A/N Oh boy, people; this just gets more and more plotless as we go along--well at least in the way of fluff. But, to make up for it, there is a kiss in this chapter…sort of :) Thanks for all the lovely reviews. I wasn't going to post this until Saturday, but I thought I'd jump the gun a little.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

Chapter 2: Wonderfully Queasy

When Ron, sitting near the fire, saw the sky outside darken and heard the first rumble of thunder, he immediately thought of Hermione. She absolutely adored thunderstorms and it was their custom at times like these to gather up their books and belongings and head for the Great Hall, usually empty, and watch the storm from the inside.

"Harry, you seen my favorite pillow?" Ron turned away from the window and faced Harry whose nose was stuck in a Quidditch manual. Ron would have thought Harry had failed to hear him if he hadn't seen the corner of his friend's lip curl up unmistakably.

"If you're talking about your female best friend…and mine, for that matter…then I think she's down in the library."

"Of course she is; you'd think I'd have figured that out by now."

"Well, you were always the denser of the two," Harry teased, though Ron detected a slight undertone to his words.

"What's that mean?" he asked.

"Absolutely nothing, mate, absolutely nothing," Harry smirked.

"Is that so?" Ron questioned, convinced that Harry was privy to a secret joke. "Will you stop being cryptic then and come to the library? It's going to storm and Hermione's going to miss the whole thing sitting down there with all those silencing charms."

"Right behind you," Harry replied, gathering his things and following him out of the portrait hole. As Ron had predicted, Hermione was absolutely unaware of what was going on outside and was hunched over a pile of books, writing furiously on a piece of parchment.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when she was them approaching.

"Relax, Hermione. We're here to bust you out and drag you to the great hall," Ron said as he began gathering together papers and piling together books.

"The great hall? Why on earth would we go to the great hall at this time of…oh," Ron smiled when he saw her face brighten. "Is it storming?" she asked, her voice just short of a squeal.

"Isn't she the smart one," Harry winked at Ron.

"Well, she is our best friend," Ron replied, gathering up the rest of her things and picking up her rucksack, grunting lightly as he pulled the heavy thing over his shoulder.

"Your better third, I'd say," Hermione jested, a large smile now playing over her face as she linked her arm into Harry's and led him out of the library. Ron, holding the books and papers, was left following behind, and for some inexplicable reason, found himself resisting the urge to punch Harry in the face.

"Wait." Hermione stopped abruptly. "We are going to do work even though we're watching the storm, aren't we?" Hermione asked.

"Of course we are," Ron and Harry answered simultaneously though there was nothing to worry about. The second Hermione set foot in that Great Hall she would forget all about homework.

~*~

"I love this," Hermione sighed as another flash of lightning streaked across the ceiling above them, throwing a flash of light across their faces, illuminating them briefly in an otherwise darkened room.

"And to think you nearly missed the whole thing," Ron smiled at her, turning his head in her direction though he could only make out her outline in the dark.

They were all three lying down on one of the long wood tables, side by side, Hermione in the middle. Her arms were curled around one of each of his and Harry's and every time thunder sounded, Ron would feel the strength of her grip increase slightly. He'd noticed how she was the only one of the three of them would could lie down completely across the table's width. Harry's feet were dangling over the edge at the ankles and half of Ron's legs were hovering in mid-air, but hers were completely supported and Ron imagined that her ankles were probably crossed leisurely over one another, right over left. He had no idea just how he knew this, nor when he'd noticed that she had a habit of doing it, but even in the dark he knew it to be true as certainly as he knew his hair to be red.

"You two are the best, you know that?" Hermione said, and this time the squeeze Ron felt on his arm was one of affection rather than one of fear. Another bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky above them, breaking through the clouds and Ron thought it made Hermione's skin glow beautifully; he hadn't even been aware that he was still looking at her.

"You know, I don't think that Lavender would have fetched Parvati if she'd been held up in the library during a thunderstorm," Hermione was still talking. "I guess you guys really love me, eh?"

"Hermione," Harry groaned.

"Er, uh, er," Ron said.

"It's okay, you don't have to compromise your masculinity by saying it out loud. I know it's true, and for the record I love you both."

"Hermione!" they both protested, but Ron's protest was a little more feeble than Harry's for fault of a rather gigantic lump in his throat and a madly beating heart. His stomach was doing some rather bizarre things, too. The fluttering he was used to was now a mad beating of wings.

"What? It's true," Hermione defended. "I love you, Harry," he heard her say and a moment later heard the sound of lips smacking against skin, "and I love you, Ron," she said though he thought her voice sounded different somehow when she'd spoken to him. He felt her breath against his face and a moment later her lips against his own. She'd been aiming for his cheek, of course, but as he'd been facing her she'd miscalculated her aim in the dark. Ron felt almost—disappointed—when her lips left his less than a second later; of course that couldn't be. She was his best friend; that was all. He'd been loads closer to her than this a thousand times before and it hadn't bothered him. Why this? Why now? Besides, she probably didn't even know that she'd kissed him in the first place. Well, of course she knew that she'd kissed him, it wasn't as though she hadn't before or as though he hadn't kissed her cheek or forehead when she'd been crying, but never like this…never on the lips. Of, for Merlin's sake, she was like a sister to him! But just as that particular thought entered his head he knew it to be untrue. He'd never be so overanalytical if Ginny were to miss his cheek and kiss his mouth; he'd just dismiss it and forget it.

Damn…he'd need to see Madam Pomfrey. There was definitely something wrong with him.

~*~

"What do you mean there's nothing wrong with me?"

"Mr. Weasley, I've just run a battery of tests that would detect the most obscure of illnesses in the most healthy of individuals. Believe me when I say that you are as healthy as they come."

"But that's impossible. Madam Pomfrey, I'm obviously not imagining all of these symptoms."

"Right." She looked down at her clipboard. "Rapid heartbeat, flushing, sweaty hands and 'weird fluttery stomach thing'. Am I missing anything?"

"You forgot dementia…all that overanalyzing is making me completely starkers."

"Yes, that's right, 'dementia'. Well, Mr. Weasley, I don't know what to say unless perhaps you're having an odd allergic reaction to…something. I suggest you find the common denominator in these symptoms and then perhaps you'll be able to make more sense out of them."

"Isn't there a potion I can take, or something?"

"If what I'm suspecting is true, Ronald, you've already done marvelously without that particular potion."

~*~

Well that was a waste of time, he thought as he made his way across the grounds towards Herbology. The grass was still soggy from last night's storm, making Ron's shoes muddy and putting him in an even fouler mood. To make matters worst, he'd spent the entire night tossing and turning, waking up from dreams he didn't remember but strongly suspected involved kissing his best friend—his very female, very intelligent (very beautiful) best friend. And, on top of everything else, said best friend had looked every bit as happy and well rested that morning as he'd been exhausted and miserable.

He was still so exhausted and miserable, in fact, that when he reached the Herbology classroom after having skipped lunch to go see the school nurse, he almost walked right past where Harry and Hermione were stationed.

"Ron, you're late! We were worried something had happened to you when we didn't see you at lunch. Is everything all right? You realize that you might have missed something that could be on the exam, don't you?" Ron tuned her out at this point, putting on dragonhide gloves when he noticed that they were supposed to be harvesting Bubotuber pus. He was feeling a little better, though; Hermione was still lecturing him, but at least he didn't feel an ounce of fluttering in his stomach. Maybe he was cured.

"Hermione, let him get a word in, at least," he heard Harry interrupt her while sealing a vial that had already been filled. Hermione immediately stopped talking and turned her eyes on him expectantly.

"I went to see Madam Pomfrey, no big—" but he was cut off.

"Madam Pomfrey? Ron, are you okay?" Hermione asked, removing her gloves and pulling him down by the collar so that she could feel his forehead and then his cheek. The fluttering came back full-force as she did so; he was obviously in relapse.

"Fine," he said gruffly, breaking from her touch as his stomach did that weird flip-floppy thing again.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked; there seemed to be true concern in her eyes and it only made his stomach worse.

"Clean bill of health," he assured her, "now can we please get working?" he asked, turning to the task at hand.

"You're sure you're all right?" Harry asked as well, probably alarmed that Ron actually wanted to get to work, and Ron nodded, beginning to turn toward him. In doing so, however he accidentally knocked over the vial Harry had just capped. He watched it as though it were flying in slow motion, spinning a few times in the air, its contents flying out as the cork came out, and the bulk of the Bubotuber pus landing—in Hermione's hair.

"Oh dear," Madam Sprout noted from the front of the class. "You'd better go rinse that out immediately, Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley can help you," she said as they hurried out of the greenhouse and into the back room where there was a large sink.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he apologized for the umpteenth time as she dunked her head under the running water.

"Ron, don't worry about it, all right? Just help me wash this out before it turns my hair green or something. I can't see what I'm doing," she said and Ron came to step next to her, his leg pressed up against her side so that he'd be able to get close enough to the sink.

He'd never washed anyone's hair before, except of course his own, but his short, straight locks did not compare to Hermione's long curls. Using the liquid soap next to the sink, he poured a generous amount in his hands. It wasn't shampoo, but it would have to do.

Carefully he worked the soap through her hair, his fingers tingling as he did so. It could have been because of the Bubotuber pus, he didn't know, but the tingling seemed to move from his fingertips and right down his spine, making him shiver. Hermione's hair seemed so much longer, darker, and thicker when it was wet, and it was soft…incredibly soft. Why hadn't he ever noticed how soft?

From her position, the back of her neck was exposed and Ron felt the incredibly urge to run his hands over it, to continue from the little bump where her spinal column began and smooth his hand down her back and over her shoulders.

"Er, I think you're done," he stopped himself short before he did anything drastic, rinsing off the rest of the soap from her hair and turning off the water. There was a towel hanging and he took it, handing it to Hermione who wrapped it around her head. She turned toward him, smiling her thanks. Her cheeks were rosier than usual, her eyes brighter than he remembered them. There was a droplet of water running down the angle of her jaw and before he could stop himself he'd reached out and trapped it under his thumb, splaying his hand over the side of her face.

He wanted to kiss her, he realized, as his eyes fell on her lips. He might have done it too if Harry hadn't come to check on them and interrupted them. Ron never thought he could feel relief and disappointment at the same time, but he felt it then as he slapped a smile on his face and stepped guiltily away from Hermione, avoiding looking directly at her lest he lose all sense again.

Even when they made their way back up to the common room that night after Potions, Ron would have to remind himself over and over again that it was just the illness talking. He couldn't have really wanted to kiss Hermione, could he? Maybe it was just curiosity left over from the accidental kiss they had shared the night before. After all, this made absolutely no sense…she was his friend, his best friend, and nothing more…right?