it. It lasted only a second, but she could feel the waves going through her, warm and even. And then it stopped, as soon as it started.
The sensation she felt with Ron felt exactly like that. And, really, she and Ron were a lot like protons and electrons. Complete opposites, but they stuck together.
After the simple arm brush that only lasted a couple of seconds, Hermione couldn't remember anything. She couldn't recall her name, whether or not she had any pets, or why she went to this strange school. Her intellect failed her. For the first time in her life, Hermione couldn't think of anything to say.
"Erm. I'm sorry. I forgot why I'm here..."
"Do you want to come with me to the hospital wing? I was going to get a Pepper-Up Potion."
She simply nodded.
"Okay."
They walked a few paces, steps perfectly in tune, when Ron had to ask that question.
"So, who are you going to the Ball with?"
end