Valentine
Hermione wished she could say that she approached the day like usual, that she proceeded to dress herself, eat, and make her way to work without a single idea that today was any different from any other day.
She ignored reading the Daily Prophet, which was delivered by owl each morning.
She ignored the red and pink decorations adorning the Atrium.
She strode past the revolting choir of cherubs singing a medley of Celestina Warbeck hits.
She used her hand to cover the hand-drawn hearts on her to-go cup of coffee as she waited for the lift, and, once inside, breathed shallowly through her mouth to avoid the smothering perfumes and colognes worn by her fellow Ministry employees.
She’d nearly made it to her office, unimpeded, when the last voice she wanted to hear called out her name.
“Granger!”
She was nearly there, the handle nearly in reach.
“I know you can hear me. Granger, wait.”
Just a few more steps–
“Please.”
Hermione paused, then slowly turned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard the word fall from his lips. New Year’s, perhaps, as he bent over, wheezing, in the middle of the Malfoy ballroom, and begged her to stop making him laugh. They’d caught a fair number of pointed looks and raised brows that evening with their unseemly behaviour.
Boisterous, following too many glasses of champagne. Uncharacteristically touchy on and off the dance floor. Forgetful, for once, of everything that everyone expected of them.
He looked…unkempt. Hair askew, the top button of his Oxford undone, pale and bruised as one was after a poor-night’s sleep.
“What do you want?” she asked, brusque.
“A minute of your time. Please.”
There he went, again, with that word.
“What do you think I’m doing right now?”
His eyes flit around the open space in which they stood. Rustling papers and a murmur of voices in the backdrop. Returning his gaze to hers, he bit his lip.
“Whatever you have to say can be said out here, Malfoy.” Part of Hermione hoped he would give in, like he always did, to the pressure and go his own way, leaving her to what was undoubtedly a mountain of memos to deal with.
She didn’t want to acknowledge the other part of herself that clung to every action and word of Draco Malfoy.
For a moment, his broad shoulders fell.
Stifling her surge of disappointment, she began to twist back around.
“I–I can’t do it anymore.”
He had her attention once more, and, if she squeezed her cup any harder, the paper cup was bound to cave in and spill scalding liquid all over her hand.
“Can’t do what anymore?”
“Pretend that I don’t feel the way that I do about you. About us.”
She could only blink at him in astonishment. Of all things he could have said, this certainly wasn’t it.
“I was lying when I said I was preoccupied this weekend. About my date. About all of it.”
“Why lie?” Hermione hardly recognised her voice, nearly strangled as it was.
“Because I heard about your plans with Wood, that he’d asked you out. That you had accepted.”
Her mouth dropped open, an inelegant squawk not unlike that of a baby Diricawl escaping. He winced.
“I know. It was stupid of me. I was jealous and said the first thing that came to mind when–”
“What are you on about?” she managed to gasp out, her hold on her coffee tenuous.
“Your date?” At her blank look, he rushed on. “With Oliver Wood? I overheard you at lunch the other day.”
Hermione had eaten lunch with Oliver, and they had discussed Valentine’s Day plans.
But, he had it all wrong.
“Malfoy. Oliver and I aren’t going on a date.”
This time it was his turn to straighten, his look as flabbergasted as hers was a minute ago. “I know what I heard!”
“You misheard. He was going over his plans for Ginny.”
“No, no, no. They’re not even dating! Why would he…” his voice trailed off, a telltale blotchiness working its way past his collar. “I’m a bloody idiot,” he said hoarsely.
Oliver had come to Hermione for advice. Ginny was her best friend, after all, and she hadn’t settled seriously on anyone since breaking things off with Harry the year prior.
Still. Malfoy had been jealous. That was why he’d lied, why he’d felt the need to come up with his own imaginary date.
Because of Hermione.
She felt lighter now. Her eyes fixed on his growing blush as she took her first sip of coffee, the mind for which she was renowned working furiously.
“So, you’re free tonight.” she stated, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.
His eyes closed, one hand splayed dramatically over his forehead, he groaned. “Yes.”
“And…I’m free tonight.”
“Apparently so,” he muttered from deep in the throes of his embarrassment.
“Why don’t we be free together then?”
She wasn’t sure he’d heard her at first at his lack of a reaction. When he did finally jerk his head up, she almost fell back against her door at the intensity of his stare.
“Are you asking me to be your Valentine?” He sounded incredulous, his chest rising and falling quickly.
“If we need to put a label on it–” she began, before he cut her off.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I’ll be your Valentine.”
They grinned at each other like a pair of besotted fools, their earlier awkwardness forgotten.
She wanted to rush back home that instant to go through her closet. What was she going to wear? Would red be too on the nose, or should she go for something less Gryffindor and hearts. More…sexy, maybe? Would that make her look desperate? Godric, what if she was too underdressed? Or overdressed? Or–
“Um, guys? Are you two finished?”
Their hands snapped around to find a hesitant, but smirking, Theo peeking out from around the corner.
“Y-Yes! I was just about to check my messages,” she squeaked, trying, and failing, to grip the handle of the door behind her.
“Same! I need to meet up with Potter to go over a case.” Malfoy’s face was as red as the dress she’d been considering.
“I’ll see you later, Malfoy.” Finally, the door opened, sweet privacy beckoning her forward out of the two wizards’ eyes.
“L-Later.”
Just before the door clicked shut, she caught a glimpse of Malfoy’s retreating back and his best mate’s rapid chase. The second sip of her drink was even more delicious than the first, the original bitterness now bursting with chocolate and cherry undertones.
Red. Definitely, red.